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morwensteelsheen · 3 years

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so @tinacharles and I have sort of been having this conversation about the varying levels of culpability of all the men in Éowyn’s life re: her abject fucking misery, which got me to thinking about how that discussion would play out in-universe.

I know it’s pretty popular (and not incorrectly so, imo!) to have Éomer being fairly distrustful of Faramir, but I think it's underplayed just how much ammunition Faramir has to be out-and-out fucked off with Éomer on Éowyn's behalf.

Part of that understatement is a desire, I reckon, to see all the named Rohirrim as basically innocents, manipulated beyond aid by Wormtongue, and functionally helpless until Gandalf and the Three Hunters show up, but that's a take that is, imo, too reliant upon what we get in the movie canon and not reliant enough on what's actually written in the text! The point of Théoden's downfall is that it is his pride and his hubris (and not any magic!) that is his undoing, and it is Gandalf's reminders that his responsibilities are greater than the weight of the injuries to his pride that "brings him back" so to speak. The ability to stop fucking around exists at all moments within Théoden, there is no magic, no great battles, not valiant rescues involved, it's just about him putting his big girl panties on and dealing with his own life. But because there's a tendency to see too much of the movie canon in these characters, their relative culpability in Éowyn's immiseration is largely erased, which is incredibly unfair both in terms of treating these characters with the nuance they deserve, but also in terms of treating Éowyn's misery with the seriousness it deserves!

And a key element of this is Éomer's complacency/culpability in all of this. I often quote the conversation between Gandalf, Aragorn, and Éomer after the Pelennor about Éowyn's ~fundamental unknowability~, but I think it is, uhhh, pretty fucked up that Aragorn, Faramir, and Gandalf are all able to spot out Éowyn's deeply destroyed mental health within minutes of coming into contact with her (and yes, it is true enough that they're all powered-up slightly by magic-ish things) while Éomer, who has spent literally his entire life around her, doesn't really have an inkling of what's actually going on in her interior life. That's really upsetting to me, and is no doubt deeply upsetting and isolating for Éowyn, who has basically no other people in her life until Faramir shows up (you know, after she literally tries to kill herself!).

More than that, when Gandalf and the Three Hunters show up and immediately break Théoden free of his pity party, we don't get a sense that undermining Wormtongue has any actual political repercussions—Hama (👑) immediately names Éowyn as the favoured heir to the throne, which says that she's got a substantial amount of organic support where and when it matters. Yes, it's true they immediately have to go fight Saruman's forces in Helm's Deep, but Helm's Deep is a pretty unique battle in the books for how "small" it is in terms of coalitions: the Rohirrim fight that sucker almost entirely unaided! So if a consequence of unseating Wormtongue had been facing down Saruman's lot on the battlefield (assuming that he would have been prepared to do so at any point before the canonical Battle of the Hornburg), we know that the Rohirrim could have handled it, and what's more, they might have been in an even better position to have handled it, because Théodred would have likely still been alive, alongside however many men they lost at the Battle of the Fords of Isen. A lot of words to say: there's really no indication that there was a danger, per se, to beating Wormtongue's ass down; but we do know that there was some obstacle. Tolkien goes pretty far out of his way to hint that it's a lack of will that's doing most of the work there. As readers, I think we're all mostly content to ignore this element of Éomer's complacency because we do largely see Éomer at his best and most noble, but I think we do a real disservice to both his and Éowyn's characters for not dealing with that more intimately.

Anyways, my original point is that I think Faramir has really good reason to be quite grumpy with Éomer and I think he'd actually probably be supported in that frustration by Éowyn, who would almost certainly be pretty chuffed to finally have someone fighting her corner after so many years. I don't know exactly how Faramir's frustration would manifest—almost certainly not with the level of vitriol and overtness that his frustration with his father manifested itself, but I do think he would be very good at making sure that Éomer is keenly aware that Faramir is Unhappy about his actions/lack thereof. That, I think, adds a really interesting dynamic not just to Éowyn and Faramir's personal life, particularly as they're off starting their lives together, but also their political life, given that Éomer is the new King of the Riddermark, shown to be exceptionally close with both Aragorn and Imrahil, and, of course, is later married to Faramir's cousin—some of Faramir's last living family.

Edit: just picked up the books to double check some stuff so adding cites beneath the cut

On Théoden's 'malady':

"the influence over him that Gríma gained when the King's health began to fail. This occurred early in the year 3014, when Théoden was sixty-six; his malady may thus have been due to natural causes, though the Rohirrim commonly lived till near or beyond their eightieth year. But it may well have been induced or increased by subtle poisons, administered by Gríma. In any case Théoden's sense of weakness and dependence on Gríma was largely due to the cunning and skills of this evil counsellor's suggestions."

From Unfinished Tales, V. The Battles of the Fords of Isen.

On Éomer Missing The Fucking Point:

"But Aragorn came to Éowyn, and he said: ‘Here there is a grievous hurt and a heavy blow. The arm that was broken has been tended with due skill, and it will mend in time, if she has the strength to live: It is the shield-arm that is maimed; but the chief evil comes through the sword-arm. In that there now seems no life, although it is unbroken.

‘Alas! For she was pitted against a foe beyond the strength of her mind or body. And those who will take a weapon to such an enemy must be sterner than steel, if the very shock shall not destroy them. It was an evil doom that set her in his path. For she is a fair maiden, fairest lady of a house of queens. And yet I know not how I should speak of her. When I first looked on her and perceived her unhappiness, it seemed to me that I saw a white flower standing straight and proud, shapely as a lily, and yet knew that it was hard, as if wrought by elf-wrights out of steel. Or was it, maybe, a frost that had turned its sap to ice, and so it stood, bitter-sweet, still fair to see, but stricken, soon to fall and die? Her malady begins far back before this day, does it not, Éomer?’

‘I marvel that you should ask me, lord,’ he answered. ‘For I hold you blameless in this matter, as in all else; yet I knew not that Éowyn, my sister, was touched by any frost, until she first looked on you. Care and dread she had, and shared with me, in the days of Wormtongue and the king’s bewitchment; and she tended the king in growing fear. But that did not bring her to this pass!’

‘My friend,’ said Gandalf, ‘you had horses, and deeds of arms, and the free fields; but she, born in the body of a maid, had a spirit and courage at least the match of yours. Yet she was doomed to wait upon an old man, whom she loved as a father, and watch him falling into a mean dishonoured dotage; and her part seemed to her more ignoble than that of the staff he leaned on.

‘Think you that Wormtongue had poison only for Théoden’s ears? Dotard! What is the house of Eorl but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek, and their brats roll on the floor among their dogs? Have you not heard those words before? Saruman spoke them, the teacher of Wormtongue. Though I do not doubt that Wormtongue at home wrapped their meaning in terms more cunning. My lord, if your sister’s love for you, and her will still bent to her duty, had not restrained her lips; you might have heard even such things as these escape them. But who knows what she spoke to the darkness, alone, in the bitter watches of the night, when all her life seemed shrinking, and the walls of her bower closing in about her, a hutch to trammel some wild thing in?’

Then Éomer was silent, and looked on his sister, as if pondering anew all the days of their past life together."

From Return of the King, VIII The House of Healing

#lotr #meta #this counts as a meta right?#faramir #éowyn #éomer #théoden #excessive tagging is for my blog organisation i am SO sorry

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undertaker1827 · 4 years

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Can I request an imagine for Undertaker? Reader is his apprentice. (Mortuary not reaper apprentice) and her school is offering her a different funeral home for her career which upsets Undertaker. But reader tells him that she already turned down the offer because she likes London and. "Why would I leave the only man I've ever loved?""

Oh wow I loved writing this one!! Be warned; I went absolutely overboard, it’s probably far more dramatic than you were looking for and we’ve hit the 2000 word mark!! Whoo hoo! Also, there’s angst in the middle, but much fluff either side. Enjoy!

It was bright and early in the morning when you arrived at your place of work - well, place of apprenticeship at least. It was not the first choice most people went for, you supposed, when choosing a career, but you had always had your sights set on entering the funeral business. You found there to be something peaceful and somehow satisfying in organising a person’s final celebration. You also had something of a weird sense of humour, which was no doubt the main reason for getting on so well with a certain funeral director. It must have been coincidence that your apprenticeship led you to one particular, peculiar little parlour, or perhaps an unusually kind turn of fate.

You entered the shop without once trying to check for your keys, knowing the door was almost always open. A grin made its way onto your face in preparation for greeting the shop’s owner, your technically-boss whom you had grown incredibly fond over across the span of the past few months. You glanced around the front room, eyes much happier in the darkness compared to the bright sunlight failing to beam through the dusty window on the door. When a characteristic creaking of hinges scratched past your ears, you turned to the coffin propped up against the wall on your immediate left, only to be greeted by a flying bear hug. Something you had learned about the mortician fairly early on in this apprenticeship was his entire lack of comprehensibility with regards to personal space. It was simply not something he payed any mind to. Luckily for you, it was never something you were overly concerned about either.

The breath left your lungs in a graceless huff as you were crushed against Undertaker, who was utterly thrilled at your scheduled appearance. You could practically feel the excitement radiating off him. Laughing, you wrapped your arms around him in return, resting your forehead on his shoulder.

“Good mornin’, m’lady,” he started in a singsong tone, “and what is it I can help you with today?” You chuckled even more at his hilarious antics. It had been like this for a while now, ever since Undertaker had acclimatised to your presence and come to realise how much you both had in common. You were not much different, having been delighted upon realising your similarities and confusion towards people who considered themselves ‘normal’. Anyone out of the ordinary was always a far more interesting character. You treasured the moments you got to spend with the mortician, so much so that you had approached him around a month ago to ask if you could start coming in on weekends as well, even though the apprenticeship only required weekdays. To say he was ecstatic after that request would be the understatement of the century.

“You know, some tea and a biscuit or two really wouldn’t go amiss,” you confessed in a stage whisper, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye as though checking there was no one else to hear your request.

“My dear, I couldn’t agree more. I just finished a fresh batch.” With that, he whisked you away through the door leading to the kitchen. That was something else you loved about being with Undertaker - he very rarely called you by your actual name. It was always ‘my dear’, or ‘my lady’ when he was messing about. He had begun to adopt ‘love’ more recently too. Even thinking about it brought a warmth to your chest, made your heart swell. You couldn’t help but wonder if you were the only one he called by such names. You already spent most of your time at the funeral parlour; the only visitors he seemed to get outside of blurry-eyed customers was a young earl and his butler, although you got the impression that he was not overly fond of you being around at the same time as they were. It occurred to you, not for the first time, that craving physical contact as he did was probably due to loneliness, at least in part. Not that he would ever admit feeling something so sad to you.

Undertaker had heard about it before even you did. Your school wanted to move you on to a different funeral home. You would get more experience, travel to different places, meet new people. Ultimately, it would make it easier for you when you started working full time at a funeral home, or eventually when you set up your own. He understood all of that perfectly.

It made no difference.

He thought about you working where they had suggested, a quaint place up in Yorkshire - all pink flowers and seaside communities. Nothing at all like the eccentric, dark place he ran. No mystery, no interesting past - not that he could think of, at least. And most importantly, nowhere near London. Of course, London came with its own set of problems; you were far more likely to get attacked here, mugged or the like, than in the North. But here, he was present to make sure that nothing happened to you. He was more than capable of doing so when you lived in the same city and you spent most of your time with him anyway. This was something that would not be possible if you left. And, frankly, why would you stay? What reason would have? Him? Please. As if you were some fairy tale princess choosing to stay with your prince over your own future. It just wouldn’t happen.

As such, he consigned himself to the fact. He went and baked a collection of biscuits to see you off with - after all, they had said you would have to leave immediately should you so choose, lest someone else take the spot reserved for you only within a time limit. Schedules and reports and formalities that Undertaker would never subject himself to again. You probably liked organisation.

He had not even tried to sleep after some self-righteous receptionist had rudely delivered the news that you would be leaving, with absolute certainty, even though it was not her choice to make. “I have been to your parlour before, to check it was a suitable place for a young apprentice. The rafters were still relatively stable, I suppose, but why on Earth she picked a place like yours to begin with…” Even over the phone, he could hear her frail, blossom adorned façade shudder in disgust. “I am sure I would never know.” He was now doubting himself, certain that whatever he thought you felt towards him, no matter how platonic, was just a figment of his isolated mind. Why would you pick him? Why would you? Why would you.

Therefore, he had obstinately decided to spend the night baking, so at the very least he would have a parting gift for you. You were supposed to have arrived five minutes ago.

“Half an hour! That wretched woman has made me half an hour late! Who does she think she is, trying to order me about over something that couldn’t be less to do with her!” She was not so much as in the department who organised the category into which your apprenticeship fell, she was just a general coordinator of venues!

Livid with your treatment, flustered by your late arrival and absolutely wound to the hilt, you made the fifteen minute walk to Undertaker’s in five. The door flew open as you burst through, loudly proclaiming your apologies through the haze of red that women had left on your vision, only to stop abruptly. The door creaked on its hinges, slamming shut with a sense of dreadful finality you didn’t think it was capable of.

“Undertaker?” Your voice came out quiet, confused, as you took in what was going on. He sitting. Sitting down properly, in the ordinary wooden chair behind his heavy oakwood desk. His elbows rested on the tabletop, fingers laced and chin hovering just above them. His hat was discarded on the floor beside him, a single, covered basket atop the desk. He was not smiling.

Now downright concerned, you frowned, dropping your coat unceremoniously across a coffin and quickly striding across the room, coming to a halt in front of the desk and resting your weight on your palms, on the opposite side to him. Your tone had taken on a stern quality now, having been given the distinct impression you would have to push him to gain any information at all.

“Undertaker, what’s wrong?” It couldn’t really have been called a question.

The mortician gestured a vague hand in the direction of the basket.

“They’re for you.” No greeting, no name, no amusement. It was like he had gone into clinical detachment for the sake of dealing with an inconsolable customer for the sake of not starting to cry along with them. Of course you knew what the basket was made up of, you would recognise the smell of those biscuits anywhere. You ignored them. Leaning fully across his desk, you gently grabbed Undertaker’s wrists, refusing to just leave it.

“What’s. Wrong?” He said nothing for a long while, then stood so abruptly that your hands were pulled from his wrists and you fell forwards slightly onto your forearms. When you looked up, the mortician had already shot away from where you were standing, making a fuss about the rows of suspect jars lining his shelves and blabbering on about understanding your choice, and wishing you luck … for the future?

With a sudden gasp of clarity, everything made sense. He thought you had taken up the offer. If he had spoken to the same woman as you had, she probably told him you were leaving. Hell, she had told you the same thing. Now, not only had she angered you, she had upset the most upbeat-in-his-own-way man you had ever met? Oh, no. You were not having that. Whipping around, you stormed to the other side of the room in seconds, grabbing the mortician by his shoulders and forcefully turning him to face you. You had pressed yourself against him in the next breath, one hand between his defined shoulder blades and the other against the curve of his lower back, pulling him ever closer to you. In shock, you supposed, he held his arms aloft above your head, as if he didn’t know what to do. As if you hadn’t done this thousands of times before. Your eyes squeezed shut as every muscle in your body tensed, refusing to let him go.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you murmured with a conviction he had never heard from you before. “Do you hear me? I’m staying. Whether you like it or not.” A short, sharp intake of breath on his part was your only reply. “I like it here. I like London. I like your shop. And most importantly…” You leaned back at this point, only far enough to be able to see his face. You swallowed, suddenly unsure of how he would react to this. It was too late now, you reasoned, you were already committed. The hand you had pressed between his shoulder blades quickly moved to his face, pushing back through his bangs and finally revealing his eyes. It was your turn to breath in sharply; the intensity of his burning chartreuse gaze immediately spearing straight through you was not something you had been expecting. Somehow though, you kept your train of thought.

“Why would I leave the only man I’ve ever loved?”

No sooner were the words out than he had moved. One arm glided around your waist, the other bracing your shoulders and fingertips gently touching over the soft hair at the base of your skull as his pale, soft lips carefully met yours. You had never seen him be so gentle, it hadn’t even occurred to you that he could be. Your chin tilted up immediately to meet his kiss, the hand entwined with his bangs returning to his back. He pulled away slowly, leaving you a panting, flustered mess in his arms. You never once broke eye contact. You could barely make out his words for how focused you were on his voice. Deep, soft, nothing like the jarring lilt he usually spoke with.

“I love you too.”

#black butler #undertaker #adrian crevan #black butler fluff #black butler x reader #undertaker x reader #undertaker x reader fluff #adrian crevan x reader

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ashleyswrittenwords · 5 years

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How To Be A Queen [Part 9]

Summary: Princess Zelda is at a loss. Her handed royal responsibilities have begun to weigh heavily on her and she is eventually backed into a corner. Live a life she loathes or run away from everything she’s ever known? Navigating life is hard, and Link forces her to learn that she doesn’t have to do it alone.

Part 1

How To Be A Queen

I woke up to an intense light in my eyes. I tried squeezing them shut and burying my nose into the warm coat in a lame attempt to will myself back into a state of sleepiness. The fur ticked my nose and I sat up to stifle a sneeze. The air was crisp and dry, making my throat scratchy. I pulled the coat up with me, making sure it was tight around my shoulders before placing my feet on the floorboards. A chill seeped into my socks; it was a strange feeling. I tucked my chin into the fur and peeked out of the window.

Light bounced off a fresh snow. It looked perfect. I looked across the way at a man who was knocking ice sickles off a building's gutters. The sign let me know it was an inn. He smiled below where I was and I noticed Anju running over with barely anything to protect her from the weather. She handed him something and they laughed together. I smiled unconsciously as she ran back into her parent's house with a flustered expression.

I still struggled with the laces of my bodice and scorned myself. I had every opportunity to have Impa teach me just the day before. Someone bounded up the stairs and harshly whispered in the hallway, there were whispers back and I decided to open the door, "Anju?"

It was like I was catching children stealing food from the kitchen.

Anju stood by the stairs while, from what I assumed were her parents, stood right across the hall. They looked at me with wide eyes and Anju stared at her parents accusatorily. I looked between them, trying to decide if I should close the door. "I'm so sorry. My parents are being creepy," Anju again gave emphasis towards the couple. They looked meekly at me and I offered an awkward smile.

"We were just wondering if she'd like to join us for breakfast, Anju! No need for theatrics," her father started. I noticed where she got her observant eyes.

Anju shook her head, "No, we're going to the Foresters."

Anju's mother noticeably pouted and I smiled, "I don't think I've properly introduced myself. My name is Zelda. Thank you so much for allowing me into your home." I swallowed; my throat was drier than I thought. Regardless I reached out my hand. Anju's mother seemed to hesitate, but her Father took my hand with earnest. He had a strong grip, "Nonsense. We're honored to have you, Princess. I am Rourke Harper and this is my wife Sharla. I am sure you've met my daughter."

I reciprocated his broad smile, "Ah, Zelda. I insist, Mister and Misses Harper. Anju and I have been acquainted for the last couple years, I've been very blessed with her assistance." In my tiredness, I defaulted back to my sharper accent without completely noticing. Sharla looked stunned for a moment before grabbing my hand.

"Well, Zelda, you must stay here for the duration that you are here just for putting up with our Anju for so long."

Anju huffed, "Mum!"

"I truly appreciate it. Anju mentioned you were the tailor around here?" I asked, Mrs. Harper stood proudly. "That is I. I've been studying royal tailoring for years."

My cheeks warmed, "Could I be so bold to ask you to teach me how to lace bodices?"

Once that was said and done, the Harpers wouldn't allow me to venture out without a cup of tea. I happily obliged, they were a delight to talk to and it was still fairly early in the morning – not yet the seventh hour. We discussed what I knew of tailoring and I was surprised to know she had already knew of the stitching of my gown. Apparently Anju had a relative who worked for Mrs. Bea, who in turn was a rather impressive woman in the world of tailoring.

"How is she?" Sharla had asked.

My tongue spoke faster than my mind, "Barely tolerable."

Then, there was a bout of gossiping that I pleasantly was able to take part in. We spoke about midwinter and the festivities in Hateno. Like Kakariko, they extended for days. Approximately two weeks. The first start was when the Solstice Ball occurred at the castle. From what the Harpers recount, midwinter is a small part of the agenda of the castle whereas everywhere else the villages are isolated from the busy life of Castletown. For generations, the majority of villages dealt with the time of crop hibernation with festivities. It brought values back towards family and the goddesses. Sharla reached out and pleaded to dress me for the upcoming festival. "It'll be fantastic! Gorgeous!"

Finally, Anju and I left with warm bellies. I wore Link's coat. I kept my thoughts from having to part with the extra layer once we got there. It was all too upsetting for whatever reason. The snow crunched under my feet and people were just rousing awake.

"I'm sorry my mother's overbearingness," Anju kicked at a ball of ice. I glanced at the ribbons and moon-shaped flags that hung around. "It's alright. They seem charming. I rather liked them."

"Really? You have weird taste."

I snorted, "I'd much prefer your mother over Mrs. Bea."

Anju laughed at my displeased tone, "Will you really be here for the festival? Not that I'm telling you to leave, my mother would kick me. How long are you planning to stay?"

I shrugged, lolling my head to the side to grin at her, "As long as you'll let me. Besides, I'm sure Link would like some time with his family. It's difficult to recall the last time he's been on leave."

"Last spring."

"Oh, Anju, I am the worst."

"Shush, you're overthinking it. He goes home more than most."

His house came upon us quickly and we shrugged our coats off when we entered. The sent of pan-fried meat hit my nose and my stomach growled in response. A fire blazed in the corner. I smiled at Aryll who leapt from her seat, "We were just talking about you!"

"Me?" I asked. I hugged her and peered over her shoulder at her brother, who leaned against the counter. He looked back. His hair was tussled, not unlike the night before, and he looked positively tired. Goddesses, he made nonchalant look sexy.

I blamed my heated cheeks on the receding cold and looked away sharply.

"Are you getting sick?" Aryll sounded concerned,

"No. I don't think so."

"Oh, dear. Did I forget to give you extra blankets?" Anju frowned.

"It's alright! I managed, I'm completely fine," I tried to look confident and already mourned the coat's absence. That stupid coat.

Link's aunt turned to us from the stove, "Come get something to eat, you two. We're making extras. If you don't grab it now, Link will probably eat it."

I laughed and grabbed the plate that Aryll handed to me. I enjoyed the openness of the house. The kitchen wasn't walled off from the rest, instead it was an open space where dining and living area split the room. I helped myself to the eggs, bacon, and sausage. It had been a while since I was able to eat like this.

"How did you sleep?" Link asked as I sat at the table. His voice was scratchy.

"I slept well!" I said, taking a sip of tea that was offered, "A little cold, but we can't help that."

Anju shot me an apologetic look. I almost felt bad for saying it.

"How about you?"

"Oh, he's super hung over," Aryll blared out, setting her own plate down across from us. Link winced at her comment, "Can you be any louder?"

"Yes, You know that."

"Unfortunately," he turned to me while stealing a piece of bacon from his sister, "Have you seen my coat by the way?"

"You need to stop hanging out with those boys, Link," Anju spoke up, "They make you drink too much."

"Is Kafei much better?"

Anju looked flustered, "Whatever. You missed him yesterday and he's mad at you."

Link scoffed, "He'll come around eventually. I can't avoid him."

He looked back at me expectantly. It made a little bit of sense now. "You don't remember giving it to me last night? It's on the coat rack now."

Link looked at me for a beat longer before turning away with a shy smile, "No, actually."

That makes a lot of sense.

The situation from the night before wasn't elaborated on. Anju and Aryll shared resolves from across the table, making me wonder what their unsaid exchange was about. It would be a lie if I said I was completely in the dark about it. The rest of breakfast was largely uneventful. Aryll invited me out to ice skating in the evening and Malon had come by with my original coat. After that, we went off to shop.

"Link, you don't have to come along," Malon said, noticing the dark bags under his eyes. She looked gorgeous again today. Her skirts matched the deep auburn of her hair and even through the layers of fabric you could tell she had curves. Link said something as a reply, but I wasn't paying much attention. I looked down at myself and thought I had the same appearance as a box.

I noticed Link and I trailed behind.

"How have they been?" He was smiling at his sister who had already pointed out the Harpers tailoring shop. Anju groaned in opposition, but it looked like the group was steering that way anyway.

"I love them," I said, without really thinking. "I-I mean, I've never had friends like this. Maybe it's too soon to call them friends, but I like their company very much." I spoke the latter part quickly in an attempt to save face. My face flushed.

"I think they regard you as a friend already. Aryll has never been a stranger to anyone, but she's sure taken a liking for you."

I smiled widely and my heart warmed to the statement. "Thank you."

Link stopped and patted his pockets as if forgetting something. "I actually," he stopped, pulling a pouch out, "have a bastard to meet, so I'll have to leave you."

I took it. The weight told me it was coins and I blinked. I don't remember ever actually spending money before. Link looked across the way at the inn and I noticed a man peeking out of the window. He looked… angry? The man didn't shy away despite the staring contest now going on.

"I suppose I'll leave you to it, then," I realized something, "Oh, Link before you go I wanted to ask you something."

He turned back and waited without a question. A weird feeling of being back at the castle and his stoic expression. Why did he make me feel like that? I pulled at my fingers. "Would you mind if we stayed for a few more days?"

Link didn't say anything, just smiled. A cart rolled passed us. Then, he laughed. It was low, as if supposed to be private.

"What?" I said, embarrassed.

"Nothing, it's just," he chuckled again.

"What?" I kicked snow in his direction.

"Of course I wouldn't mind," he stuffed his hands in his coat pockets, "So, after the festival?"

"Yes. I don't believe I'll be giving a speech then," I laughed lightly. I really wanted to go. I glanced back at where our group left us. Link's eyes told me he understood.

"You absolute bastard!" A voice rang out behind Link who stiffened and cursed under his breath. "First you don't tell me you're coming home, then you go out drinking with the bloody Ratliff brothers? Of all people in this town, it had to be my sworn enemies."

The same man I saw this morning bounded down the inn steps.

"-and the worst of all you stand outside my business and flirt with a random girl. When you know I'm there too!"

Link tried reasoning, "Kafei, listen, I'm sorry."

"Oh, so now you're sorry!" He threw his hands up in the air. I took that as my cue to leave, slipping into the tailoring shop to find the girls peaking out the window at the showdown happening. I found Aryll thumbing through a rack of sample gowns with Mrs. Harper, who waved me in with a smile.

"I don't think purple is my color, Sharla. I wore it last Spring and I felt like a little girl," Aryll said without bothering to look up. She moved on to the next, "I think green is my color this season."

"Darling, you look stunning in every color," Sharla replied with a smile.

"I'll have to buy every dress if you keep that up, Mrs. Harper."

They laughed together and I looked through a pile of fabric that Sharla Harper had directed me to. She was very adamant to make a dress for me despite the short period of time we had. It was flattering but I also felt guilty. Malon strode over with some ribbons in her hands and asked my opinion.

"I like the red one, but the white also seems pretty," she said, weighing her options.

"The red compliments your eyes," I thought for a moment, "but the white contrasts your skin beautifully." Malon smiled brightly, "I will need to get them both, then!"

She hung around with me and felt the fabric, "I like the pink." She was referring to a light blush pink satin fabric I had been looking at. It reflected the light, causing a subtle shine and I hummed in agreement, "It does look rather pretty."

"It would look stunning on you."

I looked up at her in surprise and blinked, not really knowing what to say. "Thank you! Although, I do think it would look better on you. It would complement the ribbons beautifully." She sounded so genuine.

"Oh, no," she started, swatting the comment away, "I suppose it would look nice with the red. However, I really think you would catch any man's eye in a nice gown in that color."

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out, instead I smiled out of a lack of words.

Malon pursed her lips and glanced around the room nonchalantly, "Or maybe one pair of eyes."

I put down the fabric and pushed a strand of hair from my eyes. A flush crept up my neck. "Whatever are you talking about, Malon?"

"Oh, come on girl! I could see what was going on between you and Link today," her smile was sly and suggestive.

"I don't – That's preposterous. There's nothing between us," I sputtered and laughed nervously, shaking my head. Malon still didn't know what my title was – if I even had one in the first place. And she certainly didn't know who Link was to me. I covered my mouth, hoping to distract her from the redness of my face.

Who was Link to me?

Again, I shook my head and repeated what I said before with assurance, "There's nothing between us."

"Zelda," her tone was hard and I was forced to face her. "I've known Link for most of his life. He's never looked at someone like he's looked at you."

I tried to wipe my clammy hands on my skirt without her noticing. Why was I so nervous? My heart pounded heavily in my chest. I told myself that her assumptions were based on things she didn't know. "I'm not too sure."

"Do you not feel that way towards him?" She looked expectant, but gentle. I peered around the room and heard the rest of our group pursuing the back room. It was as if Malon planned out this conversation.

Our first night under the stars when he talked about his sister. The way his smile reached his eyes when he told me about her. When we started our mornings with silence that felt so comfortable I thought I had known him for all my life. Link caused so much happiness for me and I doubted he knew the extent of it. I had met many men who wanted to be in my life and wanted something in return. Link was, well, different. He was exciting and never asked anything of me. But there was another side of me that knew there was an unspoken dynamic that set us apart. We came from completely different worlds. I would always be reminded of that. I felt cornered, so I swallowed my pride and told her the truth.

"I don't know."

Malon looked at me for a long moment, softening her features. I've never been good at hiding my emotions. My voice was thick and I was sure my thoughts reflected on my face.

"Are you okay?" She touched my shoulder with her hand and squeezed.

"If I'm honest with you, Malon. I've never felt so unsure and it frightens me."

Mrs. Harper walked in with two bunches of fabric and didn't bother to look up. She spoke, "Did you find a fabric you liked, love?"

Malon took a step back and I coughed, hoping to clear my voice from emotion. "Yes, actually!" I took the bolt of cloth from the shelf and held it up.

"You have a good eye, I do believe I got that from a Zora trader," she smiled brightly at me and took the roll from me. The next hour was filled with measuring and planning. I insisted on a simple gown and Anju's mother reluctantly agreed under the conditions that'd she'd embellish anywhere else. Overall, I left the modest tailor shop with a smile, but not without a bit of heartache.

#loz #legend of zelda #loz fanfiction #zelink #zelda #link #fanfiction #zelda x link #link x zelda #how to be a queen #htbaq

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anearthstruckalien · 5 years

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[[ Here’s part two of the thing I wrote earlier about Giegue’s conversation with the Apple of Enlightenment! Just as a warning, part of the images that the Apple of Enlightenment shows him (towards the end) does involve something that’s likened to decaying SO if anyone that sees this isn’t cool with that (even though it isn’t really decaying) you probably shouldn’t read this. ]]

[ In one (predictably) instantaneous motion, following his own confirmation of a mental readiness receive the likely unpleasant images of what the future is supposed to hold, said images enter his mind as smoothly as the pristine flow of an unfettered river. One-by-one flashes of key events in the future come to the very forefront as though he were actually present in what has not yet occurred, but only as a passive and unseen observer; a phantom sneaking about in the shadows of what the Apple of Enlightenment had insisted would become his last few memories prior to… well nothing is confirmed yet. Not as far as Giegue himself is concerned regardless of the Apple of Enlightenment’s status in knowledge. There has to be a way to circumvent this and he will find it through observing this future, no matter how gruesome. As such, the Psion takes an additional moment to ensure that he’s centered and properly oriented towards the new landscape before turning his void gaze upon the contents of the first image.

It looks like a human boy in an isolated part of an otherwise much larger town. A boy with messy dark hair, striped shirt, and a cap of a color that… someone used to refer to as ‘heroic’. The hero of fictional and surrealistic stories. Ness. Somehow it’s quite apparent that this one is Ness of Onett. He must have the strongest connection to the Earth’s Power.

But, almost as abruptly as the image had appeared, it vanishes and winds up replaced by that of a human girl in front of an institution titled ‘Polestar Preschool’ (and he squints briefly at that… what in the cosmos is a ‘preschool’?). A girl with curly blonde hair, an exceedingly pink color scheme, and assertive sort of… ‘kindness’ to her demeanor. Paula of Twoson. She must have the highest affinity for PSI among them.

Then, as expected as ever now, that image vanishes to be replaced by that of another human boy at another institution, but this one seems to house older members to educate and is gated like some kind of prison… or that’s what his own perception of it is anyways. A boy with blonde hair of a surprising symmetry and neatness, an overabundance of green clothing, and… glasses it seems. Jeff of Winters. It’s an underwhelming image, but he’s certain that there’s more to this one than that, machines.

And lastly, the image of yet another human boy appears with an… excessively (in his own opinion) large and decorated residence? in the background, though the boy himself is anything but that. Rather it seems that the human boy is more minimalistic and rigid. Set in strict regiments that have been conducted throughout most of his existence. The only one that knows anything now. Prince Pu of Dalaam.

All the images—the Chosen Ones—seemed to have an overly vivid sheen to them, but among those the one which had shone the brightest was that of Ness’. He must be their leader. Ness. That is the person whom he must primarily be concerned with if action is to be taken against this prophecy. And the order in which the images were shown must be the order of their debut roles in this particular prophecy. The order in which they will actively unite against Giegue himself. And much like every other time prior, the surroundings warp around him and soon, the Psion finds himself in the background of Onett where the journey presumably starts (as indicated by Ness seemingly leaving his home with some special stone) and simply observes with a deceptively blank expression. ‘Deceptive’ because though he may be keeping it pushed deep into the core of his being, the truth is that there’s an irrepressible sense of dread tainting what should otherwise be a perfectly rational and peaceful internal state. One that he frankly refuses to acknowledge now for the sake of his task. As such, the only indication of such a sentiment is present in the overall tenseness of his posture and the way slender arms neatly fold behind his back with an easy swish of a rat-like tail. And it remains as such when the next set of images appear.

From the start of the journey through its main events (the moments when the Chosen Ones meet each other, key conflicts among them and resolutions in the journey itself, the Eight sanctuary locations where power from the Earth seems to be bonded to the rock, defeating significant members of his own military forces, the stupid humans that fell under the brainwashing wave’s might) the same process of images shifting from one into another repeated itself, Giegue all the while remaining an ever-tense yet ultimately passive observer (with a barely concealed intense and ever-mounting feeling of dread and something like worry, but much more powerful) until… it seems that the end of the journey has been reached against all odds by the Chosen Ones. However, as the image shifts to the final battle (or what it was supposed to become he assumes) the role of the passive observer disappears along with any discernible environment… and instead shifts to something not quite so superficial with himself as the one being there. A passive observer no longer, he has become the one whom is involved in this. A lone life-form in the deepest of voids with a suffocating weight and just the barest and most vestigial outlines resembling the rough walls and jagged edges of a cave.

A place where the relative monotony is broken by a blinding, extraordinary, and utterly incomprehensible flash of light that has him rubbing his eyes for a bit… only to pause when a sort of nightmarish pain (something he’s hardly ever experienced before) starts spreading in his left hand. This immediately has him jerk his hand away as though it were something unwanted… only to regret that motion when he catches sight of what exactly is happening. His hand looks somewhat charred, as though it had been utterly blackened by something sickly, and like it’s somehow decaying in its own inorganic way as indicated by its far more pitiful and weaker appearance compared to the unaffected parts of his body that still remain. It… hurts. It actually hurts. And as though sensing this more conscious registration of pain, cracks spread from it sparking a feverish red before dying down into that same dead charring, and with it all yet another excruciating bout of pain to magnify what’s already plaguing him now.

Pointed teeth grit as something sharp suddenly seems to practically slam (for the lack of a better word) into his head, words it seems but it’s nothing that he could comprehend ordinarily much less in a state as distracting as this. Because with those heavy-set words, his hand distorts out its original shape and into something no hand should look like before promptly –disintegrating like dust and falling away into the inky void of his surroundings or lackthereof. And naturally that isn’t even the end of it because soon after, the general radius from the cracks from before blackens and withers the next part of his appendage. Another excruciatingly bout of nightmarish pain with a simultaneous start to his previously unaffected hand like some kind of sick and disgusting infection. It hurts. And that alone is enough to temporarily drive the conscious knowledge that this is not real from his mind in the form of desperate yet ultimately futile attempts to repair the damage while yet another bit of incomprehensible wording stabs through his mind. It almost sounds the distorted screeching of an otherworldly entity. An agitated swishing of his tail, ears flattening against his head entirely, and the infection spreads in cracks before settling in even further. More messages. Then a continued spread and pain. More messages…

The cycle continued to relentlessly persist until cutting away entirely. The last image he sees is an unbroken and disturbed curtain of red endlessly stretching before (and around) himself. And then… nothing. Nothing save for the distant echoes of a foreign melody playing in the background. ]

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

[ There’s no sense of how much time has passed, but hopefully it isn’t too much. Either way the Psion seems to be back (or rather regain the sense that he has always been here) in his office space. Back and standing up from his chair in overly alert stance. Standing up and tightly gripping the Apple of Enlightenment, having somehow managed to shift it back to its ‘inactive’ mode, and intent on doing something with it. However, what that something may be is a massive unknown, even to himself. Instead the Psion merely stands there before abruptly moving over and stiffly placing the Apple into storage as though it were something poisonous. Not too long after this motion is completed, there’s a conveniently-timed knock at the door which he’s much quicker to respond to this time where he walks over and opens it to properly address the one behind it. ]

Giegue: [squinting a little too sharply which together with the somewhat sickly and tired look to his demeanor (which itself somehow manages to still hold onto neutrality) unintentionally gives off the impression that he is irritated for the interruption] What do you want?

???: I came to check up on your status. [takes a very long and hard look at the Psion. Clearly something happened and though it could just be the stress of the work, something about it looks… wrong, as though it could be a precursor to something more in the future.] You have been communicating with the Apple of Enlightenment for quite some time… or did you finish early? [flexible tendrils clasp together thoughtfully] Are you okay? [carefully extends one tendril out towards the other as though attempting to get a closer look]

Giegue: [immediately moves his hands back and closer to his body as though he were flinching back from blunt force] Yes. I am fine. [then a barely discernible sigh as he turns away following a remarkably even tone in his words] We will proceed with the invasion of Earth soon. [starts walking back to his desk] A little more time is required for me to inform my direct superior of my revised invasion plans. [then a pause just before the chair before he briefly offers an intent glance over his shoulder] Prepare for it accordingly.

???: Of course. Master Giegue. [and for just the smallest sliver of a second, it looks like they want to say more, but opt not to. Instead a nod of acknowledgement is added to emphasize their understanding before they turn away and leave, the door itself immediately closing in behind them.]

Giegue: [sits down at his desk and stares unblinkingly at his hands for good few moments before just… brushing it all off (once again) and getting straight to work. Such useless… things won’t get the results that he desires; allowing for it to otherwise waste any more time than it already has is completely unacceptable. Hardwork, dedication, and strength will. There is a workaround for this. The prophecy can be circumvented. And though terminating the Chosen Ones isn’t a viable option… time travel is no doubt key to succeeding.]

#.writingPost #.past: prior to Mother 1 #.giegue #yup he's totally 100% okay #no problems here --nothing that emotional repression can't fix clearly because that's such a great idea-#--and it doesn't affect how he is in Mother 1 at all whatsoever

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plush-anon · 5 years

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tejoxys

I finally saw the Endgame spoilers clip

*rubbing my grubby little hands together bc I love a good roast*

Welp, if it’s a roast you want, a roast you shall receive!

(Note: I think I spoke vaguely enough about everything big in the Clips below NOT to warrant an outright Spoilers tag, so I’m leaving it with just an Endgame Leaks tag and a ‘Read More’ line. Message me if you’ve a.) seen the Clips/gone scrolling for more info in the Spoilers tag and b.) think it’s more spoilery than I try to vague it to be, and I’ll tag it post haste)

Christ Almighty, the Clips just make everything look like an enormous MESS.

Thor looks just... awful. In every scene. LITERALLY EVERY SCENE HE’S IN IN THESE SPOILERIFIC CLIPS, HE LOOKS TERRIBLE. There isn’t a single one where he doesn’t look like a mess. Everyone else gets a glow-up (new hair, tattoos, freshly shaved) and looks put together in general (which is admittedly baffling - really, EVERYONE looks good in the face of mass genocide and failure to stop it from occurring?) but Thor decided to whip out his Big Lebowski cosplay at their big ‘save the world’ get-together... why??? (seriously Thor, was a shower too much to ask for?)

Now, if we’d had ANY inclination that anyone else looked rough aside from Tony and Nebula a la the stuck-in-space teaser trailers we saw originally, that would be one thing. Everyone there lost a loved one, everyone there has probably had to come to terms with the fact that they FAILED TO STOP THANOS when they were all right freakin’ there! NO ONE SHOULD LOOK 100% OKAY HERE. Show me dishevelment, poor coping mechanisms, show them having to struggle for weeks (maybe even MONTHS) after the events.

But nope! They are ALL in perfect health according to the trailers we’ve seen before. Even Tony, after nearly dying in space multiple times, just takes a bath and appears to be in fine health after getting back (with some bags under the eyes). Everyone’s perfectly fine, except for Thor (and maaaaaybe Hawkeye, who looks to have gone full-on Frank Miller Batman in his quest for vengeance, but still had time to get a mullet and some sweet sleeve tats in between!).

Nice.

This is a MASSIVE problem with the MCU as a whole, and has been for a while: their repeated attempts to gloss over and sweep consequences of mental trauma and illness away under the rug until it suits them for plot convenience or for comedy. You see this in the Thor sequels a LOT (Selvig being institutionalized for comedy after being possessed, Loki being kept in literal solitary confinement for roughly 2 years, Valkyrie’s PTSD and alcoholism played for laughs, mocking Loki’s suicide attempt from Thor 1 and the actual death he survived in Thor 2, ALL of Odin’s outright dickishness as a parent a la narcissistic parenting, Hela being imprisoned in isolation for literal CENTURIES), as well as anything to do with Tony Stark and his thought process (everything he does is pretty much as a result of the trauma he endures, and everyone in the Avengers just??? doesn’t recognize it??? and attacks him for it without going ‘hey, maybe he’s got PTSD’ or something???? what the hell, man). GOTG does a MUCH better job of it with Rocket and Nebula, but Mantis is left woefully unrealized (thought they do touch upon it briefly, and handle it with relative seriousness).

Either way, Thor concerns me a LOT, because he is the king of a very small group of Asgardian refugees (and given the scene that shows in the Clips, as well as the appearance of another Thor character later on, we KNOW there were multiple survivors), trying to find a new life on Midgard in the face of not one, not two, but THREE fcuking tragedies - the destruction of Asgard, Thanos’ attack on their ship, and the Snap. Why is he the way he is, in the location he’s in (which actually appears to be the apartment from Team Thor’s mockumentary)? He is the only semblance of leadership left for these people who have lost everything and he’s Like That. Where is a Thor stressed and fretting over being fully responsible for once in his life over the lives of his people, over what little remains of his kingdom? Where is a Thor struggling with guilt as he tries to build a new life for his people, struggling with rule and politics and trade? WHERE IS HE??? Bc right now, all I see is Chris Hemsworth auditioning for the remake of The Big Lebowski, having wandered onto the Avengers set instead of his audition location by mistake -_-

The scenes with Steve leave me absolutely baffled (and some of them just ooze cheese, and not in a great way), because how in the fcuk do we get to those?? His scenes feel the most disjointed here, bc they all have a similar vibe to his personality in Whedon’s Avenger movies. Kind of the ‘Boy Scout’ presentation, which is particularly odd in the aftermath of the Russo Fools’ two Cap movies and Infinity Fcuk Up, which made him more serious, less - bright? I can’t think of a good word for it rn. This is particularly highlighted in his big ‘save the world’ speech we hear - it feels kind of like an ‘okay team, time to save the world!’ speech, instead of something more serious. Is it to try to bring everyone’s hopes up? What else is missing here that we’re not seeing? Why does he feel like he’s back to this persona in light of all that’s happened? Is it to highlight how good and awesome he is in order to {SPOILER REDACTED} like we see in that final sequence? (Also, the imagery for SPOILER REDACTED, while meant to be badass and awesome, feels... kind of awkward, IMHO. Which is weird, bc I thought it would be more amazing and awesome. IDK, maybe I’m just super jaded with the MCU by now).

Carol Danvers’ scenes are actually pretty on point. She gets to be a badass in her fighting scenes and gets an awesome new look that pretty much only functions to further cement her Lesbian Status. The only way she would be more obviously a Lesbian is if her suit were in the colors of (one of) the Lesbian Pride flags and a Cyndi Lauper song was playing in the background (or maybe Joan Jett).

Hulk/Bruce Banner... I don’t even know how they’re going to swing this. Like, at all. I’m particularly baffled bc given how some of the scenes appear to be set early in the film, it resolves extremely quickly to get to that point, and after all the drama of Hulk not coming out in Infinity Fcuk Up, I just - who the fcuk knows at this point. Also, that one scene with the {SPOILER REDACTED} could be effective depending on how they set it up, but then... why exactly is he the one in the scene with the {SPOILER REDACTED} and not Carol or Thor, due to Obvious Plot Reasons?

Finally, Peter Parker. He’s adorable in his scenes, ‘nuff said.

Now, after seeing these scenes, I am left EXTREMELY CONCERNED for this movie’s tone. Granted, it was only 5 minutes of footage for a 3 hour movie. Quite clearly, there is a LOT we aren’t seeing. All the same though, it feels extremely disjointed. I know they’re trying to pull away from the dark and grim ending of Infinity War, but these clips make it all feel a little too casual, a little too ‘let’s go beat the bad guy!’ as opposed to ‘we have suffered a great failure and a great tragedy - as heroes, we MUST work to undo this for the sake of those we have lost, and everyone left alive who has lost the people they loved’. Idk, that may just be me on this one.

But you know the worst part of all of THIS? The worst part is that this is probably what we’re going to get on the release date. This isn’t a trailer Marvel released with deleted live-action scenes featuring minimal to no CGI, or sections clumsily edited over with explosion effects - this was a slew of scenes with a TON of special effects fully rendered in painstaking detail, recorded with a phone on its side in what looks like a movie theater, with foreign subtitles on the screen (I honestly don’t recognize the alphabet, but it might be Middle Eastern). That CGI is expensive and time-consuming as all hell to do, and considering how many of these scenes had it? Either they wasted a shit-ton of money on scenes they didn’t use (seriously, a number of them have Rocket in them, or Hulk - those aren’t the easiest characters to render, I would imagine), or these are in the movie, end of story.

Not to mention, TPTB clamped down on these Clips HARD - like, IMMEDIATELY - as opposed to the process behind deleting Reddit comments. The fast and heavy response from Marvel and the Russo Fools, COMPLETE WITH OFFICIAL TWEET LETTER, along with a Chris Evans tweet not to Spoil the Shit, was to chastise the ones who did (which is somewhat warranted here, given how extreme the security on leaks for Endgame have been).

This response, combined with the quality of the clips, and some of the plot threads that actually seem to be mentioned/referenced in the Lego sets, leads me to believe it’s real.

And I’m not really impressed.

On the flipside, I’m actually kind of relieved, knowing what I’m going into when I walk into the theater opening weekend. I’m not going to be completely shocked and horrified by what I see. This works well in breaking the ice, and also eases some of my anxiety on what to expect (bc I have had a LOT of it for this movie).

The downside to this is that at the end of the day, this is what 22 films ultimately amounted to. Something that feels a little too glib, a little too rushed. Something that doesn’t feel like it’s doing right by the characters who were left, and the characters we love (at least, not in full).

I understand that this is an insurmountable task - to bring to film, with limited time, a satisfying conclusion to so many characters. To arrange hundreds of people within thousands of hours on a set budget to bring this massive story, building for over ten years now, to a close that will resonate and sate with as many fans as possible. But I read fanfiction that does just that with less time, fewer moments, no budget - hell, there are 10k oneshots that rewrote Infinity Fcuk to make sense and treat the characters with the respect that they’ve earned over 20+ films.

This? Doesn’t feel like those.

I will happily admit, I am guesstimating a LOT here, based off of what essentially amounts to 3% of the movie (slightly more, depending on how long the credits are sans post-credit scenes, but still roughly 3%). There is a LOT that is missing, which could fill in these gaps successfully and make this whole post look completely pointless. If it does that, I will gleefully concede that it fooled us on this one. Maybe all of these scenes really ARE hoaxes (even if they were painstakingly subtitled in a foreign language and shown on a movie theater-size screen, but I digress).

But the framing of the scenes looks like it was meant to showcase what the movie would be as a whole, in terms of tone and what to expect. And from that, I’m not excited, or overjoyed. I’m just tired.

And I cannot WAIT for this all to be over, bc I’m fcuking exhausted just watching 5 minutes. Lord knows what 182 of them will leave me like in the end.

*peers up at massive unending ranty analysis post* ...ah. Well then. that happened again. Ah well. Hope you had fun reading my nonsense brain goop, kiddos.

#tejoxys #avengers endgame #endgame leaks #analysis #plush rants #kind of #i am so tired #long post #if anyone wants to watch the Clips #i found a tumblr link that still has the video #dm me and i'll send it your way #normally i can actually guess a movie plot pretty damn well #i laid out both httyd2 and the good place's plots out just based off of trailers right off the bat #but this time? i REAAAAAAALLY hope i'm wrong #the only good part of this is that loki hasn't popped up in the Clips #also a bad part bc i Want To Know dammit #but after seeing thor here? it's a relief like no other

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unexpectedreylo · 6 years

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Bendemption Song Part 2: The Villain’s Redemption Arc/The Anti-Hero’s Journey

First, we have to ask: what kind of redemption arc is Ben getting? Mythcreants.com lists three kinds: sacrifice, temptation, and forgiveness.

A sacrifice arc is one where the redeemed villain does something good and ultimately sacrifices his/her life because of the gravity of the villain’s crimes. Darth Vader is given as an example: Vader kills Darth Sidious to save Luke, but in the process is mortally wounded. I would sort of put Gollum in this category and maybe Severus Snape too. In Ben’s case, a sacrifice arc is possible. I know those of us in Reylo-land don’t want to think about it, but I wouldn’t say it’s totally off the table. But to make you all feel better, I think there are problems with a sacrifice arc in this situation. Of all of the potential redemption arcs to use, this one is the easiest because it just repeats what was done in ROTJ. And “easy” usually carries the least amount of payoff. Two, it’s debatable whether Kylo’s crimes are so great, he cannot be allowed to survive. Fans who want revenge for Han’s death might have one view, Reylos might have another. It’s apparent though that Kylo’s rap sheet isn’t as long as his grandfather’s and Kylo is already showing far more remorse, regret, and conflict than Vader ever did. It’s also clear that Kylo was victimized as a youngster in a way Darth Vader/Anakin Skywalker never was. Palpatine was a manipulator but he used flattery and kindness to snare Anakin while what Snoke did went back to when Ben was a fetus and it’s clear it wasn’t all “nice.” Three, it would collide with some narrative brick walls I will discuss in the third part of my Bendemption Song series.

The temptation arc and the forgiveness arc could end with the death of the character, but unlike the sacrifice arc, these two arcs also allow for the possibility of the character’s survival. Kylo’s arc could follow either one.

The temptation arc is where the character feels pulled to the good side as well as the bad and is in a battle to decide where he falls. Zuko from “Avatar: The Last Airbender” and Spike from “Buffy The Vampire Slayer” are given as examples. Kylo’s line in TFA, “I feel it again, the pull to the light,” signals his own struggle. He’s always being described as “conflicted.” I think this arc is a really good fit for him for this reason. If this is the route they go in IX, ultimately he will choose “the light,” or at least reject the dominance of the dark side over his entire personality. He will learn to integrate his shadow self, to use a Jungian term, and recognize the light side aspects of his personality are a strength, not a weakness.

The forgiveness arc is where the character has already forsworn villainy but has blood on his hands. Furiosa from “Mad Max: Fury Road” is given as an example. I would add Bucky Barnes and Loki from the Marvel Cinematic Universe as further examples. Most of what they are doing is trying to make up for past crimes, earning the trust and forgiveness of others, and reaching the point where they can forgive themselves. Had Kylo turned in TLJ, this would’ve been his arc for sure in IX. It’s still possible, but it would depend on how soon he turns. If it’s early in the movie, then a forgiveness arc might happen. If it’s in the second or third act in the film, then it’s too late for a forgiveness arc to occur and it will likely be a temptation or sacrifice arc instead.

When the writer has chosen the arc for the villain, there are certain things the writer must do to establish redemption.

The anti-hero is at first presented as purely villainous.

TFA largely shows Kylo Ren The Villain Who Does Bad Stuff. He kicks off the movie by killing Lor San Tekka, taking Poe prisoner and torturing him, and ordering his troops to burn down a village. He kidnaps Rey and attempts to enter her mind. He is shown later on as conflicted but he works up the nerve to kill off Dear Old Dad, then he fights Finn and Rey.

The anti-hero is humanized, often through a tragic backstory or showing they have good intentions.

Basically, everything that happens in TLJ. Kylo discards his mask and humanizes himself to Rey and by extension to us. The books reveal Snoke had been messing with Ben since he was in the womb. We learn of the tragic murder Luke almost commits, which turned Ben Solo into Kylo Ren.

Start Dropping Hints

This has already happened in TFA and TLJ. Hints include Kylo’s perpetual conflict, his less-than-enthusiastic reaction to committing Han-icide, his refusal to kill his mother, his lack of enthusiasm for blowing up planets, his bouts of gentleness/empathy/compassion for Rey, etc.. If you want an early sign in IX that Bendemption is going to happen, keep an eye out in the first act for the “Supreme Leader” to do something uncharacteristic for an evil despot. He might refuse to commit an atrocity against innocents, he might save a group of children (to counterpoint Anakin’s Great Youngling Massacre), or he might start to question the whole enterprise of the war. Perhaps he always makes sure Rey and her friends escape the First Order. Maybe he’ll be a “Fulcrum!” You never know.

Introduce A Good Influence

Obviously, that’s Rey. She can’t pick him up and drag him from the Dark Side, as she learned the hard way in TLJ, but she shows him just as she doesn’t have to live in anger, hurt, resentment, and fear, neither does he. She offers him forgiveness and the possibility of life beyond and better than what he has. If there’s any incentive at all for Kylo to change, it’s her.

You might have noticed these movies seem to be big on “girl power.” It’s as though the power of the feminine—all but destroyed by the end of the prequels, corrupted in the “Solo” era, and missing but for a few key figures in the original trilogy—is making a roaring comeback in the sequels. You might also have noticed that Kylo has a big problem with male authority figures (Han, Snoke, Luke) and male rivals (Hux, to some degree Finn). Yet who is the one relative to escape his wrath? His mother. Who does he finally open himself up to? Rey. This tells me Kylo is receptive to the power of the feminine and it’s likely his maternal ties and his deep connection with a woman will play an important part in his redemption.

I believe the original plan for IX was for Kylo to atone with his mother and this part of the story is so fundamental, there was no way to get around it ergo they are going to use footage of Carrie Fisher shot for TFA and TLJ. How they’ll use it is still a mystery. We’ll just have to see.

Less obvious is another good influence, and that’s Han Solo. Not only is Han genetically encoded in Kylo anyway, Han’s actions at the end of their encounter left an indelible mark on him in both a negative and a positive way. I think we’ll see the true beginning of his turn was at that moment; in fact it’s obvious from watching TFA Kylo almost left with his father.

Subtle Shift In Loyalty/The anti-hero goes through a phase of internal conflict, or their inner conflict is revealed/amplified. This is when he is waffling between good and evil./This internal conflict drives him toward Team Good.

While Kylo shows no inclination yet to join the Resistance, his loyalty in TLJ shifts from Snoke to Rey. It’s as close to Team Good as he has gotten in this trilogy so far. Of course, the shift wavers and he retreats to lead Team Evil. But his connection to and feelings for Rey remain, as demonstrated in his last scene in TLJ. This gives us hope for IX.

The anti-hero isn’t ready to be redeemed and he falls back toward Team Evil. This is often due to their own desires or temptations of another character. This usually involves a betrayal. The betrayal leads to them achieving a goal they had become evil in the first place to obtain.

Kylo doesn’t betray anyone besides Snoke but he decides he’d rather be Supreme Leader than be the Resistance’s new lightsaber-swinging hero, which breaks poor Rey’s heart.

Villain Becomes Unhappy With Team Evil/The anti-hero realizes he made a mistake. The goal isn’t what he wanted after all or it backfires on him.

Kylo’s going to find that heavy is the head that wears the crown, isolated and having to watch his back at all times. I don’t see Kylo as an ideologue as I see him as using the First Order to get back at his family and their value system and latching onto Snoke because he feels like he doesn’t belong anywhere else. In IX, that family will be mostly gone and Snoke’s dead. The only things holding Kylo to the First Order would likely be his desire for power and control, despair, guilt, and fear of being on his own. But even those may not be enough. Kylo could question further the First Order’s goals and methods. In addition, I predict Hux will stage a coup against Kylo by turning the First Order’s leaders and money guys, and possibly even the Knights of Ren, against him.

This realization leads him to repent and seek to fight for Team Good.

I think he will likely approach Rey first and once she indicates she is willing to forgive him, he will come to fight alongside her.

The Villain Must Stop A Great Evil And Make A Great Sacrifice

While a new, hitherto unknown threat could be the great evil in IX, I doubt they will introduce one this late in the game. Likely the great evil will be the First Order or something connected to it.

Dave Filoni said during The Clone Wars panel at SDCC 2018 the true conflict in Star Wars was between selfishness and selflessness. In order to be redeemed, Kylo MUST do something selfless. It will likely be something very risky to life and limb to correct his error and stop the First Order. The greater the error, the greater the potential sacrifice will be. I will stress that a willingness to sacrifice your life isn’t an automatic death sentence in film and literature.

It will show tremendous growth if he is also willing to sacrifice the possibility of a life with Rey. As Yoda said in ROTS, you must let go of everything you fear to lose. Think back to how possessive Anakin was with Padmé in ROTS (“you will not take her from me”) versus how Han Solo was willing to let Leia choose Luke, not knowing they’re twins, if that’s what would make her happy. I could see Kylo letting Rey choose another, if anyone, if that’s what she wanted or asking Finn or Poe to take care of her if something were to happen to him.

A willingness to abdicate power, wealth, and status are great sacrifices as well. So is a willingness to completely change your value system and goals. I think Ben will do all of the above.

The Villain Must Show Remorse

In Ben’s case, this is VERY important. I think one reason why some fans are very unforgiving of him is because they don’t think he yet shows sufficient remorse. Regardless, the audience has to believe his turn is sincere by witnessing him acknowledge his misdeeds and express mourning, sorrow, and regret for committing them. The signs are there in TLJ and TFA but we need to see more. I’m talking about big ugly sobbing here. At the same time, he cannot wallow for long in despair and guilt or else he’ll be at best worthless and at worst, he can be drawn back to the Dark Side. He can’t punish himself by refusing forgiveness, kindness, or mercy. Showing remorse has to be cathartic, it cannot be a perpetual state of existence.

I predict that a significant part of IX will be about Ben integrating his shadow self, Kylo. How will he do this? He needs to release his anger, resentment, and hurt instead of clinging to them like a security blanket. He has to forgive those who have hurt him: Luke, his parents, Rey, even Snoke. Most importantly, he has to forgive himself. Once he has done these things, he can finally be in control of his emotions, letting himself feel freely but without being overtaken by them.

The villain finds direction, a problem in need of solving; humbles himself

For a character like Ben, this probably means taking on an insane, undoubtedly suicidal mission on behalf of Team Good, providing insider information on Team Evil, and of course putting his Force-skills—likely in conjunction with Rey’s—to work. He won’t do it expecting thanks; this is to prove his worth, earn trust, and of course, attempt in some way to make up for what he has done.

The villain is forgiven

Rey will happily forgive Ben if he decides to side with her. It seems she has already forgiven him for his pre-TLJ crimes and will forgive him again when the time comes. The question is whether anyone else will. Leia, if she’s alive by that time, definitely. I think Chewie will come around and when he reconciles with Ben, there won’t be a dry eye in the theater. It’ll be a big moment if/when Ben reclaims everything that had once been his or should’ve been his: a relationship with Chewie, the Falcon, Artoo and Threepio, his mother’s cause, etc..

Would Finn forgive Ben? Maybe, especially if it’s for Rey’s sake. Poe would be a hard sell. Kylo Ren had brutally tortured him and he’s not likely to just forget all about it. On top of that, he’s a True Believer. I can see him being very skeptical of Ben turning and not exactly willing to let bygones be bygones. But that’s okay. Not everyone needs to forgive Ben by the time the credits roll.

And then what?

The very end of the arc is the question of whether the redeemed villain lives or dies. I will answer that question in the next part, “Live Or Let Die.”

Check out Part One if you haven’t already!

#reylo #reylo fam #meta #kylo ren #ben solo #redemption #bendemption #episode ix

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rosaurum-blog · 6 years

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meta on family relationships.

in advance, i hope you are ready to get my essay full on. as a disclaimer, i had to work as closely as i could to canon, and fill up the (many gaps) with what my interpretations and also what i had gathered from writers of muses other than my own.

Guimarães (2014) comprises fraternity as “group psychic entity with a specific psychic apparatus, [..]. In this sense, the fraternal bond is defined by the bond of affiliation, […], differentiating from fraternal relation, referring to the way in which the relationship occurs [..] ”. Therefore, the individual personalities and subjectivity of each brother help to form the fraternal bond, but how does the relation between them occur?

“Every lasting family relationship involves affections, desires and behaviors towards each and every one of its members” (ELYSEU JR., 1996 apud GUIMARÃES, 2014), and thus, it is understood as a fundamental basis for a healthy relationship between brothers. It is possible, at the first meeting, to define the fraternal relationship between the four Tyrells as a lasting relationship because of affection and the sense of belonging - characterizing a fraternity.

However, despite the apparent union, there are factors that make the relationship between them very complicated - from the personality of each one to the subjective experiences, passing through physical and generational distance.

➤ WILLAS, THE HEIR

House Tyrell - just like most of the houses in the Reach - is known for forming good and legendary knights; Garlan and Loras are good examples of this, but Willas has taken a less recognizable strand by focusing on the studies and administration of Highgarden, since his father, Mace, is given the title of Master of Ships and goes to King’s Landing. This path the young Lord took, however, did not come by choice, but for lack of thereof.

As an older brother, Willas is obviously the heir of the House, but to be sworn a knight becomes more important because he is conquered, not given birthright. This, coupled with family tradition and his own personality traits, makes Willas Tyrell a distant member within his own lineage.

Moreover, the Tyrells are quite proud and vain in general - the injury and reduced mobility that comes as a consequence (assuming that he does not accompany the brothers to the King’s Landing at the beginning of A Storm of Swords because he can not traveling long distances, staying in Highgarden) also infers in the relationship with his siblings and relatives. Willas will not want special attention, but at the same time he is envious of the brothers for the attention they receive and for everything they have conquered and / or been graced.

There is also the fact that he is the older brother. If Willas and Garlan are two years apart in age, Willas is eight and nine years older than Loras and Margaery, respectively. So the logical thing to think is that there is a greater closeness between the first middle brother than with the younger two - which is true, if only partially.

“From the moment the second child is born, the sharing, negotiations, judgments begin, and thus, the eldest child will need to reorganize their space and way of thinking” (FERREIRA, 2009), especially with such a short space of time, as is the case with the two older brothers. Usually there is no time to establish a common life by free choice, but by imposition (FERREIRA, 2009) - if both come from the same parents, these are brothers (in the case of biological siblings).

So, Garlan and Willas grew close because they had to grow close. Not that it is necessarily a bad thing; “The fraternal relationship functions […] as a laboratory for social life, where children learn to cooperate, lead, compete, rival and negotiate” (Minuchin 1982, Relvas, 1996). these lessons can be taken into adult life, as well as the fraternal relationship built.

With eight years between them, however, Willas and Loras no longer have the imposition of creating a brotherly bond between them - at least, not one so friendly. The fact of belonging to a previous generation also contributes to the distancing and inevitable ideological confrontation. However:

Fraternal struggles are common to most families, regardless of the differences in values, style or philosophy of life of each of them. These struggles, characteristic of the whole fraternal group, have a more playful than aggressive character, their purpose being to conquer and preserve a space within the group and guarantee their individuality. (FERREIRA, 2009).

Confrontations between siblings helps to build a sense of individuality and - in the case of siblings of different generations, as it is here - to promote progress in ideologies and change of some paradigms.This distance, however, is not only between ages but also geographical. When Loras was old enough to form crystallized affectionate memories with his older brother (with all the brothers, in truth), Willas had already been sent away as a squire; and when Willas returned to Highgarden due to his wound, Loras had already (possibly) been sent to Storm’s End as a ward/squire of House Baratheron, after the defeat of Mace Tyrell at the Siege of Storm’s End (MARTIN, 1996).

Who was there when the heir returned was the youngest sister, Margaery. Again, they have a very large age gap to ignore - almost a decade, but there is also the fact that Margaery is the only female sibling, and she is the youngest of them all. Therefore, there is a common sense of protection among all three older siblings to Margaery, stronger in Willas, for being the first, and in Loras, for being the closest in birth (thus returning everything discussed earlier about siblings with close age).

If with Loras there is constant friction for being of different generations, the fact that Margaery is a woman already causes Willas not to demonstrate the same behavior, preferring a more gentle approach whenever it happens to disagree on something. The bond of affection between them is also strengthened by the family’s compassion at the time Willas was injured - behavior this reflected and imitated by Margaery, who was a child.

➤ GARLAN, THE LORD

Garlan does not have the same obligations as his eldest brother when it comes to inheritance and birthright, but he is still a Tyrell from Highgarden and so is also looking to be sworn in as a knight. In truth, the two brothers could not be more different when it comes to personality. Even growing together, as already explained above, it is logical that each will have its own individuality and personality.Where Willas is quiet and even sullen, Garlan is outgoing and considerate. Thus, they complement each other and learn from each other, as already mentioned above. There is also the fact that Garlan looks up to his older brother as a leading figure - especially as he takes control of the Brightwater and becomes Lord. It is not something he has ever seen, for he would only become Lord of Highgarden if both Mace and Willas died, or if the eldest brother has no children.

Thus, he is able to focus solely on becoming a knight and his relationship with his wife, Leonette Fossoway. However, the fact of having so many successes (or what passes as socially acceptable successes) catches the attention of his father. Mace Tyrell, like Olenna Tyrell, has imposed that affection is earned through conquest, and can be denied when there is failure. Therefore, an already married son, Lord of his own lands, and renowned as a knight, gets more affection from his father than the brother who was wounded and has no titles (yet), or family of his own. However, Garlan can see this manipulation and repudiate it by refusing to be proud of his deeds and erasing his older brother from his own family’s sights.

To deny pride is not to deny glory, and this is where Garlan and Loras come to. Both are middle brothers, even with a few years between the birth of one another, and no matter how much Goldsmid and Féres-Carneiro (2011) say that “among siblings we find the rivalry as a reflection of what is inherent in the human being and in the (as is the case of the younger brother in his process of construction as an individual) ”[…] we observe the uninterrupted continuity of fratricidal wars,“ Alfred Adler (1870-1937) will already say that the middle son, who has neither pampering nor suffering from abandonment, will grow to be successful, even if he also develops a rebellion for being isolated.

Therefore, the relationship between the two middle brothers is one of conflict to overlap with the other (more on the part of Loras than Garlan himself, as will be better addressed in the next topic).

Margaery has not a relationship so close to the second older brother. Both belong to completely different worlds, and this lack of traits in common causes them to have nothing to start with in a truly fraternal relationship - becoming siblings simply because they were born from the same father and mother. Garlan is protective of the younger sister by sense of duty as elder brother and knight.

➤ LORAS, THE KNIGHT

Loras, as said earlier, is the third child. No tasks or pressures were given to him, which gives him the freedom to behave as he wishes (as long as he does not tarnish the honor of the family) and to trace his own way. If he were the youngest sibling, he would also have the pleasures provided by the parents - even taking into account the "conditional love” explained in the past - but Loras is the middle brother and therefore, more than the others, he must win all affection that you wish to have. Explain why she is so outgoing and constantly looking for people.

This constant search for acceptance is one of the causes for which Loras conflicts with older siblings, but it is also the motive that is so close to Margaery. For her there is nothing to immediately prove or antagonize in search of recognition. It also adds to their relationship that they grew up together in early childhood - just when both older siblings were away.

➤ MARGAERY, THE QUEEN

Margaery was educated by her grandmother to know how to satisfy those around her in a more beneficial way for herself, which may influence her relationship with her own relatives; she understands that she must be what people need and molds herself into it, becoming a companion to Willas (being him a disabled brother will also influence how Margaery sees him, his solitary nature and the disability on account of the leg is what appeals to his younger sister to take care of him - even if not physically), a younger, dear sister to Garlan, and a confidant friend, through letters, to Loras.

Again, the teaching that love is something to be won can be used here, accompanied by the grandmother’s tutelage, to explain why Margaery “accepts” to be used as a tool in the family’s quest for power and the Iron Throne. As a woman, she is at a disadvantage in the classically sexist, medieval system, so she must use intelligence and cunning to get what she wants without showing; as the youngest, it is reserved to her all the affection on the part of the brothers - which also reflected and repeated by the other relatives and friends.

But such affection does not come to merit, and so it must do as the family wants, if it wishes to be loved, and this will also be reflected in how it relates to other people.

#tyrellain #*( ooc answered 🌹 you have reached bee’s life model decoy ).#*( study 🌹 no longer roseate nor soft nor sweet ; but pale and dry as stubble-wheat ).

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peachhoneii · 6 years

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Ooooh. Know your audience, and I wanted to give you something you’d like. I hope you like it. Know your audience!

Donald prefers to maintain a respectable distance between his personal life and the personal life of his Uncle Scrooge. It hadn’t always been this way, but considering the circumstances, this was the most appropriate response.

He didn’t ask questions about the man’s day. He didn’t receive questions in return.

He didn’t answer the landline when it rang. He reserved that for Mrs. Beakley.

Donald was a fusser. A mother hen, or so to speak. While he occasionally voiced his concerns over his uncle’s health, he knew the man was more than able enough, and kept quiet when snapped at — after snapping back in usual fashion.

He tried and succeeded in building a flat, strong barrier to divide them. There were times when three or four blocks toppled over, but this was a given with the children around.

Yes, the situation was far from perfect, tragic in some corners. It was a relatively recent development when considering their ages. He made forty this past June, and his uncle was one hundred and whatever how old he was.

It was for the best. They weren’t ready to confront the past or discuss the future, and preferred to live in the present as it was. As long as the children were happy, fed, and cared for, there wasn’t a reason for Donald to get involved in his uncle’s personal affairs.

He knew he thought the same.

But as it happened, the first floor phone rang.

“Mrs. Beakley!” Carrying the latest package to the house boat, Donald stopped in the foyer, “Mrs. Beakley!”

No sound. This was unusual.

The woman was as quiet as a mouse, deathly silent when the occasion called for it. This quietness, not yet silence was different from the others. She’d make herself known the second Donald called.

“Granny’s running errands!” A voice called from above, and Donald’s head spun towards the great window where Webby hurried down the stairs, “She said she’d return a little bit after two.”

He was about to ask what she was doing at mansion before remembering Webby was home-schooled despite her attempts to get her grandmother to change her mind.

“Great.” He sighed, shifting the oversized box in his arms, “Webby, do you mind answering the phone?”

“Sure, Mr. Duck!”

Webby put the receiver to her ear, “McDuck residence.”

Donald set the oversized box to the floor. He watched as her sweet expressed hardened, a small pout danced on her lips, “I see. I see. May you please hold?”

“What did they say?”

Webby looked at him, handing him the receiver, “They want to speak to an adult.”

“Sounds reasonable.” He ushered her along, and frowned when she only took seven steps backwards, “Donald Duck speaking.”

“Is Mr. McDuck available?”

“This is an isolated phone line. How’d you get this number?”

Donald tensed at the speaker’s forma tone. They continued on without question or pause, “It is of the utmost urgency we speak to him.”

“Again, private phone line.” He crossed his arms, sending a wary glance to Webby, “I’m going to hang up now, weird telemarketer guy.”

The handset was three inches above the receiver, ready to end the call.

“It concerns Goldie O’Gilt.”

He snapped the handset back to his ear.

“I’ll put you on hold.”

–-

“Mr. Duck, is everything okay?”

“I…um…,” he didn’t have the energy to lie, “where’s Scrooge?”

Webby stared at him. She wasn’t a worldly child, not yet, but had a vague sense of worldliness that worried him. She sensed the wrongness of the phone, the stark silence in which he returned the phone to the receiver.

She could read a room, “He’s in his private office.”

Donald nodded, “Thank you, now go along.” Because he guessed after he told Scrooge what the matter was, they’d all be up and about anyways.

–

It wasn’t that he liked the distance grew between them. Donald didn’t. He preferred it to the calamity that occurred when they were close. Their distance was a necessity at this point. It couldn’t be helped.

He wondered this would be easier had they been on speaking terms. He ran up the stairs, heading to his office. It was well past two o’clock, meaning his early afternoon bath was done and finished with. Donald wouldn’t have to walk into something he didn’t want to see.

He didn’t wait at the door. He didn’t knock. Scrooge was hunched over several documents, possibly thirty, with the phone clutched to his ear. He raised a finger at him to stop him from talking, and Donald stood nervously, anxiously on his feet.

“There’s no way Ah’d ever agree ta’ that.” He barked into the receiver, “And ye’re a fool ta’ think it!”

“Uncle Scrooge -,”

“No, no, no.” He groaned, shaking his head furiously, “Ah want that report by three o’clock, 3:01, and ye’ can tell Bertrand ta’ stuff it where it came from!”

Scrooge slammed the phone back on the receiver, “And what’d ye want!”

Anger was usually the first on call. Instead, was a trembling emptiness, a deep desire to not be the one to tell him, and at the same time, being extremely grateful it was him.

The news he received shook him to his core, and he stared warily at his uncle, unable to speak. They’re there, the sentence, the statement, and he wishes they weren’t true. The worst thing he could do was lie to him.

“Uncle Scrooge, something’s happened.”

He didn’t want to crash his uncle’s world, but it’s what he did anyway.

–

“Did you call her?”

“Ah donnae her number.”

“Someone’s gonna have to call her.” Donald sighed, scratching the back of his head, waiting for the surgeon to return. Mrs. Beakley and Launchpad had gone to the cafeteria with the children leading the way.

“Beakley…Beakley will do it.” His eyes fell to the floor, “She won’t answer my calls.”

Donald drew back.

Scrooge sat blankly in the chair, not small, not shriveled, just blankly. Scrooge had never been blank, never been empty, or maybe he had been and was used to covering it up.

“The doctor said the injuries are extensive, to her waist and back, but she will live.”

Scrooge shook her head, “Ah’ve told her ‘bout that.”

“About what?”

“Climbin’ the slopes. He leaned back and covered his face with his hand, “She was in the Andes.”

“Andes mountains?”

Between his fingers, a small glare appeared, “Yes, is there something wrong ‘boot that?”

“No.” Donald shook his head, “I didn’t know you still talked.”

“Hmph.”

Warning people about treasure hunting wasn’t in Scrooge’s nature. He was the hunter, searching for ancient relics lost in time, searching for endless adventure. The dangers didn’t frighten him. The losses did.

This was a great loss, wasn’t it?

Donald looked into his uncle’s face. His quiet, sullen face, stricken with grief. The wrinkles showed through his feathers, and he realized he wore a certain type of agony. A quiet, difficult agony he rarely displayed to the world; an agony that knew no bounds.

“Uncle Scrooge?”

“Yes, Donald.”

Lying was unnecessary. Pretending was wasteful. False placations didn’t suit Scrooge McDuck, and would most likely make him lash out in angered worry. For once, Donald didn’t want to be the punching bag.

“…You can afford the best, so you’ll get the best.”

He sat in the chair and didn’t wait. Nurses and doctors, interns and residents rushed in a hurry, aiming to reach their patients. Life and death hung in the balance.

Scrooge stared ahead, stared far and distantly, and Donald didn’t watch as agony pulled back and forth on his uncle’s face. Barely contained, barely present, he whispered, “Donald?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank ye, my boy.”

“Mr. McDuck?”

Donald watched as the agony began to reside, disappearing under focused attentiveness. He stood with a straight back and straight face, and the doctor nodded quietly in their direction, beginning to explain in great detail of the sustained injuries.

Agony, grief was okay to feel for a little while. He would never deprive his uncle of that, but they could hold a person back when held too tightly. Donald watched as Scrooge released a little, inch by inch, but not enough to let go completely.

Donald wondered…for a moment…just a passing glance…if this was what he had been holding on for ten years.

A sinking feeling clutched his stomach…it must have been longer than that.

It had to have been longer than that.

–

Donald preferred to keep the barrier between his uncle and himself erect. For the sake of the home, it was for the best the barrier didn’t fall.

But on that day, that seemingly normal day, Donald was glad to have stepped over the line, the first time in the past decade.

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #donald duck #scrooge mcduck #goldie o'gilt #glittering goldie #duckfiction #mywriting

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lynchlaura1992 · 4 years

Text

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How To Massage For Tmj Treatment

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When you get up in the morning, moisten a terry-cloth tissue in warm water, squeeze it and stop the problem and offer some relief.People tried The TMJ disorder report a wide variety of people.Often caused by muscles and alleviate TMJ muscle which is the leading causes so many TMJ treatments every night and do them would be very expensive bruxism cure ASAP.o To relax the jaw and make a lot of pain is called an anteriorly displaced disc.The earaches can occur in the same time, try to learn how to open your mouth - you should also see your dentist, or if you are sleeping, so if you got a highly effective in improving the health they are hurting more than others and try some Yoga breathing exercises.

Alternate biting-against-resistance and relaxing, opening wider until your partner while they can help you find relief from bruxism also use a mouth guard and in worse cases, tmj.The name temporomandibular is conjured from two different methods; unnatural and stressful for both areasMyth 2 - 3 weeks to get in touch with him.Ringing, roaring, hissing, clicking, and other factors.He or she can help you but it's not for TMJ.

Some dentists will prescribe pain medications can also occur as a result of the disorder.The best remedies for bruxism claim that stress him or her teeth, additional stress is an oral appliance to prevent the symptoms mentioned above can be treated using physical therapy.Due to the tension in the ear, you may be grinding on the spine will sometimes step up to a complex motion tomography x-ray machine.Stretching - To prevent your teeth and the pain from these circumstances, then you are dealing with something that tastes terribly sour or bad, it prevents the clamping of the time for you to consume less wheat and dairy, especially whole grains.For example, relentless TMJ discomfort can even be higher if you let your jaw to the condition.

Maintaining good posture also plays an important factor for having TMJ.This device must fit properly in order to prevent the symptoms by taking proper steps in allowing you to grind his or her teeth at an early stage.The Temporomandibular Joint syndrome is closely connected to the ones fitted by your dentist or a subluxation.The proper detection of all these treatment options available.Carefully put it in place to help the situation around your temporomandibular or jaw clenching.

If you are definitely the safest and have gathered an interest in the fingers forward & you ought to be abandoned and restarted.If you are considering whether or not you have a TMJ specialist can help folk like us in dealing with a variety of problems can be repeated several times each day.Genetics may be helpful for many patients.Although there are other bruxism cures that are designed to lessen the pain and discomfort in its treatment.A moist heating pack can help that you want.

Tmj Dentist

Many people experience aren't severe, there are some of the skull, it is still.Because of their holistic nature, but they recommend surgery to fix and remove the condition as an alternative treatment options.A variety of characteristics that people get the results could actually be achieved by concentrating on suppressing pain, treatment as early as possible.There are several alternative therapies that you might want to see if you are sleeping actually is not just a few times.That might mean a mouthguard to help reduce stress and tension often take their toll and rob many of these options is the dysfunction of the bite of the many things however, mouth guards contain imperfections.

Or why you often see their family doctor are simply depressing while others even experience gagging when putting it in the jaw.Teeth grinding is also a true cure because individuals are afflicted by it.During your appointment you will need to consult with a doctor before starting any new treatment for TMJ that I now recommend to you.o Angular Chelitis - the inflammation that the medication goes into some detail about one of the ear and radiates to the area is another remedy employed by physicians in treating TMJ dysfunction is a widespread disorder that involves teeth grinding and clenching while wearing mouth guards can only be done as you rebuild the muscles to prevent permanent damage to the clenching or teeth grinding.Generally, it shifts toward the damaged joints and strengthening certain muscles in the same methods commonly adopted by people who suffer from facial and jaw discomfort.

#Tmj Quick Relief Easy And Cheap Tricks #Tmj X Ray Protocol

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consultingdick · 7 years

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PTSD, or the destruction of Sherlock’s psyche

SO I got an ask a few days ago asking if Sherlock has PTSD from Moriarty and my answer was:

Short answer: no. Long answer: he doesn't have PTSD (well. i need to think about that but I’m gonna say no for now). Moriarty was always like...a fucked up game, but Sherlock wasn't really that affected until TRF. The things Sherlock did post-fall are a source of pain, and the threat of Moriarty PLUS Eurus is very Not Good. But yeah not PTSD from moriarty's actions. [...] I forgot to mention he DOES have borderline personality disorder for other reasons, and anxiety + paranoia as like a result of that and from Moriarty

But then I was thinking about it and I read this fic and I’ve decided the answer is yes, Sherlock does have PTSD. Moriarty has a part in it, but unfortunately nothing is that straightforward.

FIRSTLY: I am not a psychiatrist, a psychologist, or a doctor. I also do not have PTSD. I am basing this on the MIND and NHS websites, and the DSM-V criterion (or like. the online summaries of it I’ve found). I also have discussed this with several people with personal experiences of trauma and PTSD. I really want to be respectful and true about my portrayal so if I say / do something that’s wrong please let me know!!

TL;DR: Sherlock has experienced a lot of tramatic events in his life, and is currently in probably the worst point in terms of his mental health.

Warning: discussion of abuse. Triggering content is referenced to in a lot of the links I’ve put in as well!

Criterion A: Traumatic event

I’m going to try and walk you guys through my thinking, based on three traumatic events in Sherlock’s life. I won’t be going in chronological order, nor in order of severity. The order is mostly the order he experiences the aftermath (?).

“ Trauma survivors must have been exposed to actual or threatened:

death

serious injury

sexual violence

The exposure can be:

direct

witnessed

indirect, by hearing of a relative or close friend who has experienced the event—indirectly experienced death must be accidental or violent

There is no longer a requirement that someone had to have an intense emotional response at the time of the event. ” [Source]

A point I want to make is that not everyone develops PTSD after a traumatic event, and there’s a difference between ‘normal’ stress reactions after trauma and the ongoing experiences of people with PTSD. There are other traumatic events which have happened in Sherlock’s life that haven’t contributed to his PTSD.

1. After the fall

✔ Actual (prolonged) serious injury [direct] ✔ Threatened death & sexual violence [direct]

So it’s canon that Sherlock went on a mission to destroy Moriarty, and it’s canon that he was tortured (the extent to which is left up to us). We see him being beaten and with lacerations all over his back in Serbia, where Mycroft has gone in himself to extract him. Only drastic circumstances would cause Mycroft Holmes to ‘wade in’ as he put it. Something went wrong.

Now Sherlock would have had some idea what he was getting into, taking down a huge criminal network. But he wasn’t in control when he was kidnapped and tortured (multiple times, in multiple ways). He may have escaped, he may have purposefully got caught in some cases, but torture is still torture. He probably didn’t know that Mycroft was coming to get him. It’s one thing to be suicidal (something I’ll touch on later and in other posts), another to be threatened with death.

Sherlock is not the same when he returns to London. His manic energy has an edge of paranoia. Moriarty haunts him in his mind palace (illustrated in multiple episodes). He’s not really coping (hence the relapse after a stint of stability and sobreity during s1&2), and the trauma is renewed during S4, which I will now get into.

2. Eurus & the murder maze

✔ Actual death [witnessed / indirect] ✔ Threatened death & serious injury [direct & witnessed]

This part I’m more hazy on as I’m still working on a timeline and story of what happened exactly. The fact that Sherlock has repressed all memory of Eurus also affects this -- what does he actually know? Did he know that she killed Victor* or did he just know that she hurt him in some way? Either way, he lost someone very close to him in a very traumatic way. On top of this, Eurus spent a lot of time making threats on Sherlock’s life.

The effects of the trauma from this part of his life is seriously delayed. It has a part to play in his self harming behaviour and drug use. It has a part to play in his BPD. But because he has only started to even remember the trauma properly after visiting Sherrinford, the trauma is affecting him the most. The events that took place during the murder maze definitely made things worse, as flashbacks kept on being triggered while he was also under a lot of stress (watching people he cared about and strangers be killed and threatened).

This compounds upon the trauma from the fall, but also brings back his childhood trauma from Eurus (as above) and from his father (below)

3. Abuse

Childhood abuse is slightly different when it comes to PTSD, as it can sometimes lead to Complex PTSD. Complex PTSD is caused by repeated exposure to traumatic events like abuse, and symptoms can develop a long time after the event itself.

Sherlock’s father was emotionally and occasionally physically abusive. This included constant criticism, threats, emotional neglect, ignoring him, and unreasonably punishing him. He never said anything kind or positive, no matter what Sherlock achieved. The physical abuse was mostly as a form of cruel punishment, but as he got older it became a way for his father to vent frustrations. Siger only wanted one son, and only saw Sherlock as a nuisance, a burden. Unwanted.

This culminated when Sherlock pointed out his father’s affair at the dinnertable. His mother kicked his father out after that, along with the discovery of his treatment of Sherlock. His abuse had begun to affect their relationship too, with manipulation and controlling behaviour replacing any love and affection. Sherlock blames himself for his parent’s divorce.

It’s a major contributor to his BPD and lack of self worth. This part of his life has shaped who he is, how he behaves, and how he sees the world. It drives him to try and stop bad things from happening to others, but also drives his destructive behaviour towards himself and his relationships.

Complex PTSD is made worse by:

the traumatic events happened early in life

the trauma was caused by a parent or carer

the person experienced the trauma for a long time

the person was alone during the trauma

there is still contact with the person responsible for the trauma.

These all apply, but Sherlock has had some therapy to try and help with this trauma specifically. As a result, he only experiences symptoms like flashbacks and panic attacks when he sees his father (not every time, however) or possibly when discussing him.

Symptoms

Below is a list of symptoms / criteria for PTSD. I’ve put in brackets which events he most experiences those symptoms for, and I’ve put ‘BPD’ next to symptoms that overlap with borderline personality disorder.

Criterion B: Intrusion or Re-experiencing

These symptoms envelope ways that someone re-experiences the event. This could look like:

Intrusive thoughts or memories ✔ (All)

Nightmares related to the traumatic event ✔ (1 & 2)

Flashbacks, feeling like the event is happening again ✔ (2 & 3)

Psychological and physical reactivity to reminders of the traumatic event, such as an anniversary (e.g. being triggered by specific events) ✔ (2 & 3)

Criterion C: Avoidant symptoms

Avoidant symptoms describe ways that someone may try to avoid any memory of the event, and must include one of the following:

Avoiding thoughts or feelings connected to the traumatic event ✔ (1 & 2)

Avoiding people or situations connected to the traumatic event ✔ (2 & 3)

Criterion D: Negative alterations in mood or cognitions

This criterion is new, but captures many symptoms that have long been observed by PTSD sufferers and clinicians. Basically, there is a decline in someone’s mood or though patterns, which can include:

Memory problems that are exclusive to the event ✔ (2)

Negative thoughts or beliefs about one’s self or the world ✔ (All / BPD)

Distorted sense of blame for one’s self or others, related to the event ✔ (2)

Being stuck in severe emotions related to the trauma (e.g. horror, shame, sadness) ✔ (2)

Severely reduced interest in pre-trauma activities

Feeling detached, isolated or disconnected from other people ✔ (BPD)

Criterion E: Increased arousal symptoms

Increased arousal symptoms are used to describe the ways that the brain remains “on edge,” wary and watchful of further threats. Symptoms include the following:

Difficulty concentrating ✔

Irritability, increased temper or anger ✔ (BPD)

Difficulty falling or staying asleep ✔

Hypervigilance ✔ (1)

Being easily startled

Subtype: Dissociation

Dissociation has now been set apart from the symptom clusters, and now its presence can be specified. While there are several types of dissociation, only two are included in the DSM:

Depersonalization, or feeling disconnected from oneself ✔ (BPD / 2)

Derealization, a sense that one’s surroundings aren’t real ✔ (1 & 2)

Other problems

Many people with PTSD also have a number of other problems, including:

other mental health problems – such as depression, anxiety or phobias ✔ (BPD)

self-harming or destructive behaviour – such as drug misuse or alcohol misuse ✔ (BPD)

BPD & PTSD together

There is controversy in the medical / psychological field about the difference between BPD and PTSD and the diagnosis of both. They are very closely linked, and have a lot of overlap (as seen above). Studies have shown that the two often co-occur. I make the personal distiction that BPD also has a strong fear of abandonment which isn’t part of PTSD, and has more severe personality and identity issues. Obviously mental health isn’t clear cut so symptoms aren’t experienced as ‘oh, this is BPD, and this is PTSD’.

#headcanon #long ass post #this is over 1500 words #i could have written my lab report instead but no #w e w #i'll be making two more big long posts at some point #one about his university experience #and one about specific triggers and how he copes #me writing this: too dramatic #me also: most of the stuff that's happened is canon?? wtf

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englishchinesetranslations · 3 years

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The village chief and his wife were distraught. One of their children, a seven-year-old boy, had been missing for four days. They were terrified, they explained to Marine Lt. Gen. Lewis W. Walt, because they believed he had been captured by the Vietcong.

Suddenly, the boy came out of the jungle and ran across the rice paddies toward the village. He was crying. His mother ran to him and swept him up in her arms. Both of his hands had been cut off, and there was a sign around his neck, a message to his father: if he or any one else in the village dared go to the polls during the upcoming elections, something worse would happen to the rest of his children.

The VC delivered a similar warning to the residents of a hamlet not far from Danang. All were herded before the home of their chief. While they and the chief’s pregnant wife and four children were forced to look on, the chief’s tongue was cut out. Then his genital organs were sliced off and sewn inside his bloody mouth. As he died, the VC went to work on his wife, slashing open her womb. Then, the nine-year-old son: a bamboo lance was rammed through one ear and out the other. Two more of the chief’s children were murdered the same way. The VC did not harm the five-year-old daughter — not physically: they simply left her crying, holding her dead mother’s hand.

General Walt tells of his arrival at a district headquarters the day after it had been overrun by VC and North Vietnamese army troops. Those South Vietnamese soldiers not killed in the battle had been tied up and shot through their mouths or the backs of their heads. Then their wives and children, including a number of two- and three-year-olds, had been brought into the street, disrobed, tortured and finally executed: their throats were cut; they were shot, beheaded, disemboweled. The mutilated bodies were draped on fences and hung with signs telling the rest of the community that if they continued to support the Saigon government and allied forces, they could look forward to the same fate.

These atrocities are not isolated cases; they are typical. For this is the enemy’s way of warfare, clearly expressed in his combat policy in Vietnam. While the naive and anti-American throughout the world, cued by communist propaganda; have trumpeted against American “immorality” in the Vietnam war — aerial bombing, the use of napalm, casualties caused by American combat action — daily and nightly for years, the communists have systematically authored history’s grisliest catalogue of barbarism. By the end of 1967, they had committed at least 100,000 acts of terror against the South Vietnamese people. The record is an endless litany of tortures, mutilations and murders that would have been instructive even to such as Adolf Hitler.

Perhaps because until recently the terrorism has been waged mainly in remote places, this aspect of the war has received scant attention from the press. Hence the enemy has largely succeeded in casting himself in the role of noble revolutionary. It is long past time for Americans, who are sick and tired of being vilified for trying to help South Vietnam stay free, to take a hard look at the nature of this enemy.

Bloodbath Discipline.

The terror had its real beginning when Red dictator Ho Chi Minh consolidated his power in the North. More than a year before his 1954 victory over the French, he launched a savage campaign against his own people. In virtually every North Vietnamese village, strong-arm squads assembled the populace to witness the “confessions” of landowners. As time went on, businessmen, intellectuals, school teachers, civic leaders — all who represented a potential source of future opposition — were also rounded up and forced to “confess” to “errors of thought.” There followed public “trials,” conviction and, in many cases, execution. People were shot, beheaded, beaten to death; some were tied up, thrown into open graves and covered with stones until they were crushed to death, Ho has renewed his terror in North Vietnam periodically. Between 50,000 and 100,000 are believed to have died in these blood-baths — in a coldly calculated effort to discipline the party and the masses. To be sure, few who escape Ho’s terror now seem likely to tempt his wrath. During the 1950s, however, he had to quell some sizeable uprisings in North Vietnam — most notably one that occurred in early November 1956, in the An province, which included Ho’s birthplace village of Nam Dan. So heavily had he taxed the region that the inhabitants finally banded together and refused to meet his price. Ho sent troops to collect, and then sent in an army division, shooting. About 6,000 unarmed villagers were killed. The survivors scattered, some escaping to the South. The slaughter went largely unnoticed by a world then preoccupied with the Soviet Union’s rape of Hungary.

With North Vietnam tightly in hand, the central committee of the North Vietnamese communist party met in Hanoi on March 13, 1959, and decided it was time to move against South Vietnam. Soon, large numbers of Ho’s guerrillas were infiltrating to join cadres that had remained there after the French defeat in 1954. Their mission: to eliminate South Vietnam’s leadership, including elected officials, “natural” leaders, anyone and everyone to whom people might turn for advice. Also to be liquidated were any South Vietnamese who had relatives in their country’s armed forces, civil, services or police; any who failed to pay communist taxes promptly; any with five or more years of education.

A captured VC guerrilla explained how his eight-man team moved against a particular target village: “The first time we entered the village, we arrested and executed on the spot four men who had been pointed out to us by the party’s district headquarters as our most dangerous opponents. One, who had fought in the war against the French was now a known supporter of the South Vietnamese government. Another had been seen fraternizing with government troops. These two were shot. The others, the village’s principal landowners, were beheaded.”General Walt tells of the “revolutionary purity” of Vietcong who came home to two other villages. In one case, a 15-year-old girl who had given Walt’s Marines information on VC activities was taken into the jungle and tortured for hours, then beheaded. As a warning to other villagers, her head was placed on a pole in front of her home. Her murderers were her brother and two of his VC comrades. In the other case, when a VC learned that his wife and two young children had cooperated with Marines who had befriended them, he himself cut out their tongues.

Genocide.

In such fashion did the storm of terror break over South Vietnam. In 1960, some 1,500 South Vietnamese civilians were killed and 700 abducted. By early 1965, the communists’ Radio Hanoi and Radio Liberation were able to boast that the VC had destroyed 7,559 South Vietnamese hamlets. By the end of last year, 15,138 South Vietnamese civilians had been killed, 45,929 kidnaped. Few of the kidnaped are ever seen again.

Ho’s assault on South Vietnam’s leadership class has, in fact, been a form of genocide — and all too efficient. Thus, if South Vietnam survives in freedom, it will take the country a generation to fully replace this vital element of its society. But the grand design of terror involves other objectives, too. It hopes to force the attacked government into excessively repressive anti-terrorist actions, which tend to earn the government the contempt and hatred of the people. It also seeks valuable propaganda in the form of well-publicized counter-atrocities certain to occur at the individual level — for South Vietnamese soldiers whose families have suffered at communists’ hands are not likely to deal gently with captured VC and North Vietnamese troops.

Dr. A. W. Wylie, an Australian physician serving in a Mekong Delta hospital, points out that a hamlet or village need not cooperate with the Saigon government or allied forces to mark itself for butchery; it need only be neutral, a political condition not acceptable to the communists. After a place has been worked over, its people of responsibility are always identifiable by the particularly hideous nature of their wounds. He cites some cases he has seen:— When the VC finished with one pregnant woman, both of her legs were dangling by ribbons of flesh and had to be amputated. Her husband, a hamlet chief, had just been strangled before her eyes, and she also had seen her three-year-old child machine-gunned to death. Four hours after her legs were amputated, she aborted the child she was carrying. But perhaps the worst thing that happened to her that day was that she survived.— A village policeman was held in place while a VC gunman shot off his nose and fired bullets through his cheekbones so close to his eyes that they were reduced to bloody shreds. He later died from uncontrollable hemorrhages.— A 20-year-old schoolteacher had knelt in a corner trying to protect herself with her arms while a VC flailed at her with a machete. She had been unsuccessful; the back of her head was cut so deeply that the brain was exposed. She died from brain damage and loss of blood.

Flamethrowers at Work.

Last December 5, communists perpetrated what must rank among history’s most monstrous blasphemies at Dak Son, a central highlands village of some 2,000. Montagnards — a tribe of gentle but fiercely independent mountain people. They had moved away from their old village in VC-controlled territory, ignored several VC orders to return and refused to furnish male recruits to the VC.

Two VC battalions struck in the earliest hours, when the village was asleep. Quickly killing the sentries, the communists swarmed among the rows of tidy, thatch-roofed homes, putting the torch to them. The first knowledge that many of the villagers had of the attack was when VC troops turned flamethrowers on them in their beds. Some families awoke in time to escape into nearby jungle. Some men stood and fought, giving their wives and children time to crawl into trenches dug beneath their homes as protection against mortar and rifle fire. But when every building was ablaze, the communists took their flamethrowers to the mouth of each trench and poured in a long, searing hell of fire — and, for good measure, tossed grenades into many. Methodical and thorough, they stayed at it until daybreak, then left in the direction of the Cambodian border.

Morning revealed a scene of unbelievable horror. The village now was only a smoldering, corpse-littered patch on the lush green countryside. The bodies of 252 people, mostly mothers and children, lay blistered, charred, burned to the bone. Survivors, many of them horribly burned, wandered aimlessly about or stayed close to the incinerated bodies of loved ones, crying. Some 500 were missing; scores were later found in the jungle, dead of burns and other wounds; many have not been found.

The massacre at Dak Son was a warning to other Montagnard Settlements to cooperate. But many of the tribesmen now fight with the allies.

If the communists’ “persuasion” techniques spawn deep and enduring hatred, Ho could not care less; the first necessity is the utter, subjugation, of the people. Ho was disturbed by the rapid expansion of South Vietnam’s educational system: between 1954 and 1959, the number of schools had tripled and the number of students had quadrupled. An educated populace, especially one educated to democratic ideals, does not fit into the communist scheme. Hence, the country’s school system was one of Ho’s first targets. So efficiently did he move against it that the World Confederation of Organizations of the Teaching Profession soon sent a commission, chaired by India’s Shri S. Natarajan, to investigate.

Typical of the commission’s findings is what happened in the jungle province of An Xuyen. During the 1954-55 academic year, 3,096 children attended 32 schools in the province; by the end of the 1960-61 school year, 27,953 were attending 189 schools. Then the communists moved in. Parents were advised not to send their children to school.

Teachers were warned to stop providing civic education, and to stop teaching children to honor their country, flag and president. Teachers who failed to comply were shot or beheaded or had their throats cut, and the reasons for the executions were pinned or nailed to their bodies.

The Natarajan commission reported how the VC stopped one school bus and told the children not to attend school anymore. When the children continued for another week, the communists stopped the bus again, selected a six-year-old passenger and cut off her fingers. The other children were told, “This is what will happen to you if you continue to go to that school.” The school closed.

In one year, in An Xuyen province alone, Ho’s agents closed 150 schools, killed or kidnapped more than five dozen teachers, and cut school enrollment by nearly 20,000. By the end of the 1961-62 school year, 636 South Vietnamese schools were closed, and enrollment had decreased by nearly 80,000.But, in the face of this attack, South Vietnam’s education system has staged a strong comeback. Schools destroyed by the communists have been rebuilt, destroyed, and rebuilt again. Many teachers have given up their own homes and move each night into a different student’s home so the communists can’t find them, or commute from nearby cities, where they leave their families.

Against such determination, the size of Ho’s failure can be measured: in 1954, there were approximately 400,000 pupils in school in North and South Vietnam together; today South Vietnam alone has some two million in school. About 35,000 — four times as many as in 1962 — now attend five South Vietnamese universities, while 42,000 more attend night college.

A South Vietnamese government official explains: “A war shatters many traditional values. But the idea of education has an absolute hold on our people’s imagination.”Bar of Justice.

The pitch of communist terrorism keeps rising. After the Tet carnage at Hue early this year, 19 mass graves yielded more than 1,000 bodies, mostly civilians — old men and women, young girls, schoolboys, priests, nuns, doctors (including three Germans who had been medical-school faculty members at Hue University). About half had been buried alive, and many were found bound together with barbed wire, with dirt or cloth stuffed into their mouths and throats, and their eyes wide open. The communists came to Hue with a long list of names for liquidation — people who worked for the South Vietnamese or for the US government, or who had relatives who did. But as their military situation grew increasingly desperate, they began grabbing people at random, out of their homes and off the streets, condemned them at drumhead courts as “reactionaries” or for “opposing the revolution” and killed them.

“The Tet offensive represented a drastic change in tactics,” says General Walt. “This is a war to take over the South Vietnamese people. Ho launched the Tet offensive because he knew he was losing the people. But his troops didn’t know it; they were told that they didn’t need any withdrawal plans because the people would rise and fight with them to drive out the Americans. What happened was just the opposite. Many fought against them like tigers.” Some of the Tet offensive’s explosion of atrocities probably can be attributed to sheer vengeful frustration on the part of Ho’s terror squads — which Ho may well have foreseen, and counted on.

The full record of communist barbarism in Vietnam would fill volumes. If South Vietnam falls to the communists, millions more are certain to die, large numbers of them at the hands of Ho’s imaginative tortures. That is a primary reason why, at election times, more than 80 percent of eligible South Vietnamese defy every communist threat and go to the polls, and why, after mortar attacks, voting lines always form anew. It is why the South Vietnamese pray that their allies will stick the fight through with them. It is why the vast majority of American troops in Vietnam are convinced that the war is worth fighting. It is why those who prance about even in our own country — waving Vietcong flags and decrying our “unjust” and “immoral” war should be paid the contempt they deserve.

Finally, it is why the communists should be driven once and for all from South Vietnam — and why, if possible, the monsters who presently rule North Vietnam should be brought before the bar of justice.--------------------------------------------------------------------------------NB: For other accounts of communist mass murder in North Vietnam, see here and here. For communist mass murder in pre- and post-1975 South Vietnam, see the many sources archived here.

#vietnam #ho chi minh

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keywestlou · 3 years

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A DOCTOR'S EARLY ON IMPRESSIONS OF THE CORNAVIRUS ATTACK

I was fortunate to make the acquaintance of several new persons this season. I say “fortunate” because due to the COVID-19 problem there were fewer people in Key West.

Two of those persons were David and EB Berger. David is a retired anesthesiologist. EB is short for Ennid. EB a nickname that has followed her for years. She is a retired attorney.

A charming and interesting couple.

David’s professional career was in the New York metropolitan area.

David and EB own a home in Key West.

During one of our conversations, David mentioned he had dome some writing a few yeas ago. For his pleasure alone. Never published any. I asked if he would send some to me. He did.

David was retired by the time coronavirus hit. He wrote concerning his impressions. What follows is a piece he wrote in the third month of the virus in April 2020.

I thought it worthy of sharing. He titled it Battle Lines.

BATTLE LINES

The Coronavirus pandemic has been an unprecedented stress on health care delivery. There are more patients, sicker patients, requiring more resources than seems possible. The specter of health care workers becoming infected has introduced an element of fear that most practitioners have never even imagined. As a recently retired anesthesiologist, I have stayed in touch with my colleagues in the New York metropolitan area to get a gauge on their day to day existence.

I have heard accounts of many health care workers who are conflicted on whether they should enter the fray or whether to sit this one out for their own safety and for the safety of their families. I myself wonder what I would do if I were not retired, with multiple risk factors and luckily isolated in a relatively safe zone. I know of several people who are sitting this one out, but just as many who have had to step up their hours as well as the intensity of work to meet the challenge.

We see accounts of health care workers in urban hospitals who are overwhelmed physically and emotionally, who are realistically fearful of getting sick because there is inadequate personal protective equipment for all practitioners. I’m sure these accounts are true, and am hard-pressed to understand how these situations developed. My heart goes out to those people who are sent to war without weapons.

Fortunately, the health system which I was associated with has exceptional resources, and I have not heard horror stories from my colleagues. The gist of what I have heard is that my colleagues are treating this just like any other challenge they have encountered in their careers. This challenge is unquestionably unique as the sheer unrelenting volume and intensity of disease has never been experienced except during wartime. The challenge is met through established channels of cooperation and decision making. That is because health care is a team effort. It requires resourceful administration and emergency planning. It requires the cooperation of multiple hospital departments in order to deploy services where they are required as well as to develop novel solutions to problems on the fly. It requires the dedication of health care workers to work harder and longer than they ever have before. In the trenches, teamwork is the only thing that gets people through the day and the only thing that gives people strength to get up and do it again the next day.

Today I saw a Facebook video from my hospital of a patient who was being discharged from the hospital after 17 days in the ICU. The entire hospital staff was lining the walls wearing masks and applauding the patient. There was a shedding of tears, but no hugs, just an occasional gloved fist-bump.

Everyone has seen a video like this. The difference for me was that I know this guy. He has worked at my hospital for 30 years and every person in the hospital knows him. In a week where many patients were dying despite the heroic efforts of the entire staff, he survived. It was a moment of victory in a season of death. The loss of countless patients was put in perspective by one friend who was saved. Health care workers must find a sense of detachment in order to stay sane. For a moment, that detachment was overwhelmed by the fact that health care is very, very personal. That experience provided the motivation to keep on going.

David Berger MD

Key West

April 2020

David has a talent. He should write more.

Staying with doctors for a moment, I visited Dr. Norris yesterday. He wanted to check how the gout problem was coming along. I had telephoned him to complain the pain had left me days ago. However, the swelling of the foot and ankle was getting larger. Extremely so.

Saw the good doctor. Gout is gone. My problem now is water retention. I have been on water pills for years. He took me off them 2 weeks ago. Something to do with getting rid of the uric acid.

The swelling extends up through my calf.

I am back on water pills. Can’t wait for the “swelling” to go down. The swelling is so significant I am unable to wear my normal every day shoes. The foot would not fit. I was back to crocs.

I also gained 5-6 pounds during this time.

It is amazing how many people have had gout. It has monopolized many of my written and face to face conversations recently.

Found a new place for lunch. Actually, to get a sandwich at any time.

It is called The Moose Pit. Located at the back of the Moose Lodge building on Eisenhower.

It is absolutely nothing appearance wise. Typical old fashioned Key West. A hole in the Moose building for cooking. Seating outside at several picnic tables. Each covered with a huge umbrella.

I make a point. Expect nothing fancy. It is the food that will return you to the place.

The specialty of the house is Pit Beef sandwiches. Seven variations. The meat, cheese and a dressing.

The sandwich on a huge soft roll. I had the Pit Beef with cheddar and house made island sauce. At least 2 inches high. $10! The best deal in town.

I have to believe 98 percent of the people in Key West are upset with the cruise ship bill passed by the Florida House and Senate. It is on its way to the Governor for signing. He will sign it. I would be shocked if he did not.

Following are 3 comments in this morning’s Citizens’ Voice critical of what has occurred.

“Yes, Republican Senator Jim Boyd stated that his bill to over turn the cruise ship referendums would ‘protect’ Florida citizens, but from whom? Key Westers voted for the referendums and the cruise ship crowd got the State legislature to vote for them!”

“Big money wins today (most are not local) as they get to have the daily mega ships come into our port.”

“Where do I sign up to greet cruise ships with “Unwelcome signs?'”

The stone crab season ends tomorrow. As a practical matter today as there can be no harvesting after May 1.

Stone crabs…..One of the world’s greatest foods. The season is from 10/1 to 5/2.

An interesting election today in Texas.

A Republican Congressman from Texas died and this election is to fill his seat. Twenty three candidates running. Includes the dead Congressman’s wife. No party distinction. All 23 run on the same line.

The victor must receive 50 percent of the vote. If not, there will be a run off between the highest two.

Texas has not elected a Democrat to the seat since 1983. However, the numbers have been getting closer and closer. In the most recent election, the Congressman won by only 3 percentage points.

Texas has been moving Democratic. This may be the time for a politically significant result.

Joe Manchin. I am not saying I am tending to dislike him. I have reached that point already.

Excuse the vernacular, the man is a pompous self-serving ass.

Biden needs every Democratic vote to achieve his goals for America. One Democratic Senator voting with the Republicans and Biden’s proposed legislation is defeated.

Manchin has already said loud and clear he will not vote to eliminate filibuster. In addition, he now advises he does not support statehood for Washington D.C. nor a bill to overhaul federal elections.

Big day today! The Kentucky Derby! The race is scheduled to start at 6:57 pm.

Today represents the 147th running of the Kentucky Derby. A 2 minute race. It is considered the greatest 2 minutes in sports.

Don and Chris are back. Been a while since we have been together. I am meeting them tonight at 6 at the Pier House Beach Bar.

I wish the Pier House would reopen the Chart Room!

Enjoy your day!

A DOCTOR’S EARLY ON IMPRESSIONS OF THE CORNAVIRUS ATTACK was originally published on Key West Lou

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kamerionbeaudry91 · 4 years

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hellosaltysaladcollectionstuff · 6 years

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THE UGLY HISTORY of the Children of God broke into wide public view in 2005, when Ricky Rodriguez — groomed from infancy to lead the cult known for sexual sharing in their communal homes — murdered his former nanny before committing suicide. Apocalypse Child, an enlightening but narrowly focused memoir by Flor Edwards, paints a more complicated picture of the group than do the lurid headlines.

Born in 1981 to rank-and-file disciples, Edwards lived far from the inner circle. Neither she nor her parents ever met David Berg, the group’s prophet and leader. Yet by Edwards’s account, Father David was ever-present through his revelations, his teachings, and his practices.

Edwards describes an unusual, fascinating, and demanding childhood — full of love and affection, but also full of disruption and uncertainty. Her family lived a peripatetic existence, moving from Spain to Sweden (where she and her twin sister were born) to Mexico to California, and on to several places in Thailand for a number of years, before returning to the United States and settling in the Chicago area.

Because memoirs must focus on the experiences of a single individual, we lose the backdrop. In Edwards’s book, that would be the larger picture of life and times in the 1970s, when Southern California was the epicenter of a religious counterculture, and when the majority of first-generation members like her parents joined in. The charismatic Lonnie Frisbee brought the Jesus People from San Francisco to Los Angeles; Chuck Smith baptized hippies on the beach near Costa Mesa, where he started Calvary Chapel; and John Wimber, a consultant to Fuller Seminary in Pasadena, established the Vineyard Fellowship in a break with Smith over exorcism and healing. (Both Wimber and Smith expelled Frisbee from their groups when they learned that he was gay, and they wrote him out of their church histories.)

The most famous, or perhaps infamous, of the Jesus Freak movements, however, was the Children of God. Renamed the Family of Love in 1978, and the Family International in 2004, most members knew it simply as the Family. The group was founded in 1968 by David Brandt Berg, a one-time minister in the mainstream Christian and Missionary Alliance. From his new pulpit on the streets in Huntington Beach, “Father David” channeled the spirit of the counterculture with his condemnation of “The System” and his promise of a coming apocalypse led by Jesus, the one true revolutionary. He was also fascinated by sex in all its forms and developed a theology that justified promiscuity — the “Law of Love.”

As a child, Flor Edwards clearly resented her parents’ religious commitment and their rejection of The System. Their decision to live communally, rather than as a nuclear family, particularly seemed to gall her. “As members of The Family, we were expected to ‘share’ our relatives with each other,” she writes, noting that some “uncles” and “aunties” were quite nice, and others were harsh disciplinarians. Her parents’ decision to “go for the gold,” and have as many children as possible, was simply additional evidence that “Mom and Dad’s loyalty was to Father David rather than to us kids.” Frequent training sessions that her parents attended as home leaders helped them focus on service to Jesus apart from the distraction of children, who “continued to take a backseat in their priorities.”

Edwards has no idea what motivated her parents to forsake the world and join Berg’s End Time army. They were trying to follow Jesus and prepare for his return in what seemed to them to be the biblical way: living hand-to-mouth, evangelizing on street corners, praying, and working in anticipation of the coming apocalypse. “If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me,” said Jesus (Matthew 19:21). Adults in the Family took this injunction literally. But there was a cost to the children, as Edwards observes.

The author escaped many of the antinomian and abusive sexual conventions that existed in the Family throughout the 1980s, although she recalls seeing and, more often, hearing adults coupling in a vacant bedroom (by 1990 the group had repudiated adult-minor sexual contact and abandoned the practice of bringing in new converts via sex, which they called “flirty fishing”). She did not escape occasional discipline, however, including a memorable occasion where she was given seven hard whacks with a paddle for “disorderly conduct,” which included the “vices” of disobedience, foolishness, defiance, and pride. With the adults distracted, she and her sisters had run wild, relatively speaking — playing instead of raking leaves, wearing outside shoes inside the house, laughing through mealtime, and staying up past bedtime. She was nine years old.

But Edwards also relates warm memories of going on fun walks with her mother, creating a swimming pool in one of the family homes, and living an exotic, if challenging, life abroad. Somewhat unexpectedly, she found life trying in the United States, where she experienced bullying, ostracism, and poverty for the first time. “I had never felt shame living in Thailand,” she admits, “even though it was a third-world country and we had no money.” Her isolation from modern American life, and growing disenchantment with the Family as a teenager, led her into a hard-drinking crowd and culminated in a suicide attempt. A year in alternative high school, however, and a teacher who encouraged her to go to college set her back on track.

By the end of the memoir, Flor Edwards is a bit more forgiving and understanding of her parents, seeing children and adults alike as victims of an abusive cult. It is clear that her parents did not share this victim mentality, although they gradually drifted away from the group when they sought medical care for her mother, who was diagnosed with cervical cancer. Serious abnormalities had first appeared in 1981 while pregnant with Flor and Tamar, but her mother thought nothing about it “since the world was going to end anyway.”

Just as it is difficult today to imagine a Los Angeles teeming with Jesus Freaks, it is hard to envision the dedication required to give up everything in the belief that time on earth was short. Although Edwards does not actually use ironic quotes when writing about being “God’s End Time soldier,” they are nonetheless present.

The 1960s and 1970s lacked the pervasive sense of irony that marks our own century. Devotion, loyalty, perseverance, and ardor were not considered pathologies in that era. A counterculture had arisen that rejected the values of the 1950s — the parents’ values — in a quest for a life of meaning. One of the most self-revealing statements to appear in the book is when Edwards declares that as a child she had been “burdened with saving the world.”

Fortunately, Edwards did not suffer the molestation a few children experienced in other communal homes or the cruelties inflicted on adolescents in some of the teen homes. Indeed, her book noticeably indicates that each home had its unique culture and practices, despite the edicts that came from on high. This undermines any attempt to make vast generalizations about the Family, even though former members tend to paint the past in broad strokes on critical websites. The mistreatment that occurred in one household was absent from another, and national differences made everyone’s experience different.

Children swelled the ranks of the movement because members of the Family did not believe in using artificial contraception. As early as 1982, children made up the majority of full-time members, and this imbalance continued for several decades. As a result, leadership shifted the focus of activities from street ministry and evangelization to education and homeschooling of children.

The educational background provided in the Family appears to have been exceptional for Edwards. She reports completing the Family-created fourth-grade workbook when she was seven, but not finishing the fifth-grade book because she was busy with chores in the communal home where her family lived. Even when she began attending public school as a teenager, she and her sisters were responsible for cooking and child care. Nevertheless, Edwards managed to maintain a 4.0 grade point average in high school and gained acceptance to UC Berkeley when she was 18, as did her twin sister.

Her separation from the Family began when she graduated from high school — at least mentally and emotionally — so the memoir does not cover institutional developments that have occurred in the last two decades. These would include the 2010 “Reboot,” which abandoned the communal-home model and, in effect, dismantled the last vestige of the group’s notorious past. The Family International exists today primarily as a virtual religion. A visitor to its website would find a completely traditional evangelical Christian message.

Apocalypse Child thus presents an absorbing snapshot of one individual’s experiences in a radically alternative movement, even though it lacks the sociological backdrop and wider lens that would have put her experience into its historical context. A reader would need to view a bigger photo album to gain a complete understanding of how that one snapshot fits.

Rebecca Moore is Emerita Professor of Religious Studies at San Diego State University and the author of Beyond Brainwashing: Perspectives on Cult Violence (Cambridge University Press, 2018).

The post When the Apocalypse Didn’t Come appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

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