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lagren0uille · 2 years

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I was thinking recently about how some “reparative” interpretations of difficult or troubling texts end up turning every work of fiction into a mouthpiece for the same uplifting and reassuring vision of the world, and I think one of the most interesting examples of this phenomenom is the story of the reception of I. L Peretz’s short story “Bontshe Shvay”.

The story revolves around the character of “Bontshe the silent”, a kind of anti-Job and a figure of absolute passivity in front of injustice. The first half describes his insignificant life, spent in absolute silence (”he was born in silence ; he died in silence ; he was buried in silence”) ; and the second is centered on his judgment in the after-life.

Peretz (Poland, 1851-1915), an activist and one of the most prominent figures of Yiddish literature, was very close to the Bund (the main secular Jewish socialist party of the Russian Empire) at the time he wrote that text. A lot of people have thus been reading it, since its publication, as a socialist denunciation of absolute disempowerment and alienation. Others, however, have turned it into a narrative of sainthood, interpreting Bontshe as a figure of exemplary humility. I think it’s a very good illustration of how -idependently from what the work actually presents as admirable or not- its political and moral impact largely depends on its interpretations.

In case anyone be interested, here is a large excerpt of the text (translation by Golda Werman, full version here) :

Here on earth the death of Bontshe Shvayg made no impression. Try asking who Bontshe was, how he lived, what he died of (Did his heart give out? Did he drop from exhaustion? Did he break his back beneath too heavy a load?), and no one can give you an answer. For all you know, he might have starved to death.

The death of a tram horse would have caused more excitement. It would have been written up in the papers; hundreds of people would have flocked to see the carcass, or even the place where it lay. But that’s only because horses are scarcer than people. Billions of people!

Bontshe lived and died in silence. Like a shadow he passed through this world.

No wine was drunk at Bontshe’s circumcision, no glasses clinked in a toast; no speech to show off his knowledge was given at his bar mitzva. He lived like a grain of gray sand at the edge of the sea, beside millions of other grains. No one noticed when the wind whirled him off and carried him to the far shore.

While Bontshe lived, his feet left no tracks in the mud; when he died, the wind blew away the wooden sign marking his grave. The gravedigger’s wife found it some distance away and used it to boil potatoes. Do you think that three days after Bontshe was dead anyone knew where he lay? There was not even a gravestone for a future antiquarian to unearth and mouth the name of Bontshe Shvayg one last time.

A shadow ! No mind, no heart, preserved his image. Nothing remained of him at all. Not a trace. Alone he lived and alone he died.

Were not humanity so noisy, someone might have heard Bontshe’s bones as they cracked beneath their burden. Were the world in less of a hurry, someone might have noticed that Bontshe, a fellow member of the human race, had in his lifetime two lifeless eyes, a pair of sinkholes for cheeks, and, even when no weight bent his back, a head bowed to the ground as if searching for his own grave.

Were men as rare as horses, someone would surely have wondered where he disappeared to.

When Bontshe was brought to the hospital, the corner of the cellar he had called his home did not remain vacant, because ten men bid for it at once; when he was taken from the hospital ward to the morgue, twenty sick paupers were candidates for his bed; when he was carried out of the morgue, forty men killed in the fall of a building were carried in. Think of how many others are waiting to share his plot of earth with him and well may you wonder how long he will rest there in peace.

He was born in silence. He lived in silence. He died in silence. And he was buried in a silence greater yet.

******

But that was not how it was in the other world. There Bontshe’s death was an occasion.

A blast of the Messiah’s horn sounded in all seven heavens: “Bontshe Shvayg has passed away! Bontshe has been summoned to his Maker!” the most exalted angels with the brightest wings informed each other in midflight. A joyous din broke out in paradise: “Bontshe Shvayg - it doesn’t happen every day!”

Young, silver-booted cherubs with diamond-bright eyes and gold-filigreed wings ran gaily to greet Bontshe when he came. The flapping of their wings, the patter of their boots, and the merry ripple of laughter from their fresh, rosy mouths echoed through the heavens as far as the mercy seat, where God Himself soon knew that Bontshe Shvayg was on his way.

At the gates of heaven stood Father Abraham, his right hand outstretched in cordial welcome and the most radiant of smiles on his old face.

[...]

The defense counsel said: - “At last, one dizzy, wet spring evening, he arrived in a great city. He vanished in it like a drop of water in the sea, though not before spening his first night in jail for vagrancy. And still he kept silent, never asking why or how long. He worked at the meanest jobs and said nothing. And don’t think it was easy to find them.

“Drenched in his own sweat, doubled over beneath more than a man can carry, his stomach gnawed by hunger, he kept silent!

“Spattered with the mud of city streets, spat on by unknown strangers, driven from sidewalk to staggers in the gutter with his load beside carriages, wagons, and tram cars, looking death in the eye every minute, he kept silent! [...]

“He never even raised his voice to demand his meager wage. Like a beggar he stood in doorways, glancing up as humbly as a dog at its master. “Come back later!” he would be told - and like a shadow he was gone, coming back later to beg again for what was his.

“He said nothing when cheated, nothing when paid with bad money.

“He kept silent!”

“Why, perhaps they mean me after all”, thought Bontshe, taking heart.

“Once”, continued the counsel for defence after a sip of water, “things seemed about to look up. A droshky raced by Bontshe pulled by runaway horses, its coachman thrown senseless on the cobble-stones, his skull split wide open. The frightened horses foamed at the mouth, sparks shot from under their hooves, their eyes glittered like torches on a dark night - and in his seat cringed a passenger, more dead than alive.

“And it was Bontshe who stopped the horses!

“The rescued passenger was a generous Jew who rewarded Bontshe for his deed. He handed him the dead driver’s whip and made him a coachman, found him a wife and made him a wedding too, and was even thoughtful enough to provide him with a baby boy...

“And Bontshe kept silent!”

“It certainly sounds like me”, thought Bontshe, almost convinced, though the still did not dare look up at the tribunal. He listened as the counsel went on:

”He even kept silent in the hospital, the one place where a man can scream.

“He kept silent when the doctor would not examine him without half a ruble in advance and when the orderly wanted five kopecks to change his dirty sheets. He kept silent as he lay dying. He kept silent when he died. Not one word against God. Not one word against man.”

”The defense rests!”

[...]

The judge said: “My child, there, in the world below, no one appreciated you. You yourself never knew that had you cried out but once, you could have brought down the walls of Jericho. You never knew what powers lay within you.

“There, in the World of Deceit, your silence went unrewarded. Here, in the World of Truth, it will be given its full due.

“The Heavenly Tribunal can pass no judgment on you. It is not for us to determine your portion of paradise. Take what you want! It is all yours, all yours!”

Bontshe looked up for the first time. His eyes were blinded by the rays of light that streamed at him from all over. Everything glittered, glistened, blazed with light: the walls, the benches, the angels, the judges. So many angels!

He cast his dazed eyes down again. “Truly?” he asked, happy but abashed.

“Why, of course!” the judges said. “Of course! I tell you, it’s all yours. All heaven belongs to you. Ask for anything you wish; you may choose what you like.”

“Truly?” asked Bontshe again, a bit surer of himself.

“Truly! Truly! Truly!” clamored the heavenly host.

“Well, then,” smiled Bontshe, “what I’d like most of all is a warm roll with butter every morning.”

The judges and angels hung their heads in shame. The prosecutor laughed.

#literature #literature meta #y l perets

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incorrect-ikevamp-quotes · 3 years

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Comte’s 4th Birthday Story Event: Before the Clock Strikes Midnight

REEEEEEEE Ik it was a long time ago but life has been a [redacted], so I figured better late than never HAHA

So without further ado, anybody who’s curious feel free to click for more--I’ll put it under a cut for spoilers as per usual~

So in this story it’s the usual, a few days before his birthday, and they’re discussing a bump in the road. Essentially, it appears a friend of Comte’s is going to be celebrating a wedding, and as such he’s going into the suburbs/affluent part of the region to be able to attend. It’s only a few hours away from the mansion, but he will be gone for a few days with the arrangements made for his stay.

While this wouldn’t typically be an issue, MC has some things to take care of and opts out of attending with him (preparing for his bday probably LMAO) and Comte is immediately big sad. My favorite dramatic fool is already pouting, though he fully accepts and respects her decision. Besides which, he fully intends to be back in time to celebrate his birthday as well. He notes that he’s always admired how driven and independent she is, and has no intention of getting in the way of that. He’s just going to miss her, is all.

He says as much, figuring there’s no point in hiding it: “I really wanted to bring you with me to attend…but I suppose it simply can’t be helped” … “That’s not it…I guess I’m just wondering if you’ll miss me as much as I’ll miss you while I’m away.”

And MC’s just like “Aw, it’s okay it’ll only be a few days.” While Comte’s response is a very mature, high-pitched whining sound at a frequency only King (Theo’s dog) and Theo himself can hear. When MC tries to reassure him once more, his Hamlet impression continues: “Even the prospect of a few days away from you feels unbearable.”

Naturally, as any man do that loves his wife, he draws her close and proceeds to bang the living daylights out of her. I would offer details, but I have no deets to give beyond: [Well MC, it appears I won’t be letting you get much sleep tonight.]

Brief intermission for the vague sounds of fangirl cardiac arrest.

The scene opens again to him doing his walk of shame (the slut) down the walkway and into the carriage that will take him to his friend’s house. His thoughts carry the regret of burdening her with his desire, though MC is pretty much on cloud nine and unable to stop thinking about the heady night they shared in a good way. Bruh and the sly look when he figures out why she looks like that--I’m boutta call the police, he is going to make women and men alike act up.

MC scrambles to cool his already returning desire by insisting he will be late if he indulges any further, and he laughs and agrees easily–albeit with the slightest hint of reluctance. My favorite part in this exchange is that he kisses her forehead, adding that it’s because she’s the most adorable person in the world to him (a moment of silence for our uwus).

Fast forward to Comte trying to get home after the festivities are over. Problem is, it’s been raining like a mOTHERBLEEPER, and as such carriages have no safe way to traverse the roads at the moment. He waited out the first day as patiently as possible, but after the second–and no sign of stopping–his Leeroy Jenkins instincts kick in. He notes to the coachman that he’s aware he’s asking a lot, but they fully intend to take the long way which invites the least risk–and the rain is ebbing, even if the progress is slow.

It’s interesting because there’s another echo of his main story in this moment. He essentially showcases a desperation to return before the day ends, though without context it’ll probably seem a little strange, so I’ll do my best to explain. Basically, in his main story, MC notes that she doesn’t really care how different they are. Different time, different species, different experiences, so on and so forth. She hammers home that what matters is that the present is something that they actively share. It’s theirs. And no amount of divisions he desperately tries to draw will change that fundamental reality.

And it’s a little moving to see how deeply he takes it to heart? I think it’s one of those wonderful phenomena, personally–the way a person can influence how you think and act with their sentiments. Sometimes someone says precisely what it is we need to hear, and it changes us–while it can be for the worse, it can also be for the better. He notes that he spent so many birthdays; among the people serving his house when he was little, raising hell with his friends in his younger days, so on and so forth. Not unlike Leonardo, he says that after so many “special” days the faces become a blur, the festivities lose their luster. It’s just another day, at this point.

Note, one interesting thing here that stands out to me is that I feel like this is a reflection of both of their larger struggles. Where Comte can’t stand the relentless flow of time rendering him the only constant (and something of a ghost, never fully present), Leonardo can’t bear birthdays because it means remembering people who still mean the world to him, but are long gone. People he can never see again, never laugh with again, never share his life with again. And I think that’s a very profound pain, an anguish that just keeps on settling its weight. (Oh, Sisyphus…)

Comte’s is similar, but different. He actively works to keep his distance-- unlike Leonardo, he approaches immortality in the pragmatic way. He knows getting close will hurt, so he opts out of that–keeps a step behind, an easy smile on his face. Betrays only fragments to anyone, always has his guard up. But the downside of being so guarded means you eventually feel hollowed out and alone; nobody truly knows or understands you. There is a distinct loneliness in that approach, where memories only become reminders of how nothing ever improves and how bereft you are of warmth.

Leonardo, at least, gets to have the joy of being known from time to time. But loss and estrangement from those people means double the pain in the long run, because he loved them fully. Comte chooses to live in the cold to protect himself, but ends up in a kind of catch-22; the cost of forgoing loss means a constant deadening of his own feelings. It means living in a kind of fog, where there is a distinct discomfort in the silent obscurity of your own heart.

There’s something I’ve come to believe in my short course of living, so I guess I still need time to determine how true it is. But…I feel like, when people live this way, where who they are is a lie or it’s at the very least carefully concealed, we in part start to become that lie. I think it’s fascinating because Comte seems to have so much personality to him. He’s dramatic, he’s thoughtful, he has a sense of mischief about him, he has strong ideals, and he has an even more ironclad moral grounding. And yet, when he talks about himself, he always uses descriptions that hinge on emptiness. Like he’s worth so little, worth nothing. And that’s what I mean–he’s been trying so hard to glide on the surface that he has come to believe he really is equivalent to something that ephemeral. Like there’s nothing more inside him, or if there is, that it will never be worthy of much. I think it really speaks to the ways behavior impacts the psyche, even though the opposite tends to be considered the only possible cause and effect relationship.

He’s so determined to live for and in the future while he’s in the present, that he forgets to enjoy himself and really live. And while that approach is certainly understandable, I do think he loses parts of himself along the way. Only to be rediscovered and placed back into his hands by MC: [Today–this moment–our now, I don’t want to miss it for anything.] And that's not even touching on how quick she is to make them a we; she's not letting him keep that distance. It’s not “you have the ability to share this day with me” it’s “we’re here and in this together.”

I feel like what I love about this is that it’s not only about how sweet he is on MC, but also about how much he’s truly living again for the first time. His defenses are slowly inching their way down, he’s letting himself hope and want things and look forward to things again. The thing about being a responsible person is that–while responsibility is all well and good–sometimes you become so mired in doing the right thing and planning the most optimal outcomes that you just aren’t thinking of yourself anymore. That is, if you ever were to begin with. He went from the careful cultivation of a life as an aristocrat, to a life that spoke of more freedom and fun beyond those iron wrought gates, before he returned to the structure of what he knew. Freedom speaks to him I’m sure–we all need it in some measure to survive. But I do think a good portion of that was unfulfilling for him after a point. It was only feeding the void that was beginning to form inside him. He was instinctively retreating into himself to avoid pain, and in doing that the only result was feeling like a coward and a fake. He wasn’t happy, he wasn’t able to be himself, and nothing was fulfilling–every single day just another forward march.

I think it comes as no surprise he took up Vlad’s initial invitation so willingly.

But then I digress, back to the story. There’s another timeskip and it finds him racing down the hall of the mansion. He’s hoping to make it in time but knows he’s racing against the clock, and fully expects MC to be asleep by this point in the night. Midway along his path he thinks he spots MC and falters in his step, blinking. He decides to hang back, watching the figure enter his room with a great deal of curiosity and resists every urge to burst in after her. He hears MC speak into his pillow, her voice muffled but clearly despondent: “I miss you, Comte. I hope you get back home soon…”

Comte pretty much dies right there. I literally have no better explanation for it. He freezes, his heart sputters and stops. He’s just completely taken aback.

And then, naturally, he goes about feral with desire as is his modus operandi: “Oho, I heard something incredibly cute just now. Were you also having a hard time spending so long apart?”

MC: “…!”

[Startled, she turns around and her eyes widen and widen.]

MC: “Comte, how...”

Comte: “Took a detour in areas with less rain.”

MC: “?? Wouldn’t that still be hard in weather like this?”

Comte: “I told the coachman I wanted to see you as soon as possible. Even if it was only for a second, I wanted to spend today with you…”

[Everything I was thinking while in the carriage spills out of me long before I can help it. I am reminded again of just how utterly irreplaceable an existence MC is in my life.]

Comte: “Even so, it seems interesting that I would find you in my bed”

MC: “...! A--Ah, I’m so sorry for entering without permission!”

[I quickly grab hold of her before she can scramble out of my bed, coaxing her to sink back into the sheets.]

In between a lot of intense making out and [redacted], the larger overtone is that her reciprocated ardor just destroys him inside:

MC: “It was...because I couldn’t stop thinking about you, about wanting to see you…”

Comte: “!”

[You know just how to drive me mad with desire.]

Comte: “I’m the same...the first thing I did was look for you. Even though it was only a few days, your voice, your body, everything...I missed you”

[Because today, our ‘now’--I never want to lose a single moment with you as long as you’re by my side...]

Comte: “I’m so happy to be able to be with you, right here and right now.”

It gets funny too because Comte is trying to take it slow, but when she tells him “Happy birthday” and goes on to say she was so glad to greet the day he was brought into the world by his side, he just loses all control LMFAO. It ends with them getting more heated and [redacted], to the point where he doesn’t even hear the clock strike midnight.

And if him being the cutest and sexiest romantic wasn’t obvious enough, he spends the next morning just sighing blissfully with her in his arms:

[The next morning, when I wake up, MC is still fast asleep. I mean, given she only fell asleep a few hours ago. I’m still reveling in the afterglow of a sweet night filled with her cries, the way she looked at me and held me. MC...]

[I relax to the sound of her breathing steady with sleep, stroking gently at her hair as I hug her from behind.]

Comte: “I’ve had countless birthdays. In an endless life, I was convinced it was just a day that would come and go every time.”

Comte: “It was only after meeting you that I could understand there was no such thing as an overlapping or identical moment. I don’t want to miss a single second by your side...that’s what I think now.”

[I admit the truth of my heart, brushing a kiss against her cheek. Over and over and over again, showering her in my affection--]

But dun dun dun!!! MC was awake the whole time, so when she fidgets a little at how ticklish his kisses are, he 👁

[Oh, I see. Well then, two can play at that game...]

Comte: “Your punishment is to stay in my arms just as we are...how’s that?”

He gets his mischievous (and hilarious) revenge for being revealed (HORNY TIME), though it’s so suffused with love it’s hard to call it revenge hahaha. She reminds him to go easy on her because they have his birthday party to attend later, and he agrees~

Honestly after such killer hurt/comfort spice fluff, I can only tremble at the thought of what his 5th year bday story will be

It’s either going to be Some Angst^TM or even more killer fluff, and either way that means my days are numbered

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp comte #ikevamp saint germain #ikevamp jpn spoilers #ikevamp leonardo #the way this man makes me have So Many Thoughts #every time i remember this story i just go dreamy-eyed #hes an absolute romantic and i die head empty only love comte #not incorrect quotes #rambles #fangdad propaganda #comte propaganda

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kicktwine · 3 years

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"I would also like to go off about titles in daybreak too. Lady, lord, master, foreteller…. All very made up in the moment, but if you give it to kids and say that’s how it is, they’re going to make it real"

PLEASE GO OFF

H-CCOUUUUGHH HACK HACK COUGH

OKAY SO THERE ARe there are two ways, this can go. One thing we know for sure is Ava, at least, was close with her kids, or at the very least Ephemer. He chats with her very casually. Another thing we know is the Foretellers are not consistently Around, they’re rather secluded and rare to just encounter on the street. They are also pretty much given mastery over their unions, and the kids do what they say. Lady, Master, and Foreteller mean the same thing. So, what this means is, either the titles they receive as apprentices to the Master of Masters are for all intents and purposes decorative, or they aren’t. How did I extrapolate from those two points come on a journey with me that will not explain how I got there

AUGH AND I LOST A WHOLE DRAFT HERE BUT I’LL TRY TO REPLICATE IT BEST I CAN. OKAY SO THERE ARE TWO SCENARIOS HERE and the two can mix it’s not mutually exclusive in here. Scenario 1. The titles are decorative. the foretellers know or know of basically every kid in their unions, they know their strengths and battle prowess and weaknesses and quirks. Ava is the leader, her name is Lady Ava, but it’s Lady Ava to distinguish her from Ava the 14 year old in Ursus. They lead in like… a camp counselor way. Advice, rallying, etcetcetc. Teachers. When Daybreak falls, Ephemer and the survivors build Scala out of the same basic structure. They see, though, the ruin that unions brought, so they change unions PLURAL to union SINGULAR, creating like… a monarchy, not a plutarchy. Ephemer leads the kids like Ava would. The aggregate citizens of Scala carry this on and extrapolate from it. Mastery is the highest rank, often accompanied by a title or an epithet to designate you master (think professors). So, Aqua could technically choose to be called Lady Aqua. However, Ephemer’s mastery lineage remains in power. Keyblade succession follows this rule, passed down from Master to apprentice if the Keyblade so chooses to persist. “Blueblood” is shorthand for… basically who Blaine’s keyblade has chosen to be next, avatar style.

scenario 2. The titles are given more weight. There are simply too many kids, Lord Ira cannot hope to know them all. They’re like the professors of those huge auditorium classes, or like enigmatic and mysterious leaders who give out tasks and promise rewards, increasingly against the other leaders’. Who knows where they are, or what they plan to do, but we know they’re powerful, and we know they know more than us, they’re called foretellers. My union leader taught me this — he taught me this. Thus, the kids learn to tie the titles and the masks and the knowledge and the mastery to each other in a bundle. They basically make knights’ oaths without even realizing that’s what theyre doing. When they make it to Scala, Ephemer is the only one in that spot, the only one who really truly knows everything — so whether he wants it or not, he’s getting a rank, and a title, and a statue. that’s just how they live, and Ephemer needs to give them SOME structure, or those poor kids will fall apart. It’s not bad, it’s gentle. He takes that responsibility, just like he already did once. Scala carries it on, and keeps going. In a divine souls sort of way, Lineage, not succession, is the way the ““monarch”” is chosen. Familial line becomes tied in with that whole bundle too, and the Keyblade stays in the family.

this is all. Very much heavier based on how the keyblade’s purpose is to maintain balance in the worlds. It’s such a weighty purpose. Wouldn’t it be easier to have someone shoulder that burden, and you just help then any way you can? Have one person, or a set of people, who can think about that for you? They, those who know, they have the right to direct. I think Scala started to go brrrooooo with that idea. Masters and Apprentices, yes — plenty of those. Teachers and students. All under… something. Some aggregate of things. Something tangible to be loyal to. Seekers are just masters who chose not to teach, to research instead (Scala Really is just dark academia), Masters are just professors, SOMEONE is in charge.

and thus the title system becomes a way to distinguish rank in the Literal way, not just the flippant way. Daybreak would function like we functioned playing it — missions are missions from Lord Gula. Dailies are dailies if you want to stay on top. Union rankings are important. They’re the same things, but with completely different vibes. Either the kids were going along with the war because what else would they do, or they were going along with it because what else would they do but follow yknow

if Scala extrapolates on this teaching, ostensibly made up by the Master and then carried on because they didn’t really know any other kind of societies, they can take it a more casual way or a more rigid way, basically. And I think they took it more rigidly. But Scala isnt important here actually Daybreak is as THEYRE the nexus of creating this odd new system where Everyone has this responsibility to the universe and a soul weapon and magic right. If I’m a kid promising a foreteller I will do anything to keep the light safe and collect Lux for you, Master Invi, whatever you ask of me, and she says good job, you’re a good student, there ought to be more keybearers as upright as you. What do you think that’ll do.

TO SAY NOTHING OF THE MORAL ABSOLUTISM THE FORETELLERS ARE SO FOND OF PREACHING and which MUST extend into dark road seeing as Eraqus is allowed to be Like That and Xehanort’s much more moderate take is kind of perceived as iffy. Even tho the narrative is like ( :/ hes got a point). If THEYRE right, and you my child can be wrong but if you follow you can be right too. tell me that doesn’t sound like a hotbed for the birth of paladins come on . mom wants some paladins. eraqus is just a case of deep rooted That.

anyways Um. pay me to write fake history and anthropology books about fake places but don’t actually because they will not have correct grammar

#OH BOY YOU ARE ALL JUST. LETTING ME GO GET CHECK OUT HOW HARD I CAN TALK FWWSSSSHHHHHHHHHH #AH. THANKS? YES.#long post #kipspeak #kh #KHUX JUST PUT THESE THERE AND SAID GO FETCH AND I WENT HHHHH #This is very stream of consciousness but basically #either we are casual or we are not with this society scaffolding #and I don’t think we were casual towards the end of it at least #I think the beginning was chill. But the war and the dandelions and……. All that……

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dirtyrottenraskel · 3 years

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my take on yueki's personalities

yue

notes / personality

cocky (but also like understated confidence - r e g a l af)

kind of a nerd

maybe a little entitled, and a little bratty and suki loves to indulge her or to rile her up depending on her mood

books

seems soft but made of steel

strong sense of duty

socially intelligent - can be manipulative and suki (the dork) thinks it is so hot

aloof queen bee typa beat

supportive, both in ur day to day and in going after your big moral life goals

deep water - steady and powerful, often underestimated

untold depths, private yet surprisingly nurturing - master of deflecting away from herself

political nerd - well read, and when she has someone she trusts not to take advantage of her, she goes OFF

distrusting of most people, has been used and ignored and underestimated her whole life

patient - homegirl knows how to play the long game

excellent at pai sho / chess

she and suki have epic battles of wits - dif types of strategy but both are really into it and get a little too competitive (multiple board games have had to be replaced over the years)

loves travel bc wasn’t allowed to much, esp when she was sick

was super repressed growing up - never let her be herself or really have any sort of independence

used to sneak out and wander around in rebellion and casually sabotage plans and decisions she didn’t agree with

introverted, many opinions but keeps them to herself, discreet but well spoken

weaponizes secrets and information - doesn’t often use it but...she could

definitlyyyyy worries and overthinks and re-evaluates - worries ab social politics a lot

obsessive about picking things - wants it to be perfect

shes growing into her confidence as a leader

prefers quite intimate places

incredibly romantic

classic lit

planner for the future - visionary

kind / sweet / gentle - yes, but that’s also her “front” to a degree (seriously, i feel like she gets painted as so sweet and submissive and one dimensional by the fandom a lot of times and it freakin kills me)

INFJ-T (The Advocate) ((yes this is from 16p which i know is not super accurate but u can still catch her overall vibes from it ya know)

Creative/insightful/principled/compassionate/altruistic

sensitive/reluctant to open up/perfectionist/prone to burnout/not a fan of the ordinary

friendships / relationships

(<> indicates that they’re one of her best friends)

sokka - puppy love crushes, laugh ab it now, get into deep late night talks about responsibilities and leading, water tribe culture, prank wars (no one believes sokka when he says yue is a mean prank master (expect suki comes to see it in action lol))

katara - <> badass women friendship, totally would go to matches and protests together, tough girl shit, waterbending practice/duels - start of cautious, but then get rough in a good way bc they trust each other, they do water tribe food adventures together

toph - indulges her chaos, bonding over stupid royal upbringings, odd yet weirdly endearing pair

zuko - both sort of standoffish gay royals, but once they come to see that they are friends - take up similar spaces though, so only hang out in a group or rarely by themselves, they do hang out at like political parties and stuff when they get more comfortable together

aang - <> he has an impressive world view, yue is super studied and well read, so she and aang nerd out over past cultures together, and also their peace keeping nature, they have tea together often - usually after she and katara wipe the floor w/ each other

clothing / aesthetic:

blues and pale colors

classy and understated wealth

like those cute feminine button down shirts

dresses

like cold weather classy

complicated braids

sort of soft girl aesthetic?

pleated skirts !!!

i feel like she would wear ethically sourced fur (i don’t wear fur but idk how to get it in an ethical way - maybe it’s just fake??)

knit sweaters and skinny jeans and heeled ankle boots

light academia !!!

hella funky earrings - to mark her native pride and also cuz gay

from my readings, tattoos have a lot of cultural significance for Inuit women, and so i feel like yue would totally have some (when she comes of age ofc)

suki

notes / personality

extroverted

also very strategic

more spontaneous tho - will totally calculate the odds in a spilt second in her head and then just go for it

like still a careful planner, but willing to say fuck it, yolo if it seems right

reflects on her mistakes, but more in like a healthy way - unless it was a leadership mistake, then it eats her up inside - worries more ab keeping her girls safe and making the right call

likes lively places

total bashful romantic

manages the present and the short term - realist

loves to do lists

a little punch happy - loves to make violent threats, but also does it out of excitement and she’s just a really physical person tbh

steady, can come off as stubborn and abrasive but she really just wants what’s best for everyone she loves

harsh on herself and worries about her girls a lot

always ends up in the oddest situations

totally would kick someone’s ass for being racist/sexist/homophobic/etc

dedicated to her training and her regime

not a great cook, but she can manage

would drink monsters

has a weird relationship with femininity - took her awhile to reconcile strength and toughness and being assertive and aggressive with also wanting to feel pretty and feminine and embracing being a girl and how those things can coincide and amplify each other

abandonment issues - parents absent/dead

was imprisoned - obvi she had several almost successful escape attempts, but she got really close to breaking

was incredibly independent really early, grew up really fast and tries to make up for that now by sometimes being reckless

tough/assertive/woman of action

dry sense of humor/sarcastic - not good at nickname/pun humor tho

practical/dedicated/strong-willed/direct/honest/reliable/loyal/patient

stubborn/judgmental/difficult to relax/difficulty expressing emotions/too selfless

friendships / relationships

(<> indicates that they’re one of her best friends)

sokka - <> man they’re like platonic soulmates - she beat him up, and now they spar all the time, totally funny and crack jokes all the time, go skating together, they do shitty art together, and then show their lovers after zuko and yue come back from their high society mixers, broke her out of prison, m/f friendship !!!

katara - also sparring buddies (suki will throw down at any literally moment (and tbh so will katara)), not close but will hang in a group - go to each other for advice

toph - <> listen these two wreak havoc together, they help each other out a lot, i feel like they’re shopping buddies (similar enough style to frequent the same shops) toph knows suki won’t judge her for wanting to feel pretty and suki knows toph will be honest, they are both blunt sarcastic assholes and get along like a house on fire

zuko - <> shows zuko how to like,,,enjoy things (and how to let go of some of that pressure to be always right and the adult and in charge bc they were raised with so much responsibility on their shoulders even tho they were just kids)? she is also super protective of him (once she trusts him), one of the only ppl who can match suki fully in hand to hand combat, both do the Disappointed Parent Look when the group falls into chaos, but by themselves, the two of them end up in hijinks

aang- suki enjoys his optimism and they’re just chill bros, they love exploring abandoned placed together

clothing / aesthetic

sporty and skater mixed

ripped jeans, crewnecks, vans

green and yellow and dark red

gym clothes/athleisure - lifting style gym clothes - cut off t-shirts and bike shorts

skirts too, likes to play into femininity

she’s a gold jewelry kinda girl - but stuff that won’t hinder her movements

necklaces that end in the hollow of her throat & occasionally rings

definitely cuffs all of her jeans (it’s just bisexual culture ya know)

so many crop tops - some came like that, some were more of a diy project

yueki’s relationship!!!

nerd/jock solidarity

feel the burden of responsibility and the weight on their shoulders

they create a safe space between them, full of trust and warmth and vulnerability

yue will read suki sappy passages from poetry books while suki polishes her fans

they slow dance in the kitchen a lot

they get good at ordering takeout - and they have some weird decision making process that only they understand - bc neither of them are great cooks

yue would feel jealous of suki and sokka, if it weren’t for how stupid in love sokka was with zuko and yue can see that suki really only has eyes for her

yue is taller than suki and it amuses her to no end to pick suki up and carry her away from a fight (we all know suki could get away if she wanted to, but when ur hot tall sexy gf throws u over her shoulder,,,,,,u don’t complain)

joke they’ve adopted kataang and zukka, bc they’re all dummies, but in reality every last one of them is stupid LMAO

they love to do each other’s hair and it’s like super intimate and really cute

sometimes it’s these epic elaborate hairstyles and then at other times, they try to see how many ponytails they can fit on suki’s head and how many little braid yue can do

they travel EVERYWHERE

since yue is royalty and suki is her body guard,,,, well i mean, they totally have to see these kingdoms they are doing trade deals with in person

it helps that they're friends with a lot of them

they stay over in everything from camping so they can stargaze to ritzy hotels with hot tubs in the bathroom

yue gives suki rocks she finds on all their travels and suki lines them up on their mantle around the pictures of them in increasingly weird locations

suki loves guarding yue’s meetings bc she gets to watch her absolutely rip a new one into misogynistic old men and it never fails to bring her joy

While yue doesn’t love getting attacked, the ruthless efficiency suki defends her with is like,,,,,stupid attractive

#wow this got long #this is a mix of modern au and canon verse headcanons #but yeah #let these girls have more dimension than just soft uwu gfs #esp yue #yueki #headcanon #atla #yue #suki #yue x suki #wlw #zukka #kataang #sapphic

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nerdygaymormon · 4 years

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Let’s talk about Suicide

LGBTQ individuals are at higher risk of suicide and other mental health issues than the general population. It’s important for us to be able to speak about these things.

I also need to put a disclaimer, I am not a professional mental health expert. I’m sharing what I have learned from my own experience from having been suicidal and from helping people who’ve contacted me in their darkest moments.

It’s okay to talk about suicide. Talking about it does not give people the idea. Plenty of people get to this point of wanting to end their life without having anyone bring up the subject. In fact, not being able to talk about it makes it harder to deal with. Silence creates a sense of shame about feeling suicidal. Talking about suicide gives people information and helps them better understand and be open about their feelings.

Suicide isn’t so much wanting to be dead, it’s not knowing how to live with the circumstances in your life. The situation that a person is dealing with is so hard they don’t see a way for things getting better, they don’t see options to improve their situation. Death is a way to not have to deal with these hard things and feelings.

Suicidal ideation is when someone has thoughts & feelings of wanting to be dead because they don’t know how to deal with their life. Active suicidal ideation means having a plan, taking steps towards ending their life. Passive suicidal ideation means wanting to be dead without making plans towards that path.

Even when someone isn’t actively thinking about doing something to end their life, it’s a problem. Wishing you were dead is a clear indication something isn’t right.

Suicidal ideation includes when someone wishes they could be diagnosed with a disease like cancer, something that would allow them to die in a way that’s okay for their family because that seems preferable than sharing with their family that they’re gay, or whatever other impossible thing is going on in their life.

Another form of suicide ideation is when someone wants to escape and get away from their life, like running away and cutting all ties with everyone they know and starting over again where no one can find them.

Perception is not reality. People who are suicidal have often told me they are a burden to their parents. I guarantee that is not how their parents think of them.

Often they don’t want to say anything to people about being suicidal for fear of how those people will react. And it is possible some individuals would react badly, but most will respond with care and concern.

Talk to someone. Talk saves lives. Find someone you trust. If this is too scary, if it’s too vulnerable to tell someone you know, then contact a suicide hotline. The hotline will let you get these thoughts & feelings out without judging you, they’ll listen and then guide you through resources you can access. When life feels overwhelming, having someone help us see the next step can be so helpful.

Being able to talk about what’s going on in your mind can help you to frame it and get perspective on it, which can help you learn how to move through it. It can make feelings that feel so big and scary to look manageable once they’re put it into words.

We can feel like we should be able to handle things ourselves, but none of us can do that, we need human interaction.

If you see something, say something. We put a lot of pressure on those who are struggling to tell somebody. My personal experience is I was willing to talk, I was wanting to talk, I just needed someone else to ask. My perception of being a burden or of how they might react kept me from volunteering that I needed to talk, but I was trying to drop hints, hoping someone would ask.

If you see someone who is having a hard time, or you know some of the possible warning signs of suicide, go ahead and ask them directly if they’re feeling suicidal.

You can identify what signs you saw or what they said that caused you to be concerned. Be direct, ask if they’re feeling suicidal, and that you’re someone they can tell. They won’t be offended. If they’re not suicidal, they’ll tell you. They might not tell you they’re having suicidal thoughts, but they will know you offered to be someone they can talk to.

If you haven’t seen specific warning signs, but they’re going through something that is really stressful or intense, like an LGBTQ person being outed publicly, you can say to them, “a lot of people in this situation consider taking their own life, is this something you’re considering?” This type of approach may make it easier for someone because it’s about the situation and a reaction that many people have to the situation, it wipes away moral judgement or the idea they’re weak for having these thoughts.

It’s okay to feel the way you feel. It’s okay to be tired. It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to have a hard time getting out of bed. This is a process and won’t be solved in an instant. The things which got you feeling suicidal take time to handle. Be patient with yourself because your life is worth it. Be kind to yourself. You don’t need to have life all figured out.

Have a plan. One of the first things my psychologist did was ask how much sleep I was getting, what was I eating, and what sort of exercise was I getting. These each have an impact on mental health and can be some of the first steps we take towards better mental health.

I also had to create a safety plan which included being aware of the warning signs that my mental health was going downhill, and what actions I was going to take when I was feeling suicidal, or headed towards that way. If those actions didn’t work, I had 3 people identified whom I could contact. I had to carry around that plan with me for several months as I worked on things because when I was in the middle of those dark thoughts & feelings, it was easy to forget the steps in my plan.

There is a phone app called My 3 that can help you create a plan for yourself.

If someone tells you they’re feeling suicidal, that can feel like a heavy weight, somehow you’ve got to save them. The thing is, you don’t have the power to save them. They have to save themselves.

You are there to sit with them in the darkness, you’re a person to whom they can share their thoughts and feelings, you are there to refer them to others who can assist them, you are there to push back against those ideas that they are a burden to those they love and that their life is not worth living. Make sure they know that you value them, you love them for who they are. You are part of their support network, a human connection.

If you know someone who survived an attempted suicide, don’t pretend it didn’t happen. People feel awkward and don’t know what to say. I think there’s two ways to talk about it.

One way is to express your own feelings. “When I learned that you were in the ER being treated for actions you took, I was a bit stunned, and also sad because I imagine how lonely you felt in that moment and didn’t feel like you could call me or anyone else.”

The other is to not treat it like it’s a shameful secret. Suicidality is a health issue. If someone was home from surgery, would you pretend the surgery didn’t happen? Of course it’s okay to say you hope they’re feeling better, ask how they’re doing, and so on.

If they don’t want to talk about it, they will let you know. Chances are they don’t have many people who are willing to talk about this incident and these feelings and so they may be relieved to have someone to talk with.

Wikipedia has a great list of suicide hotlines by country. Check it out for you or someone you know who needs help.

I live in the United States and here’s some resources for people who live in the USA.

#tw suicide

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the1stn0elle · 3 years

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Attack on Titan Analysis Prt.1

This analysis will contain MAJOR spoilers for the AoT series, so if you wish to not have anything spoiled be warned now. This is also not a FULL analysis of the series since it is so ridiculously plot heavy. It would take probably over 100 pages for me to get to everything I'd want to, so this is all for now :)

Summary:

Attack on Titan (AoT) follows the story of a civilization of people forced into living trapped behind walls due to the fear of the giant human-like creatures called titans who thirst for nothing but human flesh and blood. Titans have terrorized the remainder of humanity for many years and the population has been kept safe behind the 3 walls Maria, Rose, and Shina for an entire century. The main 3 characters of the story Eren Jaeger, Mikasa Ackerman, and Armin Arlert witness the end of a century of peace as the colossal peeks above the 60-meter tall walls that have successfully protected humanity for 100 years and kick a giant hole in it, exposing all of the civilians to the horrors of the bloodthirsty titans. The 3 friends strive to become members of the survey corps, a group dedicated to protecting the people from titans and uncovering the many mysteries of the existence of titans; in order to reach their goals, they must complete grueling training to prepare them for venturing outside the walls to slaughter titans and bring the creatures to their extinction, but the duty of a corps member evolves being prepared for one’s likely and untimely death while fighting against the titans. AoT is a thought-provoking story that is based around perspectives and discovering the mysteries surrounding the near extinction of humanity. Questions are posed throughout as the plot is filled with twists and surprises, and morals are questioned as the viewers grapple with themes such as “do the means justify the ends?” and “who is the real enemy?”.

Analysis:

Part I: Erwin Smith

(MAJOR SPOILERS)

The Monstrous Commander

AoT is very morally complex in the sense that when an entire group of individuals risks their lives by going outside the walls to save humanity, an individual must lead the herd. Said individual goes by the name Erwin Smith, the commander of the survey corps. Erwin is an individual who must send thousands of his soldiers to their death during each expedition outside of the walls; Erwin’s a pretty morally gray character since his job is to ultimately save humanity but the question is at what price? Immeasurable sacrifices are made in the form of human lives as a successful expedition may result in the loss of more than 40% of the soldiers due to being devoured by titans. At an outward appearance, Erwin is a strong leader who is willing to become a monster in order to provide the eventual win of humanity over the titans, but when diving deeper into his character he is a man who is caught up in his childhood desire to learn all the answers to the mysteries about titans and the world that he lives in.

In these few panels, Armin Arlert picks apart how commander Erwin is an amazing leader despite what many people may believe since he has the ability to make sacrifices even though the outcome may be devastating as many lives will most likely be lost in the process. Armin’s opinion of a great leader is brought around again at different points in the story to emphasize its importance.

Part II: Eren Jaeger

The Boy who Wished for Freedom

Eren Jager is the main character of AoT and might be one of the most dynamic characters in his amazing character development throughout the story. Eren starts as a hotheaded teenager whose only desire is to eradicate all the titans after witnessing his mother and hundreds of people die after the collapse of wall Maria by the colossal and armored titans. His bloodthirst for killing the titans is unnerving in its intensity but he’s become dedicated to the cause because he no longer wishes to live like cattle enclosed in walls for the rest of his life. Eren’s core value throughout the entire series is freedom. Each and everything Eren does is to attain freedom in the hellish world he was born into. His value of freedom is most notably portrayed when Eren is out with his father Grisha Jaeger to visit the Ackerman family; Eren finds Mikasa in her home with the dead bodies of her parents accompanied by dangerous individuals attempting to kidnap her. Eren’s solution to the situation is to aid Mikasa in killing the individuals who have murdered her parents. The turn of events is quite frightening as both Mikasa and Eren were only 10 years old at the time, but it highlights Eren’s desire for freedom. He saw that Mikasa’s freedom was being threatened and he felt so passionately about this that he was not fazed at the prospect of killing the kidnappers who were trying to steal someone’s freedom.

Eren and Armin are able to bond over an illegal book that has drawings and descriptions of the world outside the walls and both boys instantly develop the desire to travel outside the walls to go see the vastness and beauty of the ocean. It serves as a goal to mark their eventual freedom from the terrors of the titans.

After the breaching of wall rose by the colossal titan the cadets experience their first real mission and witness many of their comrades die in the jaws of titans. Eren has headstrong and confident as ever lands himself into the stomach of a titan after protecting Armin from being eaten. Eventually, it is revealed that Eren can turn into the creatures he despises with his whole being. A titan. Following the discovery, Eren, Mikasa, and Armin are tasked with the challenge of trying to convince the leaders of the military factions that Eren is on humanity’s side and will not resort to killing more people. The major event is followed by many trials and questions in whether or not Eren is a threat to humanity until he is finally taken into the care of the survey corps where commander Erwin and “Humanity’s Strongest” Levi Ackerman are finally able to convince the military police to give them custody of Eren. It is concluded that Eren is to be kept alive as a comrade of humanity as he claims that his childhood home in wall Maria has a basement that holds secrets about the titans.

A Life that Carries Weight

As the story progresses, Eren goes from a headstrong hothead to a boy that carries an immense amount of weight on his shoulders. Eren realizes that his very life holds a great weight; many soldiers and civilians die for the small thread of hope that the Jaeger home’s basement holds important information about the titans that will lead to the victory of humanity. The world of AotT is nothing short of being bleak and void of hope so it is understandable that Erwin and other members of the corps are willing to take the risk because what do they have to lose? Up to this point, Eren has faced numerous great losses ranging from the death of his mother, learning how he caused the death of his father, his most trusted comrades being uncovered as traitors, etc. Eren’s mental state is in tethers as he tries to come to terms with the meaning and value of his life and begins to wonder if he was ever “special” to begin with but has been burdened by a special path of life by his father. All of these events take place in the royal government arc of the story. Historia Reiss (formerly known as Krista), a character who was previously only in the background assumes an important role as it is revealed that she is some of the last bit of true royal blood left in the world.

Following Historia’s growing importance to the story, we learn more about the titans and where they come from. I won’t get into all of the technicalities of the 9 titan powers and whatnot but the most important fact to note is that all titans existed as humans at some point in time. Due to the complexity of the topic, I will only graze the surface and state that humans become titans with an injection of spinal fluid from an individual of Eldian descent, this includes almost all of the humans that reside within the walls (I will come back to this sometime later). Rod Riess, Historia’s father has received help from the interior military police to capture his daughter and Eren to have Historia inherit the power of the attack titan which is currently held by Eren (was given to him by his father Grisha). Eren snd Historia learns that the 9 major titan powers are passed down when one consumes the individual possessing the power; this means Rod wishes to have Historia eat Eren so she gains the attack titan power, meaning the power will be in the hands of a pure royal and only those of royal descent can fully harness the power of the 9 titans.

Eren’s capture by Rod is marked by the total collapse of Eren’s mental fortitude as it all but crumbles when he discovers the crimes his father has committed and the consequences of his actions that have led Eren to shoulder such an enormous burden that the once confident boy has lost all hope in himself and his existence.

Now before I get into the next few parts of Eren’s development I have to address the powers of the attack titan, the power that Eren currently possesses. The individual who carries the power of the attack titan can see the memories of their future inheritors which equates to the user being able to see the future. Up to this point, it has been confirmed that only those of royal blood can fully utilize the 9 titan powers. can

Following the events between Rod Reiss, Eren, and Historia, Historia is tasked with taking the throne as the current king is a fraud. At Historia’s crowning ceremony and the ceremony to commemorate the few survivors of the battle at shiganshina where the corps was finally able to uncover the truth about the titans with the information in Eren’s basement, a simple touch of Historia’s hand grants Eren to fully use the power of the attack titan and the future is revealed to him.

The scene marks the complete loss of the Eren Jaeger the viewers are familiar with and marks a new chapter in the story because at this point forward quite literally everything changes.

#aot manga #aot spoilers #aot analysis #aot season 4

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jeanandthedreamofhorses · 4 years

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The Aesthetics of Heroism

What is morality but a pretty picture?

Yelena fabricated her past to make herself look special in the annals of history. Through this conscious deceit she makes explicit what the other members of the alliance have been doing on an unconscious level. The morality of nearly everyone in this series has been based on gaining approval from others.

In other words, to look good. In other words, aesthetics.

The panels focus on Connie, Reiner and Gabi because they are the ones who have had to face the fragile foundations of their beliefs most painfully.

Connie joined the military to make his village appreciate him, and eventually came to understand that the kind of person his mother wanted him to be is more important than any praise he might receive from her.

Reiner wanted to become a hero so his mother would be proud of him, his father would accept him, and, after being humiliated repeatedly in the Cadets, everyone would respect him.

Upon realising the weight of his crimes, he becomes suicidal with guilt that he committed genocide for such childish reasons.

Gabi joined the Cadets so she could make a performative act of redemption and be accepted in her society, but became penitent when she realised the consequences of her actions.

The others, however, are not free of this sin: they simply have not looked it in the eye.

Yelena might argue that:

Mikasa felt valuable only in her ability to care for Eren, and this was her reason for joining the Corps. The source of her value rested in him.

Armin’s desire to see the outside world was not a matter of seeking approval, but then, that was never his moral calling. The moral calling that made him join the Corps was to prove to Eren and Mikasa that he’s not just a burden.

Jean joined the Corps to live up to Marco’s evaluation of him, i.e. to gain his posthumous approval. Likewise, he is now driven to act by Marco’s judging eyes.

Levi’s primary motivation is to carry out the wishes of the fallen in their stead. The reason he places this burden on himself? Guilt that humanity’s strongest soldier couldn’t protect them. He wants to redeem himself in their dead eyes.

Hange is similarly acting under the pressure of their dead comrades, even while they would rather run away from it all.

Annie became dedicated to the Warrior cause for the sake of returning to her father, the person whose approval she cherishes the most.

Pieck became dedicated to the Warrior cause because of how deeply she values the bonds between comrades.

As for Magath, we don’t know enough about him to decisively judge. However, based on this:

I would suggest that Magath and Marleyans on the whole feel compelled by their dead ancestors to despise the race who persecuted them.

Falco’s case is especially interesting, but we shall get to that later. For now, what’s worth noting is that the value systems followed by these characters have all been fuelled by that recognisable, pathetic and all-too-human drive for one’s life to mean something in the eyes of others. The latest push of these characters to save the world is, in Yelena’s eyes, just another way to seek approval from an abstract audience: to be justified in the eyes of history, like she wanted, whether in the generations of the future or in the ghosts of the past.

If traditional morality is built off such a pleading basis, then its adherents are merely slaves to others. It is very fitting, then, that the character they have all allied against is the one who hates slaves above all else.

Eren was once such a slave. He realised how much he wanted to be acknowledged as special in the Uprising Arc, laughed at and underestimated as he was as a child, lonely as he was after losing his parents.

It is an illusion he thoroughly discarded. Freeing himself from those bonds, he can now follow the course of his own will unfettered by concern for others’ approval - unfettered by morality. He is willing to be the villain.

Yet in the eyes of many citizens of Paradis, Eren is a hero.

This, however, is largely incidental for Eren. He has made it very clear that his comrades in the 104th matter more to him than anyone else - if it were approval he were looking for, he would never trade theirs for the likes of Floch’s.

Rather, Eren has come to realise how fragile, aesthetic and ultimately meaningless morality is. If one follows the course of their will one is bound to be called hero by some and villain by others. Eren thus strives beyond good and evil into a new realm of his freedom - willing to be despised and never forgiven even by the people he loves most.

It is at this point we can return to Falco. Eren sees himself in Falco during his stay in Marley.

Falco is willing to earn Gabi’s hatred in order to protect her by stealing the thing she wants most. In this way, even though it is for the sake of another person, he is still following his own will and is not acting out of the desire for approval.

Just so does Eren act for his friends’ sake because he loves them, and not because he wants them to view him in a certain light.

If what we have discovered so far is true, then Yelena’s analysis is accurate. This alliance is not a demonstration of humanity’s nobility, but its vulnerability: a collection of broken people hopelessly thirsting for validation. For that, and that alone, seems to be the fundamental basis of morality.

Here, the metafictional aspect comes to light. The coming together of enemies to defeat a common, greater enemy is a classic trope in uplifting stories about mankind’s capacity to understand one another. Yelena exposes how the alliance are simply telling themselves this sweet story to regain a sense of worth; to believe everything up to now has been worth it; to believe they can be redeemed.

But the real story that they’re in has always been sceptical of this trope - at least in the eyes of Eren, who disdains the morals of subservience.

This kind of storytelling-based morality is apparent in our own experience of the series.

Who we deem good and evil at the start is based entirely on the narrative established by the Paradisians, as we are only allowed access into their heads. But when we come round to the start of the Marley Arc, we are presented with a very different picture of things: our heroes are the spunky Gabi and the cautious Falco, fighting against Eldian devils to redeem the sins of their people.

Nothing has changed except the perspective. When morality is this subjective, how can it make any claim to truth? How can we make any decisions based on such a shaky, unsubstantiated premise?

Yet despite all this, it is Eren’s amoral actions which will lead to the annihilation of the vast majority of humanity. Morality may therefore be a necessary yoke. Only, this conclusion is problematised by the fact that everything that has happened since the collapse of the Eldian Empire - that is to say, everything that pushed Eren into this situation - were decisions based on moral judgements.

Now we enter into the series’ most testing paradox: that the world which was doomed by moral decisions can only be saved by moral decisions.

Whither shall we fly? Outside of morality, or back into it? Is it our shelter or our prison, our curse or our salvation? Or perhaps the paradox means that this entire discussion is essentially meaningless - for humanity’s good or ill, there is no escaping morality. We ineluctably return to it, begging for the antidote for its own venom; and so the cycle of historical mistakes continues to revolve, unbroken.

Who, then, can say that we are free?

#shingeki no kyojin #snk meta #snk 127 #yelena #snk spoilers #aot spoilers

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justicebled · 3 years

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@viivyre like’d for a cooking starter .

he’s quietly perusing the kitchen. for no real surprise, he finds that despite losing human form save the stalwart, true heart within; that servants, ( what a word of all things, but he supposes it’s no different than a sense of entrapment ) still clung voraciously to eating food just as they had in their mortal lives. it’s a trace of comfort from the rest long denied them. the clarity of farewell as the world either passed in darkness or light at the hour of their death, or something indescribable, like this, a cold brightness of calling upon the dead to perform a duty noble, but choice stolen from pallid lips.

to be at the age of a twenty two year old man; much less that he had lived as long as he did, granted what he had chosen in future’s betterment, was something yuri lowell still found his lips twitching quietly at as calloused hands weighed the tools.

“ ... not too bad. you can tell we really are at last resort with the rust on some of’em. should ask them to consider a good craftsman here. “ baritone rich and confident; the man returned to his youth can hear the clank of armor; but does not yet turn his head. it’s only after a brief pause that the woman drawing near; faced only with long sheets of violet hair and black-clad apparel shifts his weight to one strong foot and the fellow saber class affixes her with a casual yet oddly piercing stare. a brightness uncanny upon it. as if no doubt nor wavering touched his eyes. they were clean and they were bright. oddly enough...he sees it in her.

there is an unflinching clarity of conviction in his dark violet-grey; a light which burns in an odd purity that pierces like a blade as much as extends a hand. it watches her without judgment, but stares all the same. oddly benevolent, but still veiled.

ah, yes. her.

so evident from glances of her that her formality and demeanor belied a knight that would fit right in the world he’d left behind. but more than that, her regal demeanor, her posture...the stiff speech that flowed in eyes also flooded with a strange light. a shared purity of staunch morality. a low, smooth baritone spills from the throat; as if discussing the weather. he hardly seems intimidated by her, but nor does he greet her with disrespect. he simply takes her presence where it is lain before him.

“ morning , saber. you are a saber class right? we’ve seen each other around a few times but don’t mind me not getting used to all the rules i could have lived without. if you’re not you don’t have to share. let’s just say you look like a role familiar where i was from.” cryptic, but not unkind in his steadfast mien; traces of warmth in the corners of those dark, oddly pure eyes, does he nod once. hands on hips with an exaggerated; humorous sigh as if tasked with the hardest of burdens. cooking for starving servants.

“ i’m thinkin’ about what to make. lately people really are hounding me on cooking lately. i thought i was called here to stop some suffering but i’m getting double time. what a pain.“ a brief sigh; lips twitching to show he doesn’t really mind. more amused than anything.

he doesn’t know nor trust her just yet; so his casual features; untamed yet strong, peek through the cabinets, confident enough to turn his back to her. by how she carried herself, the woman was unflinchingly honest. he could ally with that, find someone who for different beliefs perhaps, something in her rang genuine.

“ got a lot of votes for mabo curry; others want steak; i think someone wanted stew, the list goes on. “ he flashes her a crooked, wry little smile; a mouth that seemed as if it had smiled many times, at times with the predatory teasing of a friend and big brother and so on, the other with the kindness of a man laden and seeping blood within the cavity of his chest from so much of it. hidden as he tried to make it known, who would take on atlas’ horrors willingly if they were not kind?

“ do you cook? or did you have somethin’ you wanted?”

#𝐕; 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄: the purity of justice; how he burns so bright! rise once more; and cleave darkness.#viivyre #𝐈𝐂 ✴ —— he walks the unbeaten path; bowing his head to no one.#hope this works!#i figure he kinda...has seen her around #him: she is probably a lot more than a knight.#also him: says nothing.#let me know if anything you want to be changed is known yeah?#let's gooo

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risingsouls · 3 years

Text

Recruited: Chapter 5

[I finally got a chance to finish this next chapter. Enjoy Nabooru having a moral crisis. :D]

Nabooru

Nabooru had never been more glad to exit a space than when they finally landed on the planet assigned to them and she climbed out of her pod.

"How have you guys flown in those all these years? And for days at a time?" She stretched her arms to the sky and bent backward, her spine popping luxuriously. Straightening once more, she pulled one knee to her chest, stretched it out long, and then repeated it with the other. "Especially you two. You're bigger than me and I felt cramped."

"Sometimes it's months, rookie," Nappa pointed out with a snort. His lips twisted into a smirk. "Depends on how much trouble we've caused lately."

Nabooru grimaced. The few day trip to Frieza Planet 6892--formerly known as Socandoria before the Empire took over, according to the reports she spent much of the trip memorizing thrice over--wore on her enough, the ache of sitting still for so long apparent in her tight muscles. She supposed that was why the pods were equipped with sleep-inducing technology. Forcing their pilots to sleep was probably the only way to keep them from going absolutely mad with boredom on longer flights. She considered using it herself when she only managed to doze, the weight of anxiety over not screwing up her first mission keeping her hyper aware and paranoid about forgetting some minute but somehow pertinent detail on the briefing that had been sent to their scouters.

"Perhaps we should have caused more because this job is a joke," Raditz grumbled, his expression a near mirror of her own displeasure. He tapped the side of his scouter, the device beeping rhythmically as it performed a scan of the planet's power levels. "The reports all say this planet has been sucked dry and so far, I'm not seeing much to refute that."

Nabooru reached up to perform her own scan. Clusters of weak power levels cropped up here and there over the planet, likely congregated in the three larger cities and five work camps that still functioned and hadn't been abandoned. The higher ones belonged to the few remaining soldiers stationed there, either as peacekeepers of sorts or foremen. From where they landed, she could see next to nothing as far as the eye could see, save for a few lone what she could only call trees from their height. Their strange, dull pink to brown gradient from top to bottom and lack of leaves or fruit made it difficult to classify them confidently as such. She heard no wildlife in the vicinity, either, and the ground beneath their feet lacked vegetation.

"Enough chatter. The quicker we deal with this mission, the faster we can leave and move onto something potentially more exciting." Vegeta perched himself on a rock, one leg bent at the knee and his forearm perched lazily over it. His brows and eyelids dipped with the corners of his mouth in evident boredom. "Raditz, get going on the recon. We don't have all day. Since there's nothing here, I expect you back here in a few hours."

Nabooru raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't it be quicker if we all did it, though?"

His dark eyes narrowed and snapped to her, and his loosed tail stiffened at his side. Nappa, who had taken up a spot standing next to his perch cleared his throat and discretely shook his head. Raditz wore the hint of a smirk. Her first misstep already, it seemed. She could see Bruvi's disappointed but unsurprised expression in her mind's eye. They rarely went a day of her training all those years ago without Nabooru's stubbornness or quick tongue earning her some form of punishment. Apparently not much had changed.

"Is that what you think?"

A challenge, a threat. But Nabooru stood her ground, straightening her spine and resting her hands on her hips. "I do. It's only logical. You said you wanted out of here quickly, and recon is basically the only thing we have to do for now, isn't it? More people cover more ground. It's not difficult."

The prince's expression darkened. His tail lashed the rock behind him, sending debris and dust skyward. "Already questioning my authority, then? Perhaps I should have simply killed you after all."

Reason reminded her of her people, of how their fate was tied to her performance and behavior. It chided her for her pride and willed her to bow her head and admit defeat. Instead, she lifted her chin in defiance. If she survived, she could learn her lesson another day. She refused to let one more person bully her. She had to compromise enough of herself in this position, and it would only get worse as time wore on.

"Maybe you should have. But you didn't. And you won't now."

Vegeta stared at her, unblinking and observing. Nabooru remained rigid, hoping she maintained a stalwart resolution and hid the wave of discomfort she felt beneath his burning gaze. The display would either impress him to what little degree he could be impressed or he would make good on the challenge she proposed. A gutsy maneuver that she had only successfully utilized a few times with her betters out of likely sheer dumb luck.

Finally, a growl rumbled from Vegeta, and his expression reverted back to boredom from venturing toward irate. "Whatever. If you're so concerned, you can accompany Raditz," he said, waving her off. "Question me like that again, and your punishment will be far more grueling than a horrifically boring tour of a dead planet."

"Can't be any more boring than sitting around here doing nothing with you two," Nabooru countered, the hint of a smile on her full lips when he cast her a withering glance. "Or at the very least a better learning opportunity. I need to learn everything I can to be a functional member of this team, right? I want to carry my weight and not be a burden."

She ignored Vegeta’s snort and turned to Raditz instead. "Guess you're my new trainer." Her feet left the ground and she hovered by his side. "Lead the way."

"Right." Amusement danced in his dark eyes as he nodded to the other two Saiyans and he took off, Nabooru matching his speed and remaining at his side.

"You've got a lot of nerve," he said once they were out of earshot. It didn't sound like he fully meant it as a negative. "You've realized that can get you killed around here, right?"

Nabooru shrugged. "Of course I have. But I'm not about to let Vegeta believe I'm a doormat if I’m to work with you three." She watched the numbers tick down on her scouter as they neared the first city. "It was stupid, I know. Nappa told me enough about him, so I knew the gamble it was. Don't tell me I had you worried about me already."

"Worry is a strong word if you're going to be a moron. No matter how funny that was." Dilapidated buildings rose over the horizon, and near unusable roads cropped up beneath them leading into the city. "I'm just hoping having a newbie on board will get me out of some of the grunt work like this eventually, so I can't have you dying on your first outing."

"And here I thought you might kind of like me."

They flew over the city and selected a point near the center to land, the few denizens milling about casting them little more than passing glances. Used to soldiers doing the same, Nabooru guessed. Close up, the buildings were in worse shape than she thought, many of them either in a state of full disrepair and boarded up, collapsing in on themselves, or the businesses near empty. Most of the stalls lining the street stood empty, shells of speedy and cheap commerce that livened up the streets once upon a time. Now those that manned the stalls offered their wares but with a wary or unenthusiastic air about them.

"What is it we're looking for?" Nabooru asked at last, watching as a mother with near translucent pink skin ushered a smaller carbon copy of herself past the pair of them as quickly as she could. Their clothes were in rags. "The state of things? Population?"

“If it’s a new planet, then that would be a few things we would look into, along with resources and the caliber of fighters if there are any.” Radtiz strode up the street and Nabooru fell into step next to him, observing their surroundings, the people they passed. None seemed all too thrilled to see them and if her lessons taught her anything, they had good reason to treat them with disdain and fear. Nabooru severed the line of thought before it could venture into the next phase, the reminder of what orders they would likely receive concerning this planet’s fate.

“For this one, it’s more confirming what has already been reported over the years. Finding out if there is anything worth salvaging after all,” he continued, slowing at a storefront that reminded her of the inns back in Hyrule. She heard glass breaking, laughter, and shouting from inside in a language she shouldn’t understand. “Looks like the only places that do remotely well here are bars and brothels after all.”

Nabooru peered into the window, wiping a layer of dust from the glass with her sleeve. Sure enough, the place was packed with all manner of patrons crammed along the bar, packed around tables, or fighting for a better view of the group dancing on stage. She stepped back and dusted her forearm off. “I guess when there’s nothing else to live for, it’s easier to drown yourself in...do they call it liquor here?” Raditz nodded confirmation and moved on, muttering notes of the city’s state into his scouter. She followed and waited for him to finish before continuing. “The briefing suggested most have just resorted to stealing and other ‘crime,’ too, if they’re not working the mines or at other camps. Guess they feel they have no choice if they want to survive here.”

A sentiment she was all too familiar with. When faced with starvation and death, her own people had to shift their skills as warriors to include thievery. They raided caravans that crossed into their lands from further west. They stole from the other races of Hyrule when they got desperate enough. When pointed out in talks with the monarchy, when the fingers were pointed at them for being no more than killers and thieves, she and other leaders of her race tried to show that their pleas for fertile land for farming and the like as well as less restrictive trade would make the need to steal unneeded for their survival. They either didn’t hear or didn’t care.

And for that she had no doubt they paid the price. She only wished she could have been there. To be a part of that revolution. Part of her still hated that her people had been backed so far into a corner so as to rely on an outside source for aid as well as violence but...it was kill or be killed. What choice had they left them after years of failed negotiations?

Had these people tried to rebel like the Gerudo did?

Nabooru swallowed the lump in her throat, the all too familiar homesickness settling in her chest as it did when she dwelled too long on her home and people. She focused instead on the task at hand, on learning the ropes for this particular part of her job.

Without much to look at, they scoured a few more streets and discussed points of interests. They caught a Frieza Force soldier stumbling out of a bar and questioned him before deciding to move on to the next location, another city in much the same state as the first. Raditz “let” her take over with recording the notes they would send back to Vegeta and the commanders back at base for review in determining the next steps they would take with the planet. Their conversation revolved around the task at hand, with Raditz offering pointers or corrections for ensuring a full report.

For this particular excursion, each one felt repetitive. Even the work camps offered little more information. Locals worked under the supervision of Frieza Force soldiers. She didn’t need the foremen to tell her that the resources at each one were all but tapped. One said they hadn’t actually mined anything for months but they kept the workers busy to give them purpose.

With their logs sent to the appropriate personnel, Nabooru returned to the other two Saiyans with Raditz. Nappa leaned against his pod, eyelids heavy and looking half asleep. Vegeta remained on the same boulder, head tilted to the side and a hand on his scouter, likely listening to their report. He spared them both a glance, but his gaze remained fixed on her for a few moments longer, scrutinizing as he listened to her voice in his ear. Her eye caught his tail swaying behind him in idle arcs, but it told her as little as his blank expression. She inwardly snorted at the passing thought that he must be great at cards.

Nappa yawned and stretched, calling her attention instead over to him. "How boring was it? The place as desolate as it looks?"

Raditz nodded. "A waste of time. They had all the information they needed already to make a decision." He shrugged. "Hopefully that means we get to the fun part sooner rather than later."

"Yeah. It's too bad their military was already absorbed into the force, and all the rebellions were taken care of years ago. I don't suppose you heard any word of one faction ready to change things, did you?"

"No. After the last one, sounds like they learned their lesson."

Nabooru rested her back against a nearby tree, crossing her legs at the ankle and folding her arms over her chest. She noted the disappointment in both males, the sag of their shoulders, Nappa's dejected grumbling under his breath. At first, their disappointment confused her when both seemed to like when their job was easy, clean, and quick. However, further consideration convinced her otherwise. They had pointed out the pointlessness of the recon on this planet, Raditz was more than ready to pawn the boring duties off on her, and now they would prefer someone to challenge them on whatever order they were given concerning the planet's fate. They wanted a quick response to quickly stave off boredom, not for ease. They preferred a fight over the simple monotony when presented little to no challenge on jobs. A sentiment she could understand, even though, with action looming, her nerves over the likely course had her nerves wound in tight knots. She instead tried to focus on the Saiyans, how she would compromise with her moral compass to do what she had to.

"Can't be helped, I guess," Nappa continued, turning his attention on Nabooru. "Gotta break in the rookies somehow, huh? Though I'm sure you're gunning for some real action yourself, right?"

She nodded. "Of course." Not a complete lie; idleness didn't suit her. "It was interesting to see the planet. Being desolate aside, it's far different than what I was used to back home. Though I'm sure most sights I see from here on out will be."

Nappa grinned, apparently perked up from his near slumber not moments ago. "That's the spirit." He turned to Raditz. "We should celebrate while we wait for orders. You see any good spots for a drink or two?"

"That's about all that's left on this rock. Can't speak for the quality of them, though. Might be able to get into a brawl or two."

"Eh, good enough," said Nappa. "What do ya think, Vegeta? We got time for a drink?"

"Is that all you idiots think about? Booze and sex?" the prince growled. He hopped down from his perch, arms folded over his chest. "What is there to celebrate, anyway? She gathered intel, nothing impressive. Raditz can do that, after all."

She kept her comments to herself, the insult obvious but the truth in his words irrefutable. Outside of the month of lessons to teach her the ins and outs of the trade, training to control her ki better, and the spar with Vegeta, she hadn't really accomplished much to prove herself. The recon, while tedious, wasn't exactly all that difficult here. She could see how it would be more time consuming and complicated on other planets that had yet to feel the sting of the PTO or some other foul entity, and therefore found the snub to Raditz more unfair than the one directed at her.

"Fine. Is giving us something better than standing around like idiots a better excuse?"

"Barely." Vegeta waved a gloved hand, dismissing them. "Do what you want. But I expect the three of you back here as soon as I call. And you had best not be wasted. We still have work to do."

"You're not coming?" The question passed her lips before she could stop it, and the derisive snort he responded with before turning his back and heading to his abandoned pod only reinforced how idiotic the question was. Her cheeks burned, but she covered her embarrassment with her usual aloof confidence. "Mm, nevermind. Your loss, though."

If his response was nonverbal, Nappa's large hand slamming down on her shoulder made her miss it. Her knees buckled slightly under the force. "A hell of a fighter and fun. We really did luck out."

Raditz's boots had already left the vegetation-bare ground beneath them. The smirk he wore revealed he was either unbothered by Vegeta's previous insult or used to them. "I'll judge that when we find out if she can hold her liquor." Energy surrounded him and he took off, Nappa following his lead. Nabooru lingered a moment longer, sparing a glance to their leader, before tailing after her new cohorts.

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

Raditz had chosen the least rundown of the bars they saw within the cities they scouted and somehow the quietest despite that. A few patrons lined the bar at the back, and a couple of tables were full of a rainbow of locals sharing drinks and conversing in low tones. She recalled a passersby earlier that day telling their buddy they should skip this one due to the price of drinks, so she supposed that's what kept the ailing citizens of the planet from packing the place.

The three of them marched up to the bar, anyone within their path ducking out of it quickly. Raditz waved down the bartender who rushed over to them, leaving his current patron mid sentence and perturbed. "Ah, more soldiers and my favorite customers. You three must be new. What can I get you?"

"Whatever your strongest stuff is. One for each of us." Raditz nodded to a booth in the corner just off the bar. "Bring them over there when they're ready."

"Right away, sir."

The bartender hurried back the way he came and Nabooru followed the pair of Saiyans to the booth. She grabbed a chair from a table on the way, placing it at the end and seating herself in it. For comfort. Both men were quite large, and she wanted to ensure they would have room to stretch out as they pleased while also saving her the inconvenience of being crushed by pure muscle.

"So, you two do this sort of thing often, huh?"

"When we can," Raditz answered. "We don't usually get downtime like this."

"Yeah, Vegeta is just being dramatic," continued Nappa, plucking a menu of the drink options from a stanchion at the table's center. Nabooru noted several red SOLD OUT stickers next to many. "Most of the time, we don't do recon like this. We're usually sent straight to planets for purging or putting down this rebellion or that. If we need to scout, it's more to understand the situation for battle than to help the big wigs tell us what to do with a planet like this job."

"Then it's back to base or off to the next planet, depending on orders. They tend to keep us busy."

Nabooru couldn't decide if she was happy about that or not. "That sounds a whole lot better than doing this every time. I'm not exactly the patient type. I like to keep busy." She folded her arms on the tabletop. "Are rebellions common on planets the Empire has conquered?"

"They're probably more common than we know, but most are settled by the soldiers stationed on the planet already," Raditz explained. "We get called in when they get too out of hand."

As much faith as she had in her people, she hoped Ganondorf's ambitious nature didn't convince him to seek out trying to take on Frieza and his armies. He had Hyrule like he wanted, conquered and taught a lesson for their mistreatment of their people. She hoped that was plenty for him until they could for certain break from the Empire. In truth, she would prefer to get away sooner rather than later. But Frieza's power was astronomical, and who knew how many of his lackeys could wipe the floor with even their entire army, ki training or no. Zarbon and Dodoria alone nearly doubled her power level, after all.

A nod. "That sounds more fun than this," she admitted. "Closer to what I spent my life training for."

The bartender arrived with three glasses of clear, carbonated liquid and set each glass in front of them. "I apologize up front for not having the usual fare we offer force soldiers. Shipments of imports have been scarce of late. But I assure you this is the finest beverage we offer at the moment."

He bowed his head for returning to his post, Nabooru lifted her glass and observed the contents. The Saiyans lifted their glasses and nodded for her to do the same. "To your first likely successful mission," Nappa announced with a grin, "and to many more that are hopefully more fun than this mudball."

Nabooru snorted and tapped her glass with theirs, the harsh volume of the clink leaving her surprised that each vessel remained intact. She watched both men take a large gulp of the liquid and their expressions slip from joyous to befuddled. They lowered their drinks and stared into the cups. Raditz even gave his a sniff.

"This is water." Raditz took another swig. "Are you telling me these people get wasted off water?"

"Seriously?" Nabooru tipped the glass and took a sip. Sure enough, she tasted normal water, the fizz the only thing setting it apart. She glanced from one bewildered Saiyan to the other, and her frame shook with her laughter. She rested a hand over her mouth. "I guess Vegeta doesn't have to worry about us coming back drunk after all, huh?"

Nappa and Raditz stared at her for several seconds before finally finding the humor in the situation themselves, both managing to chuckle. Nappa gulped down the rest of his water and wiped his mouth with his forearm. "Shoulda known when he said he couldn't get us the shit the other soldiers prefer. Guess it could have been worse…"

"Like bad tasting."

"Or poisonous."

Nabooru opened her mouth to supply her own horrific possibility when each of their scouters sounded a series of beeps before Vegeta spoke in their ears: "To no one's surprise, we're purging the planet so it can be sold. Nappa and Raditz, take care of the area you're in and finish off the rest of the southern hemisphere. Nabooru, meet me back at the pods immediately. Don't make me wait."

The connection dropped as suddenly as it opened, allowing none of them to respond even if they wanted to. Dread sank to the pit of her stomach, and she tried to pretend the rest of the patrons of the bar didn't exist. That the mother and daughter that scurried by them had been her imagination. That the workers and vendors and rough housing drunkards were no more than her mind making up a story for the desolate planet. For now, it was the only way she would complete the task at hand without a physical or moral interjection.

Standing, Nabooru drained her glass of water, wishing it had the same effect as it did on the locals. "Guess I should get going. I'm already on his bad side." She tried to flash the pair a cheeky grin but the muscles of her mouth fought against it. She just hoped they read it as dread over dealing with Vegeta once more. "I'll see you guys soon."

Nappa and Raditz wished her luck, and part of her envied the excitement that radiated between the two of them. It beat the nausea and guilt that frothed in her stomach and weighed heavy on her heart, respectively. But she had a job to do. Purging planets, subjugating their peoples, expanding an empire, and filling its coffers was expected of her. Duty had a new meaning for her. To protect her people, she would have to destroy others. Nothing new in the grand scheme of things when war with the rest of Hyrule knocked on their door before Frieza discovered them; much of her life had been kill or be killed in some regards. Only now she had less wiggle room to avoid it.

She slipped out the door and onto the city's streets, taking a moment to marvel at the architecture. The tall buildings unlike she had ever seen before, plainer than Hyrule Castle but taller and still majestic somehow. Someone's hard work to be destroyed in moments by powerful ki blasts large enough to level the cities. She shoved the thoughts away and took to the sky, jetting back toward where they had left their pods and Vegeta behind.

Nabooru landed near the Saiyan prince just as the ground beneath her quaked and an explosion sounded from the way she had come. She glanced over her shoulder to see a surge of light encompass a large swath of land and debris shooting skyward in catastrophic destruction. The city she had just left wiped off the face of the planet, likely. She swallowed and returned her attention to Vegeta. The task at hand. Reminding herself that her people's lives depended on her compliance. She worked for an emperor that killed for less than failure she had come to understand.

Vegeta faced her, his feet leaving the surface. "Let's go."

She was grateful he didn't leave her any room to protest before taking off, and she followed behind him, silently working to clear her head. The next city rose on the horizon too quickly, a blessing and a curse. She wanted to get this over with, but she truly did not want to do it at all.

Nabooru halted beside Vegeta when he stopped, several meters above and outside the crumbling city. The planet was falling apart. She witnessed that. The people here had been suffering for years due to her employer's greed and negligence. A small comfort, but she supposed death meant an end to it. A conclusion she didn't care for, but a call she had no say in making.

"Well?" Her eyes shot to the Saiyan. His arms were folded over his chest, and he observed her with obvious impatience. "What are you waiting for? Or do you need a demonstration?"

"Surely you're itching for a little action by now," she responded, a touch too quickly that earned her a snort. She mentally cursed herself. "You can take the first one."

"Hmpt. You're stalling." He let one arm fall back to his side and raised the other, open palm aimed toward the city below. A smirk flickered over his lips, devilish and taunting. "I wonder...is it because of some silly morals or you simply don't wish to embarrass yourself so soon?"

Both, she wanted to respond, but red ki building in his palm stopped her. He fired the blast straight for the heart of the city. It exploded like a bomb on contact, the force of it spreading outward and engulfing the area in blinding light. Nabooru shielded her face from both the flare and flying debris with her arm and chewed her lower lip. When she lowered it again, a crater had replaced the city.

"Check for survivors."

She balled her hand into a fist to steady it before raising it to her scouter. She pressed the button. Not a single reading for several miles. She felt his gaze on her once more, gauging her reaction. Searching for weakness like a predator waiting to strike. Another reason to see a failure rather than an asset to his team.

"No survivors," she said, the words heavy on her tongue. "Guess you've had plenty of practice, hm?"

Dark eyes narrowed briefly, and the end of his tail tucked itself more securely at his waist. "A little," he replied without humor. "You'll take care of the rest now that you've had your demonstration."

She nodded and followed the scouter's reading to the next city, halting outside of it just as they had done before. Her palms were sweaty inside her gloves and her heart thrummed at a too quick pace. Despite it all, she forced her face into a mask of neutrality, her mind to a blank slate of nothing more than determining how much energy he would need to complete the task in one blow to avoid extra strain on her already fraying psyche. She sucked in a breath and raised both hands. The glow of orange-yellow ki surged around her palms. She fired. It swallowed the edifices in seconds as she expanded it outward to cover a wider area. When she cut the blast off and lowered her hands, nothing remained but desolation. She swallowed the hot bile that rose to her throat.

"Not bad," Vegeta rumbled beside her, hand raised to the side of his scouter. "You wasted energy, though, a testament to Nappa's careless training. He's too flashy for his own good."

Her mouth was too dry to respond, so she merely nodded. Her fingers itched to wind themselves in her ponytail and she wanted to scream or vomit or both but she quelled the urge; the less discomfort she showed outwardly, the better.

"He said you learn quickly, though, so I'll show you once more and you can do as I do." He tilted his head toward the next destination, one of the work camps if she remembered right. "Go."

Nabooru didn't hesitate, the need to leave the destruction behind nearing overwhelming. She blinked rapidly to stave off tears and was glad Vegeta remained behind her. How she would spend likely the rest of her life perpetrating these atrocities without losing herself was beyond her in that moment. She would lose her mind if she didn't figure something out and soon. In a moment, her kill count had risen from a select handful that had forced her hand to hundreds of innocents. Thousands more would follow so long as she remained in Frieza's service. Her people's livelihood was at stake. Her every decision as a member of the force would secure their safety or destroy it entirely. Which brought to question the moral dilemma at hand: did others deserve to perish so her people could live? She could only weakly defend herself with the notion that, if not by her hand, some other would be doing so in her place. Another with a similar background to hers, forced to serve to protect loved ones. Someone who joined Frieza willingly and reveled in the bloodshed. Another who had lost their home and had no other choice. The cycle would continue as long as the Cold Empire and PTO remained intact.

And what hope did she have to dismantle that on her own? Hyrule had been one society on a single planet and she couldn't handle that with the Gerudo army and without outside help in the end. She had no prayer in releasing herself from the clutches of this deal by force. Not alone. Not without allies.

But….somehow, she knew all the allies in the universe might not be enough to face Frieza. She would fail just like all the rest before her. Thus, for now, she would throw her morality out the window. She would pretend that those she destroyed were guilty of something heinous and horrible. Cling to a sense of duty to the empire that freed her people. Anything at all to keep herself from crumbling from the inside out.

#fic: recruited #:: nabooru ☀#// vegeta ♅#| nappa ♅#yeee i did it #making progress #horrible torurous progress for nabs #but you know #maybe the baes with have a moment soon ;3

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erazonpo3 · 4 years

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It’s Era talks about topic of the day time, but I’m gonna do so in a way that’s more about our broader cultural perspectives on moral philosophy and how it relates to the narratives we tell. So

The topic of the Redemption Arc is one that’s come up in a big way pretty recently, and so the debate emerges- what makes a good redemption arc? I’m not really interested in answering that question.

But what I will argue is that, as others have said before, a character should not have to endure suffering as a prerequisite for being redeemed; it is not necessary for their growth, it is not beneficial for their victims or the greater good, and encouraging it as a necessary part of a Redemption narrative (note that writers choosing to create conflict throughout a redemption arc can be a valid narrative decision) is just indulging in a sense of sadism that utilises a westernised conceptualisation of ‘justice’ to see a character they don’t like get put through the wringer before they can ‘earn’ love or compassion.

I get it, the antagonist was an antagonist for a reason, and they probably did shitty things and you as an audience member are allowed to choose not to empathise with them (even though most narratives these days are driven by emotional character arcs that encourage empathy and compassion as a core value), or you can choose to empathise with them but still condemn them and their actions. However, what I’m going to go into in more detail is the fact that your personal feelings about an antagonist in a narrative don’t really hold any weight because the redemption narrative requires just as much empathy for the people who were affected by the antagonist’s actions just as much as it requires empathy for the antagonist themselves.

And if those characters choose forgiveness? You don’t get to argue the point because you prefer to frame justice as punishment for the wrongdoer rather than empowerment for the victim, in whatever form that may take. So here’s my extended take: if an antagonist suffering in order to earn their happy ending is more important to you than the good that comes out of a redemption, consider that no.

Part 1 - We live in a society

There’s no easy way to break it to you, but I’m afraid we live in a society. Namely a Western society that is dominated largely by Christian cultural influences and authoritative bodies of governments with legal structures that are built on colonialism. Considering that western nations around the globe have historically dragged their feet in making changes like “human rights apply to all humans”, it’s fair to say this isn’t a great basis for our foundation of morality.

I should also say that Christianity as a faith does not equal bad, but contemporary Christianity in modern society has an exorbitant focus on the fear of damnation, which goes hand in hand with the legal system as a form of coercive power. Furthermore I should clarify, I’m not saying laws are bad; I’m saying that a good thing is not good because it is law, and a law is not good because it is law. The authoritative bodies of western society rely on the fear of punitive justice for misdeeds rather than an encouragement of charity and cooperation because law and order is easier to maintain through fear than generosity.

But I’m not here to make a statement about society, because that’s its whole own essay, but what I can say is that our moral codes are best made on our own terms and not by the people with a vested interest in keeping us lawful, because historically their idea of lawful is “you’re only human if you meet certain conditions”. Like, the government of my own country mailed me a non-legally-binding ballot to ask me if I thought letting people get gay married was a good idea. They’re not the people I’m letting dictate my morality to me, alright.

Anyway the whole point of this section is to remind you that your ethical foundations likely come from institutional groups that encourage you to believe that justice = suffering, because people are scared of suffering, and people who are scared are easy to control.

Part 2 - Redemption, and who gets to decide who gets it

I’m going to answer that right here right now- probably not you. That’s right! Even when we’re dealing with narratives, where the people are fake, it’s not really up to you to decide who gets to have their happy ending and who doesn’t if you’re not the person writing the thing. If you want that power… write the thing.

But what you should also keep in mind is that redemption narratives usually start with a character recognising that they’ve done the wrong thing, expressing regret for that- which ideally leads to them never doing the thing again. From a purely pragmatic standpoint, this is the point in which everyone has to step back and remove their feelings from the situation and consider the bigger picture. You can give zero dogshits about an antagonist, but if you’re going to pretend to be a good and moral person you should probably consider their victims, be they direct or indirect.

Starting with the indirect, we consider all the people who are part of this world’s society. I’m now going to introduce you to some fancy macroeconomics terminology called positive externalities and net social good. The principle is simple: when the government pays for somebody’s education and they go on to become a doctor, I benefit from this transaction despite having nothing to do with this because doctors good. The positive externality is that I benefit when the government pays for someone else’s education, and the net social good is that everyone else benefits as well.

When it comes to crime, the general idea is that an offender who can be reformed and rehabilitated is less likely to commit future crimes once they’ve served their time, so any rehabilitation efforts contribute to net social good. Of course I have to state here that life is far more complicated than a simple black and white model of crime > reform > good, but the general idea is that where society can see improvement, an effort must be made to ensure said improvement. You don’t get to derail a net social positive in a demand for righteous justice because you said so.

Demanding righteous justice even when there’s no benefit to society is how you get the death penalty remaining in 28 US states- despite being incredibly inefficient and expensive compared to life-without-parole sentencing (and who knows how many incorrect verdicts that can never be reversed)- as a result. Yay.

Moving on to the direct victims, you have to accept that these characters with personal stakes are likely going to have different reactions to their antagonist depending on the severity of the circumstances and their own characterisation, moral code etc. Reflecting real life, narratives give us an array of characters who have different ethical standpoints and responses to their situations. And if a character decides to forgive their antagonist? Hey ho you don’t get to be the one who says “actually, no-”.

Forgiveness is a kind of forgotten virtue of mental health these days, in no small part due to misguided advice from people who have no idea what they’re talking about. Forgiveness means very different things to very different people. There are people who can forgive the murderers of their family. There are people who hold grudges about the pettiest shit imaginable. Forgiveness isn’t a slap-a-bandaid on answer to finding closure, but when it is applicable it is incredibly empowering.

When you are an audience member projecting your emotions onto a protagonist, of course it’s easy to say “I’d just hate that person forever!” because you’re not the one who carries that burden. Hating people is exhausting. Unless they’re doing societal harm, it’s probably not worth the emotional investment to hate them. If you can find closure through forgiveness, it’s not up to anyone else to tell you that that person doesn’t deserve it or that you’re a pushover because of that. Mental health comes first.

It’s personal anecdote time, so here’s a small warning for mentions of sexual assault. Obviously I’m not going to go into the details because that’s weird and unnecessary, but what you need to know is that there were two different incidents with two different endings. Person A went on with their lives as I went on with mine and I don’t know how they feel about the incident but based on what I know of them, I’m not given reason to assume they regret it. Person B was a friend who hurt me in a pretty ugly way but immediately regretted what they’d done and gave me a very sincere apology both straight after and later again to assure me they understood what they’d done wrong. I forgave them, because I valued their friendship and I cared about them and I trusted that they were sincere, and I don’t regret that decision.

Because between the person who worked to be in a place where I was comfortable to forgive them and the person who will never give me that chance, which do you think gave me any kind of satisfying closure?

The point of that anecdote isn’t to say every character has to be like me. It’s a perfectly valid reaction for someone to say “you’ve worked hard to be a better person and I’m glad for that but I’ll still never be able to forgive you for what you did to me” because I’ve been there as well. Forgiveness isn’t the key to a prior antagonist’s redemption arc because their self improvement should be entirely self-driven and not reliant on another person. However I argue that a prior antagonist should be allowed to work towards redemption to provide their victim a sense of agency- if forgiveness comes with conditions, they should strive to meet those conditions.

And that’s the crux of the matter.

A redemption for the sake of the character being redeemed is only one part of a big picture about recovering from trauma. They should strive to be a better person for their own sake and for the sake of others, so that their redemption serves as a net social good. They should strive to be a better person so that the people they’ve hurt might be able to find closure in the fact that they’re trying hard to be a person who can be forgiven, whether or not those victims actually choose forgiveness or not.

Forcing a character to suffer for your own vindictive self-righteousness deprives this outcome, denies the victims their agency and closure, creates a neutral or negative externality in which the prior antagonist either performs no future good or goes back down a path of criminality, all because you believe they deserve to suffer more than you want actual justice.

And that’s, like, bad.

#The main Point of this is just being an assault survivor who's sick to death of being told that I shouldn't forgive someone who hurt me #fuck u that's my choice #keep in mind this topic is one i've done tertiary education level study on #so i'm hashtag qualified to discourse

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satonthelotuspier · 4 years

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🐰 Untamed Spring Fest 2020 🐰

Day 22 & 23 - Fragrance & Earth

Another double prompt, but they’re all working well together and it’s the only way I’m keeping up!

We all know what happened after Jiang Cheng was taken prisoner by the Wens. But Wei Wuxian sacrificed his golden core for his brother, and that made everything alright. Didn’t it?

This is a pre-fic for a post canon idea I intend to get to (eventuallyTM).

CW for possible triggers: Body Dismophic Disorder, Blood, Past Suicidal Thoughts, Past Torture, Injury

A Golden Core Makes Everything Alright

Jiang Cheng returned to awareness with a violent start. This place smelled of fresh turned, damp earth, and incense, the fragrances of death; of burial and of funerary rites.

It had taken a while, but death had finally caught up with him, then. A shame. As much as he had wished for it after the Wens had captured and tortured him, destroyed his future and his cultivation; he no longer desired it. He had wanted to live, to protect his sister, his brother, and rebuild their sect.

Still, fate was final, and it couldn’t be avoided.

“Jiang-zongzhu” the voice seemed to come from a distance away at first speaking, but as it sounded again it was closer, more clear.

“Jiang Wanyin” finally, at the third attempt, the voice sounded with crystal clarity from nearby, and he forced his eyes open.

His confused, dark gaze met the amber one of Lan Xichen, the First Jade of Lan, and Sect Leader of the Gusu Lan cultivational sect.

Those eyes curved slightly in a relieved smile as Lan Xichen noted his were open and aware.

He wasn’t dead, then?

He glanced around, they were in a tent, probably close to the battlefield, and he was laid out on blankets spread on the ground. The rain from earlier had ensured the battleground was thoroughly churned beneath thousands of feet, and accounted for the strong smell of earth in the air. The smell of incense was from the burner Lan Xichen had placed near his head, no doubt to promote calmness of mind. It smelled of sandalwood, and was a scent he strongly associated with Lan Xichen and his brother, Lan Wangji.

Although whether the other would smell of anything so pleasant at the moment Jiang Cheng wasn’t so convinced; his white robes were covered in blood and gore, and, although he had washed his hands and face clean, he looked exhausted.

This war was taking it’s toll on them all. Undertaking battle on the Jianglian front was gruelling, but Lan Xichen travelled extensively from front to front, assisting where he felt he would be of best use; a symbol of hope in these troubled times.

The strain had begun to show on his face, however; Jiang Cheng remembered the older man as a pleasant, cheerful boy from his time spent at the Cloud Recesses. There was a heavy gravitas to his jade-like features now. Like them all, too young to bear the burdens he was forced to.

He wondered if his own face, always more mercurial than the First Jade of Lan’s, showed similar traces of the weight of responsibility he found himself under.

He had been distracted by the direction of his thoughts, but as they drifted back to the present he had to wonder why he was laid out in the tent of the Lan Sect Leader.

The last thing he remembered was being separated from Wei Wuxian as the tide of battle dragged them apart; the enemy had kept on coming and they fought on and on, wave after wave, until he had thought the blood and tightly focussed rage would drown him as he lashed out with Sandu and Zidian, as destructive and deadly in his own way as Wei Wuxian was in his. He hadn’t tired, he hadn’t weakened; in fact he had felt energised the longer the fight had continued, until he had almost felt like a god, until he thought he might be invincible...until he realised he was losing control of his cultivation.

He had become the equivalent of a living bomb in the middle of the battlefield. The only option he had had was to fight into the middle of the enemy, and away from as many of his allies as he possibly could before he had exploded.

For the second time in his life he had expected death.

He couldn’t remember anything definite from that point; how he had survived the battle; who had brought him away, or how he had ended up in the tent of Lan Xichen. Unless it had been that man who had carried him from the battlefield.

“May I call the physicians, Jiang-zongzhu? I believe you are wounded; I was just about to do so when you started to regain consciousness” Lan Xichen’s tired, yet soothing, voice broke him from his thoughts.

Jiang Cheng’s eyes widened in panic, and he lifted a hand, still covered in blood, to the front of his chest. He was still fully clothed in his robes, and the shameful secret of his weakness in the form of a discipline whip scar was still hidden from view. So too the small, still-pink scar beneath his navel which had appeared after his journey up the celestial mountain to Wei Wuxian’s mother’s Shifu, Baoshan Sanren.

He sat up tentatively, his entire body felt bruised and aching, and there were some sharper, stinging pains that indicated he might have new wounds to deal with. And the now ever-present feeling of something alien sat like a weight behind his lower dantian. The golden core that throbbed and ached constantly, vague but relentless.

“I should find the Jiang sect physician, I’ve taken enough of your time up, Lan-zongzhu” he was about to get to his feet, but a gentle, but firm hand touched his arm.

“Please rest, Jiang-zongzhu, if it must be the Jiang sect physician, then I’ll have them sent for” he disappeared briefly to make his request, then returned to the tent.

He stood just inside the tent flaps, and looked at Jiang Cheng like he wanted to say something but wasn’t entirely sure whether he should, and Jiang Cheng was in no mood for him to dither on it.

“You wish to ask me something?” he prompted, as he began poking and prodding at the various slash marks in his robes, testing to see whether they went deeper and reflected cuts on his body. If he knew where to direct the physician he might yet be able to keep his scars to himself; he didn’t even want the young physician he had recruited before the Sunshot had started in earnest, to know of his shame. If only he and Wei Wuxian could know of that then that was still one too many people for Jiang Cheng’s taste.

The direct question surprised Lan Xichen; he was of course from a sect that valued manners and courteousness; Jiang Cheng had always been more direct in his address, however, still respectful, but much more matter of fact.

“You nearly suffered a qi deviation during the battle, Jiang-zongzhu, I’ve never seen one quite like that, however. I have managed to straighten out your meridians, but...you may need to rest and spend some time in meditation, to avoid another similar event”

He very nearly lost his temper and told the other to mind his own business, but he owed his well being at the moment to this man, and his natural urge was tamped down.

“I thank you, Lan-zongzhu, for your help, and your kind advice” he kept his tone neutral.

In reality he wasn’t entirely sure it had been a qi deviation, in the usual sense of the word. Yes, he had lost control of his qi energies, but he genuinely didn’t think it was due to any fault in the foundation of his cultivation, or any improper practice. He thought it was because the core inside him wasn’t really the one he had formed himself.

Of course, it couldn’t be, Wen Zhuliu, curse him for eternity, had melted that core on the orders of Wen Chao, while he screamed and begged for mercy. He had been shown none.

This new core wasn’t that one; he didn’t know how Baoshan Sanren had formed it, but he knew from the scar how it had been passed to him.

And it didn’t act like his own core. He had suffered the same almost-loss of control in battles previous to this one, when he had called upon his cultivation for extended periods of time. Never quite to the extent of today’s, but he was entirely aware he didn’t have it completely under control yet.

Perhaps it was just the nature of the beast. To be expected. Perhaps it would be better the longer he had it, perhaps man and core would find harmony eventually.

He truly hoped so.

“May I send for Wei-gongzi, Jiang-zongzhu? I think he should be finished arguing with Wangji by now”

That comment forced a half-curl of Jiang Cheng’s mouth, “I thank you for the offer, but no. Please may I beg Lan-zongzhu’s silence on what happened today? If Wei Wuxian asks, if anyone asks, please tell them it was an injury. Morale is important for an army, and Wei Wuxian has enough concerns at the moment”

He could tell from the look in those tired, dark-amber eyes, that Lan Xichen wasn’t comfortable with the request. But he still nodded. Lan Xichen saw the sense of what Jiang Cheng asked him, and he wasn’t a man to break a confidence placed in him. Jiang Cheng was sure of that.

“Very well, Jiang-zongzhu”

Further conversion was halted as the Jiang sect physician, Lei Shirong, arrived, followed by retainers with water, cloths and bandages.

Jiang Cheng looked to the other sect leader again, “May I beg one further kindness, Lan-zongzhu? May I beg you to procure me fresh robes from the train? I’m sorry, I know you must be weary and ready to rest yourself”

“It’s no trouble” the other assured, and left them. Jiang Cheng had done all he could to protect his secret as he submitted to the ministrations of his physician. His physical wounds would heal, whether he ever truly gained control of this alien-feeling golden core turning inside him, remained to be seen.

#untamed spring fest #jiang cheng #lan xichen #suicidal thoughts #sunshot campaign #canon compliant #mo dao zu shi #mo dao zu shi fanfic #the untamed #the untamed fanfic #mdzs fanfic #mdzs #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #Shay's stuff #body dismorphic disorder #blood #angst #injury

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chillax-kass-w · 4 years

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After All | Chapter 2

[Reiner Braun/Reader]

Happiness seems impossible for Reiner, but he may get there after all.

Read on AO3

[As a note, the format of this story is as follows: chapters actually titled “Chapter _” are current to the Marley Arc, chapters titled “M_” are Reiner’s memories in succession, and chapters titled “RM_” are the Reader’s memories in succession]

If anything was (f/n)’s forte, it was sneaking out in search of water. As a child, in search of the river; as a cadet, in search of the lake; as a woman, in search of the ocean . Only this time, she wasn’t sneaking out because of her parents or curfew or any sort of rules. No, she was concealing her presence so her friends wouldn’t worry, or even try to follow her.

She wanted to see it alone .

She knew that was a lie, but she surely didn’t want to see it with anyone else. She’d avoided the coast with everything in her, not even traveling with her comrades to see it that first day three years ago. They’d said it was beautiful and seemed to never end, just as Armin had described. Then, they’d tried to drag her along on many occasions, but she was adamant on not seeing it. She told them she would witness its beauty when she was truly ready, but she wanted to focus on mapping the island they’d discovered they inhabited. The ocean came last in her mapping. She made sure of it.

She knew her comrades thought her crazy, but they had to understand at least a slight bit. There was a promise in there somewhere from a long gone friend, and she hated breaking promises more than anything. She rarely made them anymore; the world was tumultuous, uncertain. Everything she’d become sure of in her life was thrown out the window, and surety meant little to her anymore.

As she mounted her horse in the early hours of the dawn, she steeled her breathing. Her anxiety had worsened in the years outside the Walls, despite her expectation of it being the other way around. Again, she thought, expectations were anything but sure. She started her horse off slow, prolonging the inevitable.

She didn’t know how she’d react to the sight.

“Well, we’ll go see it then.”

So many years prior, a certain someone had promised to take her to the sea. She’d been so overjoyed at the thought of experiencing it with him, their lake becoming all the water in the world. The World… She’d wanted to experience the world with him, to try and follow the sky to its end.

Little did she know, he’d already seen it.

Little did she know, she’d map the world by herself.

Tears threatened her composure, but she bit down and rode harder, willing the waves to come faster. She had to force herself out of these thoughts. She knew that. Everyone else had come to terms with their former comrade’s treason, yet she found herself unable to do so. She just couldn’t see it, couldn’t find the evil that had to be in those eyes.

Hazel…

She’d always thought those eyes were beautiful, dependable, absolute.

Had she really been wrong?

The sun was rising now, the light barely peeking over the horizon, and she apologized to her mare as she pushed her harder. She could hear the roar of the waves, and she wanted nothing but to see the sun dance upon the water in that moment. She didn’t have to force it anymore; the draw was palpable. The wall Eren had spoken of came into view, and she all but jumped off and ran there herself. Even the great speed of her horse was unsatisfying in that moment. She forced herself to look away from the morbid wall when she got closer, the horrid idea of it unwelcome in her thoughts at the moment.

Then, she rounded it, and she couldn’t bring her lungs to work. The deep blue of the water shimmered almost golden in the dawn light, and the salt was potent in the air. The waves were dancing, beckoning her. She answered their call.

The sand was reminiscent of that on the banks of the lake, but the constant push-pull of the waves made it ever so different. She hurriedly pulled off her boots to let her toes sink into it, to ground herself in this moment. But, as she gazed at the horizon and felt the water leap onto her skin, she knew she couldn’t forget everything but the moment.

Was he somewhere across that horizon?

She’d read all three of Grisha Yeagar’s books, so she knew well that Titan Shifters had only thirteen years after they took on their powers to live. The possibility that he was dead was a likely one; the possibility that they’d taken his life even before he’d finished his term was ever more likely. There was no guarantee that she’d see him again, but, if he lived, she knew there was at least a miniscule chance.

She could’ve gone earlier.

Her friends had told her about their experience on the mainland, about fantastic sights and mouth watering foods. They wished she would have embarked on the journey with them, but she’d declined. Now, she believed herself idiotic. She should have experienced the world with her friends rather than holding out hope for a lost cause. She’d always vowed to take any opportunity thrown to her, yet she threw them back in hopes that he would return and carry out the promises he made.

She was a fool.

And now, she was left with only memories and an unsure future. She was preparing for the worst, just as her friends were. Marley would come back, and they had to be ready. She’d thrown herself into training for that reason, using her spare time to map the entirety of Paradis Island. Now that that was finished, she had nothing to throw herself to, nothing to focus on other than broken promises and impending doom. Eren was gone, most likely undercover in Marley. This could only spell one thing: a counterattack on the mainland. She knew that, her friends knew that, but everyone was unsure of the morality of it all.

Morality seemed a fickle thing these days.

She didn’t agree with the idea. Obviously it was uncertain if this was Eren’s goal as he’d yet to reach out since going missing, but it was highly likely. She didn’t like it. She didn’t want to put innocents at risk; she never did. Everything had gone off the tracks she’d set up, and she felt so lost.

She wondered if this was how Reiner had felt.

His name echoed in the recesses of her mind, and she couldn’t help the tears that made their way down her cheeks. She knew it was pointless to think of him. He was a traitor; that was a fact cemented in all of her comrades minds. Yet, she refused to let the thought of him go, always trying to figure out what went through his mind during his time within the Walls. She wanted to know what pushed him, what pushed Bertholdt and Annie, to such brutal means. These questions always brought her to the same thought.

They were just children.

She wondered if the others considered this fact. Children of only twelve years don’t just up and choose to mass murder innocent people. Children of only twelve years can’t cross an ocean to get to a secluded people without help. Someone sent them; someone put them up to it, perhaps against their will.

It wasn’t their fault.

If she told anyone this judgment she’d made, she knew she’d be branded a traitor as well. They were aware of her difficulty grappling with the situation, but they had no idea it was to this extent.

They all thought it was just because she was in love with him.

That may be a part of it, but he was a friend, a comrade, before he was a romantic interest. Her unrequited crush held only partial weight in her inner turmoil, despite how her heart ached. She mainly wondered how she hadn’t seen it coming. It would have been more believable that he was an evil person if he hadn’t become friends with her. It would have been more believable if he’d kept his word when shutting her out.

It would’ve lessened her burden.

She fell to her knees before the water, the same saltwater Reiner had asserted belonged to her, and she wondered if anything truly belonged to her. She supposed the only true belonging she had to her name was her memories, yet they all felt so convoluted, so uncertain.

Even so, she decided that the improbable waves welcomed improbable thoughts, and she fell back into reminiscing. Perhaps she’d finally find her answers.

#reiner braun #reiner braun x reader #reiner braun/reader #aot #snk #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin

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dopescotlandwarrior · 5 years

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A Hero Among Us-Chapter 12

Special thanks to @statell for all your help

Previous chapters at AO3

Chapter Twelve

January went by in a blur. The confirmation of ownership of the hidden property made the great caper a reality. Jamie and Ned spent time bent over plans, Claire and Misses Crook spent time cleaning out the dirt, pulling draperies to wash, sweeping piles of dust to be cleared and washing furniture. Rupert installed a line that could withstand the weight of wet rugs and the women beat them dustless and then washed them. Misses Crook was an absolute stickler for cleanliness, Claire was a bit more practical opting for moderately clean.

“Misses Crook I have spent many hours here and still have not seen all the rooms. Can we agree to a deep scrubbing when time permits? May I show you your rooms?”

The older woman looked up, “rooms?”

Claire reached for the knobs of double doors pushing them open with great flourish and breezed by Misses Crook who was spellbound, mouth open, and stuck looking into the largest room she had ever slept in. Claire pointed to the sitting room and bathroom with her own tub. Misses Crook shook her head no and finally found her voice. “Misses Fraser, this is yer room, the master’s room.”

Well no, our room has its own hallway off the top of the stairs, like a separate floor it seems. I believe this was the room of the nanny or governess because its surrounded by three smaller rooms. That hall there leads to three rather large rooms, possibly for guests.

The home was decorated in the European style of fancy, over-furnished rooms and when they discovered the attic, Claire jumped up and down with happiness. They had a place to move the excess furniture.

Jamie wanted to take advantage of Randall’s declaration on the vineyard and keep nosy neighbors away from their new property. Claire and Misses Crook went with a land representative on Wednesday afternoons and endured hours of boring property viewings with a long-winded salesman. Every third or fourth property Claire would make a fuss and talk openly with Misses Crook about bringing Jamie to see it. It was enough to keep the gossip ship afloat and moving in the wrong direction.

Jamie decided they would start the transplanting on February fifteenth and prayed for enough time to get the healthy vines removed at the very least. Each week, the men would deconstruct one cabin and move the wood to the new property. It was always done on nights with little moonlight in silence and relying on their sense of touch. When dawn lit the landscape again there would be one less cabin. It was very difficult terrain between the two properties. There were strained and broken ankles from walking in the dark and general exhaustion from the distance and burden of transporting materials. Jamie saw the wear on the men and not a vine had been dug up. He ordered the cabin construction to stop for now. The men were given an extra meal, a day off to fish, sleep, get drunk or get laid, if they were lucky enough. It made a difference. On the next workday they would clock the removal and transport of a single vine so Jamie could estimate how much of the vineyard he could save.

Jamie called it the dress rehearsal and chose the fifth of February, 1882. The exercise was to move a single vine and estimate the time to pull it from one vineyard and bury it in the other. They all feared an early arrival of Randall and the loss of their crop, so moods lifted as the date approached to finally move them to safety. At six in the morning, Jamie smiled and pointed at a vine randomly as two of the men approached with shovels, just happy to be included in the dress rehearsal. At six o’clock that night, Ben pulled Jamie from the hidden property, his hands and feet were bloody from the unyielding earth refusing to release the vine. The challenge continued with traversing the rugged land and retrieving the dead replacement from the same unmerciful dirt on the other side. Jamie was despondent. Ben forced him on Brimstone and promised to help find a solution. Jamie knew it was God or nothing. He couldn’t bear to think of how this would crush Claire. For the first time since devising this scheme, he wondered I it was even possible.

Ben could not help Jamie, so he went home to sleep a few hours. The men tried to speak to him, but he didn’t hear them. He walked to the back yard and laid on the swing. For hours he watched the twinkling stars, and his failure raged inside of him. He dozed until soft hands touched his face and his eyes jerked open. Claire smiled at her husband and laid next to him.

“Why do you sleep without me tonight Jamie darling?”

“I was watchin the stars,” he lied.

“There are no stars shining tonight.”

Jamie looked at the sky and was surprised to see the stars were blocked from view. As far as he could see in all directions the stars were blocked. He felt another powerful hammer drive a nail into the coffin of his project.

“It will rain tomorrow Sassenach. Not thrilled but it’s been months without a drop. One man’s prayer goes unanswered so another man may flourish. A better man,” he said softly.

“I know one thing better than my own name Jamie and it is you are the best man. You have the truest heart, highest integrity, and a moral fiber that points to the harder road. I have never known such a man as you. I have enough faith for both of us, so rest my love and I will carry your burden of doubt. In ten days, we will move this entire vineyard.”

It was the first ray of hope he felt since early morning. She spoke with authority and conviction he rarely heard from her. “Thank you, Sassenach, I feel a bit better.”

Claire pushed up on an elbow and spoke into her husband's ear; “For a righteous man falls seven times, and rises again, but the wicked stumble in time of calamity. Walk in obedience to all that the Lord your God has commanded you, so that you may live and prosper and prolong your days in the land that you will possess.”

Jaime took her face in his hands and searched her eyes, “and if yer wrong?”

“I am already right. You are my vineyard Jamie, my golden crop, my riches, my promise of the future. No one can take that from me. We own a vineyard in our own right, we have a glorious house and strong men, we don’t need these vines. Ben can find the native people to teach us how to graft and in three years we will prosper safely.”

Jamie took several gulps of air and held her close, “Sassenach, my brilliant Sassenach. Thank ye. Ye have released me from torment and yer amazing. I will spend the rest of my days thanking ye for all ye have said.”

The flash of lightning came with an explosion that threw them into deafness. Claire looked terrified and Jamie picked her up and ran to the house. Misses Crook was there with towels and looked out at the downpour as she closed the door. They all sat at the kitchen table and Misses Crook served hot chocolate to ease sleep and calm nerves while she blushed at Ned. Jaime could not let go of his wife under the table. The thunder was fiercer than any of them had ever heard and they chuckled their appreciation for shelter.

Jamie carried his bride to their rooms and tucked her in. He looked out at the cabins and hoped the men would find some rest tonight. The wind howled and the thunder crashed making Claire call to Jamie for comfort.

Jamie held her close and stroked her hair. “The rain has a debt to pay, our sleeping vines are baked dry. It is a good thing mo chridhe, fear not.”

When Claire was asleep Jamie went back to the window. Frank did many things right, like building the cabins on a raised platform of earth so the water fell away and was routed to the empty land behind the cabins. Where the vegetable garden had been…and Cho lived under a rudimentary lean-to that rested, unsecured, between two small trees. “Christ, Cho.”

Jamie pulled his slicker on and rubber boots. When he opened the door, the wind ripped it out of his hands and slammed it against the wall. It took all his strength to close the door before heading into the wind to find Cho. It took him some time to round the corner behind the cabins and he waded through a foot of water looking for his man. The rain was still blinding, and he was feeling panicked with no sight of Cho. He pushed on looking forward and then he saw him. Clinging to a small tree, head down, fighting the wind. Jamie pried Cho’s fingers from the tree and dragged him to the house. Cho lacked the strength to fight the water and wind and his single layer of cotton clothing was soaked to the skin. The old man stood on the doormat shaking violently. He tried to protest the special treatment and leave out the front door. Jamie stayed his hand.

“Oh good Lord, Mister Cho I’ll get ye warm right away.” Misses Crook came with towels and a blanket. Her heart broke for Cho because of his uncontrollable shaking. Misses Crook went for some tea and hot chocolate and did her best to make him comfortable.

“I know it’s not what ye want Mister Cho but yer stayin inside until the rain stops. Yer a bit too important to lose,” Jamie said softly.

Cho refused the bed in the second guest bedroom and chose to sleep in the bathtub where he seemed to fit perfectly.

The rain raged for a solid week. Part of the terraces came down and the men pulled heavy mud away looking for the vines. It would clear up for half a day and then rain hard for two. The men went back to dismantling the cabins and stacked the wood into individual cabin piles on the new land. Jamie requested the next cabin be stacked behind the barn but didn’t say why and the men didn’t ask.

Claire used the time to pack their clothes, the kitchen, and the treasures she wanted safe. Jamie investigated more of the outbuildings on the new property and found a carriage, a six-horse barn, and expensive saddlery. He wondered what happened to the horses.

On the first clear night in eight days, the night watch noticed several men watching the vineyard. It made Rupert’s skin crawl to know Randall senior was having them watched. He told Jamie the next day.

“Walk with me, Rupert.” The two men walked into the vineyard sinking several inches into the mud. As Jamie talked about building a raft, Rupert walked up to a vine and pulled it out of the ground, taproot and all. His cheeks were bunched up in a happy smile and when Jamie turned around he stopped mid-sentence and stared at the vine in Rupert’s hand.

“Sweet Jesus, ye just pulled it out of the earth, did ye nae?” He gave one a tug and it came right out of the ground. “We start tonight but we need to build a raft, actually three will do. Can ye do it, Rupert?”

“Angus has experience with water but what do ye want with a raft?”

“Get Angus, tell him we’re gonna float them across, starting tonight. Tell him the wood is behind the barn. Get all the men to start pullin the vines starting in the back and work forward. The ground is so wet they will come out easy and we can stack them at the lake. Go, hurry! We need to make haste while the ground is soft.”

Rupert took off to find Angus. Jamie saddled Brimstone and left to fetch Ben. By early afternoon Angus had completed one very substantial raft, but it had to be finished on the water because of its large size. He sent men to carry it to the lake and started on the next raft. They would tie them together, load them with the vines and four men would row the rafts to the other side. When Misses Crook rang the bell for supper to be brought down, Angus was starting the third raft.

With the little light of day left, Jamie and Ben were at the lake looking at the vines piling up and the sections of raft waiting to be connected. They decided twelve men would row to make the best time possible. Split the men into two crews, one at each property, pulling vines and planting the replacements. Things were moving fast now and when the night was dark the men loaded three huge rafts with vines, six men on each side sat on the very edges of the raft, heels touching butts and they started rowing. By the time they were in sync, they were moving across the lake faster than Jamie hoped. He watched the stars to keep their direction and finally saw the shore fire that Ned built to guide them in.

Ben’s crew had another six acres of vines stacked on the beach awaiting the dead vines to stick in the holes. On the third trip across the lake, Jamie exchanged the eleven exhausted men with fresh rowers, and they waited for the vines to be loaded and pushed off for the last run before sunrise. Jaime looked up and saw only clusters of stars here and there, otherwise, the night sky was hidden by incoming clouds. Twenty minutes in, he was dead lost. He told the men to sit still and wait for enough light to navigate. He could see lightning in the distance and watched it come closer. I hope we’re close, he thought.

When the sun finally punched through the layer of clouds it was barely enough to choose a direction. Jamie heard the morning bird song and after five minutes he decided that weird sound was someone imitating a bird and doing a poor job of it. They had drifted quite a way based on the sound Ned was sending across the water. He motioned the direction to the men, and they put their backs into it. Jamie’s relief was profound when he saw the fire and Ned, hands to mouth making his bird noise and pacing the shoreline.

The clouds were pushing a wicked cold wind and the men fought against it to bring the rafts to shore. Men descended on the vines, pulling them off and into holes already waiting for them. Jamie stumbled onto the shore and tied the rafts securely. He had never been so exhausted in his life but there were equal amounts of elation and relief in what they had done. His Sassenach was right, it was the hand of God that intervened, and he wasn’t done yet. The thunder exploded above them, and the rain came hard pushing Jamie and Ned into the house. Jamie looked out at the men stomping the mud around freshly planted vines and yanking dead ones as they moved back to the raft. He could barely see their outlines, but their smiles were impossible to miss.

With the work done for the time being the men gathered, dripping wet, not knowing what to do. Jaime herded them downstairs and promised food would be coming. He built up a huge fire and the men laid down on the hard ground and passed out, shivering with cold.

Jamie wanted to get the women off the {soon to be Randall} property as soon as possible and prayed the rain would let up long enough for Ben to bring the two horses. He pulled the carriage out and readied it to roll. It was nerve-wracking waiting for Ben, but he finally heard Ben’s whistle and ran out to show him the barn. The men hitched the carriage to the two horses Ben brought and Jamie was on his way negotiating the hills and holes of the terrain before finding the road. It was difficult keeping the horses calm in the sliding mud but his anxiety over Claire pushed them through it.

Angus saw the carriage and came running. He held the horses while Jamie ran inside the house apologizing for the wet trail. Claire ran to him and hugged him close but didn’t let go. Jamie looked at her, so petite and clean with Misses Crook standing behind her.

“We have to go ladies. We will float all you’ve packed another time. Can we bring food for the men? It’s been a very hard night for them.”

Misses Crook tried to pass Jamie the heavy cauldron that created the porridge every morning. Jamie took it from her and told the women to wear their heaviest wrap, the wind was freezing. Once they were settled in the carriage Jamie climbed up and thanked Angus, telling him to sleep. They were back on the sliding road heading toward their new home. A lightning bolt came down on the road ahead spooking the horses. They took off running and Jamie did all he could to keep control of them. The women were screaming, the rain was coming down in sheets and Jamie almost slipped out of his seat putting the fear of God into him. When he finally brought the horses under control it was time to leave the road and cut into the property. Jamie stopped the carriage and swung down. He tied the reins off and looked in the window at two women clutching each other, wide-eyed with fright.

“It’s a beautiful day for a ride ladies! Dinna fash, this part is the most fun.” He smiled at Claire and she boldly rushed forward and kissed him.

“You will take us home then?”

“I like the sound of that Sassenach. I must walk the horses in because it’s slippery. The carriage will bounce a lot but it’s plenty safe. If it’s too hard to hold em I’ll be pullin ye out into the rain but let’s see how it goes.”

Jamie reached for the reigns and considered the danger. If the horses spooked and bolted it would flip the carriage killing the horses and probably the women inside. He stood there considering his options and felt a meaty hand pull two reins from the bunch he held. He looked up at a smiling Ben Yountz and almost dropped to his knees with relief. The men nodded and each took a position at the mouth of a horse. They walked the carriage and horses into the property and the ladies were deposited in the house, no worse for wear an hour later.

The men unhitched the horses and slapped their rumps driving them into a stall. Jamie climbed into the hayloft and tore a bale apart smelling the fresh hay. They haven’t been gone very long, he thought. Maybe a year, maybe less. He pushed hay into the stalls and walked with Ben to the house.

Misses Crook had porridge bubbling over the fire in the kitchen and Claire was nowhere to be seen. Jamie scooped a bowl into the hot cereal and went to find his wife. She was spreading sheets across the biggest bed he’d ever seen. She moved quickly and with purpose as the rain came down outside. She approached Jamie and pulled his shirt off, boots and pants, handed him soap and pointed at two French doors.

“You want me to go out there mo chridhe? But why?”

Claire opened the doors to a porch and he smiled as he walked naked outside and washed. Claire draped towels over him and dried him off handing him a clean shirt. When she looked up there were tears rolling down her cheeks.

Jamie held her cheeks and wiped the tears with his thumb. “What is it, love?”

“You”…she swallowed hard, “are the most courageous man alive, and I am the luckiest girl in the world.”

Jamie pulled her to him and kissed her shoulder walking backward as she pushed him toward the bed. He laid down and thought he had gone to heaven. “God Sassenach, have ye…”

Claire looked down at her husband, sound asleep. She moved the hair out of his eyes and watched the corners of his mouth turn up. She thought her heart might burst looking at him, this man she loved so deeply.

Night after night the scene was repeated. The men never complained, Ben was always there to lead his half of the men, and they slowly worked their way into three hundred acres of grapevines. By March first, they had half the vineyard safely planted at the new site. Jamie rode to the old house and was surrounded by men who followed him inside like they owned the place. When he saw the kitchen, he almost fainted.

“What the devil has happened here?”

The men looked at each other and lifted their shoulders, it all looked right as rain to them. Jamie saw food stuck on the floor, countertops, footprints going down the hall and a sink full of disgusting dishes.

“Ye men are pigs.”

Robbie slapped his impressive girth and announced no loss of weight with the men cooking for themselves.

“Jesus Christ, I’ve never seen a room so dirty in my life.”

Later, the men sat around Jamie enjoying the sunny afternoon. He looked from one face to the other and saw sheer exhaustion. They didn’t look well at all and he needed to call a time out to rest. He made the decision to split Rupert and Angus between the two groups at night and exchange the groups weekly. First, they all needed three days off to rest and recharge. He had hardly seen his wife in two weeks, and he was exhausted.

Claire found a wardrobe in the attic and expected it to be full of blankets and men’s coats. When the door swung open her eyes got huge and her open mouth turned up in a smile. Her hand reached for the floor-length robe of the softest fabric, knit somehow, with fur piping, like mink. She pulled the garment out and ran to her room to try it on. It was the most exquisite garment she had ever seen and decided it was time to seduce her husband.

Jamie came bounding into the bedroom a few hours later and stopped dead at the sight of his wife. She reclined on a chaise lounge with a beautiful robe on. The front was open to her navel, belted, then opened again to see her legs up to high-thigh. He knew he would lose his grip on sanity if he didn’t take her this minute. He listened to the rain pour outside and felt the soap in his hand, he walked naked into the rain but watched her every second. He dried off, still watching and walked to her lounge. He ran a finger under the fur piping and touched her nipple. Suddenly he wanted to touch everything, he wanted to be inside her right away, his exhaustion was making his mind scramble and he called to her. A starving, horny, sleep-deprived man could not decide what to do first and he dropped his head in his hands. He saw Claire’s naked leg swing across his lap and straddle him. She pulled his head to her breasts and then kissed him so deeply it touched his soul.

Claire kept her eyes locked on Jamie’s and slid to the floor. She held him in her hands and opened her mouth as she watched him watch her. Her tongue touched all his places and she took notice of what made him weak. When she pulled him into her mouth, she tilted her head so he could see. Jamie pulled her up and aimed himself at her wet core and as she dropped down on him, he thought he would explode. Claire’s body brought him sweet release, she fed him and laid next to him until he chased his dreams.

For the next three days, Claire wore the beautiful and extravagant robe, kept ample food in the room, and read Jamie to sleep after every meal and orgasm. For both of them, it was three days in heaven.

Jamie felt the boards under his knees and dug his ore deep in the water to gain the most speed. He was back in the zone with a single purpose, to ferry the vines to safety. On March twentieth the entire vineyard had been moved except the two acres in front of the house. Ben told him to let it go, he had enough. The ground was tightening around the roots laying claim to those that were left. Jamie felt defeated.

Two nights later Jaime woke to the crash of thunder and room brightening lightning. He listened to the pounding rain and heard voices in his head say, “come and get me… come and get me… come and get me.” He tucked his head against the wind and rain and ran to the vineyard pulling up vines as he ran along. Robbie appeared next to him pulling up vines. They pulled what was left and then ran them to the shore of the lake. Two other men showed up, rubbing their eyes as they loaded the vines onto the raft. Robbie jumped on the raft opposite Jamie and the men rowed hard as the rain pelted them.

Jamie and Ned devised a whistle system when the sky was cloudy, and Jamie sent his inquiry across the water. Five minutes of whistling in all directions and finally a whistle came back. They moved toward it until they saw the light from burning lamps inside the windows of the house.

The next morning the men stacked the dead vines on the rafts and made jokes about the boss not being human. Ned walked out and put a shaky foot on the closest raft looking like he might lunge for it.

“What might ye be thinkin Ned”, asked a concerned Highlander.

Ned looked up as his spectacles slid down his nose, “we must get the vines across right away. We can’t have anyone notice those front acres are suddenly empty.” He prepared himself for the lunge to the raft until a large hand pulled him back. Ten Highlanders piled onto the rafts and a grateful Ned watched them disappear over the horizon.

For the next two weeks, Jamie, Ben, and most of the Highlanders worked on the old property trimming the vines that had been left overgrown and shabby. All the work they had done would be for naught if the vines looked like dead transplants.

As the old vineyard was being trimmed, men were taking loads of personal belongings across the lake and the new house was feeling more like home to the women.

The rest of the cabins were relocated except the front ten. Many days Jamie would work in the equip barn on some project that only Angus knew about and he wasn’t talking. As the calendar was turned back onto the month of May, Jamie and Angus took another trip across the lake on a dark night, loaded the precious cargo from the equip barn, and floated it back. They would work silently for several more hours constructing their surprise.

The next morning Cho sat outside eating his porridge when Jamie asked for his assistance. The quiet man stood and bowed, following Jamie around the cabins and ducking under a line of willow trees that were budding out for the spring. Cho stopped at the site of something miraculous.

“Come Mister Cho. I made this for ye, Angus helped, and I hope you like it. I tried to remember all you told me about your property at home. The floor, the Che-friendly angles, and exposure. You had a water garden, like this I believe,” Jamie pointed to the large area that was dug out at differing depths and wound around his house with a large pool right in front. “I waited for you to fill it with water in case it needs something.”

Cho had remained like a statue looking white as a sheet. Jamie feared he overstepped, or insulted Cho and was filled with dread. He boldly kept going and lifted a large door that when raised above the head slipped easily into grooves in the roof structure. The space inside was ten times his lean-to at the old property. There was a circular fire pit in the middle with a corresponding hole cut into the roof. There was a new bedroll, a low table with a tea service and a canister full of his favorite tea that Claire had ordered from China town. There were four woven mats around the fire pit for relaxing and conversation with visitors.

Claire had been fetched by Angus and walked up to Mister Cho. She took his hand and walked him to the structure smiling brightly. Her curtsy was to the ground, head bent, held for at least a minute. When she rose she took his hands again, “thank you Mister Cho, for saving my life, twice.” She released his hand and joined her husband who asked Cho to come in for one last thing. Cho moved like a sleepwalker, with tears streaming down his face. Jamie pointed at Cho’s love in life. A floor easel, paints, brushes for his calligraphy and pictures, graphite, rulers, and clips. Jamie laid a highly polished box at Cho’s feet. “I made this as watertight as possible and from the Manzanita tree. The wood is so dense it can float for a week with no problem.”

Cho ran his fingers along the edges of the box, the tongue and groove craftsmanship, and the beautiful red wood. Lifting the lid he saw paper of various sizes stacked neatly inside. He held the box to his chest and bowed to the Frasers. He would have a home of his own and make his meditation pond beautiful. The willow trees sheltered the home from view of the vineyard and he could be alone and commune with nature until the next emergency. Cho set the box down and held a hand of each of them, pressing it to his forehead as he bowed, still too overcome to speak.

That night, Cho unrolled the thick new bedroll and watched the stars out of the hole in the ceiling while the fire kept him warm. It was the most luxurious moment in his memory and he smiled as he fell asleep.

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rocket-remmy · 4 years

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Spare Me (Part 1)|| Alain and Remmy

Remmy and Alain go for a nice walk and talk.

Content warning: Suicidal ideation, assisted suicide discussion

The apartment was quiet. Remmy didn’t like the silence that had been following them since the ringing in their ears had stopped. Since the screaming had made their throat feel raw. Remmy wasn’t used to this quiet kind of sadness. Sadness was supposed to be loud and terrible and tears. Not a quiet pain in their chest, their unbeating heart slowly sinking. Yet, here they were. They needed to find an answer, and they knew where they needed to go to find one. They slipped the bracelet off their wrist and set it gently on the nightstand.

Moose was sitting by the door, just waiting. He knew Remmy was getting ready to head out, but he was still under the impression he was going with. Like he always did. Like he was trained to do. He even had his leash sitting next to him. But he couldn’t go this time. He didn’t need to see this.

They gave him a pat on the head and another jerky chew, leading him away from the door, before slipping out and locking it. If Alain was right, then this was for the better. Blanche would be back soon to take care of Moose and it would all be okay.

The bus ride there wasn’t long, even if it felt as if it were. Remmy stepped off, double checked the address, and turned to head towards Alain’s. Maybe it would be nice. Maybe he would tell them they weren’t dangerous and it was a mistake and they could accept Lydia’s words at face value-- that they weren’t a monster, that they couldn’t hurt anyone like this, that they didn’t have to blame themselves for everyone dying. Remmy reached the front door and stopped. It was a nice house. Maybe one day they could live in a nice house, too. They knocked, and waited. And when Alain answered, they already knew the answer, just by his face. They looked up at him with weary eyes, unwavering.

“Can, um...can we walk the dogs first?”

Alain had been working in his garden the whole morning. Hyacinths, begonias and even a black locust. Keeping himself busy, he did not have time to think about things that troubled him, and in fact, he even found himself daydreaming about pleasant things. He had a nice time at Dell’s with Erin and Cassie last night, and was glad to call the two women his friend, and now that he could drive and drink again, he would finally be able to keep his promise to Evelyn and visit her at the Artesian. That one was making him a bit anxious. He did not remember the last time he was surrounded by the kind of people you found there. Or maybe he remembered exactly when that last time was.

It was when he saw the sun up high in the sky that he noticed how much time he had spent there. Still he was rather proud of his work and he stood in the middle of his garden for a moment, enjoying the sunshine that warmed up his skin. Life wasn’t so bad. Heading back inside, that’s when the hunter first saw Remmy, walking on the lane that led to his place. He had never seen them, but he still knew. Not because of his radar, not that he would ever have the heart to tell Blanche or Remmy that he did not even detect zombies, but because they had told him that they would come, and that you could tell from the way they carried themselves, that they were worn out.

He got rid of his gardening apron and gloves and headed to the front door. He looked down at them, a frown on his face and with a cold look in his eyes, one people never usually saw during the day. “Okay,” he left the front door open and disappeared for a moment to get his coat, hunting knife and some shoes that were just a bit better than the rubber boots he was wearing right now. The hunter whistled and there they went, Remmy, him and the dogs, for a walk in the White Crest countryside. The weather was ideal, and it did not change much of what he had planned.

It was such a nice day out, for winter. Maine winters sure were different from the frigid winds that plagued most of the Wyoming cities. Remmy waited patiently for Alain to return with the dogs, before turning to head down the lane with him. It was nice. They talked about the dogs, and cars, and Remmy told him about how their dad had worked at a mechanic’s garage and how they’d always liked the idea of it, but weren’t sure they wanted to follow so closely in his footsteps. By the time they made it back to the lane that led up to the house, the sun was dipping down below the treeline, but not quite the horizon, a spackling of orange in the sky. Remmy took one last look at it before heading into the house behind Alain. He wasn’t a bad guy at all. In fact, Remmy quite liked him, and the weight of what they were about to ask him to do hung hard on their chest. Even if Lydia had said that they weren’t a monster, that they were still a person, it only took one person to think they were dangerous for them to believe it themself, too. Especially if it was someone like Alain. He didn’t deserve this burden, but Remmy didn’t know where else to turn. The books didn’t have answers, Lydia didn’t have the answer, not even Cassie or Blanche or Morgan or Skylar had the answer. Only Remmy, and Alain.

“Am I dangerous?” they finally asked, breaking the sad silence that had drifted over them the past few days like a cloud. “Am I going to-- hurt someone? Even if I...stay fed?”

Alain could easily see why Blanche had gotten attached with Remmy. If he had remained mostly silent most of the time they had been talking out here, Alain could still notice the kindness transmitted by them. That did not change a thing in his book. Was it more difficult? Yes. He did not usually waste his time having conversations with his preys. As they entered the house, Alain quietly took off his coat, kicked off his shoes and left in the kitchen to go feed his boys. "Et voilà," he squatted down to pet them for a few seconds. It had been minutes since Remmy asked the fatal questions, still he remained quiet. He already knew what he would tell her so this was not him gathering his thoughts. What bothered him was Blanche. This would destroy her. And still he would not change his mind because he knew deep down that he was right, that his morals were right even if most people were horrified by those.

"Qualify dangerous." He liked a riddle, but he wasn't going to be cruel and let her answer that question for him. "You, Remmy, are like a loaded gun. Maybe you'll never fire a bullet, but it only takes one of these to kill someone. You of all people must know that," the analogy wasn't picked randomly, of course. "Are you really willing to spend a life time eating brain?" He personally liked eating that, but eating it every day, or even every week would made him sick of it.

Alain was being very quiet, and Remmy wasn’t sure they liked that. They didn’t know the answer to his question, but luckily, it wasn’t a question. The bullet metaphor wasn’t lost on them. Their face dropped in shame, eyes darting to their feet. Hands balled in fists, ticking off one by one. A nervous habit. Counting always calmed them down. “That’s not the part I’m worried about,” they said honestly, “I just want to know...what I am. What I’m capable of. Th-the good and the bad. Because Lydia said I’m not-- I’m not a mon-- I’m no more dangerous than you or anyone else. B-But none of the books would tell me anything useful, and every thinks Zombies are like-like from World War Z or The Walking Dead, but they’re not. We’re not. And I just need to know,” the said, exasperated now, “if there’s any chance I could lose control or snap a-and hurt someone. Anyone. But especially….” Blanche. “I couldn’t live with myself if I ever…” But no more words came out. They stood silently, waiting for an answer they already knew.

"You are what we call a zombie, or a draugr." Alain paused. He liked the second term as the first was associated with too many cultural items and made people think that zombies were actually harmless since they were not roaming around with no goal other than eating people. That was false. "World War Z does not have zombies anyway," he corrected them. The movie was awful and even got the zombie part wrong as far as movie zombies were concerned, but that was off the point.

"You have lost control once. I don't know by what miracle Blanche made it out alive," the hunter reached for a notebook in his shelves. He took notes of each and every encounter he had with the undead. And while zombies were not really his most hunted, every single time he killed one, it was because he caught them eating someone. "We could wait for you to hurt someone to do something," he handed over the notebook to her and sat against his dinner table. "Or we are realistic and don't wait for a disaster that will eventually come," this would hurt. Not Remmy, because we're they really able to feel anything (and so where they really not a monster ?) ? But Blanche, and he would be indirectly a casualty too. She would never forgive him. He had made his peace with that fact the day he called her a disappointment. Although apparently his harsh comments had not been enough to drive her away from him. She was delusional. This was the only reason why she still spoke to him, he told himself.

“I know,” Remmy answered quietly. But they took the book from him and stared at the pages. Detailed accounts of each zombie he’d killed. And vampires. Remmy didn’t know what to do with the book once they looked up, so they just set it, still open to the page he’d handed it to them on, on the table. “It was Moose,” they answered quietly, “he’s the reason she’s alive.” They didn’t sit, just stood at the other end of the table, watching him. It pained them to know what the result of this was going to be. That he would get hurt in this crossfire, too. “I’m sorry,” they said quietly, head lowering, their gaze sticking to the floor, “you shouldn’t have to deal with this. I-I’m sorry this is your responsibility now.” They didn’t know how to say the words. But they knew Alain was right. Remmy would snap again, and then who would they go after? Who would they hurt? They couldn’t let that happen. “I don’t want to wait until I hurt anyone,” was their answer.

Alain had carefully ignored her comment about them being no more dangerous than he was. After all, if he was the dangerous one, why would she be the one that had to die. By his hand especially. He did not reply when they confessed that Blanche owed her life to a dog. He was not surprised, not really. No zombie could control themselves, could they? They saw blood, and bam. "Don't apologize," he stood up from his chair and sighed, "it's my duty to protect the people from elements like yourself, or vampires. People who died and came back more dangerous, with a thirst, a hunger that is neither normal nor controllable." If they had lost their arm, then they probably wondered what things had to be done to get rid of them. And that part was not pretty. Beheading, he usually cut them in three parts with an axe after that, and then threw it all in a big fire. That part he had to get started. "I'll go make a fire in the garden," he simply said, and opening the glass door at the back, he headed toward a shed to get logs and smaller twigs to get it burning quickly.

Remmy lifted their eyes enough to watch him go. People like them. Undead. People who should have never come back. Did they deserve this second chance that everyone told them they had? Nora, Lydia...words sticking in their head. But all they could think about was Dario. And Andrews. And Lancer. None of them deserved to die, either. How come they weren’t given the second chance? Why was it Remmy still standing? Could chance really be so cruel? When Alain started up the fire, Remmy snapped back to reality. Their vision was blurry with tears, and they wandered slowly over to the door, watching the fire build. “Is it...gonna hurt?” they asked, stepping outside. Took their phone and wallet out and set them on the table out there, as well as the key Blanche had given them. They hoped she’d forgive them someday.

“Did it hurt when you lost an arm?” Alain already knew the answer to that question.Of course it did not. How could you feel pain when you were a walking corpse. Remmy had to realise that whatever she had been told by their so called friends, were lies. Lies, spoken to make these people feel better. They deserved the truth and he was happy to provide that. It was not as pretty and sugar coated but it was still worth a lot more than a big pile of bullshit. “It’s only natural, people die and they cannot come back.” This was in the order of things. “Blanche is in denial, Nell is in denial,” lying to yourself was never a good idea. It was not healthy. It would in the end hurt them. “It won’t take long, I promise,” he left them in his backyard, walked across the house to get his sword, and came back holding it in his right hand. His grip was not too bad, all things considered. And anyway, he had always been taught never to fight with his left hand.

People die, and they cannot come back. Remmy’s eyes filled with tears again and they dried them away quickly with the sleeve of their sweater. They didn’t say anything else to Alain as he went back into the house to grab something else. Instead, they went over to the fire and sat in front of it. How had they gotten here? They’d struggled for so long with accepting their survival. They remembered laying around for days at a time staring at the ceiling, wondering why it was them. They’d never wanted to die, but there had been times when death had seemed like the better option. At least then they wouldn’t be alone. At least then they wouldn’t be in pain. And now they were going to have to put other people through this pain. It stung, it burned. It almost made them want to get up and leave before Alain got back, but they couldn’t do that. He was right. People die, and they shouldn’t come back. By the time Alain got back, Remmy had pulled their sweater off and set it next to their stuff on the table and gone back to sitting in front of the fire. They looked up at him. “Tell Blanche to...take good care of Moose.”

#chatzy #chatzy: alain #alain #spare me #part 1 #part 2 coming soon to a theater near you #tw suicide mention #tw assisted suicide

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