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lucemferto · 3 years

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WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT TECHNOBLADE (or A Narrative Analysis of the Dream SMP Doomsday Event) - Script

Heyo! Per request I am posting the script to my video of the same name here on tumblr. I must warn you that just reading the script will probably not give you the full experience, so I would encourage you to watch the video (linked above).

There might also still be a lot of grammatical errors in the text, because I don’t proofread.

Okay, so! I don’t want this to turn into a reaction channel OR a Dream SMP channel for that matter! I am planning on doing a big dumb, way too long analysis video on the Dream SMP which will – at my current pace – come out in five years. I am already way too late on this one.

Spoiler Alert for the Doomsday Event that took place on the 6th of January in the Dream SMP. Surely the worst thing to take place on the 6th of January 2021 … I’m sorry, what’s this about the Capitol?

In case you don’t watch the SMP and need context: The Dream SMP is a Minecraft Multiplayer Server, that, throughout the last year, has transformed from a normal Let’s Play to an ongoing new-media series streamed by multiple high-profile streamers such as Dream, TommyInnit or Technoblade. It comes complete with script – by which I mean loose bullet points – and story events. It has attracted a large fanbase specifically invested in the story and less so in the actual gameplay content. Like I said before, I will probably do a big video on the Dream SMP at some point in the future.

The storyline is long and complicated and trying to explain it all would take up the majority of the video and there are other channels who have already done a much better job than I could ever hope to do, so give them a watch. I’ll try to summarize all that is pertinent to what I will talk about in this video.

Okay, let’s speedrun this summary. Cue the music!

Major Players here are TommyInnit, a founder of the independent nation of L’Manburg, Technoblade, an anarchist who was deep in conflict with L’Manburg, Tubbo, Tommy’s best friend and current president of L’Manburg, and Dream, the ruler of the Kingdom of the Dream SMP (even though he is not the king, but we’re not going to get into that right now). Tommy had in the past been exiled by Tubbo for endangering L’Manburg’s shaky peace with the Dream SMP. Tommy had then teamed up with Technoblade, who was hellbent on destroying L’Manberg after some prior altercations – more on that later.

Tommy and Tubbo came into conflict during a festival set-up to celebrate the friendship between L’Manburg and the Dream SMP. After punching out their feelings, Tommy came to the realization that his friendship with Tubbo was more important than his vendetta against Dream and those who exiled him. Techno took that change of heart badly and teamed up with Dream to destroy L’Manburg … and that’s exactly what happened.

Techno and Dream, with little to no opposition, obliterated L’Manburg with no hope for recovery leaving its inhabitants stranded hopeless and alone.

… And that’s what you missed on Dream SMP!

Okay. So, usually I just put whatever thought slime drips out of my mouth hole into your subscription box. But then I asked myself: “Am I not taking this a largely improvised nonsense story from a bunch of 16–24-year-olds a little too seriously?”. And then I remembered. I’m a pretentious bitch. I made an 18-minute video explaining why the popular commentary YouTuber memeulous is secretly the time travelling Anti-Christ, REASON HAS NO SWAY OVER ME!

So, like the English Major drop-out that I am, I will present you with two theses, which I will then combine into one … supratheses! That word doesn’t exist, I just coined it, it’s mine! I am very smart!

[I know words, I have the best words!]

Thesis #1: The Fandom focuses too much on Character Analysis in Favour of Narrative Analysis

The Dream SMP is truly something special. It is uniquely singular in how it tells a story of this scope through its chosen medium. While there is an overarching script that lays out the plot points of the future, each of the 30+ streamers on the SMP are their own cameraman, director, writer and actor. You cannot watch “the Dream SMP” – if you attempted that, you would be 80 by the time you caught up to the Doomsday Event. You have to choose whom to watch. You have to choose your focal point character.

Because by the way the story is told and consumed – aka in such a compartmentalized fashion; you watch one streamer and get one character’s perspective – it has sort-of unintentionally conditioned fans to look at the SMP and its characters less as one coherent story with messages and themes and more as sports teams they can root for. You’re Team Techno or Team Tubbo or Team Tommy or Team JackManifoldTV (formerly known as Thunder1408) and every other side is in the wrong! It’s like Twilight for a decade old children’s game about virtual Lego!

Okay, I’m exaggerating, but the amount of discourse perpetuated by and revolving around so-called “apologists” – a terrible term that unfortunately has caught on – is really not something that I think is good for how we interact with the story of the Dream SMP.

The Dream SMP is discussed a lot on character-based level, which is, like I said before, hugely advantaged by the way the story is consumed by its audience. With traditional, visual media such as film for example, the audience can be made more aware of what messages the narrative might try to communicate on a narrative level without the need for an explicit narrator to tell you the moral.

As an example, in a movie you could have a smash-cut from the Butcher Army’s discussions about neutralizing the danger Technoblade poses to Techno being nice around villagers or taking care of animals. This would communicate on an extradiegetic level, that the Butcher Army is in the wrong with their assumptions. Alternatively, you could contrast Techno’s declarations that power corrupts and that Tubbo’s administration is cruel with Tubbo choosing not to punish Ranboo for his association with Techno – thus the narrative would communicate that Techno’s view of Tubbo and by extension the government is one-sided and not true to reality.

Stuff like that helps the viewer understanding a story holistically and manages to communicate stuff like themes and morals without having to solely rely on in-character logic and argumentation, which, as Ghostbur put it so eloquently, is comprised of a bunch of unreliable narrators.

Character analysis is great if we want dive deep, if we really want to give a character flavour and understand their motivations. It helps make the universe feel like it is alive, like it’s real. But – and this might be a shocker for you – it’s not real. It’s written. It is construction – and as such, in its construction, it has messages and themes and morals, intentionally or unintentionally.

By being so focused on specific characters and their individual journeys, viewpoints and motivation we really run the risk of not looking at the bigger picture and fail to see what the overarching narrative is actually communicating. And we may also fail to understand how characters might or might not fit into the overarching narrative.

Speaking of which …

Thesis #2: Technoblade experiences very little Meaningfultm Thematic Conflict

Okay, let’s talk about Technoblade. I’m sure I’m not going to get any hate for this one.

I want to preface by saying that I don’t watch Technoblade’s streams; I catch up though clip channels and summaries. I’m mainly watching Tommy, Tubbo and Quackity – which is honestly already more than I can handle – but I want to be clear that while I’ll try to be as even-handed as possible – like I explained previously – the way I consumed the storylines will undoubtedly leave me with some bias.

Also, needless to say, I’m talking about the character Technoblade, not the actual content creator, unless I specifically say so. That should be obvious.

Now, I’m not doing a Technoblade character analysis, because that would be hypocritical of me – seeing how I just bitched about the overwhelming amounts of character analyses in the fandom – but I’ll try my best to summarize what is necessary.

Technoblade’s interesting in that he is a very static character – at least inwardly – he doesn’t change much. He is very steadfast in his beliefs and ideals and has very little introspection. He doesn’t question himself; he doesn’t waver, he is never in a bind about whether what he’s doing is right or wrong. He is very much a parallel to early TommyInnit – who, of course, famously said “I’m always in the right”.

And I want to emphasize that I mean this in no way as a critique of Techno’s character. A static character provides a nice contrast to more dynamic characters and can balance them out. It can also be utilised by the writing as a character flaw – which is what I hope content creator Techno is going for.

Like Techno doesn’t have a lot of empathy in the sense that he is particularly skilled at or interested in trying to see the viewpoints of others. There is never an attempt to reconcile, for example, the goal of the Pogtopians to reclaim L’Manberg and install another administration with his desire for an anarchist society. This is also compounded with his overreliance on violence as the only tactic for conflict resolution – Techno has a whole thesis statement about violence being the only universal language. I’m sure you’ve heard the quote.

And lastly, what really drives this all over the edge, is his all-or-nothing approach when dealing with the enemy – he is not so much eye for an eye as he is – to use another biblical example – you make fun of me for being bald and I’ll sic two bears on you that maul and kill you and 41 other children.

There’s also the open and completely unacknowledged hypocrisy of a self-described anarchist working together with a man that installs and dethrones Kings with his every whim – someone who – and I cannot stress this enough – hits about every box when it comes to the definition of tyrant.

So, what I’m saying is that Technoblade is the Dream SMP equivalent of Dick Chenney. C’mon you know it’s true! He will bomb that freedom into your country whether you want him to or not. That’s some cogent political commentary in the year 2021.

Okay, so now that I’ve outlined his character, what kind of conflicts does Technoblade face. Well, it’s mostly physical or external. He fights a lot whether it’s against Quackity or Sapnap or bodying Karl Jacobs five times in a row. And – with the exception of maybe Sapnap – none of it is challenging. Technoblade is the best PvP-Player on the server – there really isn’t much tension to be had from a purely physical fight.

So, how are these fights supplemented emotionally. Well, internally there is not a lot going on. As I said before, Technoblade isn’t really an introspective character. Even during his shouting match with Tommy there’s not a sense that Technoblade is wavering or unsure of himself in the way that Tommy is. He exposits that one of the reasons, he acts like he does is that he feels dehumanized; that people only use him like a weapon and then discard or even try to neutralize him once he’s no longer useful.

But that is not something that Technoblade has to grapple with – it’s not conflict for him, it’s more conflict for Tommy. Technoblade is self-assured in that he’s a person and not a weapon – it’s almost like there was a character arc there, where Technoblade self-actualizes and breaks away from the people that want to use him. But we didn’t see any of it. Technoblade unleashes the withers; then he goes into retirement because he wants to be, I suppose, and then he returns to violence as a reaction to the Butcher Army. There is a story of vengeance here, but not any conflict about being used. There is never a point where we see Technoblade come to this realization or comes to assert himself.

In season 1 there’s never a push from Pogtopia where the narrative frames them as exploiting Technoblade. He fights with them of his own volition, he gives them weapons and armour of his own volition. Nobody pressured Techno into procuring their inventory for the fight. And in Season 2, he’s the one to approach Tommy about their potential partnership – he is in the position of power here, explicitly not Tommy.

Like, I’m sorry, if this ruffles some feathers, but I really don’t see this arc where Technoblade is being used. There’s a story of misunderstanding and maybe co-dependency – but not of dehumanization. This entire line of thought seems to solely reference that moment, where Tommy says to Sapnap “I have the blade” during one of their wars – which, to base an entire emotional arc around that without any further set-up, is, and I’m sorry to say that, incredibly flimsy.

Okay, so we covered physical and emotional conflict? But what about conflict on the narrative level? Well, that leads me to my suprathesis …

Suprathesis: The Narrative is Unclear on how it treats Technoblade … and that’s Not Good.

Here’s a Hot Take: The narrative of Season 1 treats Technoblade way less sympathetically than that of season 2.

Let me explain. The narrative of Season 1 revolves mostly around Wilbur and Tommy. The emotional fulcrum of the overall narrative is Wilbur’s rise and fall from Grace – and Tommy succeeding him as symbol of L’Manberg’s “special”-ness. Now I will talk about all that more in detail, when I talk about Season 1 of the Dream SMP. So, you’ll just have to go with me on this one for now.

Technoblade, by contrast, doesn’t really have much going on thematically in Season 1. He mostly exists as a sort-of utilitarian character – he is an accessory to make story beats happen. Like him executing Tubbo doesn’t open up any sort of thematic conflict involving him – on a character level it sets up antipathy between him and Tommy and it grants us some insight into how he operates with his violence speech – but on a larger-scale narrative level it really just shows how far Wilbur and Tommy have drifted apart in how they react to the event.

His biggest contribution is during the Season 1 finale, but even there he plays second fiddle to Wilbur. Not just because Wilbur does way more destruction with his explosion than Techno does with his Withers, but also because Wilbur had an emotional and thematic climax to his arc and by extension the entire storyline. Like Techno’s is a cool moment and very epic visual but in terms of thematic relevance, his Theseus-speech is really more set-up for Season 2.

And Season 1 is very unambiguous about L’Manberg being good and Tommy’s ideals ultimately being morally justified – I mean, they have a whole speech about it in the end and it was built-up throughout the entire Season – Techno is cast in a … less than sympathetic light. He is, if not a villain, then definitely an antagonist.

But with Season 2 the narrative is either uninterested in or not very clear on exploring Technoblade’s flaws.

Like ask yourselves: is Technoblade’s character ever consciously challenged by the narrative? Are his actions ultimately shown to not be in the right? Are his beliefs about government and power ever called into question? Are the negative consequences that his actions cause ever shown to be larger than the “good” he does?

I think what exemplifies this the most is how the Butcher Army event played out on December 16th. Now, during that event, the Butcher Army, which was comprised of Tubbo, Quackity, Fundy and Ranboo, managed to apprehend Technoblade, who at that point was living the quiet retirement life, and tried to have him publicly executed – without trial.

Now, smarter people than me have pointed out that the Butcher Army had a bevy of in-character reasons that can justify or explain their actions. And that’s definitely interesting, but as I said before, I want to get away from that and look into how the Butcher Army is treated on a narrative level. Because this is one of the few instances where the otherwise grey-loving Season 2 has some very clear narrative intent when it comes to morality.

The Butcher Army is very deliberately framed as almost cartoonishly corrupt and violent. They very forcefully investigate Philza, mock him and then put him under house arrest – and there’s just no remorse in the script even from normally sympathetic characters like Tubbo.

Compare and contrast with the Tommy-exile scene, which is also an act of moral ambiguity and is treated as such. And things get even worse once the Army arrives at Technoblade’s abode and attack him after he softly tells them that he has left that live behind him. They then proceed to take his horse hostage, mock him and execute him without fair trial – and I haven’t seen it but from live commentary I gathered that Techno really played up the whole softie-schtick before the Butcher Army arrived. I mean, before the big Technoblade vs Quackity fight, Quackity had whole villain monologue for Christ’s sake.

And even afterwards, the Butcher Army really plays up the corrupt angle with Tubbo proposing a festival as a guise to publicly execute someone. And again, I know that on an intradiegetic there’s nuances and it’s not really comparable to the Red Festival, but in combination with what the audience has seen up until that point and with how much it feeds into the already established themes of history repeating itself and becoming like your predecessors, it really does not paint a pretty picture of the Tubbo administration.

You can feel the heavy hand of the script on your shoulder, which is a feat seeing how – as discussed before – that’s not something that can be easily accomplished in this medium.

And that is what I mean when I say that Technoblade is not really challenged by the script and is in this case even emboldened by it. Because after this whole ordeal the thought of Technoblade taking revenge by destroying L’Manberg doesn’t seem like such an extreme response to the viewer – even though in my opinion, it is.

As of right now it is too early to say how the narrative will judge Technoblade’s actions in the future. Will they be framed as extreme but ultimately justified or perpetuating a cycle of ever-escalating vengeance? Will we ever see a government that’s not just at best misguided and at worst completely awful?

Ultimately, I believe and hope that Technoblade will be challenged by the narrative, mostly because a character that cannot, believably, be physically challenged, who doesn’t have any meaningful internal conflict about what he’s doing; and who does come out on the other side having everything he always believed in be proven completely in the right by the narrative, would be incredibly boring. Not just to watch but also to play as.

As it stands now, if the destruction Techno, Phil and Dream inflicted upon L’Manburg is framed as ultimately in the right, I would find it personally a distasteful message to send. I would ultimately say that the “correct” way to counter corruption in government is to completely obliterate the entire country. Like we’re not talking simply disbanding the government – that’s not what Doomsday was – we’re talking complete and utter annihilation. And that would be cynical and depressing. Like, call me a big softie, but even bothsidesing this argument would be bad.

Like, I’m not calling for Technoblade to be transformed into or treated a monster like Dream. But I personally feel like the narrative needs to acknowledge that the Doomsday was something that was taken way too far and that it ultimately brought more harm than good. And Technoblade needs to held accountable by someone who is not a cartoonishly corrupt government-official or who is in conflict with him anyway, like Tommy.

I thought Philza or Ranboo could do that but seeing how their storylines are progressing I don’t believe that will be the case. But who knows, maybe Captain Puffy will come through for us. We stan a Queen.

Conclusion

So, yeah, I made this entire video just to air out my grievances with how one-sided the mode of analysis is in the fandom, because no person actually involved with the production of Dream SMP will ever see this.

But after everything I am cautiously optimistic, that content creator Technoblade knows what he’s doing. He has talked in the past about how his character is a bad guy and he loves his Greek myths. After all what’s more Greek myth than hybris being rewarded with punishment? [Technoblade never dies] That bodes well for him.

Also, this isn’t the video I promised at the end of the last one!

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pathofcomet · 3 years

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'cause all that you are is all that i'll ever need

fandom: bridgerton series / bridgerton tv

pairing: colin/penelope

summary: 5 times Penelope said ‘I love you’ to one Mr. Bridgerton, and one time it was out loud. (AO3)

There are many ways to fall in love, surely. It’s called a fall for a reason: mainly that it hurts and it comes at the most unnecessary moments and it’s an entirely ungraceful matter. Just as one might fall down the stairs after too many glasses of champagne, or fall unconscious after being punched in the face, or fall because one’s ankle decided to twist most rudely – so do people fall in love in a various of ways.

Benedict Bridgerton swears it was love at first sight, like being struck by lightning. Laying his eyes on his beloved that fateful day, and knowing with insane certainty that he was going to spend the rest of his life by her side. Then Daphne’s murmured admissions, that it’s like a sigh you didn’t know rested in your chest releasing, rush of comfort and certainty when touching the other’s hand. Eloise scoffs at all of this, but Eloise can scoff because she has refused six marriage proposals, while Penelope sighs, because she hasn’t had one caller in a decade of London’s most notorious seasons.

Romantic stories wouldn’t fit with Penelope, she agrees. Her mouth doesn’t really know how to work half the time during social situations, and her dresses are most painfully unfitting. And if those were her only problems, but she is, to put it delicately and kindly, definitely not what seasonal diamonds want in a friend, not what loving mamas wish for their sons and not what men desire in a woman. It stung only the first time around, afterwards it was most expected. So no, Penelope Featherington’s love story is not romantic because she’s not a typically loveable person.

It doesn’t make it any less precious in her heart. When her bonnet flies with the gust of wind, consequently covering one Colin Bridgerton’s face while riding, and consequently having him fall down his horse directly in a fresh puddle of mud, she is mortified, certain that she is about to ruin her life before it even began. But then he laughs – not to mock her, not in jest and not in anger, unlike any of her past experiences with a man’s laughter, especially thrown in her direction. He doesn’t even look angry, not at her anyway.

And Penelope falls, too, even if not quite literally as Colin. She’s not sure how she recognizes it exactly as love – maybe the desperate flutter of her heartbeat against her wrist, or the fact that she can’t quite unglue her eyes away from his face (though that seems like an overall Bridgerton issue). Regardless, the truth and weight of the moment hung deep in her chest. Instead, what she manages to say, between the warm blush and their mothers’ chatter, is just an apology.

“I’m the one who should apologize.”

But she has a meddling mama, and he’s nothing but a young man despairing at such nagging, and despite how much she cares for this first moment, she knows she doesn’t quite yet exist in his life. And then – with her debut, with her growing friendship with Eloise, she suddenly is.

***

“Enjoying the evening, Mrs. Featherington?” Colin asks, having materialized himself near the refreshments table.

Penelope chokes on her drink, her cheeks reddening, the fingertips of her gloves now stained. She has been sipping at her glass for the best part of an hour now, wondering how much longer she can wait for everyone to get so drunk that they won’t notice her grabbing one of the cakes on the table. The answer is obviously an eternity, for a lady should never eat in mixed company, especially if she is a debutante. But although this is barely her fourth ball this season, Penelope has already learnt the most important lesson of her life: that she is not what others would necessarily call a catch. Just because that is true, however, doesn’t mean she can do as she pleases, no matter how incredibly tasty the chocolate cream might look to her right now.

Colin obviously seems to have no problem with such rules, as he pops a biscuit inside his mouth. This one Bridgerton son is known for his appetite in particular, and social circumstances seem to not make much of a difference to his need. And the amount of food he ingests seems to not make much of a difference on how handsome he is.

Penelope pushes her glass on the table, straightening her back, though she immediately hunches back, aware that she’s wearing one of her mother’s absolutely horrid choices, and hell-bent on making it as unobvious as possible.

“Absolutely entertaining,” she answers, though the enthusiasm in her voice most certainly does not match her words.

“I’d rather agree,” Colin retorts. “I haven’t been this bored since Anthony got drunk and drawled on about the responsibilities of the first son.”

“Mr. Bridgerton!” she says, raising her fan so she can hide her smile behind it.

“Keep it a secret, Mrs. Featherington, would you? The Bridgertons tend to be quite unforgiving about these things.”

She thinks of Eloise and her adorably brilliant tendency to throw a tantrum about every single thing that bothers her about her siblings, whom she loves very, very much at the same time, which only makes her smile even larger. They’re such a lovely family, and with time, they’ll only grow to seem even more so in her eyes.

She nods her head in agreement, meeting his eyes over the edge of her fan. He looks, suddenly, quite proud to have her on his side. From across the ballroom, Eloise spots them: sending a nasty look at Colin, and waving her friend over.

“And please, Colin,” he leans a bit to whisper this to her, as the orchestra starts playing another song. “As it seems we will be seeing each other quite a lot.”

“Then, Colin,” she breathes, the name still foreign in her mouth, the roll of it on her tongue so strange that she’ll test it out many times over, in the darkness of her room long after she’s supposed to be asleep. “You may call me Penelope.”

She tries not to fixate on the sound of her name in his mouth (or his mouth in general, that’d be a good idea as well), and fails immensely, everything Eloise tells her that night flying over her head.

***

Penelope isn’t sure when the habit actually started: serving her tea once a week in the company of the Bridgertons. Of course, the number always changes, depending on the day’s circumstances, but it’s always more lively than her own home, in the most pleasant sense. Even the gossip doesn’t feel as cutting in here, with the warm banter and somewhat friendly threats. Eloise is now entangled in a complicated conversation on the virtues of marriage with her sister Daphne, and they’re sure on two different sides on the topic. Violet Bridgerton, the matriarch, just sighs. She meets Penelope’s eyes over the heads of her children, and smiles in a kindest manner. Eloise just rejected her second marriage proposal, while her best friend is yet to receive even a caller in her drawing room.

She recognizes the smile as the pity it is, and yet even that doesn’t feel as bad in here. Penelope has always taken only what has been given to her and made the best out of it. It’s hard when that is actually nothing, indeed.

“Pen,” Colin greets, draping himself in an armchair close to the side of the sofa where she is seated.

He doesn’t yet know how incredibly appropriate this nickname of his is, which is why Penelope smiles so brightly when she turns towards him. Violet’s attention has already moved towards Hyacinth and George, her youngest children, fighting quite loudly over the same colour that they both want to use right now in their paintings. She fails exactly to notice Daphne’s on them now, maybe out of lack of familiarity with the eldest sister.

Colin hands her a piece of paper, and she raises her eyebrow at him before taking it. He’s immediately replacing it with a piece of cheese from the numerous platters on the table, and that’s how she knows he is, in fact, quite nervous about whatever this is about. So she opens the piece of paper.

“The itinerary for my Europe tour,” he provides, though it wasn’t necessary, as she obviously recognizes the most famous locations. “Wanted to know what you think.”

The paper almost slips from her hands, unfair as he is right now. Of course, he has no way of knowing that he’s asking the one who loves him what she thinks about having him away. Penelope manages to somehow smile in-between the thundering of her own heart.

“You’re asking the opinion of a soon-to-be-spinster who has never left London?”

Joking is safe, she can cover her misgivings so easily with some humour – and Colin is so good at picking it up, matching her in her banter.

“No,” he says, and his thumb is over his lips, where he’s licking a spot of jam, and Penelope is quite distracted by the sight of his tongue in-between his fingers. “I’m asking my friend.”

Her neck snaps with how quickly she moves to meet his gaze. There’s a warmth feeling spreading all through her body, overwhelming with how pleased she is at the simple fact that he considers her a friend, how shocked at such admission.

“Are we not? Friends, that is.”

“Of course,” she adds, a bit too fast, and he smiles.

“Then?” the tone of his voice now turns teasing again.

“Colin,” she says, and her mouth twists in a smile just at the syllables making up his name. “You’re a young man: if there’s a world out there you wish to see, all you have to do is go.”

Even if she has to say goodbye, even if she has to see him go, just because she knows it’ll make him happy.

***

Penelope can feel herself getting physically sick. It’s been years now, of her silent love growing and growing in her chest – and it would seem that this moment would destroy it all.

Colin, standing in-between his brothers, having just shouted at the top of his lungs that he will never marry one Penelope Featherington, looks quite livid now that the exact person has been standing in the doorway for long enough to have heard him. Their eyes meet, and she wishes, with all the strength she is capable of, that he would say something. She waits – five seconds: the eldest, Anthony, starts finding excuses for his brother, but there’s really nothing else she wants to hear right now.

She knows her hands are trembling, which is why she hides it by fisting the material of her dress. She knows her voice cracks, when she says his name, but that’s just because she will absolutely not cry in front of three perfectly fine gentlemen over something that is entirely her problem. All things considered, she thinks she handled the situation more gracefully than a lot of others would have.

And when the other Bridgerton men leave the room, and Colin is left stumbling through his apologies, she discovers how meaningless she actually finds them. Because even with her heart breaking exactly because of the one she loves, she finds herself unable to love him any less. Yes, her pride is wounded, but he has said nothing that she didn’t know so well so far.

“I assure you, it is quite alright.”

The pain is there, sharp and terrible – but she will play pretend and she will say whatever words he needs to hear right now, because while he was unnecessary cruel, he was never so in front of her, on purpose, and there’s no need for her to be mean in return. And most of all, because she loves him so desperately, she doesn’t want him to be pained over this, not like she is. Anguished, really, and when Colin shakes his head, knowing that whatever apologies he’s given aren’t enough, but certain enough that he can’t give more, she almost runs in her haste to get away from him.

To get somewhere where she can cry her feelings out. Though her love, as every time, always lingers.

***

Her mother should get an award for the most optimist person, seeing how even with two of her daughters married, she still insists on parading a third one through ballrooms and promenades, as unsuccessful as they prove each and every time, and as old as they both keep getting.

Her mother should also get an award for way less flattering awards, seeing how she insists on dressing her daughter in the most terrible, happy colours, and pointing at third-rate suitors even as they’re standing right in the middle of the ballroom and it’s incredibly embarrassing.

In her defence, once they’re there and once it’s obviously clear Penelope is as unsuccessful as during any other social gathering before, she is left pretty much alone the rest of the time. She’s a wallflower, so just standing on the side of the dance floor and looking awkward is what she does best. The worst part is that this situation puts one quite in the spotlight of everyone else present, especially those old enough to have no other occupation but gossip.

Violet Bridgerton elbows her son in his back, hard. Who knew his mother has such incredibly sharp bones, or such a demanding tone? Colin has been home for a total of two days before he’s been dragged to the first ball, and he’s allowed three sips of his drinks before all attention-seeking young debutantes and their sharp mamas accosted him (which included his own dear one). Colin balances his options, and without even hesitating, he walks across the room to join Penelope in her sulking.

“I imagine these fine gentlemen are all waiting for their chance,” he says, looking around at several old lords, twice her age, which he knows she would not consider an eligible match no matter how desperate, “but would you maybe do me the honour of the next dance?”

She snorts. “I see you’re back and as amusing as ever.”

“You find me amusing?” he asks, already grinning.

“Colin Bridgerton, I’m not complimenting you again, lest it gets to your head,” she retorts.

“I missed you too, Pen.”

And it’s true. He didn’t realise it until just this moment, when they’ve fallen to their usual dynamic with no bit of awkwardness, even after the past months with his absence. It shames him just the tiniest bit that it has taken his mother’s most unkind pressure to even come by her side.

The orchestra starts its next song, and he extends his arm to her, which she takes with a blush and a shy smile. He is in fact her first dance for the night, and she has no doubt it’ll be the only one as well, which is a shame, since she always quite enjoyed dancing. Dances with good partners are the highlight of a party. Dances with Colin Bridgerton are the highlight of the season.

“Thank you,” she says, and if Colin wasn’t already leaned quite close to her, he maybe would have missed it entirely.

***

Penelope really should have learnt better by now – that her heart is never entirely safe with Colin. Be it that he has a tendency to step all over it, or that it makes it beat so fast, that she starts understanding all the ladies who faint all over during a season.

Being engaged with him doesn’t really change the situation. Not when his kisses make her feel like everything that she’s considered so bad in herself is worth the entire world, and then more.

With his hands now swiftly unlacing her dress, the shadow of his room all around them – she finds she cannot keep another secret for this man that is to be her husband,

“I love you,” she sighs. “I have loved you for years.”

“I know.”

How unfair he is, to the bitter end. Even as he essentially accosted her in his carriage, even as he asked her to marry him, even as he defended her in front of her numerous family, getting offended on her behalf, getting worried on her behalf… Terrible man that she loves, terrible man that Colin is, he drags out his own admittance as long as possible.

And she loves him for it, too.

#bridgerton #bridgerton series #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #colin/penelope #bridgerton fanfic #colin x penelope #polin

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tsarisfanfiction · 3 years

Text

Long Way From Home: Chapter 10

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Friendship Characters: Scott, Tracy Family

Well, the last chapter ended with some really lovely trust-building... so I decided that’s more than enough generosity from me for Scott and the panic attack warning is back! What, you didn’t think I was gonna let him off that lightly, did you?

Still shopping, still Scott&TOS!Gordon everywhere, and more hoodie shenanigans! You know, that hoodie’s given me a real headache (and is half the reason this shopping trip’s got so long; TOS why no hoodies? Scott wanting a hoodie was only supposed to be a throwaway line, not an entire plot point)...

<<<Chapter 9

Silence lingered between them, Scott focusing on the touch on his shoulder to keep himself grounded, before the younger man broke it again. “Say, George is taking a while.”

“Taking a well-deserved break,” Scott retorted, and Other-Gordon chuckled.

“I wouldn’t blame the fella,” he agreed.

There was a knock on the door and a new man entered, George immediately behind him.

“Mr Tracy,” he greeted. “Mr Tracy. I am the manager of the store, Jeremy. My man tells me you’d like to order a custom hoodie?” The newly-introduced Jeremy was looking at Scott, presumably because he was the oldest and therefore the assumption was that he was in charge – or the one with the money – and he really hoped his discomfort at Mr Tracy didn’t show.

“That’s right, Jeremy.” Other-Gordon pounced, immediately drawing the attention towards him. “And there’s no need for formality. Just call me Gordon, and he’s just Scott.” Jeremy, Scott was pleased to see, didn’t appear to be anywhere near as overwhelmed as George. The other man was lingering back somewhat uncertainly by the pile of jeans and polos they’d already chosen, clearly content to let his manager deal with them.

“Very well,” the manager said. “We are, of course, more than happy to oblige.” He presented Other-Gordon with a stack of catalogues, which the ginger immediately started flicking through. Scott peered over his shoulder to see pages and pages of what apparently got classified as a hoodie in this universe.

So far, none of them looked at all appealing.

“If you’d like to select a basic style, we can then discuss the desired alterations and take your measurements,” Jeremy continued. “Typically we should be able to complete it within seven working days.”

“That sounds good to me,” Other-Gordon shrugged. He glanced up at where Scott was still peering over his shoulder. “Should I let you pick?”

Scott assumed that was just to keep up the ruse, but he took the invitation to pluck the catalogues out of the other man’s hands and flick through them. Knowing that it would be modified to specifications helped, but as he couldn’t actually say what he wanted, he wanted to find something as close as possible to work from as a base.

Other-Gordon struck up a conversation with Jeremy while he looked, but Scott didn’t bother to listen in. Anything important, the ginger should recap for him when it became relevant.

Eventually, he found the section that focused on the top and the hood separately, and realised that all of the previous examples were a complete waste of his time when he could basically pick and choose from options, much in the same way they constructed Pods to best suit the rescue.

With that mindset, the whole task suddenly became much less intimidating. Scott perused the individual sections intently, occasionally jabbing at the page and flicking his finger up as though he was selecting something on a holoscreen, only to blink when the image didn’t move.

Printed paper. Not a hologram.

Hopefully, Other-Gordon was keeping Jeremy distracted enough that his habitual slip-ups didn’t catch any attention.

“Is everything alright, M- Scott?”

George. He’d forgotten about George.

The man had come up next to him while he was looking at the options, and was eyeing him with something that looked a little confused and – oh hell, was that pity? What had he done to get that?

He opened his mouth, remembered he wasn’t supposed to talk, and shut it again before giving a firm nod. No, things were not alright, but he wasn’t about to admit that to anyone, let alone a sales assistant he knew nothing about.

George retreated, but hesitantly enough that Scott knew he wasn’t convinced. Dammit.

Other-Gordon hadn’t come to his rescue this time, still talking with Jeremy, so Scott shoved the incident away and tried to focus on the catalogues in front of him again. It didn’t work; he could feel George watching him, and the same emotions he’d experienced at Lemaires’ started to bubble up.

That was not good. George was watching him, George was suspicious that something was wrong, the bandages around his knuckles felt all too visible, and Scott could feel the walls around their minor deception crumbling away.

He needed George to stop watching. He needed Other-Gordon to step in and catch his attention, get the spotlight off of him so he could ground himself again. He needed to pull himself together, and he couldn’t do that while George was watching.

He turned a page, more to do something than because he was paying any attention to what was on it, and it rustled. His hand was shaking. The instinct to turn it into a fist was strong, but there was paper in his hand and that would make a noise and then everyone would know something was wrong.

He couldn’t retreat into the changing room with clothes to try on because there were none left. He couldn’t leave the room without drawing attention to himself. He couldn’t even catch Other-Gordon’s attention without George noticing that.

Other-Gordon was out of arm’s reach.

Four for Four.

Normally, Scott would never even consider it. Normally, Scott would be somewhere where everyone knew exactly who he was and he could talk and walk out of the room without consequence. Normally, it wasn’t someone else’s reputation on the line.

It was that last one that tipped it. Scott didn’t care about his own reputation, but it was Other-Scott who would take the hit and Scott could never, ever, let someone else take a hit that should be his.

But…

He didn’t need to get out, he just needed George distracted.

Four for Four.

Other-Gordon was out of arm’s reach. He couldn’t poke him once and be done with it.

George was still watching. His chest felt like someone had constricted it with a rubber band. Breathing normally was becoming more and more of a battle.

He scuffed his foot against the floor.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

He couldn’t do the fourth. Fourth meant get me out of here and it was less him that needed to leave and more George that needed to stop watching.

Three wasn’t an arranged signal. Would Other-Gordon notice it? Would he understand it?

Scott glanced at the ginger and saw that he was still talking to Jeremy. No change.

Dammit. He turned another page, not seeing what was on it. The rustling was louder.

“-won’t take up your valuable time,” Other-Gordon was saying. “Once we’ve decided on the pattern, we’ll call for you.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” Jeremy replied. “Please, don’t hesitate to reach out.”

“As soon as we’ve decided,” Other-Gordon repeated.

“Very well.” Scott was too busy trying to keep his breathing even to pay much attention to what Jeremy was saying, but when George was uttered, he forced himself to listen. “-leave Gordon and Scott while they decide. If you could help me gather a collection of material samples in the meantime-”

He stopped listening again as the invisible rubber band around his chest squeezed tighter. Beneath his fingers, he could feel paper crumpling, and then there were hands coaxing him into letting go.

“Scott, can you hear me?” Warm hands grasped his and he nodded. Keeping his breathing even was all but impossible now, lungs stuttering and chest heaving. “Okay, do you think you can match my breathing?” One of his hands was pressed against a shirt, only it was rising and falling in an exaggerated fashion. Other-Gordon’s chest, his brain supplied. “In…” The chest rose slowly and steadily. “And out…”

Scott tried, latching onto the steady count and the steady rise and fall against his hand, but then he was hiccupping and any attempts to keep control over his breathing were destroyed by the interruptions.

Other-Gordon didn’t let go. “Tell me five things you can see,” he said instead.

He was in full calm rescuer mode again. Scott recognised that, just like he recognised the task. Normally, he was on the other end, coaxing someone else through the routine. Normally-

“Scott! Five things.”

Blinking, he dragged the world back into focus. Other-Gordon was right in front of him, exuding calmness even though he was clearly worried as well.

“You,” he gasped, forcing the word out past a hiccup.

Other-Gordon rewarded him with a reassuring smile. “What else?”

What else? They were in a room, there was a- “Door.” It was shut. Nearby was a pile of- “Clothes.” The ones they’d already chosen. Mostly blue. Blue was the best colour.

“That’s three,” Other-Gordon counted. “Two more, Scott.”

Two more. Right. He moved his head around to the side. “Rack.” The rejected clothes were still hanging on it, where it was pressed up against the wall. “Wall.” The wallpaper looked like someone had taken one of John’s shirts and decided it made good décor. It really didn’t.

“Okay,” Other-Gordon said, still calm. “That’s good. Four things you can feel.”

He was still holding his hands. They were warm.

Scott squeezed one lightly. “Hand,” he listed. Beneath his other hand, where Other-Gordon’s chest was still rising and falling like clockwork, he could feel the silk of the other man’s clothes. “Shirt. Bandages.” They were still tight across his knuckles, linen brushing against his skin in a way he was suddenly hyper aware of.

Another stream of hiccups interrupted him, his diaphragm lunging awkwardly inside his chest. Other-Gordon held him steady, not moving but keeping his presence there.

“One more,” he coaxed after they passed, and Scott took a deep breath in.

Something else he could feel – hand, shirt, bandages. Around his wrist there was a weight, barely there but different. “Watch.” Other-Scott’s analogue watch. He still hadn’t returned it. Was he supposed to?

“You’re doing great,” Other-Gordon assured him. “Three things you can hear.”

“You.” Gordon was always making noise and Other-Gordon was doing the same. If he wasn’t talking, it was the steady in and out of his breath. It was the noise that promised he wasn’t alone. “Me.” He could hear his own breathing, stuttered and slightly wheezy. His heartbeat, sounding out a rhythm that was starting to slow down.

Other than them, the room was silent. Jeremy and George were gone, a fact that he only just registered, leaving just him and Other-Gordon. Scott closed his eyes, trying to find another sound.

Their watches were perfectly synchronised, the tick, tick, tick, of the seconds emitting from both their wrists. Scott wasn’t used to watches that made noises – at least, not the regular clockwork ticks of seconds passing by – and in the silence they seemed loud. “Watches,” he said, before Other-Gordon could prompt him again.

He opened his eyes again to see Other-Gordon wearing something that looked a lot more like a smile than earlier. Absently, he noticed that his chest wasn’t being compressed any more.

“Two things you can smell.”

Focusing was easier now. This close, and paying attention to it, Other-Gordon’s aftershave was easily detectable. The room itself smelt of some sort of furniture polish, no doubt coming from the desk he now remembered was behind him. He offered both to the waiting Other-Gordon, and got a proper smile from him.

“Okay, one thing you can taste.”

It had been hours since he’d eaten anything, the last thing being that apple pie Other-Scott had also descended upon. Unfortunately, the residual taste had long gone, leaving him with nothing but the usual bland saliva inside his mouth and the taste of indoor, slightly-furniture-polish tainted, air.

Other-Gordon chuckled when he mentioned that.

“We’ll find some food before the return flight,” he promised, grin just one side of cheeky, before the more serious expression settled back on his face. “Are you good to talk?”

Ideally, Scott wanted to pretend that hadn’t happened and carry on with the shopping, but he knew better than to think Other-Gordon was going to willingly drop the subject. His hand was still pressing against the other man’s chest, and he pulled it back, although he didn’t let go of the warm hand.

“As good as I’ll get,” he admitted begrudgingly, and Other-Gordon nodded.

“I’ll keep it brief,” he promised. “Why three times?”

He had noticed. Noticed and acted upon it, despite it not being an agreed signal.

“I didn’t need to get out,” he said. Amber eyes narrowed at him, Other-Gordon’s disagreement palatable. “I needed them out.”

“What was the difference?”

What was the difference? Scott frowned. At the time it had been so clear, but the other side of the panic attack, putting his finger on precisely what he’d wanted was harder.

“If we left, coming back would be odd,” he settled on.

“Okay,” Other-Gordon accepted, although Scott didn’t think he was entirely happy with the answer. “You still want to keep shopping?”

“I’m not quitting,” Scott said firmly. There was the hint of an eyeroll from the younger man.

“Well, no-one’s ever accused Scott Tracy of being a quitter,” he commented, clearly amused, before the seriousness returned. “When we get back to the car, we’re creating a full set of signals,” he promised. “And I want you to tell me if you’re seeing a pattern.”

Scott saw the sense in both of those, even if needing to do it rankled. It was to make sure he didn’t inadvertently throw Other-Scott under the paparazzi bus, he reminded himself, well aware that Other-Gordon’s motivation was not that but refusing to face that one. As long as he focused on it being for Other-Scott’s benefit, he could do it.

Begrudgingly, he nodded.

That seemed to satisfy Other-Gordon enough, as he stepped back, out of his personal space, and let go of Scott’s hand. Scott let him. “Did you see anything you liked in the catalogue?” he asked, retrieving it from wherever he’d put it earlier. One of the pages was crumpled.

“I was getting there,” Scott admitted, plucking it from his hands and trying to ignore the crumpled page as he quickly flicked back to the customisation section at the back. “This,” he pointed out, finding the right page. “With this, this and this.”

His fingers automatically swiped again, and he grit his teeth. With only Other-Gordon as witness it didn’t invite the panic to surge back up, but he could feel calculating eyes on them. There was no comment, though.

Instead, the catalogue was whisked from his hands and the other man repeated his selection back at him. Clearly, he’d been read again, but if it kept their secret then he’d accept it. Other-Gordon was simply trying to help, and if he was using his knowledge of his own brother to help him read Scott, then that was fair enough. He was doing the same, after all.

“You looking for more blue, or some variety this time?” Other-Gordon asked. “The fellas’ll be back with fabric and colour samples in a minute.”

“Probably,” Scott shrugged. There was always a chance he’d see something else he’d like better, but blue made for a safe default.

Oher-Gordon made an amused noise. “You ready to face them again?”

“I’ll be fine,” spilled out of his mouth automatically, and a ginger eyebrow raised at him. He sighed. “I should be fine,” he corrected. The eyebrow stayed raised. “Can we just get this over with, please?”

“Four for Four,” the younger man reminded him in an obvious concession, before strolling over to the door and opening it. “Ah, Jeremy! Good timing; Scott finally settled on something.”

Scott had a sudden fear that the manager had been standing outside the door long enough to hear what they’d been saying, but squashed it ruthlessly. Other-Gordon would handle it if he thought it was a problem.

Jeremy entered as Other-Gordon stepped aside for him, George appearing behind him. Both men were carrying fabrics with different patterns and colours.

“Wonderful!” the manager beamed. “Here are the fabrics we have available in stock at the moment. If none of these suit, then we do have a wider selection, but we will need to contact the suppliers for a shipment.” The two men settled their armfuls onto the table, and without prompting Scott headed over to start sorting through them. “Would you like assistance?”

Scott waved both men off as they started to hover, no doubt intending on pitching their most expensive options, although that was less of a concern than the fear one of them – particularly George – was looking at him too closely.

Other-Gordon swept them both up in conversation about the selection he’d chosen, pages of the catalogue turning as he gestured, and Scott tuned it out as he rummaged through the fabrics in front of him. Judging by feel, he discarded all the ones that weren’t cotton or similarly soft – hoodies were for comfort, and that was what he was going to prioritise – before critically eyeing the patterns on the remaining ones.

There were several different shades of blue, which he automatically headed for, before pausing. At the bottom of the pile, in amongst a cluster of loudly patterned monstrosities better suited for Gordon’s tastes, was a flash of red. Pulling it out to look at, he swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat.

Red and black chequers greeted him as he shook it out. It wasn’t an identical pattern to Virgil’s favourite flannel shirt, but it was close enough to have his fingers trembling as he held it up.

The pile of blue, varying shades and patterns and his automatic go-to, was instantly forgotten. He didn’t normally wear those colours, unless he was borrowing Virgil’s flannels for some reason, but here, in another universe, it felt a little bit like home.

The lump in his throat felt tighter, and he was glad no-one expected him to say anything because right then he wasn’t sure he could. Still, he gave himself a moment, because Other-Gordon was still talking, still distracting, and he refused to have another breakdown. Especially over this.

He didn’t even bother looking at the other patterns. There was nothing else there, not even any of the blue ones, that could possibly change his mind.

After half a minute or so, he turned around to face the other three men in the room, red and black chequered fabric in his hands.

Other-Gordon’s eyes widened in surprise, and Scott felt a little smug that he wasn’t completely predictable.

“A fine choice!” Jeremy beamed, and Scott got the suspicion he’d picked one of the pricier patterns. “Will that be all?” The question was, mercifully, directed at Other-Gordon, who had slipped back into his analytical expression and was clearly revising some earlier conclusions.

“That’s all, Jeremy,” he confirmed. As well as it being the conclusion of everything on the list, Scott was fairly sure that despite their earlier conversation and his own claims that he’d be fine, Other-Gordon thought they needed to leave the shop sooner rather than later.

“In that case, I’ll leave you with George to take the measurements while I calculate the bill,” the manager declared, and Other-Gordon nodded.

“That sounds excellent,” he agreed. “Thank you for your help, Jeremy.”

“It was no problem at all,” the manager replied. “Thank you for your custom.”

Something about the way he said it put Scott on edge, but Other-Gordon continued to grin delightedly until the man left. Without the barrier of his manager, George immediately looked a little flustered again.

“If you’d like to follow me, M- Scott,” he invited, pulling a measuring tape out of a pocket as he headed for another door. Ah yes, the fitting bit. Why couldn’t Other-Scott have agreed to swiping one off the shelf? Still, he reluctantly followed, Other-Gordon keeping pace by his side, entering a small room with a stool in the centre and mirrors surrounding it. While nowhere near as lavish as Lemaires’, it was still clearly a fitting room.

He barely waited for George’s instruction before stepping up onto the stool, hoping this wasn’t going to take too long.

It didn’t, although it was still longer than Madeleine’s quick and nimble fingers. Scott felt like a puppet on a string as he was asked to turn, raise his arms, lower his arms, and the rest of the seemingly-ridiculous contortions required for accurate measurements. The neckline measurements were not fun – Scott was not a fan of things wrapping around his neck, even if it was a measuring tape wielded by a tailor – but he held still and hoped neither of the other men in the room noticed.

Other-Gordon almost certainly did. Those amber eyes hadn’t left him the entire time since Jeremy had left.

George finally stepped back and let him off the stool, coiling the tape measure back up and making one last scrawl on the clipboard he’d been using to record.

“Thanks, George,” Other-Gordon said before he could say a word. “That’ll be everything. How about you go on ahead and give those numbers to Jeremy?”

His tone was friendly enough, but George jumped and nodded before all but fleeing from the room. It was Scott’s turn to raise an eyebrow. The dismissal of their sales assistant might as well have screamed that Other-Gordon wanted a private word.

“If Jeremy hasn’t called the paparazzi I’ll eat my hat,” the ginger said without preamble. “If his shop gets in the papers with our name attached, he’ll get good business.”

So that was what the manager had meant earlier. Scott supposed he should have seen it coming, although with social media back home it was usually a case of someone snapping a single photo and loading it online for everyone to see, rather than calling the press.

“The Tracy name makes good advertising,” he commented dryly.

“That it does,” Other-Gordon agreed. “Remember, no talking. Don’t let the sunglasses or hat fall off, because Scott will murder me if the press suggests he’s going grey, and keep your hand in your pocket.”

His hand? Scott glanced down and saw the bandages wrapped around his knuckles. He stuffed it in a pocket. “They’d have a field day with that, wouldn’t they?” he observed grimly. Other-Gordon shrugged in agreement.

“Most likely.” Amber eyes looked at him seriously. “And remember, four for Four. We’ll have to give them something, but we’re absolutely not giving them a panic attack to gossip over. If you need out, tell me.”

Scott nodded. He knew what paparazzi were like, and he was mostly certain he’d be fine, but he was well aware it wasn’t his reputation on the line. For Other-Scott, he could ask for help.

“Any questions?” Other-Gordon asked, and Scott shook his head.

“I know paparazzi,” he assured him. “They might not be identical here, but I’ll be surprised if it’s too different.”

Other-Gordon grinned. “In that case, let’s get this over with.”

There was no paparazzi in the main shop, it transpired as they left the side room to re-enter the shop floor, but Scott could hear a crowd of people outside. He did his best to ignore them as Other-Gordon chatted with Jeremy, making the payments while side-stepping any promises to promote the shop and arranging for collection of the items that weren’t ready to be taken away.

Scott was delighted that at least some packages – tied up in brown paper and string before being deposited in bags emblazoned with what had to be the shop’s name – were ready to go; it meant he’d have something that wasn’t Other-Scott’s to change into as soon as they got back to the island.

“Do you need someone to carry the bags for you?” Jeremy was asking, and Scott rolled his eyes, taking advantage of the dark shades Other-Scott had insisted upon. His motives couldn’t be more transparent if he tried, with the paparazzi buzzing around outside. Still, Other-Scott had told him to leave the paparazzi nonsense to Other-Gordon, so he kept his body language neutral and waited for the other man to respond.

“Thanks for the offer, but Scott and I can manage just fine,” Other-Gordon grinned. “I’d say we’ve taken up quite enough of your time today, Jeremy.”

“It really wouldn’t be a bother,” the manager insisted, but Other-Gordon remained firm, handing some of the bags to Scott – specifically his right hand, in a less than subtle reminder that his bandaged left was to stay hidden in his pocket – and taking the others himself.

“Thanks for all your help,” Other-Gordon said. “Scott’ll be back to collect the other items later, as we agreed.”

Scott wondered what Other-Scott was going to have to say about being forced to pick up the hoodie he’d clearly been reluctant about. Then again, he’d been the one to insist on the custom, so maybe he was already aware Other-Gordon was going to pull that. He wondered what the contingency plan was if Other-Scott was caught up in a rescue, as their continued secrecy in this universe meant he couldn’t turn up in Thunderbird One and IR uniform.

Other-Gordon turned and started walking towards the door, dismissing Jeremy’s continued attempts to help them carry the bags – or rather, to get involved with the paparazzi. Scott followed him, and hoped this wasn’t going to turn into a total disaster.

Cameras flashed the moment the door opened, and Scott found himself very thankful for the shades as they stopped him from being blinded.

The different technologies were immediately obvious; instead of small, sleek cameras, there were big ones with large mirrors and bulbs for maximum subject-blinding. Scott never thought he’d miss the paparazzi, of all things, but he found he vastly preferred not being blinded while they took his photograph.

The noise, however, was the same. Voice after voice clamouring for answers, parroting questions at the speed of light as microphones were shoved in his face. Immediately ahead of him, Other-Gordon had stopped, and sensing which brother was willing to talk, the reporters flocked straight to the aquanaut.

“Gordon Tracy!” they were all saying, talking over each other. Scott made out snatches of words like “clothes” and “shopping” and “unusual”, but focused on doing his best to not be the centre of attention – which was much harder than he thought it would be. Then again, he was used to being the one the rest of his brothers hid behind, rather than being the one doing the hiding.

He kept his gaze firmly focused on the ginger hair in front of him, and tried to ignore any stray microphones or occasional calls of his own name as he was noticed. The problem with paparazzi was that they didn’t know how to give up, and the fact that he wasn’t even saying ‘no comment’ was drawing more and more of them like flies.

Other-Gordon was talking to the majority that had flooded him with microphones and notebooks, and Scott was fairly sure he heard the word bet at least once. Unfortunately, that appeared to get more of them swarming over to him.

“What do you think of your brother’s choice of forfeit?”

“Do you think these might be a permanent addition to your wardrobe?”

“What does your father think of this?”

That last one hurt, and Scott had to fight not to let his reactions show on his face.

“Scott Tracy!”

He was sorely tempted to walk to the car to try and shake them off, except paparazzi were entirely unshakeable, and if he tried that without Other-Gordon, there would be a problem. Thankfully, he wasn’t feeling anything beyond the usual annoyance at being hounded; whatever the reason might be, it wasn’t panic inducing – at least, not yet, although he was hoping it was going to stay that way – but Scott still wasn’t enjoying the ordeal.

Other-Gordon was moving, stepping backwards towards his side, and Scott looked at him out of the corner of his eye as he put his hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry, everyone,” he said loudly enough to catch their attention. “I’m afraid Scott’s lost his voice, so he can’t answer your questions today.”

That, of course, sparked a whole new set of questions. What had happened? Was he ill? Why was he out and about if he couldn’t talk? Other-Gordon defected all of them, somehow managing not to answer anything specific while also not contradicting the earlier tale he’d spun for Madeline after the first panic attack.

For his part, now that the attention was on him, Scott plastered a grin on his face, like the ones he tended to pull when he was ‘no comment’ing his way through crowds of them at home, and prayed the hat and shades were doing enough to hide the few differences in his and Other-Scott’s appearances from eagle-eyed paparazzi and – once the photos were published – the rest of the world. Other-Gordon, doubtlessly by design, had come to stand on his left, close enough that it would be difficult to extract his hand from his pocket on purpose, let alone accidentally.

He was also close enough that Scott would have no problem doing four for Four if need be, something else he was certain Other-Gordon had done on purpose. Scott didn’t take the offer; as he’d hoped, the paparazzi crowd wasn’t enough to send him into a panic, so he stayed quiet and let the younger man handle them with an ease that belied practice. Of course, this universe’s Gordon was an Olympic Champion, too.

“I think that’s enough questions for today,” Other-Gordon finally said, pressing on the back of Scott’s shoulder in what he assumed was a signal to walk forwards. “Thank you for your time, but we’ve got more shopping to be doing, so this’ll be all.”

Of course, they didn’t just accept that and leave, but Scott kept walking forwards, towards the car, with Other-Gordon at his side now saying “no comment” to the questions still hurtled their way, and the crowd unwillingly parted to let them through.

The bags were placed in the footwells of the back seat, and Scott clambered into the passenger seat as quickly as he could without looking like he was trying to flee – or letting any of them catch a glimpse of his bandaged hand. Other-Gordon wasted no time in putting the car in drive, and then they were pulling out of the car park a little faster than Scott suspected they should.

“You endured that longer than I thought you would,” Other-Gordon commented once they’d left the shop and its hovering paparazzi’s sight. “I thought for sure you were going to bail when they asked about Dad’s opinions.”

That was a little too close to their agreed-upon taboo subject, but Scott let it slide.

“I’m used to difficult questions from them,” he admitted. “And I’ve got a lot of experience in ignoring persistent questions.” He paused for a split second before grinning. “I have four younger brothers, after all.”

Other-Gordon laughed. “I suppose that’s true,” he agreed. “Still, they didn’t seem to suspect a thing, so I’d say it was a success. Scott’ll have to deal with the fallout of being ‘seen’ out and about without a voice, but he can handle that. He’ll just charm everyone until they forget about it.” He sighed. “In a way it’s a shame you can’t interact with everyone. It’d be interesting to see how you differ from him socially.”

“How’s your analysis coming along?” Scott asked, raising an eyebrow at him. “I know you’ve been watching me.”

“Well, it’s a lot harder when I’ve only got your body language to go on,” Other-Gordon admitted. “Difference in fashion aside, your tastes are mostly similar, except for that hoodie. Why red and black?”

Scott shrugged, not quite willing to admit the truth on that one. “Wanted to catch you out,” he grinned instead. “It’s weird how easily you’re picking things up, even if it’s because you’re basing it on your actual brother.”

“Scott goes for white or brown first if not blue,” Other-Gordon frowned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him go for red, and definitely not over blue like that. There were some very Scott-favoured blues in the pile.”

Scott smirked. “Maybe we’re not as similar as you thought.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Other-Gordon promised, eyes narrowed in the same way Gordon did when he’d spotted a challenge. Scott hoped he didn’t, but at the same time much preferred him focusing on that rather than everything they’d been discussing earlier that day on Tracy Island.

Chapter 11>>>

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #scott tracy #gordon tracy #long way from home

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infriga · 4 years

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Well yeah but that was after seeing the gross monster that particular food made he was happy at the suggestion of ordering a pizza though in together breakfast. All that mattered to him was spending time together, it seemed like he had to BEG for it in early SU. And then of course in SUF, after all the effort earlier in his life, and time spent doing nothing felt like it was undeserved and it hurt to just try and spend time with people you love. They took too long to reciprocate.

My post about the together breakfast was mainly poking fun at how people had an existencial crisis over Steven not liking things that he used to like as if it made him a completely different person. In reality out of the three things they suggested that he supposedly used to like only one of them was something he was ever actually into beyond like one episode, if at all. He was never into Pupcopter during SU, he was into Dogcopter. Pupcopter is basically the version meant for extremely young children, and would be like asking a 16 year old to watch Paw Patrol with you. And he didn't even want to eat the Together Breakfast by the end of its titular episode. It only showed up one other time during one brief scene during the wedding as a call back, vanished before the ceremony started, and was otherwise never seen again as far as I can remember. Only the cheeseburger backpack was something he liked and used that he stopped using in Future, but he'd still kept it and still used a hot dog duffle bag, so it wasn't like he hated it or didn't still use food themed bags, he just didn't want to use a bag that was 4 years old, possibly because it's actually really annoying to use a bag with too many pockets when you're using it for something important like school. So I always felt like it was a bit of an overreaction. I don't mean the jokes and stuff people made, I'm sure many of them weren't serious and were just joking around about our little boy growing up, but I remember there were plenty of people taking it way too seriously. I specifically recall one person literally stating that Steven had become a "husk of his former self" after that episode which is patently ridiculous, and I got a bit peeved about it back then. I noticed the ending of Together Breakfast during a rewatch so I thought I'd make a sassy post about it. But I do want to address something you mentioned in this ask seriously, as well as some other things related to it that are on my mind regarding Future.

Edit: I’m putting the rest of this under a cut because I didn’t realize how long this got when I wrote it on my phone. TL;DR: I believe Snow Day is more about Steven’s imposter syndrome than about the gems taking too long to reciprocate his desire to spend time with them. Below is a bunch of my thoughts about Steven’s shift from seeing gem missions as adventures and a way to hang out with the gems to seeing them as a responsibility and something he was obligated to do for the greater good whether he wanted to or not.

You're right that in the beginning he got left alone a lot and often had to beg the gems to spend time with him, and he felt as if he had to be a crystal gem and be useful in order to go on missions with them, which he thought was his only way to hang out with them as shown in An Indirect Kiss. But later on things changed in that department. The gems did start spending more time with him outside of missions, the problem was that his desire to be useful and help with missions morphed into something else. Take The Test as an example. In the beginning of the episode the gems are playing a board game with Steven, spending time with him and having fun with something that wasn't related to missions. But then their time hanging out together is interrupted when Steven finds the statue from the moon spire and expresses guilt over leaving it behind, leading to the revelation that it was a test he failed. In a way that scene is the perfect analogy for the change in his views regarding missions, because that episode is when Steven's treatment of missions shifts from cool adventures to an obligation, and it's also when his priorities shift from himself and what he wants, to others and what they need. It stops being about his desires of being included, and starts being about putting his own problems aside to help others, and about him wanting to live up to the expectations others have of him. He was expected to pass an easy test and he failed, and because of that the spire was destroyed. The gems didn't know how to handle him, so he ignored his own hurt and feelings of inadequacy to make them feel better and boost their confidence. And from that point on, he mostly acted based on the greater good, and on not falling short of what others expected of him because he was afraid of the potentially destructive consequences of failure. You can really see the difference between how Steven saw missions during Cheeseburger backpack and how he saw them later on after the test when you go back to rewatch that episode. In Cheeseburger Backpack he saw it as a chance to do something fun and cool with the gems, to be a member of their exclusive group, which is a view he still has by An Indirect Kiss, though he's already started to see it as him having to live up to his mother's legacy, at that point he just sees that as his method of being able to hang out with them by being useful. After The Test he takes things much more seriously as a duty that he's obligated to do for the sake of the earth, and as something he sees as a responsibility. You can especially see this in Marble Madness just 6 episodes later, where Connie treats the events occurring as something cool and adventurous, while Steven treats it as an important issue that they've been dealing with, one that by the third interruption he's clearly not happy about. Sure, you could argue that it's because of what happens between those episodes causing him to take things more seriously, like Mirror/Ocean Gem or Warp Tour, but The Test has been noted by Rebecca and others as a turning point for Steven for a reason. Now I’m not saying Steven didn’t want to help people for the sake of helping people, he did because he’s a good kid who’s empathetic and kind, but he also clearly grew to view the missions and gem drama as more important than how he felt, even when they were something he didn’t want to do or resulted in him getting hurt and upset. He ended up thinking that helping people was more important than what he wanted or needed, and that came to a head in Future when his problems came back to bite him all at once and he couldn’t dismiss them anymore. The problem wasn’t that he wanted to help people, the problem was that he pushed his own needs aside to do it at any cost.

So I don't think the issue in Snow Day was that their reciprocation was too late, because they'd reciprocated before that point. I think the problem was that the way they reciprocated played into his feelings of inadequacy and his fear of falling short of the expectations of others. He grew up feeling like he couldn't live up to his mother's legacy, and even after he managed to break free of that he started feeling like he couldn't live up to his own legacy. He thought people didn't see him for who he really is now, and we learn in Everything's Fine that on top of his ptsd he has a really bad case of imposter syndrome. So when the gems want to spend time with him and they base it on the person he used to be years ago, it just further plays in to the idea that they haven't been paying attention to he is now, that he's still being seen as the 14 year old who saved the galaxy, and that's who they want him to be again. It would feel very isolating and alienating for the parents who say they miss you to act like they miss who you used to be rather than who you are currently.

That said, it was good that by the end of the episode he told them how he felt and they adjusted their behaviour. personally I do still think that episode had a happy ending all things considered, and I don't think it contributed much if at all to his issues down the line, it just wasn't enough to prevent them. I think it served more as a hint to some of his insecurities regarding how he felt like a fraud because he thought everyone saw him as something he wasn't.

I find it interesting how some people reacted to that episode and to Steven during Future in general. We the audience should know that he is a good person and not a monster, and that his mistakes don't define him, and that he should be allowed to change without being held up to an impossible standard, because that's what the show has always championed: the ability to grow. Yet a vocal section of the audience reacted in a way that bought into the kind of insecurities Steven had cultivated. They reacted as if a few minor changes were the end of the world, and that because he wasn't exactly the same kind of person he was in SU that meant he was somehow a worse person, a "husk of his former self" so to speak, even though he was still a kind person who wanted to help people. He wasn't refusing to hang out with the gems because he had become asocial and hated them, or because he was an edgy teenager, it was because their attempts at spending time with him were done in a way that made him unhappy. Once they adapted to something more comfortable for him he was perfectly happy to hang out and have fun with them.

The biggest difference between Steven then and now was that Steven issues had built up to a point where they couldn't be pushed aside or ignored anymore. The way he'd helped people in the past had proven to be unhealthy in the long run due to the fact that he always minimized his own needs and desires over those of others. So a chunk of the fandom had done exactly what Steven accused everyone of doing in Everything's Fine: they expected him to be the same kid from before who was perfect, mature, and always knew what to do. They thought of him as an angel who only helped people. In that episode he says "I'm not that kid anymore" but the thing is, he was never that kid. Much of that so-called maturity and decisiveness and perfection was actually just a traumatized child trying to live up to impossible expectations while utilizing unhealthy coping methods to push his own feelings aside in order to help others and save the world.

When Growing Pains aired, a lot of those people went suspiciously silent. No more people calling him edgy, no more people saying he was turning into White Diamond, no more people saying he was making the same mistakes as his mom, no more people accusing him of having developed an ego, and no more people saying Steven was going to be the "villain" of Future. Or at least there were way less people saying those things. That's why I think that episode was so important. It blatantly stated "this is the behaviour of a traumatized 16 year old who has experienced multiple traumatic childhood events. Trauma shapes our behaviours and our physical reactions and has a long lasting or even permanent effect on our body and mind." it made everyone take a long hard look at what Steven had been through through without the rose-tinted lenses of nostalgia. Obviously there were still some people with bad takes calling Steven an asshole, but there were way less of them than there were before the episode slapped us in the face with the reality that the show was taking this seriously and always had been. And I hope it caused a lot of people to take that same hard look at stuff in real life, so they could be aware of the effects of trauma on others instead of harshly judging trauma survivors for not being perfect and having difficulties and struggling, so that they can hopefully stop demonizing the less convenient and less pretty symptoms of trauma as character flaws that make someone evil, and so they can hopefully see things in less black and white or good and evil like the internet is prone to do. And maybe some people can even see those same issues in themselves and feel encouraged to actually seek help, and maybe they can feel like they're seen and heard even if it's just by a cartoon about dancing singing lesbian space rocks.

Sorry this got so long, I have a lot of thoughts about this and I wanted to just get them out there.

#Steven Universe #Steven Universe Future #Meta #Long post #Repy #anonymous

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the-odd-job · 3 years

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Up in Flames chapter 14 - Tear Into You (Ashes Part 2)

Warnings: Major Character Death, Chose Not to Use Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Megatron/Sideswipe, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Characters: Sunstreaker, Megatron Additional Tags: Dubcon, Mechpreg, Sticky Words: 5342

Am I beautiful As I tear you to pieces? Am I beautiful? Even at my ugliest, you always say I'm beautiful As you tear me to pieces You are beautiful Even at your ugliest, I always say You're beautiful and sick like me

— In This Moment – Sick Like Me

( Previous )

It turned into a public event, as little of a surprise as that was. They were gladiators. Fighting for show was what they did, even if the glory days of the Pits were long gone, brought down by Megatron himself.

But gone or not, their world was still familiar to most of the Decepticon army. There were many among their ranks that could appreciate a good showdown between skilled fighters—and Sunstreaker quite enjoyed providing shows of that nature. Didn’t he deserve to be the center of attention, both for what he was and what he could do?

And Megatron as his opponent only did him justice. Could he win? Probably not. Megatron had beaten him every time they had ever fought, rightfully proving himself superior no matter the circumstances.

Would he still give it his best go? Pit yeah. Anything less would’ve been nothing but an embarrassment. As much as winning was the goal, so was entertaining, and testing yourself, pushing yourself to your limit in front of so many appreciative optics.

And this side of the war definitely could appreciate real fights like the Autobots never did. The Autobots were more concerned with not going overt with the damage inflicted during sparring, and real fights were supposed to be off the table entirely, as little as Sunstreaker had ever followed that rule.

The Decepticons didn’t have such concerns. They were a violent bunch and seemed to only consider the injuries racked up as inevitable, without seeing any reason to change their actions because someone or other got hurt and required repairs. Part of life, no? Nothing more, nothing less. No reason to make a number out of it. With continued access to Cybertron, they didn't even need to worry about resources—aside from the ever elusive energon—as the Autobots did.

That suited Sunstreaker just fine, as did the fact no one thought twice about him suffering injuries the same as everyone else, despite the fact he was carrying. The only reason anyone spent time having second thoughts before fighting him was his sheer proven prowess. He could scrap most of the mecha on either side of the war. Did you really want to mess with him?

Megatron didn’t need to worry about things like that, though. Sunstreaker could provide him with a good fight, and he would do so, but Megatron’s strength and ability exceeded even his own. Everyone knew that.

Didn’t stop Sunstreaker from immediately agreeing to the suggestion of another no holds barred fight, and that saw them here, in the training room with the majority of the Decepticon army on Earth standing aside, optics sharp on them. Megatron’s sword was extended and Sunstreaker held his own thermal sword, ready to carve his fragging name in the warlord’s armor. As much as they were both weapons just by existing… Well, additional aids were damage multipliers, weren’t they? They evened the odds a little, allowed for greater damage on both sides. That came in quite handy.

Especially now. Megatron was, in frame, more of a weapon than he was. Once upon a time Sunstreaker would have considered them equal as far as their armaments went, but since then, he’d lost his claws, his fangs, his edges—things Megatron still retained because who would dare try to take those from him.

Didn’t matter. Sunstreaker still knew how to hit and how to tear, blunt digits or not, and he damn well knew how to handle a sword. Maybe he was at a disadvantage, maybe he was the underdog—then let it be so. It wouldn’t stop him from giving as good as he got.

“Haven’t we done this enough times already?” Sunstreaker asked as Megatron nodded at him, inviting him to make the first move. He did, rushing the warlord, dodging the blade that moved to intercept him, although he couldn’t break through Megatron’s defense enough to actually land a hit. Neither did he receive a hit either, though, dancing out of the way of Megatron’s attack on light pedes.

“Do you complain?” Megatron asked in return, moving on him, but Sunstreaker moved with him, staying just half a step ahead. Enough to save him until he could try to take an opening.

It didn’t work. Megatron blocked him, and wasn’t it satisfying to feel like his skill was truly matched, like he’d be made to work for every attack he could possibly land.

Sunstreaker’s mouth tugged into a smirk. “No. Why would I ever say no to a chance of slagging you? Fragging well deserve it, at least.”

“Do I now?” the tyrant rumbled in amusement, sending Sunstreaker stumbling back with a strike of his sword, cutting too deep into his plating. Megatron moved to a follow up attack in one fluent motion, but Sunstreaker wasn’t there anymore when it was supposed to reach him, moving out of the way like quicksilver.

“Damn well. Or did you forget everything you’ve done?” Sunstreaker’s sword connected with Megatron’s side, too shallow, a second before he had to dodge again. There was no way it would’ve been that easy, anyway.

He’d be disappointed if it was. Megatron was supposed to be better than that, and he was.

“How large of a scale are we talking about, here?” Megatron humored him. Sunstreaker could surmise what he meant. There was many a mech who would take an issue with the whole war Megatron had thrust Cybertron into—the atrocities he’d committed in the name of his cause. Genocide.

Did Sunstreaker think he deserved an ass kicking for all that? He should have. He had been an Autobot, a faction whose entire purpose was to oppose Megatron and everything he did and wanted to do. It was that insignia that still painted his chest, scratched out now. Why was he ever one of the red faction if he didn’t think Megatron deserved to pay for his supposed crimes?

They knew already.

What, then? Did he think Megatron had been right all along, justified in what he did? All the death he’d caused, the innocent he’d killed? What did he think of that?

“Scale of my goddamn life,” Sunstreaker growled, jumping out of the way of Megatron’s slash that would have beyond hurt had it connected, and taking his chances with an attack of his own. It landed. Muted satisfaction burst in his spark. The sparklet in his chamber vibrated, its excitement joining his own.

This was right. Fighting, testing his mettle, against its sire too, proving to it and to himself once again that Megatron was powerful enough to be considered beyond desirable for the role.

“Hm. And everything else I’ve done?” the tyrant asked from him. Why? Was he genuinely curious?

Or was he testing him? Megatron wanted him to fight. Not just like this—blades clashing against each other before one broke through, sharp cuts from Megatron’s, searing slashes from Sunstreaker's—but in the war. For him. Was this an attempt at gauging his current stance on the whole matter?

“You didn’t do any of that to me,” came Sunstreaker’s answer. He dove past Megatron’s defense again, and this time his sword sank deep into Megatron’s side, as much as the warlord knew how to angle himself to reduce the severity of the damage. Getting out of the way of the retaliation was as important as delivering hurt, but he only managed that with a hair’s breadth away from the harm Megatron wanted to inflict on him.

Good enough, all the same.

“Selfish,” Megatron commented, but it didn’t sound like an accusation as it would’ve been coming from any Autobot. More just an… Observation.

“You know it,” Sunstreaker grinned, unrepentant. As if it wasn’t common knowledge Sunstreaker didn’t really give a crap about anyone but himself. More reasons for the Autobots to dislike him. They put so much weight on altruism, Optimus in particular. Oh, all the talks he had gotten for putting himself first, at the cost of others.

Hadn’t really worked, any of those chastisements. He was yet to see the error of his ways.

“And what of all the good I’ve brought upon your life?” Megatron went on to ask. Sunstreaker frowned a second before he was too slow and received a strike that sliced clean through his armor. He ignored the ache of the cut in favor of dodging to the side, away from Megatron’s follow up attack. But, if he’d hoped to take the chance to deliver an attack of his own, Megatron was quick to squash those dreams.

“What fucking good?” Sunstreaker growled after he’d gathered his bearings and they were back to their scheduled dancing, injuries, wounds on both of them slowly piling up. “You destroyed it.”

“As was necessary. I freed you from the Autobots,” came Megatron’s argument, delivered in time with a feign Sunstreaker didn’t recognize as such, followed by a fast attack that landed and had him reeling and scrambling out of the way for a precious second that ended with a cut on Megatron when the tyrant was a little too slow to turn to face him.

Sunstreaker couldn’t really disagree with Megatron on this one, though. He growled again instead, veering to the side quickly enough to deliver another attack that landed almost as it was intended to before Megatron could force him away.

“Ends justify the means, huh?” Sunstreaker asked after he’d dodged again, diving right back in the next moment to deliver a vicious strike upon the larger mech. “Waltz right in, announce my crimes to the whole damn world, but that’s fine because it would roast me out of the Autobots?” Fragger.

“Do you disagree it was for the best?” Megatron asked from him, then moved far faster than he had any right to. Sunstreaker couldn’t get out of the way quickly enough and Megatron’s blade sank into his armor, leaving yet another gaping tear behind.

But not deep enough to bleed. Yet.

“What does it matter? A little too late to go back, now,” Sunstreaker hissed back. Whatever he thought of it wouldn’t change things anymore. There was no fixing what Megatron had done.

“But not too late to move forward,” the tyrant said—and why the slag did Sunstreaker feel like they were again circling back to the matter of would he or would he not fight? He couldn’t go back to being an Autobot, not after everything… Not that he really wanted to, either.

Did he want to be Neutral, then? Denounce his planet and his species for the sake of being outside the fight, picking no side?

Or would he rather continue fighting?

“You’re not really winning me over,” he growled at Megatron all the same, performing one attack, another… But the third was blocked and countered. Sunstreaker was forced to backpedal fast as he could manage, his engine revving in aggravation.

“You’re as stubborn as they come,” Megatron snarled back at him. Sunstreaker chuckled, twice so when he managed to turn the tables for a moment and jam his sword into a gap in Megatron’s armor.

“You’re only now noticing that?” he purred at the warlord even as he was forced to take a step back again, then another, and another before he could slip to Megatron’s side. But no, even that didn’t work. This time there was blood when Megatron swept his sword into him, deep enough to nick fuel lines. Sunstreaker could feel the wetness running down his internals, but he made damn sure Megatron’s plating melted under his own sword before he dodged out of the way. Wouldn’t do to give Megatron a chance to do something even worse, but there was no fragging way Sunstreaker was going to get the bastard get away with slag, either.

Now all he needed to do was return to the favor for real and have Megatron’s blood drip along his frame as Sunstreaker’s was.

“Hardly. Headstrong—it’s one of your more attractive qualities.”

This time Sunstreaker laughed outright, although he didn’t let it distract him from the fight, weaving his frame out of the way of Megatron��s attacks. The sparkling was pulsing urgently, growing even more excited at the feeling of his amusement.

And it was amusement. Pleasure, too, though no surprise. Maybe there should’ve been some, with the trouble his stubbornness had caused Megatron. Lack of cooperation and whatnot.

But Sunstreaker was a creature of confidence that some said he took to a sick level. True to that form, “Do I even have any unattractive qualities?” Sunstreaker asked.

“I think you answered that question yourself,” Megatron responded, his field flaring with faint mirth of his own. Sunstreaker growled at the suggestion behind the words—that his self-regard went over the top and that wasn’t a positive quality.

Well, frag that. The insecure wastes of space just couldn’t understand the comfort of loving yourself.

Sunstreaker dismissed Megatron’s opinion entirely with, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

And nearly got his arm cut off for not reading Megatron’s movement fast enough. That, though, wasn’t enough to distract either of them from their conversation.

“I won’t claim it’s not refreshing, as well,” Megatron conceded in time with Sunstreaker moving in, dodging past the tyrant’s attempted block and– Ah, now there was blood from Megatron too. His blade cut deep and true before Megatron could jerk out of the way. Sunstreaker didn’t let him go so easily, even if he paid for his second attack with a deep groove on his own armor.

But the pain was rewarding. He’d earned it.

And now that they were both bloodied, it felt like the fight was really starting. No Pit fight should be dry; it just wasn’t entertaining without spilled energon tainting the ground. Sunstreaker vowed that Megatron’s blood would pool on the floor before they were done—and acknowledged that his own would likely join it in no small amount. If it didn’t, what were they even doing this for?

So he pressed his attack, no matter how Megatron gave no quarter—no matter how he had to work to evade the injuries that would’ve otherwise piled on him in truly painful amounts. But frag, what else was he supposed to do? He didn’t want to do anything else. All he wanted was to dance on that blade’s edge, feel it every time he was too slow and it scraped along his body.

But also every time Megatron wasn’t fast enough and it was Sunstreaker’s sword that dug into him. Blood, they both wanted that—and they both got it.

“So what you’re really saying–” Sunstreaker continued, bringing his sword to block Megatron’s when it came down at him, and taking just that moment to meet the warlord’s optics. Sunstreaker smirked. “–Is that I have no unattractive qualities.” Even the one Megatron named he only rescinded by calling it refreshing in the next moment.

What surprise was it, though? He was beautiful, physically—but he also embodied so many of the things their city had admired, in his behavior and personality. The Autobots had never appreciated his spirit. He was unyielding, ruthless, comfortable with himself, oft violent, temperamental. He wasn’t a pushover. He knew his worth and demanded others acknowledge it too.

He wasn’t a meek little thing like the Autobots would’ve wanted him to be. He wasn’t humble, he wasn’t good.

He was everything an Autobot shouldn’t be, but everything a Kaonite should be—and could it be that he was what a Decepticon should be, too?

Maybe.

“You love to flatter yourself, don’t you?” Megatron rumbled. Slice, cut. Sunstreaker could feel the pain, relished in it.

Ignored it. Delivered it. Megatron ignored it too, showing no signs of feeling his injuries any more than Sunstreaker was. They both possessed well trained pain tolerances, and when nothing vital had been severed yet… Well, there was no reason to act on the pain they were both feeling, and that was multiplying with every moment, with every time one of them couldn’t block or dodge and paid for it.

Blood was beginning to flow faster, attacks on old wounds cutting deeper than the first pass had. Hurting more, too, as their frames informed them of the mounting damage.

Fragging right. Bring it on, give more, back down none.

Sunstreaker’s fans were running faster as the exertion began to build its effects, excitement and emotion only adding to the mess. He could hear the murmur of the Decepticons watching them, but ignored it with age old professionalism. Distractions weren’t acceptable.

Especially not now, with Megatron as intent on bringing him down as Sunstreaker was on not allowing that.

“Is it flattery if it’s just speaking the truth?” he asked, twisting his frame out of the way and into Megatron, bringing his sword to where it would fragging well hurt. And he was hurt in return, and so it went.

Had he still had his claws, he would’ve used those on the tyrant too. He could picture all the ways he could’ve employed them in tandem with his sword, dig them in preexisting wounds, tear every time he was within reach, accentuate the use of his blade and add to the damage he could deliver.

Because Megatron was definitely putting his claws to use, and every time they scratched into him, Sunstreaker envied him for still having them. They drew more blood from him, tore at his armor, bent it, built atop the wounds already littering him.

More and more blood, but it wasn’t just his. His sword damaged near as many lines on Megatron as what were being cut in his own frame. Pink was dribbling from the seams of their armors, all the way to the floor it began to slick.

Better not lose your footing.

“Do you truly think yourself flawless?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Megatron growled at him, and it was just insanity when the warlord stepped forward, right where Sunstreaker could drive his blade through his abdomen–

Only to misread Megatron’s intent and have the back of his helm grabbed. “You’re lucky you have your looks. Your attitude would be very tiresome otherwise,” Megatron growled lowly at him. Sunstreaker wasn’t sure if anyone else could even hear him—or if anyone else was meant to hear him.

But where Megatron could have caught him tight enough to crush… He didn’t. In fact, Sunstreaker was able to pull himself free and retreat a couple of steps away. “I don’t think you mind my attitude as much as you say you do,” he grinned before he dove right back in. Their swords clashed, then they didn’t, then they cut—more blood joined the mess on the floor, more armor was mutilated. Char from the heat of Sunstreaker’s sword tainted the edges of Megatron’s injuries; the edges of Sunstreaker’s wounds were ragged where Megatron’s had torn deeper into them.

Deep, shallow, it all hurt, all piled on top of each other and itself until important parts were reached after all this time, when even their thick plating wasn’t enough to protect them anymore. The engine in Sunstreaker’s left arm suffered under Megatron’s sword—Sunstreaker switched his sword to his right hand. Megatron’s engine was rattling where Sunstreaker had managed to sink his sword into it. Something in his leg was severed, giving the tyrant a limp.

Yet that wasn’t enough to noticeably slow either of them down—not enough to end their fight so soon.

But it was entering its twilight phase all the same. They could only carry on for so long at the pace they were building injuries on each other. Their ventilations turned more ragged, both from the heat that built in their systems, as well as the damage their vents suffered along with the rest of their frames. The floor was painted in pink; it was harder to not slip on the steps they took, back and forth. Harder yet for Sunstreaker as the one who had to move more, when he couldn’t possibly accept the same amount of damage Megatron could put up with if it meant hurting Sunstreaker worse.

And oh, he was hurting. His injuries throbbed at him in time with the rapid pulse of his spark—his excitement, the sparkling’s excitement, his thrill, the sparkling’s thrill merging together until there was more emotion than Sunstreaker could have ever managed on his own. His frame was on the verge of lagging dangerously, too, as much as he could force it into full cooperation for now.

Megatron was only doing better to an extent, but it was still becoming obvious he was gaining the upper hand, his size and durability simply surpassing Sunstreaker’s—and Sunstreaker couldn’t make up for it by causing more damage than what was being caused on him. Quite the opposite.

Didn’t matter. What mattered was that Megatron had a limp, there was terrible grinding coming from his right arm with every motion he forced it into, and he was bleeding more than just a little. Sunstreaker had done that to him. His armor was split in so many places. He could almost feel Megatron’s injuries as phantom sensations on top of his own.

Never let it be said he had gone down easily. Never let it be said he hadn’t hurt Megatron.

But go down he did. Megatron drove his sword through his abdomen first when Sunstreaker made just one mistake, too slow to get out of the way. Blood gushed forth when energon lines were cut well and proper, but that alone wouldn’t have been enough to down him. No, Sunstreaker merely backed away from his impalement, fast as he could, but before he was free… Megatron yanked his sword sideways.

Sunstreaker gasped when it tore through far too much machinery, his armor barely enough to stop Megatron’s strength before he would have halfway cut him in two.

Even that wasn’t serious enough to bring him down on its own, but it forced him to reorient himself from the damage warnings that, along with the simple pain, clued him in on quite a few parts that stopped working entirely, and others yet that were verging on that point.

He took too long with that, was distracted for too many precious seconds. He jerked away when Megatron kicked at him, but that only put him in the path of the blunt impact of the hilt of Megatron’s sword to his face.

Was he steady on his pedes, he may have been able to overcome even that much.

He wasn’t.

His footing didn’t keep on the blood slicked floor and Sunstreaker came crashing down, landing hard with a grunt as nearly every damn part of his frame complained about the impact. Still, he would have tried to get to his pedes if Megatron hadn’t knelt on his fragging abdomen. Sunstreaker’s vocalizer glitched to static at the agony, thoroughly distracting him from the sword that pressed to his throat.

Decapitation. Not deadly, but more than incapacitating. Sunstreaker’s vents heaved as he tried to push the pain aside enough to focus on his predicament.

His optics eventually found Megatron’s, finding the tyrant staring down at him, his expression unreadable.

Everyone knew he had won, though. Sunstreaker only confirmed that with, “I yield,” spoken loud enough for the observers.

At once the gathered Decepticons broke into cheers and jeers, whooping for the high of a good fight, laughing both for the victory of their leader and for Sunstreaker’s loss. The sparkling shook along with the thrum of the cacophony of noise, dancing to the rapid rotation of Sunstreaker’s spark, asking for more still.

Was nothing enough?

Megatron’s sword disappeared back into his arm and his knee rose from Sunstreaker’s abdomen. Sunstreaker sucked in a sharp ventilation as the damaged parts were again realigned by the lack of pressure. Distracted by it, he jerked when Megatron’s servo came to his chin, taking a hold of it. Sunstreaker met his optics again as the tyrant traced his thumb along his lower lip. “Blood looks good on you,” Megatron commented.

Sunstreaker huffed a laugh. “Ditto.” It was what Megatron deserved, and no doubt the warlord thought the same of him. You know, for his attitude.

But here he was, with Megatron above him, straddling his frame now. Sunstreaker’s optics brightened and Megatron’s optical ridges rose inquisitively in response, right before Sunstreaker forced his aching frame into motion and arched up against the larger frame. Megatron didn’t need any time to understand, his optics coming to glow a little brighter too. His engine rumbled even as Sunstreaker had to fight his ventilations that wanted to again come fast and hard and ragged. Something to do with the pain in his frame, that he dedicated himself to ignoring in favor of locking into a staring contest with the tyrant.

Whose servo slipped between their frames, brushing against his valve cover. “In front of everyone?” Megatron growled at him.

Sunstreaker growled back. “You object?”

“Hardly.” He wasn’t given a chance to retract a damn thing this time. Megatron claws hooked into the seams of his valve panel as they had who knew how many times already, and like who knew how many times before, the cover was torn clean off.

The sting of that was completely eclipsed by everything else his frame was going through. He didn’t give a frag about it, he only cared about the digits that pushed into his valve without the obstruction in the way. It was as slick as the floor, lubricant making the entrance of Megatron’s claws a smooth glide. The headiness of the preceding fight wasn’t lost to either of them, and Sunstreaker’s ventilations were quick to speed up for reasons that had nothing to do with the aches of his frame.

The Decepticons had quickly caught on to the shift, and their cheers had rather changed in nature. Catcalls filled the air as well as dirty encouragements and lewd laughter. Clearly, they weren’t the prudish lot in the slightest.

Sunstreaker didn’t mind being the center of attention in this, either. Fighting, fucking, was there so much difference? Both were raw sports that laid you bare for others to see. Blood, internals—lubricant and transfluid, retracted covers. They weren’t so far removed.

Megatron was all on board with this, by all appearances. His digits thrust in and out until Sunstreaker was well and truly ready—as if he hadn’t been so all the while—only for the tyrant to release his spike and replace his digits with it.

Sunstreaker hiked his hips up for better angle as Megatron pushed into him, despite the pain of his midsection. He wasn’t about to let that stop him, no matter how the way Megatron fetched his spike only to slam back in made his vents hitch and vocalizer produce some more static.

Primus, it hurt. His abdomen loudly told him all about how it hated him right then, even as his valve sang its praises as Megatron set up a pace that was no less punishing than usual, only this time made all the more so by the multitude of injuries they both sported.

Megatron had to feel it too. There was no way he was unaffected by forcing his frame into motion like this, this fast, this violent, right after the bloodshed they’d just inflicted on each other.

But he didn’t let that slow him, and pits, Sunstreaker fragging well didn’t ask him to slow down, to go easy on him just because he was hurting.

No, Sunstreaker arched into him. Sunstreaker wove his arms behind the warlord’s neck and pulled him down as his damage warnings piled in even greater numbers on his HUD. As his frame informed him of how much more it was breaking under Megatron’s administrations, Sunstreaker pressed their lips together, moaning—no fake—when Megatron overtook him, his glossa slipping into his mouth, lips pressing tighter, and his hips pistoning harder, if that was even possible. It was stretch and fullness like always, the abuse of what felt like every last sensor in his valve.

Sunstreaker shuddered from pleasure and agony both until he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. The sensations melded together until one only added to the other, and he fragging hurt, but he felt spectacular, his valve clenching as his frame was brutally driven towards completion.

He could taste Megatron’s own pain in his field. It was gratification, proof that he had fought well and true, but also, even more proof that Megatron wasn’t weak in any sense of the word. It didn’t matter he was aching, he was still willing and able to take his prize.

Neither of them was weak. The sparkling wouldn’t be weak either, not with creators like them.

And if it was despite that… Well, would they have any need for it? This wasn’t a world for the feeble. He wouldn’t accept that.

But it was unlikely to come to pass. It wasn’t weak in spark, not now, not ever, pushing at him, riding every exhilarating emotion, demanding that he feed it more of it. It was lively, it was gaining more mass with every passing day—it was thriving, healthy. Why would it change that course all of a sudden?

It wouldn’t, he was certain of that as it spun faster in its own rotation in time with the pleasure growing in his frame. He rocked into Megatron’s thrusts no matter the pain, bit down on the tyrant’s lip to another growl from him. A sharp jab of Megatron’s hips had Sunstreaker’s vents seizing when it jarred his injuries.

He wouldn’t have it any other way. His servo grasped the back of Megatron’s helm, locking him in place as the pleasure crested and he groaned against the warlord’s lips. Charge released from his frame and he tensed, further hurting himself, more warnings popping up on his HUD.

Fucking worth it. This was the way to feel, this was the way to live, and he was fragging done having anyone tell him otherwise.

By the continued racket around them, he was no further from his kin here than he had been in Kaon, in the Pits. The noise only increased when Megatron growled his own overload, jerking his hips into Sunstreaker to another pained hiss from him—whooping for their completion, for the sight of charge crackling across both their frames. It was a show from start to finish, all of it.

Never let them forget where Sunstreaker had come from—the very same place as so many of them.

He loosened his hold on Megatron and with another graze of sharp denta across his lips the tyrant pulled away from him until there was enough distance for their gazes to meet, amusement in Megatron’s optics… As well as something else. Sunstreaker couldn’t quite name it. Approval?

Ugh. Frag him and opinions. “Done already?” Sunstreaker growled at him, jabbing his digits into a deep gash on Megatron’s side and relishing in the jerk of the tyrant’s frame. Did that hurt?

Megatron responded by rather meaningfully tracing his damaged midsection, and just the threat of what he could do to injure him further had Sunstreaker snarling some more. “Mercy is so overrated, isn’t it?” the tyrant asked from him in return–

Before driving his claws into the gaping wound of his abdomen, in time with a harsh thrust into his valve. The dual pain on that one area of his frame had Sunstreaker’s helm snapping back against the floor, but he didn’t scream, only ground his denta together and groaned.

“Frag you,” he panted once he could will his optics open again, glaring at the tyrant now sporting an entirely benevolent smile. Megatron drew back… Thrust back in, and his claws remained in his abdomen. It was pain, plain and simple—but also satisfaction, the knowledge of what Megatron was ready and willing to do clouding Sunstreaker’s good sense.

“Backing down already?” Megatron wondered with an innocent tilt of his helm, as if he wasn’t aggravating already severe injuries.

Sunstreaker yanked on Megatron’s wounds a little harder this time, bending his plating until the tyrant was growling a warning at him.

The twin grinned. “Keep fucking dreaming.”

( Next )

#transformers #maccadam #sunstreaker #megatron #megasun #fic #2020 #ashes #up in flames

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johannesviii · 4 years

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So I guess I have thoughts on The Timeless Children

If you’re expecting some well-organised meta this isn’t a good post for that, you should probably leave now

I probably forgot half the things I wanted to say because I waited 2 days to write this

Ok so first I have to say I’m disappointed that the horrible bullshit from the WW2 sequence of Spyfall part 2 wasn’t addressed at all. It means it was not part of some big plan and that Thirteen doing some horrible shit wasn’t foreshadowing, but just insensitive writing. Fine. Ok. I don’t like it at all but it, unfortunately, happens. Every single New Who showrunner so far has made a big mistake at some point or another so that doesn’t mean Chibnall is worse than Moffat or RTD, who also had their own qualities and flaws and some occasional horrible writing. It sucks, and it’s gonna taint Thirteen’s character for me. But I’ll live.

HOWEVER

THIS FINALE

Oh my god ok so uh first, Cybermen? again? But like? It was still interesting?? The designs were varied, and the Lone Cyberman had this whole Hellraiser-lite aesthetic going on, and that abandoned warship was straight out of Sword of Orion and I really enjoyed all of that. It’s a shame the Lone Cyberman was defeated so quickly, because he was a much more interesting “final boss” than the one from the previous season in my opinion.

The regenerating Cybermen were 100% ridiculous but it was the good kind of ridiculous and I loved it

I have to say something about the fam now but I don’t have a lot of thoughts about them specifically. I liked it when Ryan threw that explosive thingie and actually managed to hit the cybermen and was super hyped about that, though

OK SO

Look. I loved Missy. I adored her semi-redemption arc, and her self-doubt, and her ultimate decision to be good, just to be killed by her past self as a result, even though the Doctor wasn’t there to witness it. That was brilliant.

But.

This new Master. I already thought he was pretty great, but the way he’s been recontextualised in this finale? I?? Holy s h i t

I’ve said it already but the actor is doing a fantastic job

I wasn’t even planning to put pictures in this post but this shot is so incredibly good

So in my Spyfall post I pointed out that he was very aggressive and very performative in his evil actions, to the point where he looked like he wasn’t enjoying himself. He was, like, doing it to prove a point.

Turns out it was because the best way to make a new evil version of the Master after Missy’s semi-redemption arc was to base this new Master on INTENSE, DEVASTATING, SUICIDAL SELF-LOATHING

AND IT WORKS SO WELL??

AND I LOVE IT??

IT’S ALSO VERY UNCOMFORTABLE BUT LIKE? IN A GOOD, INTERESTING WAY??

The part where he gives Thirteen the key to stop him. And he doesn’t dare her to press that button. He’s begging her to press that button. He knows she will do it because she did it once before and he’s like go on. Kill me now. God

If you’ve ever been suicidal or even just self-destructive yourself, even if you’re, like, a nice person and not... well.... an intergalactic criminal like the Master is, seeing him being like “go on. Press that button. End me. Do it. NOW” is... extremely relatable not gonna lie

Thinking “oh mood” about the Master during one of his scenes is... not something I was expecting but here we are

Also I absolutely adore how all of his world-destroying rage against the Time Lords was basically fueled by “they hurt my best friend and only I have the right to hurt my best friend” that’s so in-character

SPEAKING OF WHICH

You already know I’m very in favor of fluidity in the DW canon. One of my absolute favorite DW stories I’ve read so far was Unnatural History, which basically said “the Doctor is an idea that exists across the entire multiverse and every origin story is true and every version is true and nothing is canon because everything is canon”

But I wasn’t very fond of one specific version of the Doctor’s origin story which is super popular in the Extended Universe crowd of fans, and that’s the Cartmel Masterplan. I won’t bore you with my full thoughts on it but I’m not fond of the idea of the Doctor being some sort of rebirthed god now on the other hand the idea that all Time Lords are eldritch beings and that the Doctor or the Master is Nyarlathotep-

But this isn’t what this finale is doing

So far the Doctor’s origin story in the tv series was basically saying “look. This character that grew up in a privileged and pretentious part of their planet’s society just had enough of that one day (for a reason or another or even several reasons) and decided to leave, and by traveling and making friends, they realised being kind was important, and they decided to help people instead of watching bad stuff from afar without doing anything.” And now this finale basically added: “That society of pretentious assholes? Yeah they actually adopted that character as a kid and exploited them like a convenient source of power, and at the root of their power there’s literal child abuse, and they had to erase that child’s memories so that the kid could be assimilated in the society built on their own pain“.

It didn’t change that many things about the Doctor as a character ; it DEFINITELY changed stuff about the Time Lords, but they have always been this kind of background menace, with evil founders and shady shit, so I think it’s very appropriate.

So yeah. If you ask me to pick one between “plot twist the Doctor is a god” and “plot twist the Doctor is a lost child with the ability to regenerate”, I pick the second one, definitely

The best part is, it doesn’t contradict anything really important. The Doctor didn’t remember any of this. At all. Their desire to run away, their eventual hatred of Time Lord society, their choice to be kind and to try to help where they can? This didn’t come from that completely forgotten past. They still grew up in a life of privilege after their memories were erased, and they still decided to run away. It’s still their choice.

It doesn’t even diminish later things, like Ten being afraid of dying, or River giving away her regenerations to Eleven. Because, again, the Doctor didn’t know any of that origin story. Just like Gallifrey being hidden in a pocket universe doesn’t erase or diminish Nine being completely destroyed by what he thought he had done. It’s still as good as before.

It does put that scene from Time of the Doctor in a different light, though! This wasn’t a new regenerative cycle being given to Eleven in the end, just unlocking a dormant potential.

I saw someone saying this episode was bad because it was saying nature was more important than nurture? But... the episode literally states the opposite very explicitly, with Ruth saying ”have you ever been limited by who you were before?”.

I also saw someone on twitter saying that the diversity in the past incarnations we briefly saw “felt forced” and. like. It’s 2020. Can we not do this again please

I have such a thing for identity crisis tropes and stories and adding a bunch of lives in the Doctor’s past is certainly that and it’s like opening a giant sandbox. Imagine all the things that are actually possible now. The stories you can tell in that nebulous past! And I’m so glad the Morbius Doctors were briefly seen too!

Hell, there’s even an open door right there if you didn’t like this origin story, built in the scenario, and I’m certain it’s on purpose: the Matrix projection didn’t tell us the child was the Doctor. The Master told us the child was the Doctor. You’re free to believe him or not. It’s not set in stone. And that’s even better in my opinion.

So yeah it was all very very Unnatural History and the only thing I disliked was how it was a bit too much “telling” instead of “showing”, but that’s a minor complaint.

If you disliked this story, you aren’t a “fake fan”

If you liked this story, you aren’t a “fake fan” either

If you like some parts of the show you’re a fan, and you’re free to dislike some other parts ; god knows I don’t like some other things in Doctor Who

The only fake fans are the people bullying other fans about what they should like or dislike

I can’t wait to see what the fandom is going to make with this new sandbox and I’m so glad to be enthusiastic about the tv series again

Have a nice day

#doctor who #long post #spoilers #the timeless children #thirteenth doctor #The Master #suicide ideation tw

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blackfemmecharacterdependency · 4 years

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11. You Used to Love It

This chapter is the last good one for a while. I mean, there’s some pain here, I suppose, but nothing like what’s about to happen in the next few chapters. And, I’d like to dedicate this particular one to the apex of the Mall Rats shippers @scipunk63 and of course, my Infinity Train fandom ace boon koon @i-am-a-passenger 3668 Words

Even the idea of going back to school after the awesome summer that she had SUCKED. She halfway had the mind to tell her parents that she’d like to go back to personal professors, but she knew that ship had sailed. With her father being up in arms about her academic career and the fact that she hadn’t yet started looking for colleges… She didn’t NEED college, and if ever she did, she’d have enough to go then, so there was no need for her to lose her mind over it like he was.

“Grace!” Ah, finally. Some good fucking company.

Simon rushed to her and grabbed her from the ground to squeeze her into a tight hug. He immediately began talking to her about school. She sighed. They had one more weekend before school began, so she straight up just cupped her hand over his mouth and shook her head. Then, she removed her hand and eyed him suspiciously.

“What’s happened to your face?” she asked.

“What’s… happened… to it?” He repeated, confused.

“Did you do something?”

“Is this like that time you thought my eye color changed?”

“No! This is real… WAIT. Did you do your eyebrows? AND shave off your peach fuzz??” She was on the verge of laughter.

“I think it makes me look more presidential,” he said, straightening the collar of his hoodie.

She laughed, “Sir, you are the junior class president…”

“Also debate captain, academic decathlon, I have a position in journalism,” he grumbled, ‘Two actually,” and completed his list, “As well as STILL the top of our class. People won’t take me seriously if I don’t take myself seriously. That’s one thing that my dad taught me.”

“He should’ve added that they won’t take you seriously if you take yourself too seriously, because I definitely do not.”

“Rude. I shouldn't give you your welcome home present… But, I already spent money on it.”

“You… spent money on me? Simon! You KNOW that you don’t have to do that!”

“Yeah, but I wanted to, and I rarely ever do. Besides, it’s a special occasion. The Apex is back together.” He pulled a gift basket out of his bag and presented it to her.

“This is from that fancy custom basket place near the mall!” she said. That was WAY out of Simon’s budget, but also, not returnable. “Simon!” She fussed.

“Please, just tell me that you love it.”

“I do!” She accepted it with damp eyes and a trembling lip. There was a boxed honeycomb, a bottle of honeysuckle nectar extract, and a honey bun shaped like a bear. “This is really cute, Simon. I really love it. It’s one of the best gifts you’ve ever given me.” She reached out to hug him and he went in for a kiss. She gasped and he startled, then she rested her head against his chest and he rested his face on her hair… both confused as to why the other acted that way.

Honey had become one of Grace’s things, because of the products she represented and her natural branding, over the summer, she’d been being called, The Internet’s Honey, and so she ran with it. Apex members were putting the little honeypot emojis in her comments, brands started sending her their honey - which she loved because she could use it for SO many health and beauty purposes, but also, she was reckless and sometimes, just wanted to eat it. Her favorite way was to eat the honeycomb, with a fancy soft cheese and some fruit - generally honeydew melon, just because there sort of was a flow of collaboration.

Simon had commented on a post she made while she was on the road that she should do one of those ASMR eating honeycomb videos… More people liked that comment than she expected. She wasn’t planning on doing ASMR anything and thought it was such a weird thing for Simon, of all people to comment on a post of hers! But, even though she wasn’t going to do one of those at this point in time - she just felt weird about all of her followers watching her eat, even if it was trendy - she still ate around Simon, and on their calls he kept asking her to do the honeycomb thing.

“What is with you, Dude?”

He blushed a lot and shook his head, “I just like it. There’s something soothing about watching you eat and it’s something you love, and I really like the sound, too.”

She gave him a look but reached for her snacking sack and looked through it. “I’ve got mostly fruit snacks in this thing. Ummm… some dried mango, banana, pineapple… a jar of country peach preserves…”

“Are the preserves chunky?”

She examined the jar, “There are pretty big peach pieces in here, actually.” She looked at the anticipation on his face and wondered, “What, you expect me to just eat this with my hands? I definitely don’t have a spoon in here,” she glanced around the hotel she was staying in.

“What’s wrong with eating with your fingers?” he wondered.

“It’s messy! Then, I’ll have to suck my fingers, and this is already weird enough, Simon. What… is this gonna do for you?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know, it’s relaxing, and you’re just usually the person who helps me relax the most.”

“The anticipation of school got you riled up?”

“The anticipation of things with your dad.” he sighed.

She nodded, “He stresses me out too.” She laughed at herself, shook her head and said, “Fine, fine. I guess… here I am eating peach preserves out of a jar, with my fingers, for my best friend.”

“It’s a show of love,” he said, as he began recording her on their video call.

Presently, she asked him, “Are you gonna wanna watch me eat the contents of this gift?”

“Very intently.” She laughed. She didn’t get it, but also… It did seem to help him out the times she’d done so on his calls, and it didn’t seem sexual or anything.

Over the weekend, he was with her at the house. Her parents were away, and most likely wouldn’t be back until the week after school began. That meant that Simon would be spending every night that they weren’t there with her. She didn’t want to stay in the house, either. Especially if they were going to be milking the boyfriend/girlfriend thing. She wanted to be out and about with him, maybe cause some trouble, do some secret destroying.

He was perfectly content to just stay inside, just the two of them, because they hadn’t been able to be that way for a while. Of course, her desires won out. They went to the mall that evening. It was only open for a few more hours, but they loved the mall. They used to frequent it and were actually banned from a few stores, but they hadn’t been in a while and she wanted a corn dog from the Corn Dog Express.

She generally didn’t have any pockets, and Simon generally had several large ones (some with buttons), so he always carried her wallet and whenever they (she) bought something, he usually handed over the card. She thought about carrying a fanny pack, because it latched on to you, but she just couldn’t rectify the thought with the fact that those things were hideous. Maybe if she were trapped in uncivilized society...

So, whenever they got to the Corn Dog Express and ordered, she turned to look at him when they were given the total. “I… don’t have it..” Simon told her. She furrowed her eyebrows and patted herself down. Did she… forget her wallet? And her cell phone?? The clerk looked annoyed while Grace looked worried. She could have sworn that she picked them up on their way out of the door..

“Did you two really order all of this without any money?”

“Chill out. She may have forgotten her wallet. It happens.” Simon said, annoyed at the guy’s tone. He went to the back and Simon heard him say that there was “some Black girl out there trying to scam” them. He immediately was not pleased with that, and he saw from Grace’s face that she’d heard it too.

“Let’s just go,” she said, softly. “I should’ve been more attentive.”

“Mmhmm,” Simon said, but he didn’t budge, save to pull out his phone.

She made a sad face. She really wanted the dogs. “Simon? Did you hear me? I left my wallet at home, not to mention my cell phone. No need for me to further embarrass myself. I don’t even think we’ll have time to go get it and come back before the mall closes.”

But whenever the clerk came back with the manager with him, Simon began announcing, “This null who works at the Corn Dog Express just described Grace Monroe, of the Monroe Square Monroes, as ‘this Black chick trying to scam them.’ Scam them. At the Corn Dog Express. In the mall. That’s it. That’s the entire post.”

Grace covered her mouth and said, “Umm… Simon…” She was actually even more embarrassed, because obviously, these people didn’t know her. They weren’t her target audience, probably had only seen her family name on the plaques of buildings, and she really just wanted to go.

“You are fucking lucky that I don’t make you bob for corn dogs in that hot grease, you…” Grace pulled Simon’s arm and called his name. “You fucking short sighted, beast faced, insignificant little prick. She could buy this entire mall, never touch it again and STILL be above you. Who do you think you are?” The clerk was grateful that they had a plastic display between him and Simon. He looked terrified and the manager was confused but trying to speak on behalf of the company that they didn’t intend to upset Ms. Monroe...

“Simon! Can we PLEASE. Just. Go?” He looked over and she had her fists clenched and she was shaking. He didn’t know if she was mad or sad… or what. It was unclear, but she was asking for them to go. That was clear.

“Are you sure?” he asked her, an eyebrow raised. He had been two seconds away from hopping the counter after this guy.

“I’m positive,” she said, through her teeth, tugging him by the sleeve to come with her. He knocked over everything on the counter, with purpose, looking right into the eyes of his target of anger as they passed it. “Sorry,” she told the workers. She would make sure that they were compensated for that entire scene.

Simon was casually on his phone as she dragged him outside of the mall and whenever they got to the parking lot, he said, “Posted it! We’ll let the Apex at him, now.” She groaned and released him with a shove of the hand she had been clutching his sleeve with.

“What?” He asked.

“Simon… I left my wallet at home. That experience was because of MY mistake, and you just attacked that guy like he was some kind of enemy combatant.”

“He was very rude to you and I didn’t like his tone when he spoke about you. I was defending you. How is that a problem?”

“Because, I have a reputation, Simon! I have a brand. An image! I can’t just go around slapping things off of counters whenever I can’t pay the man at the counter! People SAW us! Some looked like they were recording!” She was highly upset. “You… are gonna go to college, get a degree, build a career. You have several talents and intelligence and pathways. I’ve got THIS, Simon. MY future is nested inside of my personality, and the world can’t think that I’m this person that goes off on people like a rotten brat. I can’t believe that you would put me in something like this!”

“I thought we were in this together. The Apex sticks together.”

“I wish you would’ve stuck with me when I was asking you to leave!”

He ran his hands through his hanging strands of hair and shook his head, “I thought you’d be happy. You used to love when I defended you.”

“We’re not kids anymore, Simon! You can’t DO THAT to people!” she snapped and walked off, hugging herself. “You can’t do that to people,” she said softly and sniffled. Where the hell was she going? He followed her, silently. He had already apologized. Why wasn’t she… doing something to make him feel better about her being upset with him?

“Okay. I’ll follow your lead, Grace. I won’t react next time unless you tell me to.”

She looked at him. She seemed like she wanted to say more to him, but she just gave him a small smile and collected him by his hoodie string. “Let’s just go home and order in. We can watch one of your fantasy movies, or something.” he still looked nervous, like he was worried that she was still mad. She… didn’t ever get mad at him and she was realizing this as she watched him process how she’d just yelled at him in this public space. “That okay with you, Eyebrows?” he chuckled and wrapped an arm around her with a single nod.

Still… They both felt it. Something just wasn’t right between them.

It blew up. Of course it did. What started with Simon’s post generating a massive amount of hate at the Corn Dog Express and the employees there, spiraled into Apex stans making death threats, doxxing these people, and harassing their family members. Grace went live several times to remind them not to do this and to explain that it was indeed her fault that she couldn’t pay because she left her wallet, and assuring fans that she paid after the fact and held no hostility for the staff there.

“I am demanding that the real Apex stand down this time. I’m human. I made a mistake. Yes, the clerk could have been nicer, but I don’t know what kind of day he had or what’s happened to him before. I didn’t take it personally. Simon is a little bit more sensitive about these things happening to me and he got upset and tried to defend me. We’ve talked about it. We’re on the same page. Please leave that guy alone, Apex. Come on. Listen to your Honey.”

With the incident going viral, in those comments appeared a very aggressive woman who wanted to draw people’s attention to her post from a few years prior. It was a post where she cried on camera, showed off bruises and described two kids that beat her up on the train.

Grace gasped whenever she noticed her. Apex members were cussing her out and accusing her of lying, but she was claiming that she even tore out a handful of the girl’s hair and that she was POSITIVE that it was the girl in this video, and she knew that Simon was the same boy, because he looked exactly the same, but longer. She meant taller, and Grace hadn’t thought about that woman in almost as much time since her hair grew back.But, she definitely recognized her whenever she went to her profile.

Then Shana’s little bitch ass comes in to comment, “Actually, I very clearly remember her showing up in society with a shaved head around that time, so I believe you. They call her the Internet’s Honey, but she’s actually a violent, destructive sociopath and I hope that you get your justice.”

Grace’s head was spinning. She didn’t know what to do with bad publicity and this felt like it was a lot. Should she call her mom? Her mom would kill her!

She saw Simon arguing with Shana in the comments, “Do you realize that whenever Grace went natural we were 12? You’re going to believe this stranger when she says that unprovoked Grace and I just beat her up for no reason? I know you’re a jerk, but I thought you were smart.”

The woman fussed, “You put me in a choke hold and crushed my esophagus while she punched me in the ribs and stomach!”

“Prove it, null,” Simon almost instantly typed.

“I still have her hair!”

“And what? You think that your lawyers are going to be able to demand that she release a sample to check it against the hair that your nasty ass has been carrying around for god knows how long? FOH. You deserved to be thrown to the wheels of the train and you got off easy, Jealous Null. You’re jealous of her. Every hater is jealous. Shana certainly is. She’d say anything to try to look better, since the hair weave and makeup doesn’t help.”

“If it doesn’t help, how come you think I’m almost as pretty as her?”

Grace waited for Simon to respond, but instead, she watched as both Shana’s and the woman’s comments vanished… Simon had obviously signed into her account and blocked them. She was both relieved and upset.

This was EXACTLY the kind of thing that she wanted him to not do on her behalf. She started crying. Moments later, he was calling. “Hey… I spoke with your dad. They’re gonna take care of it, okay?”

“What? What did you say?”

“I said that a woman who attacked you a few years ago on the train is claiming that we beat her up, when we actually defended you against her and I gave him the time and date and train, in case they need to go back and check out the surveillance. If it still exists.”

“What?? My parents can’t know that I got into a fight on the train, Simon!”

“You defended yourself on the train. We were 12. That was a grown ass woman and she hit you first.” There was silence. “Grace, please don’t tell me that you’re mad at me again for fixing the problem for you?”

“No,” but she was frustrated about all of this. “I just… My dad… how did he sound?”

“He said he was pleased that I thought to call him.”

“I just don’t want them to be disappointed in me. I don’t want to hurt them like that, and I don’t want them to hurt me.”

“They won’t.” He heard her sniffling on the other end of the calling as she read the comments. “I’m coming over.”

“We’ve got school in the morning.”

“Yeah, which we would’ve rode together to anyway.”

“Simon…”

“You don’t need me?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then, I’m on my way.

Grace cried a lot, curled up in a ball in Simon’s lap. It wasn’t their usual. She didn’t generally come to him with things. She cried on her own, but since he had insisted on being there and insisted on holding her, that’s where she landed and she had to admit that it wasn’t bad, at all. He had told her father that he was going to keep her company and make sure she was safe and sound all night and her father had advised them both to go to school the following day and if anyone asked anything about that woman and her accusations to tell them that they are not at liberty to speak about it.

Grace just hoped that this weekend was not some indication of what type of school year that they might have. She woke up to see Simon climbing out of her bed, shirtless? When did he take off his shirt? Probably in the middle of the night, because he was always hot and always in long sleeves. She had never seen his physique before, that she could remember. Even when they went swimming, he generally wore a wetsuit that was tight fitting, but still covered up everything. He heard her gasp and he jumped and looked at her. “Simon, what happened to your arm?” She asked, climbing out of bed to rush to him. “… Did your mom do this to you?” She wondered, touching his faded tally marks.

He quickly grabbed his undershirt and said, “I won’t like to talk about this.” She bit her lip and wished that she could help him somehow. He smiled softly and kissed her on the forehead, “It’s okay. Don’t worry about me. Just… If you need me today, say the word.”

“What should I even say?”

He thought for a while, “Say, charge.”

She laughed, “Are you gonna charge?”

“If you say charge, somebody is getting messed up.” She laughed lightly. She needed his sense of humor.

“I’m not saying charge, Dude. The way that the Internet has reacted to me telling you NOT to do something? I say charge and they’ll crucify me. My mom’s gonna wind up taking over my social media again.” She rolled her eyes and went for her uniform.

“A signal, then. I need to know when you need me to attack.”

“Simon,” she laughed. “I don’t ever need you to attack. Remember that you’ve got college courses starting this year and college is like super important to you?”

“You’re super important to me too,” he confessed, casually.

Soon, they were dressed, out the door, and heading for the campus. More kids were around outside than typically and Simon knew that it was because they were all waiting for them to arrive. He met Grace at her door and helped her out of the car. They checked each other out, gave a nod to each other that both were good to go, and turned at the same time to walk into the school.

Simon was confident. He had nothing to be ashamed of. Grace had gotten upset over the weekend, but he had done nothing wrong and she was clearly just stressed out, because last night, she’d let him comfort her and be her support system. She had let him hold her and wipe her tears and lift her up. She had let him back in. He was confident that the Apex was going to become stronger than ever before, and keep growing. They stopped at the stop of the stairs and she leaned on his shoulder. A couple of the boys that Grace had kissed on the cheek the previous year rushed to grab the doors for them and the other present Apex kids gathered behind them, following them inside when they went into the building.

#If They Didn't Get on the Train #AU Infinity Train #Infinity Train #Nesha Fanfiction #Infinity Train Fanfiction #fics

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new-caba · 3 years

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Response to a Noelle Stevenson interview

This is a publication from my other blog which Tumblr trolled and shut down my reach.

I want to respond to some stuff Noelle Stevenson said in this interview.

“Their arc is the arc of the show. It always has been,” showrunner Noelle Stevenson told The Times in a recent phone call. “Every season is about this relationship, even when they’re the farthest apart.”

True, but your narrative is confusing about that. I am sick of people saying "It’s getting annoying the amount they’re focusing on the two” and they say this because, while there are times when the narrative wants to discuss Adora’s past, her relationship with the Horde people and the connection she has with Catra, there are way more times when it pretends she’s just a generic mystical warrior who is cool on her own and beat the bad guys just for fun (usually putting Catra’s life at risk in a non reciprocate way) and ignores that Adora even has a personality other then “to be so much better then what she has done in the past”, and “so much stronger then everyone that she can deny herself as much as she wants” as if those were a positive things. Almost focusing on how strong she is because she can resist abuse, implying that those who aren’t that strong are “bad victims”. That’s what she means by “I will not be controlled” in 4th season.

Adora is just using She-ra as a way

to run away from her internalized homophobia, that’s what being She-ra means to her and that’s the brilliant main narrative. Hear me up: she wants Catra because the old friend reminds her of a safe place to explore and have fun, in a way that this perfect being everyone wants her to become doesn’t allow, and her becoming everyone’s savior is just fueling this problem. However, they imply her heroism is a good thing, so how can it be that her opposite desire, the desire to live a happy life with her love, is the main narrative? Being She-ra (a miraculous problem solver) is her main narrative. If she used She-ra as a way to protect herself, her friends and the love of her life I would find her really cool, but she just used it to run away from herself.

To recapitulate, in the first season, the story is indeed about Catra and Adora because it is about Catra trying to survive with dignity without the help of Adora, and it is about Adora trying to understand how to get the help of the princesses to fight the war. But in the end Adora realized that the fact she has overlooked Catra was a problem because now Catra came back as a leader and she doesn’t know how to go about that.

This would be fine if the second season was directed to the two of them at least trying to get along or to talk about each other, in order to continuous with this theme of them growing up to their own life paths without letting to have a connection, healthy or not. But instead it becomes about Adora mindlessly fighting some battles and Catra alone doing the job of trying to achieve something to herself and to the Horde people in general. When Shadow Weaver runs away from her, she starts to loose hope she will ever have support to continuous. She feels like no one will ever help or love her, and if they do, she better just protect them while she dies, because she does not deserve it. And this is all being reinforced by the way Adora is treating her (being a brutal bully).

In the 3rd season, when Shadow Weaver returns to Adora, the protagonist realizes she had again been neglecting her own past traumas and wants to interact with the witch, to be close to her again. It would be a good continuation of Adora’s story with the Horde people, and, by consequence, with Catra, if she used the witch solely to achieve what she needed, but no. That’s eeeeevil, right? She did someting muuuuuch better: guaranteed the witch was around and always interacting with her, putting bad ideas in her head and aligning herself with Glimmer to be able to torture Catra again. She even says she wanted to believe there was something good in Shadow Weaver still, and to me this feels like she’s just trauma bonding. You cannot expect this person to be nice, it’s not reasonable.

It’s funny that Catra is unforgivable to the point of having to let her go and “live with her ‘choices’”, but Shadow Weaver can do what she wants without consequences, and no one discussed that in the fandom, as far as I saw.

On the other hand, Catra has wanted to interact with the witch solely because she needed guidance, since she had to manage a war being only a teenager, but she kept her arrested. Which, given how harmful SW is, is quite a reasonable boundary until you find a better way to handle her with safery. Still, all the blame of the world falls on her for having been mean to her former mother. Much better to always let her loose, like Adora did, right? I see.

You can say what you want, but Adora could have fought Glimmer to demand the which was actually better locked up, they are in a war, for god’s sake! It is so important for social movements to actually know how to war in order to win those waring them first, yet this so-called “social justice” cartoon is preaching as a value the worse war strategy possible. You do not let the former leader of your enemy loose in a room of your castel if you’re at war, no amount of “non-violent” value is gonna make this make sense. Because it’s the most illogical thing ever.

Adora is proving not to be trustable to Catra by guaranteeing the witch could pottentially go back to her, which she has proved many times to be very found of. Catra is seeing that Adora will always contribute to her suffering and never defend her. That’s what Catra realizes in the Crimson Waste after Adora says to her she’s living with Shadow Weaver. The feeling is like “it’s me or Adora, I need to act before Adora can control my life and I have no choice but to live in hiding”. She’s not wrong.

And what good did it do that Adora went to the Crimson Waste, really? Like, what was the point of the mission? Why was that narrative arc important to her? She was just driven by Shadow Weaver’s misguidance. She didn’t learned shit there. She should have learned stuff by talking to Razz and to the princesses about their history, you know. Prioritizing herself in the relationship she had with her friends, so that they helped her figure stuff out. But the narrative wants to mean it’s evil to put yourself first. It’s not, suggesting that is just denial. Why is Catra being the one accused of isolating herself, when she has great reasons not to trust anybody, while Adora is isolating herself in the same way, even though she has trustable friends? Who’s the wrong one there?

And don’t come with the talk Catra could have just lived in the Crimson Waste, she’s not safe there, it’s not a safe place for a teenager who doesn’t know shit about the world to handle without help (or two, if you count Scorpia). It’s absolutelly cruel to suggest that.

It wasn’t just that Adora left. That was actually never really the issue at all,” explained Stevenson. “It’s that for Catra, Adora was her number one priority. Their relationship was her number one priority. And for Adora, it wasn’t.”

It was. Adora run away from the important stuff in battles to focus on Catra. Even when Catra is not in battle, Adora’s thinking she will be there and that she will be terrible. Adora is always thinking about Catra in a bad light, as if Catra was only thinking of destroying her. Catra had other issues going on. She’s first trying to prevent her former mother from killing her, then she’s trying to prevent Hordak from killing her, then she’s trying to take away the territories from the princesses - rightfully, by the way, because the princesses abuse their power and use it to control Etheria at any cost, as seen by Glimmer in the 4th season, and as seen by the fact the princesses expect Adora to solve all their issues with security herself, as if Adora had to control everything for them with her divine powers. They continuous with this attitude until the 5th season, when Adora loses her sword and finally the princesses have to learn to get along and solve their own issues without her. Despite all the talk about magic friendship, the princesses of power only help each other in a meaningful way against the war in this last season, when Adora finally stops begging to serve them (even though what they were doing to her with these expecctations is still their fault, not hers). And Catra was there, trying to stop them and their toxidity all along. She was the one trying to do something useful. This idea Catra is just obcessed with Adora… like yeah, she is always very concerned with Adora, since the princess can’t stop stalking her, personally attacking and stigmatizing her. This is self defense. And it’s pure projection to suggest Catra is the obcessed one. Noelle you’re… lying to yourself.

Anyways, at the end, all Adora’s narrative arc always ends up in dead end. The sacred connections to the princesses was unproductive, her travel to the Crimson Waste was unproductive, literally everything she finds out about her story is an accident. And they’re blaming Catra for wanting to do something. It’s like they’re so afraid of telling this story that they are villanizing who wants it to happen.

[continuing the last comment] This backstory has made Catra one of the show’s most relatable characters, even though she’s a villain who keeps making bad decisions.

Catra is not relatable because she thinks she should be the priority of people’s life, she’s relatable because, unlike the protagonist, she has actual life problems and challenges like it was never shown on TV before. She is always being tortured, abused and, mainly, oppressed, she has no power what so ever and have to survive this reality. She loses faith in humanity and can get really dark because of it - as people do -, she makes messes because of it and have a hard time healing, even though she gets there, which feels empowering. This is just an ordinary narrative arc, nothing like “only making bad decisions”. You know what is not empowering? The comparations with her and bad people, like she was mean because of these difficulties. Her mistakes are not worse than the ones Adora makes out of trauma. Why is one the villain and the other, the good guy? I have said this in a thousen different times now, but this is discrimination against oppressed people, to call her a bad guy and elevate her to the same level of villains who have magic, body weapons and science on their side.

Also, she did not made bad choices. Not wanting to go into the unknown without protection like her attitude was in the frist season, taking seriously when powerful people threatened to kill her if she does not follow their orders like she did in the second season and not wanting to be in a land full of dangers having to intimidate everyone like she did in the third season, are not life mistakes. They are very healthy and helpful choices. You wasn’t able to sell the idea she was wrong to do so, because it’s a lie. It just made it seem unfair that she’s not the good girl.

Catra’s journey has involved realizing that “you are not always going to be the number one priority in the lives of the people that you love,” Stevenson said.

Catra was absolutelly right to demand stuff from Adora, who basically was running away from her own story. This is the biggest act of love you can do for someone, to stand up for them no matter what, even when they are confused. She did not have to learn how to give space to Adora, Catra knows how to take care of her own business and leave other alone, as she has done the whole series. More projection.

She’s also had to learn “that it is OK to ask for the things that you want, because people don’t always know. Her big, heroic moment in the final season is actually just being able to ask Adora to stay.”

Her big heroic act was to be resilient enough to continuous to do what she has always done, which is to ask Adora to be by her side. Even after Adora neglected her to her abusers to the point she was “raped by the pope” and she stoped believing she was worth of love. She didn’t had to learn that, she just had to not forget she knew that.

Adora’s journey has been about learning that being a hero is more complicated than the willingness to sacrifice yourself for the cause or for your friends.

“Putting the greater good at the top of your list is a good thing to do, but you still do have that responsibility to the individuals in your life who depend on you,” Stevenson said. “Your friends don’t want you to die and sacrifice yourself because they love you. They want you in their lives.”

Are you now suggesting her friends deppended on her? Because they didn’t. Why do you say that? I don’t understand that if it is about Glimmer and Bow, but if that is about Catra, yeah, Adora could have used her magic powers to fight against Catra’s abusers, so you can say Catra was dependent on her to do it and she didn’t. But Catra never directelly imposed Adora to go and do that because Adora could be feeling unprepared. That’s not something you impose on others if you’re a decent person. That’s why Catra tryed to handle what she could on her own in the secound season, before she could find some help. She didn’t want to demand help when people were not openly abled to help.

And this is related to the fact you believe there’s such a thing as heros, and is defending the hero idea. Also that you think there is such a thing as the greater good. Haven’t you learned anything watching Harry Potter? Seriouslly? Oh, wait. You’re probably calling J.K. R*wling a T*RF as you did with me, never mind (censored because my reach was canceled after I said JK’s name on the other account). No wonder you’re such a bully if you keep defending this idea. I won’t even respond, I will just quote Kiara again, ‘cause that’s too basic:

“we’re not here to save the world. we are here to empower ourselves and each other to embrace all of our divine missions here. and that collective effort changes our course rather than a single person taking the lead. […]

i’m not focused on being a hero because i’m self-aware. i’m aware of what my strengths and weaknesses are and radically accept them. that is how i can help and it’s the only way anyone else is going to be able to help. if people don’t start getting real with themselves about what they’re meant to do and not what they wanna impress people with, it’s going to be much harder. i’m focused on what i can do. i have surrendered. it’s not inaction. it’s strategy”.

Well, it was much harder to Adora, wan’t it? It could have been so much simpler if she just cared about herself. She only faced herself in the last secound, with Catra imploring her, as the sweet person she is, to please do stuff just so that people could live on earth to help each other and for nothing else. Funny that Adora is always trying to impress people being the cool She-ra and at the same time Noelle is like “She-ra is this uncomfortable cloth she had to wear”. Either it’s ok to live to impress other people, or it’s uncomfortable. This is cognitive dissonance. As Magdalen Berns used to say, if you have to think about what you’re doing, if you have to make an conscious effort, it’s not natural. Why is this so hard for people to understand?

During this final season, “They become good influences on each other,” Stevenson added. “Adora learns to be a little more selfish, while Catra learns to be good and to be selfless in the way that Adora is.”

Selflessness is such a sin. The fact Catra got selfless is more trauma inducing. Here’s more Kiara:

“virgo-pisces can represent the delusion that the idea of selflessness can become because to be selfless is to deny desire of the self in this physically embodied existence and to deny your humanity, to deny that you are an individual and that you are a Self. it is a complete act of dissociation from reality, where being of Self also means survival because it is also called SELF-preservation. to engage with delusional selflessness it is to project unrealistic expectations onto our world that we will never need something in return. that we can continuously give and give and give while also never asking for help to restore, rest, and be taken care of. it’s just not realistic to pretend we’re okay with being hollow. our resentment and bitterness prove that’s not true.“

Anyway, I hope both Catra and Adora can just become selfish.

I wish I didn’t love Catra that much not to get pissed with those interviews, but I will stop looking to articles like that now not to get the urge to respond. I have been away since Noelle pretty much confirmed my indignation trhough her actions against me on twitter, but this response was almost ready to publish in my drafts for a long time and I just wanted to go and put this out in the world once and for all, so here it is.

i have this dream that we would be able to take what we see in the media and make it our own, not to be so relyant on the vision of the creators and the industries. I don’t think it’s fine for modern society to keep mindlessly watching stuff without discussing it afterwards so that they can be a part of the construction of the narratives. But you see, it is really concerning not only that the creator of the one entirely lesbian show is playing so much mental gymnastics about her own creation to the point of contradicting herself, but that the whole crew, full of remarkfull writers and storytellers, are also doing it. No one said “oh, wait, this is confusing. We’re telling two opposite stories, one about two girls growing up and learning how to love each other, and the other about dissociating from yourself and mindlessly beating people without any connection or growth”. Like, if not even in the crew it is safe to discuss a narrative, the fandom will never be. That’s what i’m learning, even if I still like to see Catra and Catradora Fanart.

#shera fandom #spop meta #spop #spop fandom #adora x catra #catradora #catra shera #she ra catra #catra #adora shera #she ra #shera #shera adora #catra spop #meta #she ra and the princesses of power #she ra spop

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greyias · 4 years

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FIC: Smoke and Mirrors - Chapter 12

Title: Smoke and Mirrors Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: T Genre: Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn Synopsis: Something’s rotten on Carrick Station, and Theron won’t rest until he finds out what. But picking at the frayed threads of suspicion quickly unravels a conspiracy much larger than even the Republic’s top spy can handle on his own. (A mostly canon-compliant retelling of the Forged Alliances storyline, as seen through the eyes of Theron Shan.) Author’s Notes and Spoilers: See Chapter 1.

Chapter Index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | Crossposted to AO3

Theron glared at the bright sign over the bar as another minute on the display’s minuscule chronometer ticked by without any sign of his asset. He checked the urge to let out an annoyed breath, and instead swirled around the contents of his glass to occupy his waiting time. The off brand whiskey from Soccoro was considerably cheaper than Whyren’s Reserve, but it still had the woody notes he enjoyed in the beverage.

The bartenders here on Carrick Station tended to water down drinks more than usual, although whether that was a request from Republic Command, or just a way to extend profits he didn’t know. However, it was still alcoholic, and right now that’s what mattered. Besides, a watered down drink suited him just fine at the moment. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be here, and he needed to keep up appearances on the off chance anyone was watching.

The likelihood of that was low considering he’d been careful to keep his suspicions of Darok to himself — unlike some people he could maintain a low profile. Not that Theron wouldn’t have relished the chance to openly glare at the bastard, but sometimes it was better to be subtle. Especially when it came to tailing and observing targets. He wasn’t sure what role Darok had played in the invasion of Tython, but he’d find that out soon enough.

Thoughts of the Jedi Temple in ruins inevitably led his mind astray, and he tried to flick the mental query about the status of the Grand Master to the back of his mind for what had to be the fifth time. He was pretty sure there would have been mention from his Knight Errant if she had seen any sign of Satele during the battle to retake the temple. If her reaction to the family resemblance was anything to judge by (not to mention the amount of times their names cropped up together in the dossier), they had to be at least familiar with each other. Or at least more so than the average Jedi was to the Grand Master. After all, her first reaction on seeing him was to latch onto the family resemblance.

Satele could take care of herself, Theron knew that. If she wasn’t on Tython at the time, then she was likely engaged in some important business elsewhere. It was inevitable that she would be briefed on what had happened at the temple and likely already be on her way back home. It didn’t make much sense to call in a professional sense, and he definitely wasn’t going to just ring her up to say hello.

He took another, very shallow sip of his whiskey and glanced at the chronometer again. Perhaps he’d been too subtle in his invitation to Highwind, and she hadn’t realized his comment about the drink was an excuse to talk to her away from Darok. She seemed fairly sharp, even for a Jedi. Hopefully she hadn’t decided to keep trying to press Darok on her painfully obvious suspicions. Theron frowned into his glass, wondering how he kept getting pulled into jobs with Jedi.

It certainly wasn’t the will of the Force. If the damn thing had ever given him any sort of favor he would have been on Korriban and Tython right alongside the little blonde with a lightsaber of his own, rather than stuck being the voice in her ear. His efforts may have been crucial to the overall success of the mission, but being cooped up in a room while someone else did the heavy lifting wasn’t his style.

While he preferred sneaking into the back door to kicking down the front, either of those options would at least have him in the middle of the action. It would have given him first-hand information on what had gone down at both locations, rather than him having to interpret the conversations Highwind’s earpiece had picked up.

Information was key. And honestly, it was of utmost importance to the ongoing war efforts to know the status and whereabouts of the members of the Jedi Council, especially the Grand Master. And damn it, if something had happened to her, someone was going to have to tell Jace. Not that the two were an item anymore, but still. That wasn’t the sort of thing you just heard in a report.

Not that Theron was volunteering for that thankless task.

And since he had no idea whether the Hero of Tython was going to grace him with her presence, he could at least kill some time and answer that stupid question nagging at him. Without another thought about it, he pulled out his holo and keyed in Satele’s private frequency. She had given it to him after the Duros mission, for whatever reason he still couldn’t figure out. He’d committed it to memory immediately and destroyed the physical copy, as a direct line to the head of the Jedi Order was information that needed to be carefully controlled.

Almost immediately the other end picked up, and the fuzzy blue image of the Grand Master sprang up from the small device. He felt some of the tension in his shoulders ease a little at seeing her face frowning in confusion, even if the quality of the call obscured the finer details of her expression. Judging from the flickering image, she was quite a distance away.

“Theron,” she said in greeting, her tone measured and careful, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting a call.”

Maybe he should have led with something else, but apparently the small amount of whiskey had removed at least one brain-to-mouth filter. “I’m guessing you weren’t at the temple.”

“No,” she said, “I’m acting as an emissary to the Drayvos League.”

“Have you heard?”

“Yes.” She closed her eyes briefly. Even over the call it was obviously she was trying to gather a measure of calm. “I felt Master Traless’s passing through the Force, and the rest… I felt them too.”

He probably should have passed along something along the lines of condolences, but those words stuck in his throat. He washed that away with another sip of whiskey, trying to control his expression as the woman on the other end of the holocall seemed to collect herself.

“We got it back,” he managed to get out tersely. “I’m sorry it wasn’t soon enough.”

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I’m sure you all did the best you could.”

Maybe it was just that small glimpse of vulnerability that she let slip through, but his ironclad desire to maintain professional distance slipped away, and suddenly he wasn’t just another SIS agent confirming the security of high ranking Republic personnel. For a moment, they were almost something resembling mother and son. Maybe not like a normal family, but still close enough that he wanted… he didn’t know. To offer reassurance? Let her know he was going to find the truth? To ask for her help? No. That was crazy. Not only had the Council not been informed of the Korriban op beforehand (that would be a fun call for Jace to have), but this wasn’t a secure line. There would be too much for him to explain. And honestly, would she even believe his crazed conspiracy theories?

No. Of course she wouldn’t.

And even if she did, there were too many potential ears listening in around them. Before talking about anything classified he’d have to determine who around him was actually drunk and who was listening. What she needed from him was the actual truth on what had happened today. What she deserved was the real reason that her home had been ransacked, and why her people had been killed.

“I just thought you should know,” he finally said.

It was almost too hard to tell over the weak connection of the call, but he thought he saw the normally composed expression soften just a faction. It was probably his imagination. “I’m glad you called.”

“Right,” he said awkwardly. “Sorry for interrupting.”

“Don’t be,” she said. “My mind is a little more at ease now.”

Her attention was pulled away as two officers walked into view of the call. He saw her eyes flick over her shoulder, possibly sensing their approach. Without saying anything to him she turned to address them. Something about the way the two held themselves, glancing at the private communication their commander was viewing struck Theron as odd, and he tried to suppress a frown.

Satele glanced back at him, already reaching for the disconnect button. “I’m sorry, Agent, but something has come up. Besides, it appears that you have company.”

He didn’t break from his position, but flicked his eyes over towards the bar to see one blonde Jedi Master approaching him, obvious curiosity on her face. He gave Satele a curt nod of acknowledgement, and she ended the call before anything else could be said.

“That was Grand Master Satele, wasn’t it?” Highwind asked as she approached.

He gave her a small measure of his usual annoyance for someone so casually broadcasting that sort of thing, which apparently was a little too subtle for the Jedi to catch as she just kept staring at the space where the Grand Master’s image had been a few moments before. Like spies, a lot of Jedi were fairly guarded when it came to their inner-thoughts. This one apparently was a bit of an exception, because Highwind was fairly obviously broadcasting concern.

“Yeah, that was her,” he said. “She wasn’t anywhere near Tython.”

“Theron, I’m sorry,” her voice dropped, the note of contrition contained within entirely baffling, “I should have let you know that I didn’t find any evidence of her while I was there.”

“You had other things on your mind,” he said, trying to impart a note of finality into his voice. “Like not dying on the other end of a lightsaber.”

“Still, she’s your—“

“We’re not that close,” he interrupted, and straightened up in his chair so he could catch her eye. “Your Order’s pretty particular about that point.”

“I didn’t mean to offend,” she said quietly. “If I have, I apologize.”

“Forget it,” he muttered, “it doesn’t matter anyway. I don’t have your particular talent as it turns out.”

She gazed at him curiously, cocking her heading to the side as if trying to slot in a new piece she had just found to a puzzle she had been working on. It made him feel itchy and uncomfortable, and he immediately looked into the depths of his glass of whiskey. He swirled the liquid around, watching as the sugars of the alcohol clung to the sides and slowly worked their way down the side of the glass.

“I’m going to guess she gave—“

“I’ve got a tab open at the bar,” he interrupted the query before she could even finish, “go order something.”

“I’m sorry, that was rude of me.”

“Get a drink,” he said insistently. “Before you start getting any looks standing there looking like a Jedi.”

“I am a Jedi,” she reminded him.

He motioned to the bar. “So go get a refreshment. I assume your lot is still allowed to do that aren’t they?”

“Yes,” she said tersely.

“Then help yourself. I’m not going anywhere.”

She frowned ever so slightly at the dismissal, before turning on her heel and approaching the bar. He watched her surreptitiously, pretending he was more interested in the glass in his hand. Whatever she was saying seemed to confuse the server for a few moments, before he apparently took in her attire completely. The dramatic eye roll was obvious even from this far away, and he had to go into the back before he returned with a tall mug of a steaming beverage, and handed it over

She walked back, shoulders back, and mug tightly gripped between both of her hands to keep any of the liquid from spilling. He expected to see the strings of some sort of tea bag over the side of the mug, but as she took the chair opposite to him, he could just make out the telltale aroma and dark brown color of caf.

Interesting choice.

“I have a drink,” she said with finality.

“That’s caffa,” he said blandly. “That’s not a drink. There’s no alcohol in it.”

“It’s liquid and you drink it,” she corrected primly, “therefore, it’s a drink.”

“Well, if you want to be literal, sure.”

“Besides, I try not to drink alcohol.”

He almost, almost asked what she meant by “try”, but stopped himself at the last moment. They were already getting sidetracked to his reason for coming here.

“I apologize if I was prying,” she said carefully. “I did not mean to speak out of turn on what might be a difficult subject.”

“It’s not difficult,” he said flatly. “It’s just a closed one. People in my line of work don’t really discuss that sort of thing.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, and took a sip from her mug as if to busy herself. It wasn’t usually the Jedi way to act so… casual around others. If that was the right word.

The normalcy of the whole act caught him a little off guard, and he found himself adding without really thinking, “Everything worked out for the best, even if it’s different than what I first thought. I’m good at what I do.”

“If you ask me, I think you turned out pretty well,” she said, glancing up from her mug of caf, a small smile playing across her face.

His brain frizted out for a moment as he tried to interpret that statement. From anyone else he would have assumed they were trying to flirt with him. Considering her background, he couldn’t completely dismiss the fact that she was likely oblivious to that sort of thing. He decided to chalk it up to that so he could tackle the subject at hand. “Well, if that’s so, hopefully you’ll keep listening. At least, as long as you have a drink in hand.”

“Well, you were quite insistent that I grab one.”

He probably should have apologized for his brusqueness earlier, but he just shrugged. “I like to keep up appearances.”

“For the bartender?” She took a casual sip from the mug, but the look she shot him over the rim was contemplative, not confused. “Or are you concerned about other eyes?”

“You catch on quick.”

“You are not the first SIS agent I’ve had a meeting with under false pretenses.”

“Is it really a false pretense if we already made the arrangements before there was a need for one?” he shot back. “Besides, I bought you that drink, as promised.”

“So you did, and I still have a way left to go in this mug.” She leaned back in the seat, cupping the beverage between both of her hands. “Was there more you wanted to speak about, other than just the merits of what constitutes a ‘drink’?”

Touché. Apparently she knew how to duel with something other than just lightsabers. His first instinct was to return fire with a sarcastic remark, but he caught himself. While not normally one to back down from a challenge, there was a bigger issue here. Something was rotten on Carrick Station, and he needed to get to the bottom of it.

He ran a finger along the rim of his glass, looking at the Jedi’s guarded expression. Any lingering doubts on her being part of Darok’s scheme had been pretty thoroughly put to rest by her practically trying to interrogate him on the spot. The amount of planning and forethought to somehow arrange that for Theron’s benefit was, quite frankly, paranoid. More paranoid than the spy’s current line of thinking. Also, Highwind’s record spoke for itself. Not to mention her performance on both of the missions. There was no telling what was going on, but if anyone could handle the unknown it was the woman in front of him. It would be stupid for him not to recruit her into this.

“This conversation is off the books,” he finally said. “Does that bother you?”

“I had a feeling it might be,” she returned. “Is this in regards to what I’m thinking?”

“It might be.” Theron sat his drink down and folded his hands together. “I don’t need the Force to do simple math. Things add up here. Something’s off.”

She nodded. “The timing of both attacks was too convenient.”

“That’s not all.” He frowned, doing quick calculations on how much of his hand he should play, and decided it would be beneficial to put most of his cards on the table. “Darok and these ops… there’s something being buried here.”

She pursed her lips. “Do you remember the Sith I spoke of? The one on the holo?”

“Oh, you mean the one our buddy Darok didn’t want you talking about?”

“You noticed that too?” She tapped the side of her mug, but he couldn’t tell if the comment was genuine or sarcastic.

“I’m surprised you did with the way you kept going on.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “I was trying to properly debrief after a mission. No one wanted to listen to me.”

“I was listening,” Theron said, catching her eye. “I’ve been listening to you all day.”

She fixed him with a look. “Why did you not say anything?”

“Because there’s this thing called subtlety,” he said, “you ever heard of it?”

Her nostrils flared as she snorted out a breath. “Of course I know what subtlety is. What am I supposed to do? Use some sort of secret spy signal to let you know I want to talk?”

He stared at her for several beats, hopefully letting the ridiculousness of that statement sink in. “Yeah, of course you are. It looks like this.”

He used his thumb to trace the shell of his ear in an exaggerated gesture, like some sort of cliché spy from a holodrama. She narrowed her eyes, before quickly mimicking the motion. “Like that?”

Stars. She was just so… so… so… Whatever. It didn’t matter what she was. “Yeah. That’s the secret SIS signal for needing to pass along sensitive intel while someone else is listening in.”

“Really?” She tilted her head at him.

Okay, he was going to have to work on broadcasting his sarcasm more clearly. Also, they didn’t have time for this. So he returned to the more important subject at hand. “What did the Sith say?”

“Not much.” Highwind stared into the depths of her mug. “He spoke of a package that had been secured. To a ‘Lord Goh’, I presume that was the Sith I fought in the library. I could not determine what the contents of said package were.”

“I guess they wouldn’t just let that slip,” Theron muttered annoyed, mostly to himself. “Might defeat the purpose of doing their raid.”

“I suppose so,” she allowed. “When the Sith realized I was not his compatriot, he said something odd.”

“Odd how?”

“That I was ‘running a little bit ahead of schedule’.”

“That’s… yes. That’s very odd,” Theron agreed. “Although maybe not so much if the timing wasn’t so much of a coincidence as we’re supposed to believe. Did he say anything else?”

She was quiet for a moment, still staring into the contents of her mug. “When I pressed him on the reason for the attack, he said it was for ‘the vindication of history’. I don’t know what he meant by that… but I really don’t like the sound of it.”

Theron nodded, trying to fit the new snatches of information into the odd picture that was starting to form in his head. There were still too many gaps in the larger picture. He’d have to file them away for now.

“What are we going to do?”

“We?” Theron quirked a brow. “So I take it that means that you don’t want to just hang up that shiny new medal of yours and head on home?”

Her head snapped up at the challenge, for a moment the perfect Jedi calm broken. The brightly colored lights of the cantina threw a strange wash on everything, but the defiant blue of her eyes still shone through clearly. It made for a very striking image. “A Jedi does not have need for bloodstained trinkets.“

He raised his brows. “I’ve seen some that do. Wasn’t sure if you were one of them.”

“I have enough medals,” she leaned forward, meeting his stare. “If you say something is being buried, I would like to know what that is.”

"It’s going to require some digging.”

“The truth usually does,” she said. “I’m out of shovels, but I’ve got a Seeker Droid on my ship that’s really good at digging up things.“

“That might be a bit overkill right now.” Not to mention way too literal. “I think we need to go for a more subtle approach.”

“If that’s what you think.” She leaned back against the cushion of the chair, eyeing him curiously. “What exactly is your line of thought?”

“Well, hypothetically speaking of course, I’d start by making a new friend,” he said casually, “someone I might be able to count on.”

“Friends are a good thing to have.”

“I’m thinking of a really good friend, one who’d be willing to face down the Emperor himself if it came to it,” he said, watching her carefully. “You know of anyone like that?”

At the mention of the Emperor, something flashed across her expression, so quick he almost missed it. Brows drawn together in a deep frown, and something darker in the eyes, but it was gone too fast to tell exactly what had been there.

“I might know of someone,” she said.

“Yes, well, then hypothetically after we exchanged friendship bracelets, I’d go off on my own.”

“That’s not very nice after making a friend.”

“My friend’s a busy lady. I wouldn’t want to bother her until I found out everything I could about Darok and the Sith Lord she talked to.”

“I thought you said you needed help.”

“Hypothetical help, but only after I checked and double-checked all my information and found all the connections.”

“This is a lot of hypotheticals,” she grumbled into her mug.

He couldn’t check the grin at her repressed annoyance. “I like my hypothetical proof.”

“Your new friend must be a very understanding and patient person.”

“I wouldn’t know, I just met her.”

“I do. She has the patience of a Jedi.”

“Fancy that,” he tossed back. “But I might give her a call—”

“Good, she was starting to get lonely drowning in this sea of hypothesis.”

“I’ll toss her a hypothetical lifeline.”

“My hypothetical hero.”

“And then after she stopped being hypothetically sarcastic, I’d see if she’d be ready to get to the bottom of all of this.”

“She’s ready now.” Highwind twisted the mug in her hands.

“That’s not being very patient,” he admonished lightly. Despite the gravity of the situation he had to hold back a laugh at the petulant look on her face. “And I’m good, Master Highwind, but I’m not good enough to be able to do all that without leaving this seat.”

“I thought you said we were friends,” she shot back.

“Hypoth—”

“Don’t even think about finishing that word,” she muttered dangerously.

“Fine, we’re ‘friends’.”

“Then drop the formalities, unless you want me to call you ‘Agent Shan’ from here on out.”

She made sure to say the last part a few decibels louder than the rest of the sentence. Luckily the cantina was pretty much deserted at this time of day, but he fixed her with a look all the same for attempting to attract attention.

“Now, Grey,” he lowered his voice in an attempt to get the conversation back under control, “if you’re annoyed you don’t need to shout.”

“I’m not annoyed,” she said, “but I don’t enjoy speaking in vague riddles either.”

“I thought you Jedi loved that.”

Highwind—no, Grey—shot him a look, and he was pretty sure that whatever curiosity she had held for him at the beginning of the conversation had been beaten out by irritation at this point. “It’s been a long, very unexpected day, Theron.”

“Okay, that’s probably fair.” The image of that unguarded moment he’d caught a glimpse of flashed in his mind. He could still see that glimmer on her cheeks, and the way she’d tried to dash them away before anyone else could see. The tiniest hints of something that could have been a thread of guilt wound through his chest and he busied himself with his glass of whiskey. “You did do all the heavy lifting.”

“I had help,” she corrected, and the curious quality of steel and compassion drew his gaze up to see her staring at him resolutely, “and I appreciate that. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

A tiny flare of warmth lit up in his gut, warring with that thread of guilt. He had no idea how to reconcile either of those conflicting feelings, which made it difficult to form a proper response. “I was just doing my job.”

“And it was a good one, judging by the fact that I’m here.” That really shouldn’t have made the little flare heat up into a small fire, but for some stupid reason it did. At least it burned away some of the guilt. “Even without the friendship bracelet, that goes both ways.”

“I don’t follow.”

“If this is off the books,” she leaned forward, voice dropping further, “then you’re going to need backup.”

“I work best alone.”

“That’s not how being ‘friends’ works.”

“I’ll call you once I know something,” he clarified, “but I can sneak around better without you waving your lightsaber for everyone to see.”

“I can always not pull it out.”

“The whole armor and cape getup is kind of a dead giveaway too.” He waved his hand at her attire vaguely. “Besides, I’m just going to do some low-key surveillance and scour the HoloNet. You’d get bored very quick.”

“I can do more than just wave around a lightsaber,” she pointed out.

“I’m sure you’re very talented,” he took a sip of his whiskey, “but not as much as me when it comes to my job.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re not overconfident. Nothing bad has ever come from that.”

“Is that sarcasm I detect, Master Jedi? Very unbecoming.”

She pursed her lips together, cheeks turning the slightest shade of red, but didn’t drop that intense gaze. “If you run into trouble, what happens?”

“I’m not,” he said finitely, setting his glass down on the table and rising to his feet. “But I promise to write, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“That’s not what I said—“

“Look, it’s been fun chatting, but I’ve got a shuttle to catch.”

“Aren’t you going to finish your drink?” She pointed to the half-consumed glass of whiskey. A bead of sweat trickled down the side, pooling on the table below it. “Such a waste. The bartender will talk.”

Theron slid a glance to the bartender, who was busy wiping down the bar, then back at the Jedi staring at him placidly. He met her gaze evenly, and grabbed the glass and tossed back the entire contents in one smooth motion. To his credit, he didn’t choke even as the alcohol burned a trail all the way down his throat.

She shrugged at him lightly, and lifted her mug up as if in cheers. “Have a good flight, Theron.”

“See you around,” he tossed back, before slipping away.

If his ears weren’t deceiving him, he thought he might have heard a quiet huff of laughter as he walked away, the whiskey still burning in his throat, and the odd warmth still bubbling in his gut.

#swtor fanfiction #theron shan x jedi knight #Theron Shan #Female Jedi Knight/Hero of Tython #oc: greyias highwind #otp: adorkable #smoke and mirrors #SoR Fic O Doom #swtor #fanfic #greyfic

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itsclydebitches · 4 years

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RWBY Recaps: “A Night Off”

So RWBY has this weird thing going on in Volume 7 where it’ll give me a truly horrendous episode and then manage to turn things around just enough so that, despite my frustrations, I quite like parts of the next week’s stuff. That proceeds to get my hopes up, only for them to turn around mess it all up again in the following episode.

What I’m saying is, I should expect next week to be a pretty rough ride.

First, let me chuck out the details I personally loved in this episode that fit better together than spread out across a recap. Namely, treating Oscar like an actual human being. Thank you, Rooster Teeth, for:

Having him continually be involved by monitoring Jaune’s aura levels. (It likewise hasn’t escaped my notice how much he’s been paired with JNR lately. The fandom might get their new ‘P’ after all.)

Giving Oscar some thoughts and feelings beyond just the Ozpin situation. He’s worried about not having his semblance yet. Hark! A characterization!

Nora very kindly firing back with, “Well, I bet we’ll all be jealous when you do.”

Yang using Oscar as a convenient armrest. Granted, Yang hasn’t exactly treated him well enough lately to have earned that kind of casual buddy-buddy-ness, but if the writing is never going to call the group out on their Volume 6 behavior then I’ll take unearned kindness over continued indifference or cruelty

Jaune going out to the movies with Oscar and them both inviting Weiss. I mean, same issue here. Why is Oscar so comfortable and eager to hang out with the guy who attacked him? I wish that we had some acknowledgment that these kinds of things don’t just disappear once someone apologizes. Jaune still hurt Oscar, badly enough to leave him flinching against a wall... and none of that even takes into account Oscar’s supposed hesitation about lying to Ironwood. He should be acting more like Ren, involved with the group yet wary at the same time.

In addition, keep in mind that Oscar is currently living in this happy bubble where everyone has chosen to forget that Ozpin exists. I’m still highly suspicious of how they’ll treat him once Ozpin is out in the open again and Oscar is the convenient scapegoat for their anger. As said though, for now I’ll take it. I mean, look at that smile.

Right. Onto the actual plot.

We open on the aftermath of the Mantle riots, which is somewhat disappointing. I had hoped the group would actually be involved in that, giving them the chance to tackle a situation where brute force can’t be the go-to answer. You can’t punch out desperate citizens or run them through with your scythe. Instead, Ironwood’s men are handling it and we reconvene with the group the next day, election day. For the record, we know it has only been a day---and not longer rioting as I initially assumed---because Weiss comments that her father dropped that bombshell “the day before the election.” Which for me just speaks to how much time must have passed during those training montages. The political parts of this volume couldn’t have happened in any short amount of time.

We’re shown an interview with Hill wherein she quite firmly doesn’t condone the rioting, but admits that there are good reasons for it as well. Her body guard stands very awkwardly in the background in a way I don’t think the shot really needs.

We then segue back into the group training and, like I mentioned above with Oscar, there are a lot of details here that I really enjoyed. Two of which are Weiss creating a mini version of her knight to sneak up on Winter---yes, please show us this kind of creativity in the actual fights---and Nora and Jaune practicing with a rubber ball. Ren is also deep in meditation while all this going on, which raises some questions about how aware of the world he is in this state. Is he able to simply ignore all the commotion, even Ruby flying straight at him? Is he so deep down that he’s entirely disconnected until he resurfaces? If so, does he only meditate like this when he’s 100% sure he’s in a safe place? Would the group be able to wake him if something were to happen?

As you can see, I’m obviously a little too invested in details and world building lol.

Speaking of world building though, we learn a little bit more about semblances here. Namely that, like hinted at in Volume Five and recently with Harriet, all their semblances are “evolving.” Jaune can apparently regenerate his own aura now, much more quickly than he could before. And Ruby...

Okay, real talk. Did I miss something here? It’s entirely possible I did, but if not what even was that conversation between Ruby and Oscar? She flies at the pillar Ren is seated under, divides into three rose petal clusters to get around it, and recombines on the other side. You know, the thing we’ve known she can do for a long while now. Since Volume Four I believe. Except then we get this exchange:

Oscar: Have you always been able to do that?

Ruby: I don’t know. I don’t normally think it through that much.

What are you talking about? Of course you know, Ruby! This isn’t a new technique. And what do you mean by, “I don’t normally think it through that much”? Is the writing trying to imply that she’s done the split thing so instinctively in the past she didn’t even notice she was doing it? I’m just massively confused by this moment. Others have pointed out that the writing tends to make up easy to solve “problems” for the cast to deal with so it looks like they’re achieving some kind of growth. The most egregious example being Ruby’s lack of hand-to-hand in Volume 5, culminating in a single headbutt against Mercury. Notably, this supposed flaw hasn’t resurfaced at all since then. Not even, say, when she’s at a party without her weapon and Tyrian attacks...

This feels like another moment where they just threw out something random to make it look like Ruby is improving alongside with the other, actual developments they’ve managed to think through, such as Jaune’s aura. Which is particularly strange considering Ruby was set up as the one to evolve her semblance. Which will probably still happen... but why paint an old skill as new along the way? It’s just all very strange.

Anyway, we get a nice shot of Ren coming out of his meditation where the whole world is gray like when he activates his semblance. Excellent visual cue as to his emotional state. This continues as Ironwood arrives and the group lays into him about needing to trust Hill. Which is hilarious considering that none of them are currently trusting Ironwood. He points out that common ground can only exist “if she’s open too”---unlikely given the second half of the episode---and Nora is about to challenge that when Ren interrupts, asking about mission assignments. Ironwood announces that they’re getting the night off instead.

Note though how guilty Ruby looks after all that talk of trusting others.

We cut to the girls later that night in their room, listening to the election news and getting ready to go out. It’s all very cute, but I think Nora is onto something regarding how Blake and Yang are always together. It’s so blatantly obvious they’re falling for one another, especially after this episode, and I’m honestly thrilled we’re finally getting some queer rep beyond former villains and minor characters. However, I hope that as Blake and Yang’s relationship develops that the writers don’t completely lose track of their co-dependency issues as well. Meaning, Yang totally wrote Blake off because she “ran away,” AKA went home precisely like Yang did, warping a natural and understandable choice into a personal betrayal. Blake in turn broke down sobbing and promised Yang to never ever leave her again. Separation is not a new issue for them. Their desire to spend every waking moment together is definitely cast as romantic now, but it’s also tied up in their inability to function well without each other. As we saw recently, a throwaway comment about fighting with someone else generates legitimate anger in both of them. Couples have to be able to spend time apart, so I hope the writing eventually lets the girls work through all that as well.

For now though, they’re going dancing with FNKI. Very bad dancing based on what little we see. It’s enough to convince Weiss that the movies are her best choice here. Especially since she’s clearly not interested in Hill’s preemptive victory party. We see a tiny bit of that tension between Weiss’ views and Nora’s, but nothing with any substance. We just keep getting tiny glimpses that Nora is potentially passionate about the people of Mantle before it’s all quickly overshadowed by her romance drama with Ren. More on that in a moment.

The two of them plus Ruby make their way out into the streets where Ren admits that, “We spent so much time worrying about how Ironwood would react to the truth about [Salem], but have any of us even considered how we’re going to beat her if we work past that?”

Ruby reminds them that Jinn told Ozpin he couldn’t destroy her. Nora: “Maybe someone else could?”

It only took you weeks to figure that out! Though I love how this still---still---apparently has no bearing on how they view Ozpin. This was another perfect, quiet moment where three characters, notably three of the least angry characters, could have acknowledged how terrifying this information is. How they still can’t bring themselves to tell Ironwood, a man who thus far has done nothing but support them. Wow, I totally get why Ozpin would have trouble telling us. Oh also, we just realized that maybe Jinn’s information was specific to him. Maybe someone else can destroy Salem. That’s a pretty big revelation. I wonder if Ozpin himself realizes that? We should probably try to talk to him at some point.

It’s while they’re talking about the heavy stuff that Ren mutters about how they should still be training. Nora counters that they deserve a night off and the two of them clash enough to walk off angry. We see now at least part of what’s been bothering Ren lately. Nora is a very bubbly, silly, go-with-the-flow sort of person, whereas he is hyper focused on becoming as strong as possible in the hopes of finding a way out of this Salem mess. He doesn’t want to hear compliments while searching for a geist, or have her playing with his hair while on patrol, or turn training into a conversation about their relationship, or waste time on frivolous parties. There’s obviously a happy medium between Ren’s work ethic and Nora’s relaxed attitude, though they haven’t worked through that at all because they’re too busy kissing. Again, more on that in a second.

They reach the party, Penny is there, Nora and Ren dive into another fight that serves to canonize both them and Blake/Yang. Nora comments about how they’re spending so much time together, Ren observes that they’re at least friends again, and the response is,

Nora: “Friends, huh? Just friends?” Ren: “What else would they be? Nora: “Two people who have gone through so much? I think there’s more going on...”

It’s clear at this point that Nora is talking about them rather than Yang/Blake, but the initial comparison holds. Though she uses them as an in to discuss her own relationship, I doubt she was lying here. She clearly views them as a parallel to her and Ren: two partners who have been through a great deal together and, as a result, have grown to love each other as more than just friends. Those who insist that Rooster Teeth isn’t heading in a Blake/Yang direction don’t have much of a leg to stand on anymore. That ship (ha) has long since sailed.

Ruby sneaks away from their fight though nothing terribly exciting happens. She adorably clings to Penny’s arm. They adorably fist-bump (ouch). Marrow and Hill get into a conversation about making change and whether or not she’ll accomplish that within the bounds of the law. Funny... I thought we saw that very same theme last volume. If only the writing acknowledged that there’s a connection between this conversation and our protagonists. We’re supposed to see both sides of the situation here: Hill’s need to bend the rules once in a while and Marrow’s desire to keep the peace; how the law is a man-mad construct that’s far from perfect and the importance of making change in a way that will stick---namely, legally. Here is a complex look at a morally difficult question and notably both Marrow and Hill are minor characters. It’s only when RWBYJNR is involved that the message moves from ‘Each side has a point’ to ‘Teens are 100% justified in breaking the law and anyone trying to stop them is an evil, crazy racist.’

It honestly astounds me that Rooster Teeth can give us that subtly here but never when it comes to our heroes.

When Ruby finally returns she finds Ren and Nora still fighting. As she snuck off we heard Ren admitting---in the round-about way of theirs, pretending that they’re talking about other people---that he’s worried, there’s a lot going on right now, and basically implying that he doesn’t know how (or doesn’t want) to balance a new relationship on top of all the horrific Salem business. Which, fair. The problem is that they don’t discuss this. Hill’s speech about how they’re always stronger together resonates with Nora and she tries to initiate a conversation, asking Ren to explain more fully what’s bothering him. To talk about it. He admits that talking has never been his strong suit.

I expected this to segue into a cliche, “Well try” moment and we’d finally get Ren and Nora bonding outside of their jokes and silent communication. Sadly, that didn’t happen. Look, I’m all for a renora kiss, but we have got to stop portraying sexual assault as romantic. Because that’s what Nora does here. It doesn’t matter how sure she (or we as the audience) are that Ren will like this kiss in the end. Grabbing someone and kissing them without their consent is sexual assault. Ren has not agreed to kiss her. He hasn’t expressed any desire here to kiss here. He’s completely blindsided by it and is flailing before he gives in.

People will justify this because, again, we all “know” that Ren secretly wants it and will be grateful that Nora got him past his fear. But that’s a terrible message to perpetuate in a world where others insist they also “know” when someone “really” wants them (they don’t) and where kissing or sex is seen as an easy way to supposedly solve problems between a couple. How many times have we seen an angry woman in media essentially told to shut up by a guy kissing her? The message is that her thoughts and grievances aren’t important here. The man knows her better than she knows herself and the second her forces her to start kissing him she realizes that’s really all she needed all along. That trope isn’t redeemed by changing the gender dynamic. Ren clearly has problems with their relationship that he’s struggling to work through. Nora clearly recognizes as much. Yet instead of acknowledging them and overcoming them, she erases any potential development by forcing him into a kiss. I’m sorry, it doesn’t matter how much Ren enjoys it a few seconds in. The continued message that forcing sexual intimacy on someone will fix both their hesitation and your relationship problems has go to stop. Kissing Nora doesn’t magically solve whatever it is Ren has been grappling with for the last six episodes. You know, the stuff they were just arguing about.

Once again, RWBY succeeded in giving me something I wanted, but in a way that severely downplays that enjoyment. I wanted a renora kiss, but not without consent and as a way of ignoring their issues. I wanted more focus on Ren and Nora as a whole this volume, but it would be nice if their characters could exits outside of each other some. Like the criticisms against Blake and Yang, Ren and Nora seem to be a package deal. They don’t fight with anyone else. They don’t go to different activities (why can’t Ren continue training if he’s that focused on it? Let Nora vent her feelings to a friend while he’s gone). They don’t interact with Ruby when they’re out with her. Their arc, it seems, doesn’t exist outside of each other. Which I suppose is better than no development at all, but still.

From then on things devolve rather quickly. While Hill continues her speech---and we see the ever closing gap between her and Jacques---Ruby gets a quick look at Tyrian’s tail before Watts turns out the lights. From there Tyrian proceeds to murder so many people, including attacking Fiona and going after Hill. All the while Ruby and Penny struggle to attack, despite the fact that Penny clearly has night vision and hangs back too long, obviously for plot purposes. It’s when she finally gets him away from Hill that Watts turns the lights back on, making it look like Penny had attacked the crowd and Hill was defending herself from her. I’ll admit, making Penny suitably creepy during the battle helps sell it.

Man do I hate framing plot-lines though. Not in a ‘Rooster Teeth shouldn’t have done this’ sense, just that it hurts to watch people react so badly based on a misunderstanding. This setup works best when there’s no one to refute the assumption. Yet here we have Ruby who absolutely saw Tyrian there, Penny who absolutely saw him with her night vision, Marrow who just made a connection with Hill and took the time to insist, “This wasn’t us, I swear,” etc. We’ve even got really basic stuff like, does Penny have blood all over her blades? Yet based on Hill’s look, all the evidence against Penny being the attacker isn’t going to do much good. Which makes for a more frustrating experience than a sad, yet understandable one.

We end with Jacques thanking everyone for his victory, rigged by Watts. Watts uploads the video of the attack, which has presumably either been altered in some way or just shows Penny in that damning position with her weapons out. If the former, that would at least go a long way towards explaining the inevitable backlash against her. An angry mob in the heat of the moment is one thing, but if Watts is looking to convince the entirety of Atlas that Ironwood is using his robot---a robot the people seem to currently love---to take out his competition, a doctored video of Penny attacking innocent people is far more persuasive. For both them and us the audience, wondering why everyone is this gullible. So far we’ve gotten some truly excellent villainy this year. Let’s continue that with them thinking ahead.

At the very least this should (should) provide us with some excellent development for Penny. She’s long struggled with her status as a robot and being the defender of Atlas seems to have helped her come into herself. Having others accept her differences as a boon will do that. Now that she’s labeled as nothing more than a dangerous weapons again? We should see some inner conflict. The writing didn’t let her or anyone else grapple with her death. For the love of everything, at least let Penny grapple with this.

Finally, Ruby and the others are forced to spend the night defending the city from a ton of grimm. Seriously, take in how many grimm showed up because of an election. Now think about what will happen if Ironwood announces Salem’s existence... I don’t think the cast is admitting to themselves precisely how many lives they’d be sacrificing by pulling that stunt. Ironwood at least (as far as we know) truly thinks he has a shot at winning the war. Ruby has no excuse at this point, with the exception that telling people about Salem is just plain hard.

Insert standard ‘Ozpin was right and they’re being hypocrites’ meta here.

And that’s it, folks! Issues aside, an all around better episode than some of the others we’ve gotten this season. Based off of experience it’ll be a small miracle if RWBY manages to keep that up next week.

Until then 💜

Minor Things of Note

All the people who were arrested the day of the election... do they get to vote? I know Watts rigged things, but potentially keeping everyone that furious with Ironwood from deciding who will oppose him on the council won’t exactly look good... especially combined with the Penny situation. Not that I think RWBY would actually introduce that as a complication. Just a thought.

Another extremely nit-picky thing, but it’s hilarious to me how bare the girls’ room is. Obviously there’s little time or inclination to animate personal items, even the few they have, but it kind of looks ridiculous to have this sterile space with one mirror and one tube of mascara. Here are the exact things we need for this scene and nothing more! I do like that shot in the mirror though.

Fiona getting teary-eyed over Hill being on the council was beautiful. I barely know them, but I like these two.

I’m just gonna post this again...

#rwby #rwby volume 7 #rwby volume 7 spoilers #rwby recaps #mymetas

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salvatoreschool · 4 years

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Best of the Decade: The Vampire Diaries delivered a perfect love triangle in its third season

To celebrate the end of the 2010s, Entertainment Weekly’s Must List is looking back at the best pop culture of the decade that changed movies, TV, music, and more (catch up on our list so far, which includes the MCU’s big Snap, Lin-Manuel Miranda’s history-making hit Hamilton, and Beyonce’s iconic Coachella set). Today, we look back on The Vampire Diaries and its perfect love triangle.

There’s a reason we’ve seen so many love triangles on television. The classic storytelling device is a surefire way to drum up drama in any situation. It taps into a fandom’s desire to root for something, to feel competitive about something. If shipping was born out of fans wanting a particular love story, why not give them two and make them choose? Well, because it can get complicated. For as often as we see love triangles on television series, they don’t always work.

Love triangles are a high-wire act. The two relationships needs to feel different enough, though both must feel valid. You have to give each couple their moments without making the central person’s preference obvious. And most of all, it has to feel right when that central person finally chooses someone. Audiences should be able to look back at the story and understand that decision. (They might not like it, but it should make sense.)

So yeah, love triangles are fun. Will Joey choose Dawson or Pacey? Will Rory choose Jess or Dean? It’s a way to keep the audience on the edge of their seats. But when handled correctly, it should be about more than suspense. It should be about great storytelling. And when The Vampire Diaries premiered its third season in 2011, it delivered on all the promises of a love triangle.

After two years of establishing the love story of Elena Gilbert (Nina Dobrev), the teenager as familiar with loss as she was with homework, and Stefan Salvatore (Paul Wesley), the undead man who brought her back to life, it was time for Stefan to step out of the picture for a bit. (He left town with Klaus as part of a deal to save his brother’s life.) Enter Damon (Ian Somerhalder), Stefan’s older brother. The show had already established Damon’s undeniable connection with his brother’s girl, and through the experience of trying to track down Stefan, Elena and Damon grew closer. But again, high-wire act. Elena, the selfless human who put those she loved before herself, couldn’t suddenly fall head over heels for the selfish, impulsive vampire who once snapped her brother’s neck. But what she could do was slowly start to see other sides to Damon, all the while trying to get Stefan back.

The groundwork was laid as early as episode 2, when Damon told Elena, “When I drag my brother from the edge and deliver him back to you, I want you to remember the things you felt while he was gone.” The key words being “while he was gone.” Stefan’s absence was crucial to building the love triangle: If she felt things for Damon while Stefan was gone, what would it mean when he returned? By pairing the story of Damon’s redemption with that of Stefan’s downfall as Klaus (Joseph Morgan) forced him to drink human blood and turn off his humanity, Elena’s relationship with the brothers was flipped on its head. She found herself once again paired with the “good Salvatore brother” — only this time, it was Damon.

And once that bond with Damon was set, Stefan started to make his way back into the picture.

If we’re talking about the balance needed in a love triangle, TVD’s third season could walk a tightrope. Just as Damon started to win Elena over, Stefan proved that she shouldn’t give up on him. Damon made Elena jealous by flirting with another girl in one scene, Stefan caught her when she fell in the next. We’re not talking about epic, sweeping romantic moments. We’re talking about a look here, a touch of the knee there. Because the show was calculated and incredibly subtle in both building the relationship of Damon and Elena and rebuilding the relationship of Stefan and Elena. You have to be when your season contains 22 episodes. Damon and Elena didn’t share a kiss until episode 11 of the season. Stefan and Elena, the love story upon which the show had been built in its first two years, did not kiss until the season finale. Let’s say that one more time: The show managed to get through 21 episodes without its core couple so much as kissing, and yet Stefan and Elena’s love never felt like it was gone. It coursed through the show with the same electricity it always had, as the thing that propelled each of them forward.

It should be stated that the show was able to survive on an entire season of almost-moments in large part due to the chemistry between the actors. Not every show could get away with a look between two people holding as much weight as Stefan and Elena in a closet in Chicago or Damon and Elena in his bathroom after the bonfire. But thanks to that chemistry, the show didn’t need multiple make-outs and big speeches to make the love triangle feel real.

And by never having Elena waver in her love for Stefan, despite her feelings for Damon, she remained likable as the heroine of the story. At no point did she forget Stefan in favor of her new relationship with Damon. She struggled with both, all season long. As she told Stefan in episode 18, “I never stopped loving you.” And with that love as the foundation of the triangle, she remained relatable in her emotional struggles, which allowed viewers to become invested in both possible outcomes and guaranteed that no matter which brother she chose, fans would follow that love story.

Somehow, The Vampire Diaries managed to build a new love story without destroying the one that launched its series. And furthermore, it found a way to make Damon feel like a viable candidate, despite Elena’s unfaltering love of Stefan, which meant viewers went into the season 3 finale genuinely not knowing which brother Elena would choose. After all, her options were very different. As Rose (Lauren Cohan) told Jeremy (Steven R. McQueen) in episode 19, “[Stefan’s] love is pure; he’ll always be good for her. Damon is either the best thing for her or the worst.” So the question became: Is Damon currently the best thing for her? Or the worst?

It all built to the second half of the season finale, when Elena had to make a decision because she believed both brothers were hours away from dying. She had to choose which one got the goodbye. And ultimately, she chose Stefan. Because, as she told Damon, “No matter what I feel for you, I never unfell for him,” a line that acknowledged her feelings for both brothers and allowed viewers to understand her decision. (And just to make sure the Delena shippers didn’t lose hope, the writers threw in a flashback that revealed that Damon and Elena actually met first.)

In its third season, TVD told a beautifully balanced, perfectly paced story about a human girl torn between two very different vampire brothers. And in the end, she made her choice. As she’d later claim, it was the best choice she ever made, and for viewers, it was one of the best love triangles TV had ever seen.

#TheVanpireDiaries #TVD #ElenaGilbert #DamonSalvatore #StefanSalvatore #NinaDobrev #PaulWesley #IanSomerhalder #Delena #Stelena #MysticFalls #MysticFallsHigh #JuliePlec #TheCW

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

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Fic: Lonely, Dark and Deep - ao3 link - Chapter 5

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Madara/Tobirama, background others Summary:

Hashirama was always going to have to leave Konoha behind one day, but no one was expecting for it to happen so soon.

Tobirama falls apart without his brother.

Madara, mad and bitter and preparing to leave himself, finds that he’s now without his best friend and responsible for a village he’d just about given up on.

And now it seems like there’s something not quite right with the forest…

———————————————————————————–

“I’m sorry,” Tobirama says, and Madara has had nightmares about this man saying that, this man who has, despite all odds, become something very much like a friend over the last year.

Madara dreams of it, sometimes: imagines Tobirama dull-eyed, as he’s gotten more and more in the year since Hashirama’s disappearance, imagines him standing there patiently, having waited to informed Madara of his ensuing death because the bastard is polite enough that he wouldn’t want to leave a co-worker hanging like that but already holding his sword aimed the wrong way round.

It’s the same place every time: he’s always standing and waiting for Madara at the edge of the forest, and that’s the place where it ends, where the sword goes in and cuts off the younger man’s life before its time.

The dream never changes in that respect – it’s never at Tobirama’s home, or in the office of the Hokage, because he’d never leave a mess for someone else to clean up like that. He’d have already cleaned up his precious labs and locked away the more dangerous inventions that he couldn’t quite bring himself to destroy; already have tidied up his desk and finished the paperwork for the next two weeks in advance; already ensured that no one from Konoha would be lingering around to see – considerate, that’s what Tobirama was, always thinking about the big picture, thinking about how one thing might affect others, but never really caring about the emotional impact any of it would have.

It’s always at the edge of the forest.

Always at the same place, too, a place Madara knows by now too well: just beyond the western gatehouse, where Konoha spills over from clearing into woods – trees a bit too thick for the age they seem to be, the light dappled from shining in through their branches and leaves, the ground well-covered in grass and weeds and bushes.

The last place Tobirama saw that which that he loved the most, walking away from him.

That’s where he’ll do it. Madara’s sure of it.

That’s why Madara is here, now, making the proposal that he is. He has to do something, his very nature rebelling at the thought of simply accepting Tobirama’s untimely death as a foregone conclusion, and this plan is the only thing he can think of to make those dreams go away.

(He can’t let it happen like that. Not – not after watching Izuna die, after losing the only brother he had left; not after knowing that Tobirama is all that’s left of Hashirama, that he’d be losing what little is left of him, too. Not after working with Tobirama this past year, in the time before that; not since he snapped out of that horrible madness brought about by Izuna’s loss and realized that Tobirama is more than just a brother-killer, realized that he’s brilliant and devoted and meticulous, terrible with people and flat in affect even in private, possessed of a wicked sense of humor that he tends to hide more often than not – no.

No. Madara can’t let him just die like that. He can’t.)

“I’m sorry,” Tobirama says again, and his eyes are far too wide with surprise to be dull right now. “You’re proposing that we what?!”

“Have sex,” Madara says, not entirely understanding what the problem is. “For the sake of the village, of course.”

“Of course,” Tobirama says, his voice a little strangled. “Of course…would you like to explain your logic? I think I might be missing a few crucial steps.”

Madara is not, by nature, a subtle man, and while there’s probably a better way to say it, he’s not one to mince around a delicate subject. Not when there’s this much at stake.

“This village needs you as Hokage,” he explains. “It needs your expertise, your attention to detail, you management skills, your diplomacy…and just as it needs you most, you’re deteriorating.”

Tobirama’s back straightens in offense. “I have never let Konoha down!”

“No, you haven’t. Not once, not even when you probably should,” Madara says dryly. “I meant a personal deterioration. You barely eat, you sleep poorly, your bathing schedule has gotten erratic –”

Admittedly, it’s only gone down to the level a normal person would consider more than reasonable, but for a neat-freak half-fish like Tobirama, that’s shockingly seldom.

Tobirama holds up his hands, still looking bewildered. It’s a rather amusing expression on his normally impassive face. “I admit all that. But – why – no, how, exactly, would having sex solve the – ah – underlying issue? Which I know you’re aware of?”

Neither of them mention Hashirama’s death during daylight hours. It’s better for both of them that way.

Madara shrugs. “Touka said the only thing that would help you with your particular issue is another brother for you to treasure. Now, I can’t get you that short of time travel or resurrecting your parents –”

“Please don’t ever make that suggestion again. I don’t mind resurrecting the dead, but I don’t have any desire to see either of my parents again, much less for the purpose of breeding them.”

Hmm, fair enough. Madara concedes that that suggestion sounds a lot more creepy once he thinks it through a bit more.

He certainly wouldn’t want to see his parents again, even putting aside the, er, breeding business.

“– so a lover will have to do as the next best thing,” Madara concludes, deciding to ignore Tobirama’s unhelpful interjection. “You need someone to hold onto to tide you through your loss and a lover is the best sort of distraction for that sort of thing. It’s sometimes used as a solution to the curse of hatred, and given that your particular, uh, issue is more akin to the one suffered by Uchiha rather than Senju, I don’t see why there’s isn’t every reason that it would work for you as well.”

Tobirama stares at him. His eyes are wide to the point of being vaguely owlish.

“I’m not suggesting that it’ll fix the issue!” Madara adds quickly, realizing that Tobirama might be offended. One couldn’t replace a beloved brother with a bit of sex, after all, and he’d never suggest as much. If this wasn’t the only thing he’d been able to think of, he wouldn’t have suggested it at all, but – it is. And he’s desperate. “Especially since we’re not, you know, actually lovers. I’m perfectly happy to admit that we barely stand each other at the best of times. But sometimes having the semblance of something can help, even in the absence of the real thing.”

“I…see,” Tobirama says, his face finally abandoning the shocked expression and settling back into normal contemplative lines. “Essentially, you’re suggesting that if we simulate the behavior of lovers, the effects of having a lover might apply regardless of the actual feelings involved and it will…function as a stopgap, essentially?”

“Exactly!”

This is why Madara enjoys working with Tobirama, even though he’s a sharp-tongued bastard with no sense of limits – whatever one can say about the man, one must admit he’s quick on the uptake and very unlikely to reject any idea out of hand, no matter how bizarre.

“Hn. Dare I ask why, exactly, you’re volunteering yourself for this task?”

“Well, I can hardly volunteer anyone else for it without it coming across as extremely unfortunate,” Madara points out, quite reasonably in his view. “Also, having spent the last year of my life cooped up in as very small office trying to establish a village with you, I can now state definitively that you hate humanity. Previous to this, I only suspected as much – but now I’m certain of it.”

Tobirama scowls at him. “I do not hate humanity.”

Madara snorts. “Fine. You hate vast swathes of humanity. In a village currently consisting of, at minimum, representatives of every reputable shinobi family in Fire Country, aka the sort of people you might conceivably get along with, the sum total of people you actually like – as opposed to are willing to tolerate in order to achieve your goals – is a list limited to: your students, three of your close cousins, me, and that weird shark-person ambassador from Kiri, and the last one only because of those truly awful fish puns that for some bizarre reason you find amusing.”

“Hoshigaki’s fish puns are amusing.”

“No one got that joke about the clam except for you.”

“It’s not a clam, it’s a freshwater mussel, and I told you, the scientific name of that subspecies is Anodonta imbicilis –”

“And that’s why he was calling the Inuzuka representative a muscle-bound imbecile, yes, I got it after you explained it. It just wasn’t funny. Jokes that someone has to explain are not funny. Listen, if you’re willing to risk the almost inevitable assassination attempt, I can call him instead –”

“She. Not he.”

Madara stops. “What? No.”

“Yes.”

“Impossible!”

Hoshigaki was built like a bookcase, a walking rectangle with arms like tree trunks. It hadn’t even occurred to Madara that conventional gender definitions might apply.

Do sharks even have genders?

Tobirama rolls his eyes. “As you’re not wrong in that she would feel obligated to at least attempt to kill me on behalf of her village, and, perhaps more importantly, is married with children –”

Hoshigaki? Married? With children?!

Madara’s going to have nightmares about swarms of baby sharks with legs, he just knows it.

“– let’s not call her. Not that I’ve agreed to your ridiculous idea at all.”

Madara crosses his arms and scowls at the intractable bastard.

“It’s not like I’m suggesting we do this for fun,” he says. “We’re not in love, of all ridiculous things, and I highly doubt we’re ever going to be more than people who have managed to be able to work together efficiently. But the village needs you, and you clearly need someone. Might as well be me.”

Tobirama scowls.

Madara really didn’t want to have to play dirty, but clearly it’s necessary. He was quite serious about being willing to do anything to save Tobirama’s life, and he wasn’t talking about sacrificing his body.

“Hashirama wouldn’t want you to just fade away like this.”

Tobirama flinches.

“And you know he’d be happy about anything that got us to spend more time together outside of work that isn’t sparring or training…”

“I can’t believe you’re using my brother to convince me to sleep with you.”

“For the good of the village! Besides, it’s going to work.”

Tobirama makes a face, but Madara has no doubt: he knows Tobirama’s weakness, now, and he’s merciless in exploiting it.

(No wonder the Senju make a practice of not telling other people their principles; it’s a weakness just asking to be abused, like an Uchiha making too clear who his most precious people were.)

Sure, Madara’s aware that it’s in bad taste to invoke the name of the man who was, for all practical purposes, his soulmate in order to bed the man’s younger brother – but Hashirama is gone, and anyway, he’s sure it’s what he would have wanted, if it meant Tobirama lived a little longer.

It’s entirely virtuous what he’s doing. Entirely. There’s not an iota of selfishness in it.

“One day you’re going to pull that line of reasoning and I’m going to turn you down just to see the surprise on your face,” Tobirama says, standing up. “Very well, come along.”

Madara blinks, having expected to have to argue about this for at least another hour. “Come – where?”

“To bed, of course. Your plan is ridiculous, but if we’re going to try it, we should test our compatibility now. If we don’t have that, there’s no point at all.”

Entirely virtuous, Madara reminds himself a few hours later, staring up at the ceiling and unsure if he’s blessing or cursing his entirely unconscious decision to activate his Sharingan at some point, burning the images of white skin beaded with sweat and swollen red lips and heavily lidded eyes in a head thrown back in silent pleasure into his mind forever. It’s entirely virtuous. Giving Tobirama something to live for is the best thing for the village, and this will help. That’s all that’s going on: the only person I could have loved was Hashirama, and he’s gone – this is just a physical thing, a sacrifice that I’m making. Nothing more.

It’s not like I’m going to fall in love with him or anything.

#madatobi #Uchiha madara #senju tobirama #senju hashirama #tw: suicide #my fic #lonely dark and deep

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the--sad--hatter · 5 years

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Name Calling (30)

FANDOM - MARVEL MCU

PAIRING - BUCKY X READER (female reader, no physical descriptions)

WARNINGS - ALL OF THEM, SMUT, VIOLENCE ANGST

DESCRIPTION - In which the ongoing and bloody war of words between you and Bucky turns in your favor when a disgruntled one night stand of his lets slip a secret when you run into her in the elevator… Now you have all the ammunition you need to destroy your enemy but you don’t plan on killing him quickly. Oh no, Bucky Barnes was going to suffer and you were going to enjoy every second. You just didn’t count on how much you would enjoy it.

Current Word Count - 84,943

MASTERLIST

Special shout out to @nerdandproud-86 and @talesofakindredspirit for their help with this one!

Chapter Thirty - The Beast Within

You had been so foolish, coming here. You thought you had made Wanda bury your memories of the massacre and your subsequent ‘death’ after it but it was so much worse than that. This wasn’t a memory, this was your subconscious.

This was the prison where Vernichtung was held and it was breaking out.

The last time you had been here you had been dying and had been forced to watch as it shattered the mirrors inside your mind it was trapped behind. You had clawed back control and in a desperate attempt to hide from it, had wiped all memory of this place away.

“Have you come to release me?” It asked with a curious tilt of it’s head.

“No, you don’t need me to fight any battles for you today…” It coldly calculated.

“You’re trying to release yourself, aren’t you?” You accused fearfully and it grinned ferally.

“Not just trying, I’m succeeding. Every day I claw a little bit further out and when I’m free you will be the one behind the looking glass.”

Your blood ran cold and you wondered where your companions were.

“Professor?” You called out desperately.

“He’s coming, he’s fighting his way in, past all your shields. He can feel your fear, he won’t be able to save you though.” It warned.

It was disconcerting, seeing your own face so twisted with rage and hatred. It was slowly creeping towards you, circling you like a predator and even the way it moved was unlike you. You walked like a human, this thing walked like a prowling jungle cat in a human body.

“I don’t need saving. I’ve fought you all my life, you stay caged until I let you out. This is MY subconscious, my domain. I’m not the one who needs to be afraid.” You warned lowly.

It growled at you, it’s face contorting with fury.

“Then let us see who is stronger, if you are not afraid.” It said and leapt for you.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

In the room where Jean, Scot and Storm were waiting with the portion of Avengers, Tony was pacing furiously.

“Deadpool? She’s dating Deadpool? This is all your fault.” Tony snapped at Steve.

“How is this my fault?” Steve was confused.

“You never took her on a second date!” Tony exclaimed.

“Oh now you’re ok with her dating Steve. I’ll bet you’d rather she was seeing anyone else huh? Pretty much anyone is an improvement over Wade Wilson.” Clint sniggered, eyeing a glaring Bucky.

“Ok Tony, we weren’t really dating. I didn’t reject her or anything. And I’m sure they were joking, I don’t think she’s actually dating Deadpool.” Steve placated him.

“I dunno man, they looked pretty loved up. Did you see the way they were around each other? That’s real passion, you can’t fake that.” Sam added.

“What about that Remy guy? He definitely liked her and he seemed nice, very charming.” Tony suggested.

“You only like him because he called you a legend.” Clint pointed out.

“Good with the parents, that’s important in a partner. Plus she seemed really at ease around him, and he was definitely eyeing her up. They had some real chemistry going on.” Sam put in with a smirk.

Bucky’s eyes were getting colder as he glared at Sam.

“Remy was one of the mutants taken by Project Vernichtung. He was there for a few months before your daughter helped him escape and he was the one who told the X-Men where to find it when you helped us infiltrate it.” Jean explained.

“Wait, they knew each other before?” Tony asked.

“So they have history. The kind that epic love stories grow from.” Sam noted.

“Sam..” Wanda chided sensing Bucky’s distress.

“I’m just saying, this Remy dude seems like he might have a thing for her. Starting to see how deep that affection might run, on both sides.” Sam explained with a shrug.

Jean and Wanda both inhaled sharply.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Tony asked straight away.

“Jean?” Storm gently asked.

“They’ve run into complications. Miss Stark is suffering physical wounds from psychological trauma. They have it under control, you can’t go in there. Any distractions could cause Charles to pull from her mind suddenly, causing irreparable damage.” Jean warned them.

“So we just sit up here on our asses and twiddle our thumbs?” Tony snapped.

“The Professor had this handled, if you go in you’re not just risking your daughters safety, you risk The Professors as well.” Scott told him.

“I’m taking a walk.” Bucky announced and strode out.

“I’ll go with him.” Steve said and hurried after him.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Whoa, gross!” Wade announced as your unconscious body jerked against the restraints and your ribs made a cracking sound.

Blood poured from your nose and Logan turned your head to the side, allowing it to flow freely without going down your throat.

“What’s happening?” Wade asked, poking your cheek curiously.

“Not a clue.” Logan huffed, slapping Wade’s hand away.

“Should we help?” Wade asked.

“How exactly are we going to do that?”

Wade crouched down so he was on the same level as you.

“Heyyyy Peaches, if you can hear me, you’ve got this!” He cheered encouragingly.

“Wade, shut the fuck up.” Logan snapped.

“Whatever you’re doing chuck, hurry it up. She can’t take much more of this.” Logan muttered in concern as bruises blossomed across your skin.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Your head snapped back as Vernichtung smacked you across the jaw and you snarled and wrapped your arms around it’s middle, pile-driving it into the floor and straddling it.

“Why a mirror?” It hissed as you drew your arm back.

“What?” You paused in confusion at the seemingly random question.

“Why trap me in a mirror?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes you do.”

“I don’t.” You yelled, driving your fist into its face with a satisfying crunch.

“YOU DO!” It screamed through bloody lips.

“I don’t know!! Poetic irony? You look like me, you wear my face and I’m terrified of the day I look in the mirror and you’re the reflection I see?” You ranted as it wrestled you, trying to get free.

“You are not like The Hulk, or even your precious Bucky and his Winter Soldier. I’m not a parasitic personality taking up residence in your mind and you know it.” It snarled.

It was right and you did know it. Faced with the real Vernichtung, not a nightmare or video you couldn’t deny it any longer.

“All those years you suffered in a cage, beaten down, your bones broken over and over, your skin split and bleeding, being told how you would destroy the world… You didn’t really believe you were unscathed by it did you?” It asked you derisively.

“You’re me. My dark side.” You whispered.

“All that anger, all that hatred, all that potential for evil. You pushed it so far down you actually managed to separate it from yourself. You wanted so badly to be good you tore yourself in two. I’m not some monster created by Docherty, I’m the monster you made because you couldn’t bear to admit that you were a monster.” It spat at you, pushing you off it and crouching beside you.

“I am NOT a monster!” You insisted.

“Then why make me? If I’m not a monster why was I ever created? Because I’m the part of you that wants to destroy the world and everyone in it. You suffered, why shouldn’t everyone else? Forget watching the world burn, you want to make it bleed. You want to rip apart all that’s good and pure until the streets run with rivers of red and the world drowns and chokes on it’s own blood.”

You backed away from it in horror.

“It is not the potential or desire for violence that makes somebody a monster. We all have the potential for evil within us and the lengths you go to so you might deny that part of yourself and fight it prove that you are not evil.” Xavier said from behind you as he finally broke through the barriers in your mind.

“Professor. We shouldn’t have come here.” You said.

“Forgetting about this was only a temporary fix my dear, it is time you faced her. It is time you faced yourself.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Bucky stormed outside, pacing across the well manicured front lawn of the mansion. Steve stood a little bit away, silently waiting on Bucky to start talking.

“I haven’t spoken to her in days Steve! Days! And I find her here, holed up with two men who are all over her and she runs off without saying a word to me!” Bucky ranted.

“Buck, Tony was stood right there. You agreed to keep it a secret, if you weren’t ok with that you should have said.” Steve reasoned.

“She could have… Fuck. I don’t know, something.”

“She could have what Bucky? Thrown caution to the wind, risked pushing her father away just to assure you what you already know? Remy and Wade aren’t the ones she’s with, she’s with you.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.” Bucky muttered.

“James Buchanan Barnes pull yourself together.” Steve snapped and Bucky stopped pacing to look at Steve in shock.

“She chose you, don’t make that seem less than it is. You love her, don’t you dare mess that up because you’re jealous.”

“It’s not that Steve, it’s not. Alright yeah, I’m jealous she has ‘chemistry’ and ‘history’ with that Remy fella but that’s not what I’m scared of.” Bucky admitted.

“Well what the hell are you afraid of?”

“I’m afraid she’ll never love me the way I love her.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“I don’t want that be that thing Professor.” You protested.

“I know, and you should not allow it to break free. But you can’t hide from it either.”

“So what do I do?” You pleaded desperately.

“Admit to yourself what it is, what you are.” He urged you.

You turned slowly to the sneering thing and did what the Professor had asked.

“I knew Docherty was evil and he wanted me to be as well. I fought against it but nobody can fight forever. Every day in that place, living in that hell without any hope… It broke me.” You acknowledged.

“I felt all the anger, the bloodlust growing inside me and it frightened me. So I buried it deep down inside me, caging it alongside all the powers that I was afraid of. All my worst impulses, every dark thought, every bit of anger, every violent instinct, I shoved it away. And I created what Docherty had spent years cultivating, I created Vernichtung.” You admitted emotionally and your eyes burned as the tears fell.

You looked at this thing, this paragon of evil and said the truth that was literally staring you in the face.

“I AM Vernichtung.”

“You kept me at bay for so long but as soon as you left that place and came into the real world, your control started to wane. It is my turn to walk in the sun.” It, she, you sneered.

“Maybe, but not today.” You vowed.

A mirror shimmered into existence behind it and Vernichtung snarled.

“I can close the door but you need to keep it locked.” Charles warned you.

“You aren’t strong enough to contain me anymore.” It chuckled.

“Listen you demonic wannabe, you might be me but you’re the worst of me, you have no fucking idea what I am capable of.” You snarled.

You shoved with every single ounce of power you had, screaming with the exertion and sent it sailing back behind the mirror.

“Find a way to lock the cage but understand this, it is only a temporary solution. This will only give us time to find a real way to deal with it.” He told you as the glass rattled and Vernichtung screamed.

“The more human you become the stronger I am, run back to your father and let him comfort you, it will feed my strength. Laugh with your friends and the glass will start to crack. Be with your lover and the glass will shatter. The more you love, the faster you die!” Vernichtung hissed at you.

In the mansion you and Charles awoke.

“Lock the door. Now!” Charles urged you.

You knew what you had to do.

“Untie me.” You instructed Wade.

“Do it.” The professor agreed.

You could feel the monster under the surface scrabbling for purchase and it felt like you were being ripped apart from the inside.

“HURRY!” You screamed and Logan extended his claws, shredding the restraints holding you down.

You leapt to your feet, holding on to your own mind becoming more difficult. If you were going to lock the door in your mind you needed to run.

Rushing for the door you hurtled through it, determined to do what needed to be done to stop Vernichtung from taking over. You ran through the halls at breakneck speed, your hair streaming behind you. You burst into the room where The Avengers and X-Men were waiting and bypassed them all. You ran for the front doors and threw yourself through them.

If you were trapped in somebody’s subconscious you wouldn’t tell them how you planned to escape, you would manipulate them into doing what you needed them to do. Vernichtung said love was your weakness which meant it was your strength.

And nobody made you stronger than Bucky.

You ran onto the grass and ignoring the Avengers and X-Men piling out of the door behind you, you pulled Bucky towards you and kissed him like your life depended on it, because it did.

And when he kissed you back, crushing you to his chest like you’d disappear if he didn’t hold on, you felt the lock in your mind snap shut.

“So I shouldn’t worry about Remy then?” He muttered against your lips.

“Remy?”

“You know, the one who’s staring at you with literal heart eyes. The one you have a history with, who you owe your freedom to.”

You pulled back and glared at him.

“That’s not how it works Bucky, you don’t love someone because you owe them anything. It’s not a choice, it just happens. Yes, Remy and I have a history but he’s not the one I’m in love with.” You said in exasperation.

It was only when his posture straightened and he looked at you with wide eyes did you realise what you’d just said. Your heart thumped in your chest erratically as you tried to think of a way to backtrack.

“You love me.” He stated.

“I didn’t say that, I said I didn’t love Remy.” You stuttered.

He closed the distance between you in one stride and you froze.

“You love me.” He stated again, more firmly.

“James...”

His fingers brushed lightly over your cheek and you realized you were crying softly.

“You love me.” He said a third time and there was wonderment and awe in his voice.

“Yes” You breathed out the word

“I love you, only you and always you James. I love you.” You professed, terrified and glad to have it out in the world.

“I love you too doll. More than anything.” He said and your breath caught in your chest.

He pulled you back in and his lips were a breath away from yours as his arm circled around your waist and his metal hand cradled your head.

“I love you.” He whispered against your lips.

As you closed the gap to kiss him and all your worries melted away under Bucky’s touch, neither of you noticed Tony who was standing at the door as you and Bucky kissed on the front lawn for everyone to see.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

God, thank you to all you regular commenters. You guys are like my friends at this point (it's legally binding, you comment and we're friends) and I'm so grateful to you all. Comments and likes are like drugs to me, they make me really fucking happy and inspired.

Also Steve: Quit being a little bitch! Bucky: I just wish she'd love me as much as I love her. Reader: *yeets self at Bucky's* ONLY YOUR LOVE CAN SAVE ME. Steve: .... Wish granted pal.

@nerdandproud-86 @harrison-shot-first@chook007@thejourneyneverendsx@thelostallycat@inquisitor-selvala@the-corruptor @iovher@kendrawr-kitkat@phoenix-whiskey-tears@the–real-wombat@buckitybarnes@fairislesheets@angieptt@meganjonezzzz

@dugan365 @fluffeh-kitty@memanda17@krystallynx@theonelittleone

@piscesbarnes @free-as-fishes@tarastudiesalot@captainamericasbeard

@dropthepizza346 @jaynnanadrews @likes-to-smell-books@drdorkus

@life-wanderer @metalarmlover @animegirlgeeky @jsmith509

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themachofan · 6 years

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Endeavor’s complexity and why it has become such an issue

As those who have decided to read this have likely already gathered. This is a bit of analyse on a character who has become quite controversial among the fan base of My Hero Academia. Endeavor is a character who is much more complex than you would imagine when he is first introduced. I want to get a little more into why this is and why it seems to be so upsetting to certain readers.

Upon his introduction Endeavor is shown as little more than a terrible husband and father. He neglected most of his children and put his youngest child through brutal training that would have been more in place in ancient Sparta rather than modern Japan. His wife suffered emotional, mental, physical abuse at his hands. These things are terrible and this is as far as many people who hate Endeavor get when examining him as a character. He is simply these past actions as far as they concerned.

I'll say it again, Endeavor’s abuse of his family is awful but there are other aspects of this character that people simply refuse to acknowledge. We get a small glance at this long before we really get an in depth look at him. First and foremost is the objective fact that, despite what he has done to his family, is an empirically proven force for good in the world. He has as a Pro Hero with the highest tally of resolved cases in history. That means he has resolved more cases than even All Might.

Now I know what some people will think “He’s a Pro Hero, of course he solves crimes and saves lives.” But that is kind of the point here. Enji’s ambition, drive, pride, anger and “win at all costs” attitude could have, and perhaps should have, driven him to the life of villian. Without the restrictions of law his potential to overtake All Might would have the possibility to increase. He even acknowledges this himself when he is fighting High-End

So what kept him on the path of a hero? The answer is a combination of personal pride and the fact that he does, at his core, have some desire to good. This however is buried and covered up by rage and ambition and his single minded focus. Even his hero name is a nod to this obsession . His whole personality and life are based around surpassing All Might, but not just surpassing him he needs to do it legitimately.

This blind obsession turned him from man to monster. His treatment of his family was, in his mind, an acceptable price to pay for his ambition. His abuse is never seen to particularly hateful in nature. I will clarify what this means. Everything he did was a means to an end, we are not given the impression he enjoys what he does to his family but neither does care about the damage he has done. This in no way makes what he did any better, the abuse is just as bad as if he was doing it simply because he enjoy being cruel.

I will repeat myself, this in no way excuses what he did to his family, there is no good reason to EVER abuse anyone. But what this mean is that Enji, if granted clarity and a new perspective, he is more capable of personal growth than say characters like Ozai or Azula from Avatar: The Last Airbender who both seemed to actively delight in their torment of others.

We see this moment of clarity with retirement of All Might. After he rages and destroys his training room he is struck with an epiphany. When he finally obtains his life's ambition, to surpass All Might, it is a bitter and hollow victory. He never cared about the title or prestige of being the number one hero, it was all about beating All Might. He was handed this win and this was the worst possible outcome for him. He is man who does not want anything handed to him and to have this just given to him was a wakeup call. He will never legitimately beat All Might and with that he realizes everything he put his family through simply was not worth it.

This change of heart begins to show almost immediately and we see it in several instances.

When he swallowed his pride and asked All Might for advice. This shows him changing from simply being a hero in title and profession to really trying to be a true hero.

He has made up his mind to try and be better and become a hero his son can be proud of.

He has been visiting his wife and he left the gift of a flower. I know people will say abusers will apologize and bring gifts to try and get back into their victims lives but this is different. It's not the gift itself that is important here but the fact that Enji remembers a specific detail mentioned only once over twenty years ago. But more than this show a genuine change as opposed to a superficial one for the public as no one, not even his children, knew he was making these visits. This was an act contrition.

Expanding on the previous point about visiting his wife. Rei knows he's visiting and states she isn't ready to see him yet and he does not seem to press the issue. While there is no direct proof, it seems as though Enji has accepted this and not trying to force his presence on her. This is a big shift from his previous domineering and controlling nature.

When Natsuo, justifiably, shouts at him Enji calmly stands there and accepts his son's rage, because he knows he's not wrong to be angry and to hate him.

This change is genuine and despite what some may think it is not an act. I pointed this out in another post in how Horikoshi has changed how he draws Endeavor. This change is indicative of a genuine shift in character. It is something artist do across media. The artist makes the choice to represent a character with a softer design to give the reader a visual indicator of this shift.

Now I will address why this has become such an issue with some in the fanbase. Endeavor has been shown to be more than simply an abuser and this complexity confuses some people. This is not to say that just because Endeavor is complex you must like him. Some people will simply just never like the character be it for his past, their personal life experiences, or any reason at all and that is perfectly fine.

The issue I take is when these individuals start to inflict their rage about the character redemption at others.

Redemption arcs are always among the most popular in any series for the simple reason that it shows someone can be better than what they were. They can be better than their past crimes. This is why Endeavor has seen an increase in popularity as of late. But this redemption has caused a very ugly side of the fandom to crop up.

I don't care when people post hate about Endeavor as a character. He's a fictional character and nothing any fan does will ever harm him, or really affect how the author decides to handle the character. But when this rage crosses over into the real world and becomes directed at real people I start to take issue. There is no good reason to attack people on a personal level because of a view on a fictional character.

So why do these people feel the need to attack others? Again this is not about people who simply hate/dislike the character. Those who post hate about Endeavor but don't insult/attack other fans have actually managed to garner respect from myself for not making it personal. But why are others not able keep themselves from attacking others?

The answer is could be a few things but the most likely is that they can't handle the character complexity. They are unwilling or unable to see the other sides of a character, be it emotionally or mentally. They want a simple villain and don't want the see the grey areas of the character. Endeavor has done terrible things but he has also done a great many good things. They have decided to hate this character regardless of what happens as he moves forward. To these people he will never be more than his past and don't care about his attempts to atone.

They will ignore that reconciliation is better than revenge. Forgiveness would help to heal the family. A better Endeavor is better for everyone in his life and they refuse to see that because of their feelings on the character.

#bnha endeavor #todoroki enji #enji todoroki #boku no hero academia endeavor #anti antis #anti endeaor anti #boku no hero acedemia #my hero academia #bnha todoroki #bnha manga #bnha spoilers #Endeavor

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