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sir-yeehaw-paws · 20 days

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favorite ocelhira hcs?

HELLOOOO ANON.

Do you have a day or two available? No pressing plans or engagements that might require your undivided attention soon?

For simplicity (lies and slander) I'll break it down into a few sections for you. 1. Headcanons for the Games Provided 'Canon'.

2. 9 Year Gap Headcanons

3. Happy Death Day Headcanons (AKA Kazuhira Fckin Dies Day)

4. Parasite AU Headcanons

5. Other/Non-Specific Headcanons

6. NSFW Headcanons Ready? Let's begin!

Headcanons for the Games Provided 'Canon'. In the Truth Tapes, Zero tells Kaz that he’s going to introduce him to ‘a network of messengers that will lead him to a man’ a man that Zero trusts ‘more than anyone alive with this sort of thing’. This is clearly Ocelot, and this is what I consider their original meeting. How it happened, and specifically at what time I can really only guess (although I go between late 1976-1977 for it myself) and it’s one I accept easily. It makes the most sense for putting one another on their respective radar’s and amuses me a little bit.

It's like..match maker Zero. If your match making is specifically for war crimes.

I have a prevalent headcanon that they have a sort of mutual annoyance thing. The kind that’s flavoured with ‘can’t live with ya, can’t live without ya’. I think they understand each other on a deep level they almost never or unwillingly talk about.

On Ocelot’s side, I think Kaz amuses him as much as he annoys him. On Kaz’s side, I think he feels a sense of what I call ‘regrettable freedom’ with Ocelot. In that Ocelot understands-deeply-how violent Kaz is deep down and is more than willing to call him out on it-or let him indulge in it, if he’s feeling that sort of mood.

Ocelot thinks of Kaz as a little overly hysterical, but he is one of the only people who doesn’t underestimate him or write him off as faff and a loudmouth (a mistake I firmly believe Zero absolutely made) to uninterested in him and bored with how bad of a spy he turned out to be.

I can see Ocelot considering Kaz, ‘histrionic’. (And, TIL there is something called HPD: Histrionic Personality Disorder. Huh. Sorry, got distracted)

Kaz fluctuates in how he thinks of Ocelot. I think when there is little else to occupy Kaz’s attention Ocelot gets the brunt of it (whether that be nagging him or just talking about whatever) but he can easily get ignored if Kaz is distracted by other things. I refer a little bit to some of the tapes where they have a decent conversation without insulting each other or being catty. They are very few and far between, but I can see them having perfectly normal conversations otherwise.

I think they both take their respective jobs very seriously, and they’re both very intelligent. This helps them out because they can have a mutual interest in a place where Big Boss leaves a gap. To expand on this-Big Boss is war and field smart, but not book smart. Something Kaz and Ocelot both are, if in different ways. Nor does Big Boss really hrm..care?

We know Kaz is exceptionally well-read, and Ocelot has a wealth of information under his belt. Getting drunk and having rambling talks is something I can see them doing-if Ocelot can get drunk (or hell even sober) and just. Talking.

Neither of them sleep well, if at all. Many chats happen at ridiculous hours about nothing, and everything.

They amuse each other. I think that’s one big draw for them, they can banter almost endlessly, and both have a mental category of ‘this is the good banter sections’ and ‘this is the I want to hurt you cruel banter’. Below the belt fighting is not off the table.

I do think they care about each other. To what degree depends on the time.

Ocelot knows exactly how to get under Kaz’s skin the best and can be quite merciless about it.

9 Year Gap Headcanons

They did so many drugs during this time. So many. They ran on it. Kaz often struggled to get the Diamond Dogs up and running and was continually frustrated for being disregarded.

We have small hints that he did black ops field work during this time too-and I can see Ocelot helping out there when it was available or necessary.

They visited clubs. Kaz picked up the family business more than once in desperation (this one I kinda restrict more to my fics, mind you). He tried on multiple occasions to get Ocelot to cough up information (almost always unsuccessfully, mind you) about whatever at first.

They hated each other on sight at the first meeting. Kaz was in a fighting mood, and Ocelot was just. Largely curious. At the same time, I think they were equal fascinated. In the ‘circle the other tiger in the cage’ way.

(Kaz immediately hated how hot he found Ocelot. Ocelot considered him attractive, but unless you’re shaped exactly like BB Ocelot’s attraction might be more minimal, IMO. See further below in the ‘NSFW’ for how I figure that turned out).

There is more than one destroyed motel room from their antics. Kaz itching for a physical fight anytime he feels the mood coming on, Ocelot more unwilling to indulge but eventually going with a ‘fuck it’ attitude because it does, eventually, shut him up for an hour or two.

Happy Death Day Headcanons (AKA Kazuhira Fckin' Dies Day) I’ll freely admit this one is almost entirely MGSV’s fault with the ‘death pact’ made in the ending, but I don’t care either. It’s one I find interesting, and I go with it because COME ON. How can I not? Part of me likes to think Ocelot did it himself, another part of me is convinced that Kaz would be utterly insulted if he sent someone else…which is also why Ocelot might choose that route. I do not think Ocelot would’ve used gas or poison as is suggested by the game, but nevertheless. Sometimes I toy with the idea of them faking his death, to amuse myself. And for AU potential. But there’s always the tried and true ‘once more for old times sake fck’ and a shot to the head. Ocelot probably took more than one trophy. The glasses were a necessity for Liquid, but I think he took something else. What that is I've yet to decide. I think Ocelot misses him periodically in the aftermath, especially as he gets older and more and more of their 'time' die out. Until he's reworked his brain to be Liquid-ified anyway. Parasite AU Headcanons Most of my parasite AU is detailed here. But I love considering parasite Kaz and experimenting with that in fics and other ideas. I like the idea of Ocelot having some housed on his skin and having a symbiotic little imprint with them. Extended by this I've also toyed with ghost Kaz haunting Ocelot after. Other/Non Specific Headcanons Here is my headcanon for Kaz and Ocelot orchestrating his capture together. It's it's own thing, but it's something I've toyed around with periodically and another one of those 'what if' ideas I feel prone to. I do think they have the potential for the most disastrous, but funniest dynamic out there. I like the idea of them having one of the longest working relationships in the series, and I find their mutual understanding, even if that's with an element of dislike or annoyance, fascinating. You could call it 'frenemies', but I think whatever they have is more disastrous and complicated. I also think they do enjoy each other's company, and have a pretty good working relationship. When they are perfectly in-sync they are an enemies worst nightmare. Whether that enemy is a man on the field or a very unsuspecting bar patron does not matter here.

NSFW Headacanons They fuck. Let's be real. They absolutely fuck. Ocelot's one and true love is probably always-and only-BB, but he's human (we think..?). Kaz is right there, and the man isn't a saint. Don't gotta love someone to fuck them (but I COULD see an argument for Ocelhira having their own type of love). I'll use 'fuck' more specifically because I think most of the times they do are pretty violent, and they destroy the room in the process. Tying into that, is because I think by then Kaz's best known form of foreplay is 'fight first' and Ocelot probably isn't going to say no when Kaz has such a lovely, punchable face.

They can (sometimes) have more standard, 'vanilla' sex but if you breathe the word 'make love' at either of them it's an immediate boner killer.

They have both used sex as a beautifully unhealthy coping mechanism.

There are kinks they share-how much they trust each other with those kinks varies considerably, but it almost never stops them.

Both of them have a higher sexual appetite than BB-this has consequences that are both good or bad, depending again, on the situation.

I think they both like strangulation and bloodplay a lot. As well as knife play. One of them has absolutely fainted mid act before. At least in my opinion.

'Safe Sane Consensual' did not always apply (they maybe got better later, maybe. Depending).

They have not always been sober during either act. I think they also find a certain amount of freedom in one-another, an alignment, if you will, in some shared kinks without it getting all confusing or complicated. A form of relief, without so much attachment.

And I'm sure I have way more! For some clarity's sake, here is my AO3 for more Ocelhira, and here is my standard headcanons tag, for anything I might've forgotten. Thank you for sending in!

#character posts: kazuhira miller #character posts: revolver ocelot #ocelhira #mgs #asks #answered asks #thoughts posts #i only have a few thoughts about them yeah-#nates headcanons

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random-iz-stuff · 2 years

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The other day I was using OpenAI and I gave it one prompt:

“Write some ideas for a fake Invader Zim episode. You can include characters such as Zim, GIR, Dib, Tak, Gaz, the Tallest and any other Invader Zim characters, but are not required to do so. (include a name and a short summary).”

I cataloged my favourite results and I’m putting them all here for your enjoyment.

“In an alternate universe, Zim is a good guy and Dib is the evil one. The two come to our universe and chaos ensues.”

I just like this idea. A good Zim teaming up with our Dib while our Zim teams up with an evil version of Dib. Or maybe they don’t meet until the end and you have Zim and Dib confusing their alternate universe counterparts for each other, and vice versa. There’s plenty of possibilities.

“Tak successfully takes over the school while Zim is in detention.”

I. Adore. This. Idea. Tak returning and managing to take over the school (presumably as Dib attempts to stop/dethrone her) while Zim has his own adventure trying to escape the underground classrooms or whatever the skool uses as a detention is a great idea. Plus, in my opinion this sort of thing would make for a great way to show Tak’s return, while keeping the fact that she’s more dangerous and capable than Zim is, successfully doing something that he can’t.

It also gave me the idea of Tak using her holographic disguise to look like Zim, so Dib has no idea that Zim is in detention right up until near the climax of the episode, where Tak reveals herself. All he knows is that Zim suddenly became more competent (and suddenly gained a slightly different voice with a British accent? Oh well, must be an alien thing).

“Zim attempts to create an army of robot clones of himself, but they all malfunction and turn against him.”

I like to think that the robots don’t really malfunction, it’s just that Zim is so egotistical and prideful that all his clones believe that THEY should be the ones taking over Earth, leading to a Zim civil war. The Tallest check in midway through, see a whole bunch of Zims and have a mental breakdown on the spot.

“Zim creates a giant robot version of GIR that goes out of control and starts destroying everything in sight.”

Giant insane robot wreaks downtown area, steals entire taco place, more at 9.

“Zim and GIR accidentally watch an episode of a children's show called "Barney and Friends." They are both horrified by the experience.”

The AI actually recommended this one several times. I don’t know. It’s just funny to me.

“"The Dibbuk”” - Dib believes he's being haunted by a demon, but it turns out to be GIR in disguise.”

I’m not kidding when I say that I spent nearly an hour trying to figure out what the title the AI made is referencing. I believe it’s either a horror movie or a horror monster, but I can’t figure it out. The closest thing I found was “Nanook”, which is an important figure in Inuit mythology, and “the Babadook”, which is a horror movie from 2014, but neither of these are even remotely close.

That being said, I like this idea. Dib being terrorized by Gir while thinking that he’s being haunted, possibly even actively trying to seek out and capture“the demon” that’s haunting him because it’s proof of the paranormal. It could work.

Edit: It has come to my attention mid-writing this post, that the episode title is most likely a reference to the “Dybbuk”, which is a spirit from Jewish mythology. So that’s one mystery solved.

“"The Trial of Zim"”: Zim is put on trial for his crimes against the Irken Empire.”

This is just The Trial. The AI, all by itself, came up with the idea of The Trial. It even gave it the same name, just putting “of Zim” at the end. Cool.

“"Day of the Dove"” - Zim and his classmates must put on a school play, but Zim's true intentions are to use the play as a way to take over the world.”

This seems like it could be an actual episode similar to Voting Of The Doomed or Lice. The title is very intriguing to me as well. It’s about a school play, so why is it called “Day of the Dove”? What do doves have to do with this? I want to see this episode.

“"The Great Zim Escape"” - Zim attempts to escape the confines of his base, but is thwarted at every turn by GIR.”

This is just an interesting concept to me. Zim attempting to leave his base for whatever reason as Gir stops him. You could go the obvious route and have Zim as the main focus of the episode with Gir as the antagonist, but that’s been done twice before in canon. So may I present to you; Gir as the main focus as he tries to keep Zim inside and Zim as the antagonist as he tries to leave. A switch in the dynamics. Maybe Zim is sick with some alien disease or has some sort of PAK damage and needs to stay confined to his base for a while, but he refuses to stay inside when there’s invading to be done and Dibs to be destroyed, so it’s up to Gir and Zim’s computer to keep him there.

Plus I just find the idea of Zim being repeatedly defeated by Gir of all people pretty funny.

“"Zim's Day Off"” - Zim is given a day off from his duties, but quickly becomes bored and stir crazy.””

This one seems pretty in character to me. Zim doesn’t strike me as the kind of person to take breaks or days off, so an episode where he actually gets that and quickly realizes that he has nothing to do when he’s not scheming or fighting with Dib could work, with only one condition….

“"GIR's Day Off"” - GIR is given a day off from his duties, and causes havoc wherever he goes.

….and that condition is that GIR's Day Off happens at the exact same time and the two of them are allowed to bounce off each other. Zim slowly losing his mind from boredom as Gir makes the most out of everything and never runs out of things to do, causing chaos in his wake.

“"Zim has a Mental Breakdown"”

The AI didn’t give me a description this time, but that doesn’t matter. The title is all I need.

“"Day of the Pigs": Zim turns all of humanity into pigs.”

I could honestly see this happening in canon.

“"The Return of Tak: The Hideous New Girl": Tak comes back to Earth, seeking revenge on Zim. She quickly discovers that he's not as easy to defeat as she thought.”

Tak returning, now wanting Zim dead instead of just wanting his mission is a concept that is often explored by fans, and I am a fan of it. And I love the idea of Tak returning to earth with the intentions of killing Zim, only to quickly discover that the Tallest decided to send him here instead of just killing him for good reason. He’s nearly impossible to kill and can be pretty darn competent when he needs to be.

I can see Tak starting out with the mindset that Zim is a complete idiot. He’s so delusional that he still believes that he’s an invader, he only managed to defeat her because Mimi broke, etc. She chalks up his surviving of her assassination attempts to dumb luck.

And throughout the episode she is slowly forced to realize that Zim is just a tad more complicated than everyone believes he is. He’s an idiot, and yet he’s intelligent and capable of manipulating things surprisingly well. He’s a food service drone that believes he’s an invader, but he still has military training, more than Tak actually has considering that she never even became an elite soldier, while Zim not only became an elite, but rose above that rank to become an invader. He lacks any common sense, but he’s a former scientist, and has been studying earth since he first landed, knowing more about earth’s climate and structure than her own computer since earth isn’t a planet in the irken database. Not to mention the regular scientific knowledge he has access to. Tak would have never guessed that earth paste was an effective way of protecting oneself from earth’s water, but Zim figured that out and uses it to his advantage.

In other words, Zim is a much stronger adversary than she previously thought.

I can also see the two of them fighting in a rainstorm, with both of them staying under any cover they see to protect themselves from the rain as they fight. Then, Tak manages to kick Zim straight into the torrential downpour, and celebrates, knowing that the acidic rain will kill him in a matter of seconds.

And then Zim casually gets up and walks, not runs, but walks through a downpour of what is essentially burning acid to him, and rejoins the fight, showing no signs of pain from the rain. Tak is absolutely horrified, having no way of knowing about Zim’s paste-waterproofing.

“"The True Origin of GIR"”: GIR's true origins are revealed.”

GIR. LORE. EPISODE. I need this. Zim got a lore episode in the form of The Trial, Dib got a whole movie in the form of Enter The Florpus, Gir needs his own lore episode. We’ll finally get to know how he ended up in that trash bin in The Nightmare Begins.

“Zim hatches a diabolical plan to take over the school by disguising himself as the new principal.”

Once again, I could see this happening in canon.

“"The Valentine's Day Massacre": Zim declares war on love, determined to destroy Valentine's Day once and for all.”

Local aroace declares war on the entire concept of Valentine’s Day, single handily crushes the dreams of all zadr shippers, more at 11.

“The Tallest have a secret meeting where they discuss getting rid of Zim.”

I can see this episode as a clip show of sorts, showing many, many failed attempts at killing Zim that could have been possible episodes, but were scrapped for whatever reason.

"Zim Becomes A Meme"

No description was given, and no description was needed.

“"The Great Gazelle Caper" - Zim and GIR team up to steal a valuable diamond from a rival invader.”

A good concept. I can see Zim coming up with a plan that could range anywhere from “every tiny detail is planned out” to “just grab the thing and run” and Gir managing to throw several dozen wrenches into said plan, regardless of what it is.

If I saw an episode like this, I’d want to see Zim come up with a completely Jack-Sparrow-esc plan where no one is really sure if he’s making it up as he goes along or somehow planned every second, including the setbacks. Not even the audience knows for sure.

Plus that “rival invader” could be anyone. Tak is the most obvious person since they fit the description of “rival invader” to a tee, but it’s vague enough to be anyone.

““Zim Doesn’t Conquer the Earth": Zim wakes up to find that Earth has been conquered by another alien race while he slept. He must now try to take back the planet and defeat the new invaders.”

I adore this idea. Zim being the one trying to save the earth from a completely different alien race is the best thing I’ve heard all day. I don’t even have anything else to say. Just take my money and make this into an episode.

“"The Missing GIR": GIR goes missing and Zim must find him. He eventually discovers that GIR has been taken captive by a group of humans who want to study him.”

I think this concept was almost done in the actual show. That being said, I’d like to see this. We might even get to see character development with Zim viewing Gir as more than just a minion and acknowledging that, throwing himself and his mission into danger to rescue Gir.

“Zim is having a hard time choosing which human disguise to wear and ends up going through several before finally deciding on one.”

I just think seeing Zim in different disguises would be neat. That’s all. That’s my entire reasoning here.

“Zim and GIR are sent on a mission to retrieve a powerful artifact for the Tallest, but they are not the only ones after it.”

Interstellar road trip babyyyyyyyyy! As for the others who are after the artifact, it’s vague enough for it to be anyone. Could be Dib, could be Tak, could be someone completely different that we’ve never seen before, could be everyone at once in a giant race. The possibilities are endless.

#invader zim #dall e ai #open ai #fake episodes

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ivyppoison · 3 months

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so here are my film ideas ( don’t copy these or i will track you down & jump you ♡♡ )

1. untitled ── this is possibly one that won’t happen, but it’s a lesbian love story basically. one is an orphan who lives w these drug dealers ( who are actually really sweet & take care of her and everything ) & the other is a dancer + singled at a restaurant. they basically meet each other & fall in love but they know that since the first one is technically a criminal, they’d never be able to start a relationship ?!! they fight, argue & breakup since she doesn’t want to go to rehab etc, but they make up and yeah <3

2. blue bird ── this is more of a mental heath based movie. wren, the protagonist, struggles with her mental health ( specifically depression, anxiety, & an eating disorder ), so she had to take a gap year before university to sort her life out. her parents are also there, her mum is more of a prominent person in the family as the dad doesn’t speak much ( important plot point ).

she meets this boy at a christmas party, & it’s clear that they’re going to be best friends. He starts visiting and what not and her feelings are just being lifted ( it isn’t a romance tho ).

something happens to her dad, so this causes the mum to fall into her own rut of depression as she never really took care of herself. tears are shared and comfort is given. and soon wren is going to university. her and her mum have finally made up and it’s just beautiful and whatnot.

3. house of barnes ( tv series ) ── this is a two season show that acts as a prequel to the book i’m actually writing ( the cult of dionysus ). it follows the lives of two out of four sisters from the barnes family as they tackle a life of crime, and the loss of the parents ( later in s1 ). romances and drama pursue and whatnot.

4. untitled ── this is heavily based off fast & furious but specifically the older movies. this follows the story of a girl who was taken from her home after her parents had been murdered. she meets these two other guys ( & a few more characters ) as they attempt to kill the kingpin of the movie basically. it sounds simple honestly, and there’s romance, betrayal etc.

5. untitled ── this is a sci-fi movie. a girl is stuck on her home planet, which is slowly being destroyed as it drifts away from its sun, as she flees from the evacuation ship. she is then rescued by space pirates ( omg ) who basically raise her as their own. a war between empires occurs and she’s given the unruly task to find something which could possibly shift the outcome of the war. she finds her brother and it’s just RAHHH ( no romance here bc that’s boring ) heavily inspired by rogue one !!!

6. the cult of dionysus ── this is a continuation of house of barnes 7 years after the last season !?? it follows the empire that dahlia ( the youngest ) had rebuilt for herself, following her fathers lead, whilst penny ( the oldest of the two ) builds her own family. drama, murders, cults, romances. EVERYTHING ( i’ve typed out the plot too many times, it’s unreal )

7. untitled ── it’s still being thought of but four words: circus, drugs, insane, suicide ( heavily inspired by black swan )

#txt.#all done :3 #overthinking & daydreaming is truly a superpower

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pandorasboxoftreasures · 1 year

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When you realise in horror that we cheer Neytiri on, justifying her rampage because of her pain and excusing her threatening to kill Spider, while ignoring the fact that the Recoms have arguably endured more loss at her hands than she has at theirs before Neteyam even got himself killed.

But because of both Cameron’s masterful direction, how the RDA has been established as a one-note big bad evil so far (even though they’re also a threat to the Recoms and their so far revealed motivations are reasonable but it’s their methodology that’s evil) and society’s poor treatment of and attitude towards the mental health of soldiers, we think them hunting Jake and his family even after they’ve fled is unjustifiable and “being petty”.

EVEN THOUGH FIVE OF THE CLOSEST PEOPLE THEY HAD TO A FAMILY WERE KILLED RIGHT IN FRONT OF THEIR EYES WHEN THEY JUST WENT OUT TO LOOK AT THE OLD SHACK TO FIND LEADS AND TEST IF THEY COULD GET PAST EYWA’S IMMUNE RESPONSE. THAT’S WHERE RECOM QUARITCH’S PTSD COMES FROM, TOO, SEEING WALKER AND FIKE SHOT. NOT FROM HIS DONOR’S DEATH THAT HE DOESN’T EVEN REMEMBER. THE MOVIE SORT OF UNDERPLAYS IT SO IT CAN BE MISSED BUT THAT IS THE ACTUAL ORIGIN OF HIS FEAR OF HER ARROWS.

EVEN THOUGH IT’S LITERALLY THEIR ORDERS AND THEIR ORDERS ARE WHY THEY EXIST AND WE DON’T KNOW YET WHAT HAPPENS TO RECOMS THAT REFUSE ORDERS OR FAIL TOO MANY TIMES THEY COULD BE STUCK BETWEEN GETTING JAKE OR BEING LOBOTOMISED FOR ALL WE KNOW.

If you flip the perspective, Wainfleet in shooting Neteyam (in self-defense I think people forget that yeah Neteyam and Lo’ak are children but this kind of thing happens in active combat all around the world and throughout time if a child has a weapon and is actively hostile and within range to attack it doesn’t matter how old they are they’re a threat you take them down or they kill you and Neteyam and Lo’ak had absolutely no business being in there just the two of them attacking and killing fleeing unarmed Cetops personnel and their guards taking Spider to a lifeboat WHICH ACTUALLY VIOLATES RULE 47 OF THE GODDAMN GENEVA CONVENTION) actually got his revenge for Neteyam killing Zhang.

I’m no RDA or Recom Wainfleet apologist but it’s an interesting piece of cognitive dissonance I’ve been observing and pondering recently. The ways Cameron and the whole team have been able to weave things just so in such a way as to balance the tragedy of the Recoms without triggering audience empathy towards them (yet), having them cheer on the protagonists doing violent war crimes with a higher total kill count and critiquing the pros and cons of absolute pacifism (Ro’a and her baby are dead, Payakan’s pariah status and if he didn’t kill the Akula Lo’ak would be dead but Neteyam got himself killed, Neytiri in killing Fike started off a new chain of revenge resulting in making it even more personal for Recom Quaritch and Payakan attacking ultimately resulted in more death and destruction and the loss of more Na’vi lives than if he didn’t act just like the first time he fought back but then Jake fleeing instead of fighting also brought death and/or destruction to innocent villages) is a damn chefs kiss.

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palin-tropos · 1 year

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If I had to explain how to grasp the Ignus Nilsen lore to a new DE player obviously I’d say you have to play the Communist political vision quest, I think you get quite a bit already from reading the infra-materialism book, you need certain skills like Encyclopedia to chime in for extra information (for instance it can tell you about his famous war crime, the Forest of Spears).

He, more so than Kras Mazov, is really the source of the wacky supernatural ideas that the quest explores. You have to have at least 30 communism points to get a cheeky little confirmation that there is something to the theory of “plasm” after all, although I think Nilsen himself didn’t elaborate as much on the details of plasm as his followers did, and you don’t have to take every claim at face value. It’s a reified metaphor, but Elysium is full of those.

The music that plays at the secret book club meeting is called “Ignus Nilsen Waltz”, which I think is neat.

If by this point the impression you get of him is of a weird nerd with a propensity for violence who may have had a gay thing with Mazov then that is also what I was feeling at the end of that quest. Perhaps you took note of Harry, self styled Kras Mazov impersonator, trying to egg Kim on into admitting they have a similar “special bond”. You may have also passed an Authority passive check that implies Harry sees “the most ancient power dynamic” in Steban and Ulixes, “one leader and one follower” (which is admittedly Authority’s bias, but it probably is meant to describe Kim and Harry too—technically Harry does outrank Kim and is the one leading the case).

If this sort of thing is catnip to you and you’re rolling around in it, then it would be a good next step to at least skim @revacholianpizzaagenda’s Sacred and Terrible Air chapter summaries. Then you will find out about possibly the craziest thing this man did (become an increasingly actual ghost after being a guy’s imaginary friend/Fury. it’s like if Harry’s Rhetoic was like yes I am the real ghost of Kras Mazov now). Also he also genuinely wanted to save the world from the Pale but it’s too late :(

So now that you know he can do that spooky shit you are ready to unleash the Communism Demon on your blorbos.

EDIT: And I suppose you’re wondering what he looked like if you want a mental image and I don’t know much but he is Vaasan so Scandinavian-ish, and Encyclopedia informs us that Vaasans are “beautiful and impossibly blond”. He probably also has some elements of his appearance in common with Kim and Ulixes (round spectacles makes sense) given that Harry and Steban have got a resemblance to Mazov. One might also suspect a dual resemblance to Engels and Trotsky since there are clearly parallels to both.

#disco elyisum #mazovian yaoi #ignus nilsen #if you like nerdy gayass war crimes men #especially ones you can imagine having tremendous angst too #then welcome to the secret lore #also you can have whatever left tendency you want but I think it’s more fun to admit his crimes were awful #it has a very epic poetic ring to it to be rampaging after your gay lover committed die #or perhaps your lifelong crush you just held hands with in public everywhere (??) according to archival footage

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magnoliamyrrh · 6 months

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this is what a certain kind of progressive american and western discourses of moral purity and a overly simplified and dyshonest, static view on opression and prejudice which are surrounded by a severe lack of complexity and gray areas lead to and ive seen it way too much over the years

marginalized groups are not saints. never have been never will be. just because you're part of a marginalized group doesnt make you a saint either. there is not some sort of inherent collective conciousness among marginalized people which makes them incapable of being prejudiced or opressive to others in fact theres plenty more examples in the world of marginalized people doing the same sorta shit to others while complaining its being done to them. this is how humans are, this has happened for thousands of years, we have a tendency to this sort of hypocricy which is blatantly obvious. people which have been genocided commit genocides. people which have been enslaved enslave others. people which have been opressed because of their ethnicity or religion opress others for ethnicity and religion. here's another great obvious example: plenty of men throughout time will die and fight for the end of their opression and their freedom while opressing their women. the list goes on. Plenty of people both in the past and today are very well aware of how discrimination feels and still feel very comfortable being prejudiced and discriminatory twoards other kinds of people. and heres another lovely thing thats true then: if we consider people to be bound by the crimes of their ancestors, and we consider it normal to condemn someone just because they come from a group which did whatever, then were all fucking screwed because there are no clean hands in history

there is no true "perfect" or "pure" group of people with no damn issues and there never will be, ever. e v e r. the insane fucking complexity of the world cannot be boiled down easily into the mindsets that plenty of progressive people are running around with today with

. i cant believe i have to say this. no damn it palestinians or arabs in general, as a group - because apparently the invididual complexity and existence of people dont matter at all anymore - having a history, issues, and cultural issues with racism sexism and homophobia and whatever else Does Not by any god damn means justify their genocide, their treatment so horribly and so brutally. it fucking doesnt. and heres something too because idiot leftists, if theyll say something about palestine like this theyll throw ukraine under the bus the next instant - ukranians as a culture having a history of racism sexism and homophobia dont deserve to be bombed to death by russians and all the horrible shit theyre going through. and hey guess what heres another example, the crimes of serbs during the yugoslav wars dont justify that currently in kosovo theyre being ethnically clensed and little children are being shot over some collective sin crimes of the ancestors shit

because if we Dont have this mentality than sorry to fucking say it is acceptable for all of us to nuke each other off of the face of the earth and every genocide and opression is percectly acceptable to not rly give a damn about because welp sorry, collectively were all doomed then

#this feels like the wokie version of the american imperialist mindset of like #well its okay to bomb and kill x people because theyre sexist or whatever the hell

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beardedmrbean · 16 days

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Oh sorry I for the back to back

Actually tv was airing reruns of good times once so my mom put it on and I watch a couple of episodes. I mentally went OH NOOOOOOOO halfway through the trailer when realizing what it was sequel about

THERE A FUCKING REASON IM MORE EXCITED ABOUT PLAYING AS YASUKE IN A HISTORICAL FICTION THAT CENTER AROUND A ILLUMINATI WAR AND MOST GODS ARE ACTUALLY MISREMEMBERING OF A HIGHLY ADVANCED CIVILIANIZATION THAT CREATED HUMANITY FOR SLAVE LABOR 75,000 YEARS AGO

Ugh sorry for the detour, but for why Ghettos now means bad neighborhoods. I remember something

So in 7th grade , a daughter of two holocaust survivors told her parents stories. She mentioned that they immigrant to Chicago

So my theory is that when holocaust survivors was telling how they were treated prior to the Final Solution. That people especially black Americans might have started to see parallels to how African Americans were treated in America

Of course not 1:1 but we all know how Jim crows America was

Oh and that pos racist urban planner Robert Moses that lead to the huge race issues of neighborhoods

And the projects, yeah the crime ridden place that was intentionally there to keep my community as animals

Of course not every black person live in it. But there a reason why a lot of black Americans including the lunatic Kanye in his songs, reference Chicago as Chiraq

Oh sorry detour, but remember the OG candyman? I seen people ask why it focus on a white woman…holy fuuuuuuuck

🤔

Could been that a lot of middle classic Americans especially fans of the horror genre wouldn’t know about the terrible situations of the Chicago projects so they made a stand in for the majority white consumers?

Ugh don’t get me started on the remake…where they tackle police brutality… in Chicago… a Democrat and heavily black politicians voted city.

Source: I live in the Chicago area and one it suburbs. I can see the Sears tower (I will call its Willis when I’m dead) in the distance when I use the backroads

Sorry now it remind the issues with the black panther movies. Yeah it was made by race obsessed people but also it was written as a Black ™️ movie

A prime example is Killmonger backstory, yeah it was wrong for the wakandans to abandoned to the streets of Oakland….

But the problem is the vast majority of MCU consumers were white middle class people and even I had to explain some shit to a Indian mutual

Coogler forgot that media intentionally turns a blind eye to black on black crime now and how horrific black inner cities still are. So most people wouldn’t know how crime ridden Oakland was. Okay okay they would, but a lot of the intentionally markers wouldn’t

But they sure as hell remember how evil the cia iiiiis!

Tangent, but why are black creators acting like the shitty made, poorly run projects integral to our communities?

They forced upon to use when we had very limited access to jobs and such. The whole guns, crack, and welfare system was created by racist politicians to ensure we ran back to arms for votes.

Shiiit, now I’m think about, the projects should been seen as modern plantations. Made to keep us away from the others. And so many black kids who could have been doctors, lawyers, and more. All gun down in crossfires or force to join gangs in order to survive….

Oh sorry I for the back to back Actually tv was airing reruns of good times once so my mom put it on and I watch a couple of episodes. I mentally went OH NOOOOOOOO halfway through the trailer when realizing what it was sequel about

Ya, Jeffersons, Good Times, and 227 were all great shows that need to be left alone, Sanford and Son too, they're trading on the name without actually honoring the place it came from, it's a shame.

You're sort of right on Ghetto

How America's Ugly History of Segregation Changed the Meaning of the Word 'Ghetto'

Short short version is the black community adopted the term since it matched up well enough to their circumstances with forced segregation looks like as early as 1910

Oh sorry detour, but remember the OG candyman? I seen people ask why it focus on a white woman…holy fuuuuuuuck

Never saw it, but I will take your word for it on all that stuff

Sorry now it remind the issues with the black panther movies. Yeah it was made by race obsessed people but also it was written as a Black ™️ movie A prime example is Killmonger backstory, yeah it was wrong for the wakandans to abandoned to the streets of Oakland…. But the problem is the vast majority of MCU consumers were white middle class people and even I had to explain some shit to a Indian mutual

Didn't see that one either, but I did gather that it was not quite what it should have been, unfortunately there is only so much time in a movie so gotta leave it up to the viewers in places I guess, also I imagine there were plenty of people that didn't care anyhow they just wanted to see the people fighting and all the cool gadgets and such.

You should look up the angry reviews about that one episode of Family Guy, lot of people upset at the 'family guy 'nobody cares about black on black crime' line at the end.

Tangent, but why are black creators acting like the shitty made, poorly run projects integral to our communities? They forced upon to use when we had very limited access to jobs and such. The whole guns, crack, and welfare system was created by racist politicians to ensure we ran back to arms for votes.

because people continue to consume it so there's not much motivation to change the formula, need to bring back George and Weezie, Jefferson's was a good show, Sinbad was a good show, hell even Martin wasn't half bad.

They'd hate The Jefferson's now because meritocracy is bad somehow, but how else are you supposed to move on up to the east side, to a deluxe apartment in the sky, at least most people have to work for it, especially if they started at the bottom.

Can't tell people that they have some responsibility for where they land in life now it would seem.

See above about The Jefferson's and previous comments about 'crab in a bucket/work 3 times as hard'

You want a media conspiracy there you go.

#zoomer huey anon

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redstringraven · 9 months

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Absolutely!! Adore!! Your enneagram analysis!! (Esp Don’s.. he’s my favorite ) I had a question on your though of the idea that Don’s “good genes” arc (including eps leading up to good genes) reflected Don’s mental health?

In a way that: SAINW happened, then final shredder, Leo’s season four arc. Then Leo’s gone, and his home is destroyed, doesn’t know where is brothers are at. And then it all very suddenly gets fixed, but I don’t know if he ever had time to process even SAINW.

thank you so much!! ;u; the fact y'all are reading them alone just makes me so happy and, in a way, relieved, and all the lovely tags and support have just... seriously can't thank y'all enough for taking the time. fist-bumps all around, warm snacks. for real, thank you, it means a lot. 🖤🌷

and i'm unsure that 'reflect' is the right word, more-so that it continues driving the idea that he's in the unhealthier end of his spectrum (enneagram-wise), stuck somewhere between 'average' and his stress-7 looming over his shoulder and breathing down his neck. had leo not gone to japan and started his healing process (sort of continuing the ripple effect across the family, only this time for the better) then we might have gotten into the 'reflecting' territory. because the mutagen that starts the outbreak was already leaking into the sewer system as early as s4ep9. outbreak (ep17) was coming whether leo healed or not.

i think, also, if don had behaved differently than other outbreak-mutants we saw, it might be a bit more leaning toward "reflection of mental health", but he doesn't really behave in a way that makes him stand out against the other mutants created from the outbreak. it's shocking to us because we know don, but in a line up with other outbreak-mutants... he's kinda just another one as far as behavior is concerned. maybe a bit more intelligent but not necessarily any more "acting with intent" or with a reason, if that makes sense?

throughout episodes 17 to 23, don is still very much willing to help those around him and extend his resources (not even just to a friend like april and her long-lost uncle but to the city by way of trying to find a solution to the outbreak), buuuuut he's also resistant to accepting help from others or acknowledging that he's struggling. and increasingly so. he's dismissive about the injury, he keeps downplaying his sickness as "just a cold" and pressing on. probably would have kept pressing on, had his brothers not finally been like.

... *turns the car around and heads to april's* no. [donatello ninja turtle is forcefully removed from the battleshell]

had leo continued spiraling, we might have gotten a version where don's second mutation might be more a reflection of where his head was at. but i think with leo returning on the mend, not only returning a sense of normality but maybe extending the kindness he learned to give to himself to his brothers, it helped level out the other three. don was healthy enough to continue sharing his time and energy, putting his focus on things that weren't his own projects or plans. ...but, yeah no, don could really use his own version of a trip to japan where he's allowed the time to process and talk about all the shit that happened to him. at his own pace and comfort, of course! but, jeebus. <xD if leo was doing the worst in season four, don was next in line.

you listed a pretty good amount of things that don's gone through, but there's two more that i think the fandom glosses over sometimes and that's: the potential survivor's guilt that comes with having left kirby behind in an alternate world (survivor's guilt doesn't only apply to loss of life) AND that he was. tortured. by zanramon and mozar. like. i kinda feel like those two just went and did some war crimes there. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i kinda. i kinda just. HM. zanramon is in custody now, so that's nice, but i'm just gonna casually and indulgently send nyxram to take care of mozar and all will be right-ish with the world.

uhjsfhjd i hope this answers your question!! thank you so much again for reading and also just sending me this ask! i appreciate it so much! and i hope you have a wonderful rest of your day/night!

#tmnt 2003 #;tmnt enneagram #;tmnt #;donatello #[ is this my first addendum? i think it's my first addendum JKLFDJLSK ]#[ ;-; aaa THANK YOU AGAIN!!! ]#;letters

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stillness-in-green · 1 year

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On Riots and Resolutions (Part Two)

The remaining ask round-up portion, building on the answers from last night's post.

Content Warnings: Discussion of real-life hate groups; one ask conflates mental illness with radicalism and makes some bald statements that there can only be one correct opinion about the canonical material in question.

This post has its usual share of footnotes, but I’ve put them at the end of their associated ask reply rather than all at the end like usual.

Two thoughts: Firstly, Japan’s extremists, as I understand them, tend to be either rampantly nationalistic—war crime deniers, people who hate Japanese residents who don’t match up to what the nationalists see as really Japanese (*waves to Part One*), sometimes they like the U.S. but they don’t want to be seen as being submissive towards it, that sort of thing—or outright cultists.

Using the nationalists as a model is tricky because, as so many have said, heteromorphs aren’t of a different ethnicity/nationality, so they nominally shouldn’t be objectionable to those whose chief issue is people/influence from other countries. (Nominally. *waves to Part One again*) They’re also a very fraught group to parody, given Japan’s to-say-the-least unresolved issues with exactly those nationalistic sentiments, historically speaking.

As to the cultists? Well, Japan has piles and piles of those. Indeed, the country has so many that one of the most common terms for alternative spirituality groups, new religious movements (NRMs), is actually a direct translation of the term Japan itself uses, shinshūkyō. So far as I’ve been able to gather, the proliferation is a result of the country having been loosed from the mandate of following the state religion (Shinto) just as a huge influx of Western theology came flowing in after World War II. That developed further in the 60s and 70s—indeed, it’s quite easy to see Western ideas of what religion is and how it looks coming to Japan in the same general period as New Age spirituality in the West forming with elements borrowed ideas from Hinduism, Buddhism, and other Eastern religions.

While Japan has hundreds and hundreds of NRMs—over 2000, according to one op-ed I read—the country also has a sizeable suspicion of them, for one big, glaring reason: the sarin gas attacks carried out on the Tokyo subway in 1995 by Aum Shinrikyo. Those attacks led to a huge backlash against new religious movements in the country, including the passing of some very targeted laws.

Obviously, with so many of them around, I can’t say for sure whether or not Horikoshi based the Creature Rejection Clan on any of them in particular, but Twice does point out that they have some religious elements, and certainly there are plenty of NRMs in Japan that hew to the arch ethnonationalism of the country’s extreme right. The kegare thing, too, can hardly be called secular; it stems directly from Shinto belief. There aren’t any NRMs I’m personally aware of that use gothic trappings and skull masks, but then, neither did the KKK.[1]

That all leads into my second thought, which is, “Well, is the CRC based on the KKK? Or is that just us assuming because it’s what we relate them to?” As I said a few times in Part One, I can’t read Horikoshi’s mind—but I have reservations about just assuming that some random Japanese guy is that familiar with a U.S.-based hate group that has never been active in his country.

Horikoshi is a noted fan of American comics, so I suppose it’s possible he’s heard that anecdote about Superman taking on the KKK, but if I were reading an American comic with a plot about a doomsday cult planning an attack on a public transit system, I wouldn’t assume it was a reference to Aum Shinrikyo just because I knew the author liked anime, you know?

For another example of Western fans projecting their own concerns onto a non-Western work, it was widely assumed among American readers that the Ishvalan plot in Full Metal Alchemist was a comment on the Iraq War. However, when asked about it, Arakawa actually said she based it on the way Japan treated the Ainu. That desert setting completely fooled people!

So, even if the CRC feel a little too on the nose to not be based on the KKK, it’s worth considering that Horikoshi could have any number of inspirations there. He may well have been just picking and choosing the visual indicators he liked to get the point across, and the ones he landed on say “KKK” to a U.S. reader without them having been an intentional model.

-- 1: The Nazis, now, they used skull trappings, and are of course much more known for black uniforms, too. --

Would that such were more normalized! But even if it were, the time crunch on Shonen Jump publication is such that I doubt most of its authors would have the leisure to do a bunch of back and forth with sensitivity readers anyway. I imagine a lot of those authors have pretty limited hours and energy to spend all week working on their manga to also add a bunch of supplemental reading that also basically counts as “work for the manga” as opposed to literally any other kind of media intake that would let them turn off for a while.

I’m not going to say readers shouldn’t ask for better, or should just shut up or go read something else if they have problems with what an author is writing. Obviously! That would be massively hypocritical of me, given all the time I’ve spent complaining about this very issue, or the mass arrests, or whatever-all else. But then, I’ve always approached the issues Hori raises with his villains with the view that they’d fall flat eventually. Shonen Jump is just too mainstream an environment for me to think that Horikoshi would be allowed to say anything truly radical, if he even wanted to to begin with.

And maybe he’ll get feedback on this aspect of the story from readers and reviews and rethink some of it. I’ll always remember this article about an interview with the author of Sword Art Online, Kawahara Reki, in which he talked about how visiting American conventions had inspired him to try to do better by his heroines.

Of course, some people double down instead, like One Piece’s Oda Eiichirou, or reflexively lash out when criticized, like Vanillaware’s George Kamitani. Maybe Horokoshi will just go on thinking like he does because he doesn’t work in an environment that’s going to challenge him on his views; maybe he’ll seek out more mature environments to tell the more mature stories he clearly wants to tell.

In the meantime, though, it’s not as though he’s the only game in town. There are other manga out there, ones that have lists upon lists at the back of their volume compilations detailing the resources and contacts the authors used as they were writing their stories.

Just of what I read or have read, Blue Period, Golden Kamuy, Ancient Magus’s Bride, Showa Genroku Rakugo Shinjuu, and any of Mori Kaoru’s historical works, like Victorian Romance Emma or Otoyomegatari, come to mind. Shonen Jump stories can be fun, but I don’t exactly read them expecting the manga equivalent of high literature, you know?

…On the other hand, even fellow Shonen Jump series Akane Banashi credits a rakugo supervisor every week. I suspect this speaks to a certain uncomfortable truth that many authors are going to be a lot more aware of their own ignorance—and, crucially, far less defensive about accusations of being hurtful, irresponsible, or discriminatory—when it comes to portraying things like art, specialist hobbies, historical periods or foreign countries: subjects that are legitimately distant from their day to day lives. That, in turn, may make them more willing to do the research with an open mind, as opposed to just winging it on things they believe they already understand well enough or have already formed opinions on, like the lived experience of minorities or how the legal system treats (or should treat) people who break the law.

The fact that lazy or offensive portrayals might come out of privileged ignorance rather than maliciousness doesn’t make them less lazy or offensive, of course, especially if an author chooses to double down after criticism! But I’ll get into that more in the last ask in this post.

H’ooookay, I’m going to lead with saying that, while I agree with your broad point that this resolution is messy and disappointing, I have some significant issues with your points here, things that I cannot just let stand in good faith.

Firstly, as far as comparing heteromorphs to burakumin goes, I have not and would never say that they’re only an analogue to burakumin because I don’t think heterophobia is a 1:1 analogue for any kind of discrimination. It takes elements from a lot of different things: anti-burakumin sentiment, racism, ableism, ethnocentrism, and so on.

I talked about burakumin discrimination in the post you’re responding to because the kegare thing is burakumin-specific. While I’m sure you could find individuals willing to level that word at groups they don’t like, I’m not aware of any other groups that have had kegare weaponized against them on such a widespread, systemic, legally codified level; therefore, burakumin are the reference I used to talk about kegare as it’s used against heteromorphs to police their movements/contact with others.

Secondly, saying burakumin have “the benefit” of looking like everyone else unless they’re outed feels insensitive to me. It’s the same thing as mixing up genuine privilege with being in the closet. Yes, burakumin lineage is something that’s not immediately visible right on their faces,[1] but that’s not the same thing as them being able to live openly without fear of discrimination, especially when there are still resources on the internet that purport to list burakumin neighborhoods, resources that are easily findable on a web search for e.g. the company hiring director vetting job applicants or the paranoid parent who wants to make sure their daughter isn’t getting involved with someone Undesirable.

Thirdly, conflating Qanon extremists with mental illness is a big, wholehearted NOPE for me, especially in saying only individuals who are mentally ill would attack innocent people. I’m certainly not going to say that no one who has ever carried out a mass attack was mentally ill, but it’s absolutely not an identical vector as radicalized resentment.

Fourthly, “making up a massacre” is, I suppose, true in that we’ve never heard of the incidents Scarecrow cites before now, but it’s not as though it’s completely out of the realm of the possible based on what we knew before this arc. We knew law and order broke down around the time of the advent of quirks; we knew there were (and still are!) groups that committed hate crimes against heteromorphs; we knew there had been bloody conflict for years upon years by the time things finally started to settle down circa Destro and the legalization of Pro Heroes.

Hell, the longer I gather evidence and mull it over, the more it seems likely to me that Horikoshi was aware of heteromorph discrimination from almost the very beginning. Shouji’s character profile, in which he pointedly did not have a face reveal and Horikoshi dropped hints about “Shouji’s episode,” came out in Volume 3. Ultra Archive, which talked about how Shouji was told he had a scary face since he was young, was released in 2016; Ultra Analysis, which first raised the crying little girl angle, in 2019. We’ve known for ages that Horikoshi likes to think about the stories of background characters, even if he can’t find room to show them.

Historical massacres? We may not have heard about them specifically before now, but it’s not like it’s a big reach. The CRC really ought to have clued everyone in that heteromorphic discrimination is much worse than Deku, the viewpoint character, ever knew, so I remain aggressively baffled at the constant accusations that all this is “coming out of nowhere.” Yes, I think it could have been more thoroughly developed in advance, but I really do think it’s not that Horikoshi didn’t know, or that he “made it up”; it’s just that he failed to incorporate it organically.

If the story were still the elegantly constructed narrative we were enjoying up through the Endeavor Agency Arc and the early stages of the war, I’d be more skeptical, because Horikoshi back then really was much better at those early hints and teases. But everyone can tell that the story has been a garbled, rushed mess since then, so it’s no big surprise to me that a better-paced exploration of heteromorphic discrimination was a victim of whatever kind of compressed timeline Horikoshi’s now operating under.

Finally, I broadly agree that the portrayal of this conflict was a damn mess on both sides—I particularly share your frustration that fifteen thousand members of an oppressed minority would be willing to attack a hospital under the direction of a known villain yet have given the optics of that attack so little thought that one (1) high-schooler and the sight of a handful of hospital employees standing well away from their line of advance could change their minds—but I’m wholly uncomfortable with your intimation that anyone who doesn’t agree with your specific read on the sides involved doesn’t know what they’re talking about. If you didn’t mean it that way, that’s cool, but I don’t see much other way to parse, “People who empathize more with one side or the other are either uneducated or don’t have discrimination in their daily reality/family history.”

“If anyone disagrees with me, either they’re white people whose opinions don’t count because they’re white or they’re people of color whose opinions don’t count because they’re ignorant,” is just not an opinion I’m going to back up. I saw plenty of POC on twitter and tumblr both who definitely did sympathize more with one side or another and had perfectly cogent, self-aware articulations as to why; declaring their opinions de facto invalid is no way to engage in media criticism OR fandom discourse.

-- 1: Though back in the days when burakumin were legally required to dress and style their hair in certain ways to make themselves obvious to those around them, you would have been able to tell they were burakumin just by looking at them, unless they were actively breaking the law and thus subject to punishment if they were discovered. --

Everyone is, of course, going to have their own read on this, but for my part, I’d rather see people try and fail than just never try at all. That’s assuming, anyway, that the attempt is made in good faith, which I think this plot was—at the very least, it never felt malicious towards the crowd of heteromorphs themselves,[1] though I am still squinting distastefully at the whole Outside Bad Actor element AFO/Skeptic/Scarecrow/Spinner present.

Of course, it’d be nice to know whether Horikoshi’s going to learn anything from this portrayal or whether it’ll just be a full round of backpats for a job halfway done, but saying he should just never have tried at all—well, it’s the same with his writing of women, really. There are some enormous problems, but I’d still rather read the version with all the flaws than the version without all the women.

That’s the long-time fandom participant in me, I’m sure; my stance will always be to take what works and jettison what doesn’t. For all that this resolution desperately does not work, all the reasons that it was something worth looking forward to and getting invested in are still there, too!

But again, that’s something everyone has to draw their own lines on, and I have nothing but sympathy for the frustration of those who, like myself, would never have believed such a facile resolution could be offered to such a fascinating set-up.

-- 1: I’d be more willing to assume malice if the heteromorphs were the only civilians in the story portrayed as so desperately gullible and impulsive, but Horikoshi’s been writing civilians that same way from the beginning. --

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

That wraps up the asks in my inbox about this plot, at least the ones that were expressing specific anger with Horikoshi or fellow fandom members. I have one or two left that are more directly about the material, which I'll be getting to in the order in which I received them soonish.

I do apologize if these posts came off as preachy in that, "I am allowed to complain, but suddenly when I have anons in my inbox complaining, it's time to talk about nuance and context," kind of way. I do, perhaps, have a certain feeling that I can and will complain about the material to my heart's content, but I don't want to get too pulled into spiraling bitterness about Horikoshi personally because he didn't deliver the challenging resolution I never really believed his editors would let him deliver to begin with.

I promise I still hate the way the arc fell out! And I appreciate you all sharing your thoughts with me. 'Til next time, everyone.

#bnha #heteromorph discrimination plot #bnha culture gap #cw: hate groups #stillness answers

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northwest-by-a-train · 6 months

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I think one of the reasons modern conspiracy theorists always include some sort of lotus-eater Überdrug that makes you unredeemably evil, whether that's adrenochrome or captagon or extended use of cocaine and various acids, it's because there are behaviours that seem so alien to what is normal human experience that drugs feel like the only plausible justification. The horrors of neoliberalism, war, casual human cruelties seem, I think, very alien to a majority of the population, who are unable to recognize that these "cruel" people just do believe in what they are doing. That this is something every human being has potential for. That they themselves have the potential for it. They look within themselves for the potential for these heinous crimes, whether real or imagined, and I genuinely believe most do not find it, or do not recognize it as such.

And if it's not within themselves, it can't be just within other people, it must come from the evil drug. This of course is one of the underlying assumptions of the war on drugs, that the drugs are the cause of whichever social ills, homelessness, mass shootings, petty crime, drug robberies gone awry, awful parenting, etc... And nowadays you see it has expanded to include mental illness. That the political enemy as well as the mass shooter and the homeless person down the street are all some flavor of insane. It can't be something whose potential resides in each and every one of us. It must be the fugue state of evil cast over their minds.

I say this because seeing videos of people in Israel filming themselves saying their Air Force is pummeling Gaza, that soon there will be nothing but bones and ruins, that they'll build a theme park there, that the land is being cleansed of evil, that the prophecy is being accomplished, that this is the land god gave them, that there are no civilians, that children there really do deserve to die... Who say this not with the somberness of realpolitik or ideology but in a kind of gleeful dreamy trance....

And I find that within me I can not believe a fellow human being could do that. I know intellectually that it's very possible that at a certain junction of ideology and personality, it's possible to say that and believe it. But watching some of these people my heart refuses to believe this isn't the result of some combination of cocaine, meth, undiagnosed personality disorders, periods or menopause, lead poisoning, gas leaks, black mold, toxoplasmosis, lack of sleep..... It feels impossible — and I do mean a profound feeling, something within that makes itself felt — that fellow human beings could have a heart this depraved. And here I'd rather feel a deep human connection with every wacko conspiracy person who has ever lived and grossly misapprehended the world, blaming it all on evil magic pills and unstable female hormones and whatever, than to feel for a second a shared human kinship with those profoundly hateful people. There is a limit to reason and thought and imagination within me and it has been reached. And I believe many, observing this conflict, have found this limit in themselves, on both sides of the conflict. And I cannot believe this will end well either.

#those thoughts come after a brief perusing of the pallywood tag #followed by listening to five minutes of settlers close to Gaza #I do genuinely think that some form of insanity is an underestimated phenomenon in politics #but I also think there is a certain flavor of human darkness and depravity that's not achievable through pure ideology #that there has to be something on top of that to reach the extremes. Just like I believe that only drug use can't turn you into a monster #that even the most violent and uncompassionate and paranoid of drug users don't achieve monstrosity without a push of ideology #but intellectually I really do wonder if something like pure evil can just be. without drugs or ideology or a group setting #anyhow this really is a stomach-churning era we are living through

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agirlunderarock · 2 years

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It takes some Getting used to

This is yet another fic based on art by @journen because her art is amazing and if you don't follow her go follow her right now. But anyway, she HURT ME AGAIN WITH THIS and naturally that meant I had to write a fic to go with it. I think I deviated a little from her original idea she had in mind, but like we don't get a visual for what happened after that fight with Darth Maul and I was watching the Obi-Wan series while writing this and so this is kinda the result of all of that. I sorta wanted this to be a precursor to hint at how Obi-Wan deals with this sort of confusion and grief that leads to what we see in series. Also I wanted an excuse to write a little bit of Ventress for the first time. That being said I'd also like to thank Juneee and @itsonlymyecho for reading it before and helping with some things I wasn't sure about 🥺 But anyways, hope you enjoy!

Summary: After facing Darth Maul for the first time in over ten years, Obi-Wan finds that he isn't willing to open up easily about the past, no matter how clear his pain is to those who care about him

Pairings: Obi-WanXOC - some good hurt comfort

Warnings: Some references to alcohol, Obi-Wan blames himself for Maul's rampage, some angst- I guess this counts as a whump fic

Read on AO3

Obi-Wan had witnessed many things over the course of the war, certainly more than he thought he would in a single lifetime. Naturally, he had grown up hearing stories from other jedi of their experiences, many of them seeming larger than life at the time, but given his current experiences, they all seemed rather mundane. Of course that was probably the wrong word, but how many mission briefings started off with holo messages from sith assassins one presumed they had killed nearly twelve years earlier. Then again that sort of thing isn’t exactly taught in padawan history lessons if it did happen.

“Kenobi wake up!”

The jedi startled awake at the woman’s irritated hiss. He had woke up to Ventress slapping him twice now within at least one rotation. He hoped that wasn’t something he'd have to get used to. He took a deep breath and sat up more in his seat, only to be met with the Jedi temple growing larger in the main viewport. He didn’t remember falling asleep. The last thing he was conscious of was he and Ventress circling back to get her ship, stopping for fuel- His brain started pounding on the inside of his skull as he mentally retraced his steps.

“Didn’t take you to be a drinker Kenobi,” Ventress started. “Or at least I thought you would have been able to hold it better.”

Or maybe it was just the start of a hangover. Not that he had all that much- just a bottle. Then again it might have been stronger than he anticipated. It was meant to take his mind off the bruises forming all over his body, but that pain only seemed to have settled more deeply in his heavy limbs as he shifted again in his seat. He didn’t have to look at the assassin turned bounty hunter to know she was watching him. Whether it was out of concern or thinking about just throwing him out of her ship he tried not to think about it. Somehow the option where he fell to his demise was easier to process than the thought she might actually be concerned about him.

“No, no, not the main hanger,” Obi-Wan objected as she brought the ship around through the busy Coruscant traffic toward the bustling temple below. His stomach lurched as she abruptly changed direction. At least he had slept through most of her traffic dodging until this point.

“Afraid of being seen with me, Kenobi?” Ventress taunted.

“Well I’d prefer my rescuer not be spotted and chased down for former war crimes.” Though he was confident that wouldn’t happen. The reality was Obi-Wan didn’t want to be seen at all. “Drop me off near the lower levels, theres an entrance there. I trust you’ll not share that with anyone.”

Again Ventress seemed to see right through him. He didn’t like it. He wasn’t sure if it was just her own connection to the force that made it seem that way, or if it was because he was more accustomed to her trying to kill him that had him still on edge. He knew she saved his life, but that didn’t exactly make them friends now, right?

That was too much for the pounding in his head to think about. Instead he gave her directions to the lower landing. It was rarely used, and out of the way of the busier passages in the Temple. It was only ever really mentioned in discussions for emergency procedures, and still those discussions were few and far between despite the war. Thankfully, the landing fed right into the halls just under the living quarters for the majority of the jedi. It wouldn’t take him long to get to his own chambers once he was inside.

“I suppose this is it then,” Obi-Wan said, attempting to mask the pain that shot through his back when he tried to stand up. “No need to land.”

"Is that what you tell your little green girlfriend too? I don't imagine she takes kindly to that."

Now he knew she was trying to get some kind of reaction from him. Ventress and Sas had crossed paths several times, none of those times overlapped with the time he had been in a relationship with the shapeshifter. Of course he knew that Sas and Cody often appeared with him on holo broadcast from the front very often, he would need to be more mindful of how they conducted themselves. Regardless of why Ventress was prying, Obi-Wan did little to acknowledge the comment.

"Thank you, Ventress," he said once he pushed himself to his feet. He took a moment to steady himself on the back of the chair he was in. He looked back at Ventress trying to see if she had jostled the controls of her ship. She didn’t. He told himself he would be fine. He just needed to sleep off the drink, and hope that would drain the ache in his limbs. The tightness in his chest and difficulty breathing would sort itself out. He would be fine.

“Obi-Wan,” Ventress called once he had limped most of the way down the ramp. To his surprise she stood half way in her ship, as if she were going to follow him down the ramp. Obi-Wan couldn’t help but wonder if she meant to walk him inside. “You might want to get something for that black eye. I’d hate to see that face plastered all over the holonet.” Her usual teasing tone didn't match the worry lines creasing her forehead.

Obi-Wan just gave a small wave in answer before finishing his trek down the ramp and to the door. He didn’t look back to see if Ventress was watching him. He could feel her gaze on his back until he disappeared into the temple. Despite being out of her sight, he still felt unsettled. He could only hope that showing her the mostly forgotten entrance to the temple wouldn’t come back to haunt him later.

He took a deep breath to steady himself. He was home. That was what mattered. He just needed to sleep off the hangover and then he could give his report to the council. He slowly released the breath and forced himself to look up and down the empty corridor. He was completely alone, and he was home. He was home. He was home and yet, the long expanse of hallway seemed to stretch onward unnaturally. In the shadow of the pillars he could see the smokey hollow doorwars that lined the streets of the village, the patterns on the carpet twisted into the forms of slain innocent, the people who didn’t know why they were being attacked. He looked up expecting to see the smoke filled skies sinking low over the ruined village, but all he found were the dim lights spaced evenly along the ceiling, leading the way toward more lively areas of the temple. He knew he was home but he had to be sure. His chest still ached like it was difficult to breathe. He was almost to his chambers. He could rest then.

He took as deep a breath as he could manage to steady his nerves, and let the hall stop spinning between his home and the village before heading slowly down the hall to his room. He just needed a few moments alone to figure out his thoughts. The weight settling on his shoulders was only the exhaustion from the last few hours, nothing more.

Obi-Wan pushed himself step by step down the corridor, ignoring the double takes and staring once he got to more populated halls. It was fine. He told himself it was just like he returned from any other mission. Besides it wasn’t like it was the first time a sith had roughed him up, he and everyone at the temple should be used to it by now. Then again, an appearance like this usually meant he was accompanied by Cody and Sas looking just as roughed up, as they watched, or usually helped, the rest of their men unload the battleship. Lucky for him there still weren’t that many jedi roaming the halls to his room, and inquisitive younglings were housed on the other side of the temple. It was just Obi-Wan, and the steady pounding of his heart in his ears drowning out the sound of his footsteps as he finally came to his door.

“Nah, thats a little too greasy. Last time we ate there, I thought I was going to turn inside out.”

Obi-Wan paused just outside his door, listening to the familiar woman’s voice from inside.

“That was one time, Sas,” Cody’s voice replied. “Every other time before that it was fine.”

“I’ve only been there once! I think you had my sister with you and the boys those other times.”

“I would have remembered if it was Crix. She never would have thrown her fries at me-”

“Maybe if you would have asked-”

“I did-”

“After you stuck your fingers in my fries! My point is, you don’t know my sister like I do. Ask Balls and Enabler- do you not see their holos? The three of them are mess when they get together-”

“I blame you for that-”

“Me?!”

Obi-Wan stayed listening for a moment, the smallest hint of a smile coming to him as he could almost imagine the scene taking place in his room. Sas was either sprawled out on his bed or on the floor, several data pads in front of her, only the one with a list of delivery restaurants on and in her emerald colored hands. Cody was likely sitting at his desk, his work stacked in neat piles to give the appearance of organization. Truthfully there was no order to his madness and instead of looking up other places to eat, the commander was probably trying to read over Sas’ shoulder. Obi-Wan was very familiar with that scene, and despite the way his stomach churned, he was eager to see them both. He pressed his head to the door frame and closed his eyes for a second. More weight seemed to settle on his shoulders and chest, and his limbs felt heavier by the second. He took a deep breath, and stood up to walk into his room.

The door slid open, and he nearly collided with Sas as she was about to walk out the door. Obi-Wan watched as her expression went from surprised to horrified to concerned as her brows settled low over her brown eyes. A quick glance to Cody and he saw the same worry etched onto his face that he had seen too many times already today. Nothing was wrong. This was nothing out of the ordinary. He was fine.

“I heard we were getting take out? Personally, I think that Twi’lek place a few blocks down has the best,” Obi-Wan said, as he propped his elbow up against the side of the door frame and offered them both a tired smile. Neither Sas nor Cody seemed amused by his greeting. “I’ll take your stunned silence to mean that you missed me?” he said just as the ground shifted violently under all of them.

The next thing Obi-Wan knew, he was face down in the dirt, coughing as the dust infiltrated his lungs. His head burned, and his side exploded with pain as he was kicked into the ground again.He needed to fight back. He owed the people of the village He was trapped in the Raydonia, perhaps he never left. He couldn’t fight back against the hands that reached out for him. He blinked and it was the large green Zabrak dragging him through the dirt and carnage lining the streets of the village, the next second it was Sas grabbing him under his armpits.

“Cody, help me get him to the bed-”

“Right- let me get his arm over here-”

“Where’d he drop his lightsaber-?”

A flash of red blazed across Obi-Wan’s vision. Whether from the Zabrak attacking him, or from the lightsaber his opponent held, he didn’t know. He was being dragged back to their ship. His vision came and went as he caught brief flashes of the dark smoke plumes and the high ceilings of his chambers. His body felt much too heavy. Surely whatever had happened with Ventress, and seeing Sas and Cody was some kind of dream. He could still hear the hum of the blazing lightsaber held to his face, the hiss of his beard burning against the blade. He was too weak to fight back.

“It rolled under the desk-”

“Got it. I’m gonna get something to wipe away the blood.”

Obi-Wan blinked a few times, trying to get his bearings.He didn’t remember walking in with his lightsaber in his hand. He must have been holding it though. His right hand felt tense, and his fingers stiff. All he did was blink and suddenly Cody was practically carrying him to bed. “What happened?” he asked.

“I think we should be asking you that, sir,” Cody answered, steadying the jedi in a sitting position. “Sas and I were told you were sent on a mission but-”

“But we were expecting you to come back in one piece,” Sas’ finished as she came from another part of the room and pressed a cool damp cloth to Obi-Wan’s forehead. He hadn’t even noticed her leave.

“I still am in one piece,” Obi-Wan insisted, watching as the woman he loved clenched her jaw as she continued to dab the cloth along his forehead.

“Thats still up for debate, Pretty Boy,” Sas answered. “Why didn’t you go to the med bay?” She pulled the cloth away and pulled up a chair to sit in front of him, while Cody kept him up right.

Silence passed between the trio as Sas and Cody waited for the jedi to answer. Obi-Wan avoided eye contact with the both of them. It wasn’t as bad as they seemed to think. He definitely had worse injuries after Umbara. Sure his head was pounding and the room was spinning, and if he thought for too long, it was a little difficult to find the words he really wanted to say, but that was only because whatever drink Ventress had given him was too strong. Now he knew better.

“Obi-Wan,” Cody’s voice broke through the fog. “What happened?”

“The council sent me on a brief mission, nothing unusual.”

He didn’t miss the silent exchange between Cody and Sas. She sat on the edge of the chair now, her knees bumping lightly against Obi-Wan’s as she took his hands in her own. He watched as she dabbed the cloth over his bruised knuckles and cut up hands, the dried blood gradually fading away with each pass.

“Let me rephrase that,” Cody tried again, “What was the mission they gave you? We were told to gather a task force and be on stand-by the moment you left. It was only a few hours ago that they said we could stand down, but it looks like you could have used the back up.”

Obi-Wan still didn’t meet Sas or Cody’s gaze, despite being able to feel their eyes searching his face. He didn’t have to use the force to know what they were feeling, the concern and worry was almost overwhelming, even if they were trying to keep themselves composed. Instead of that however, Obi-Wan did his best to focus on another feeling under all that tension, a warmth he often found himself seeking more and more. He focused his attention on the gentle touch of Sas’ hands cleaning his wounds, Cody’s hand on his shoulder. Small things to keep him grounded in the current moment. He didn’t want to worry them. What happened, happened, and there was nothing he could do about it in that moment.

Sas was the one to break the silence this time. “Was it another mission to Mandalore?” she asked. Obi-Wan finally looked up at her and this time she couldn’t meet his gaze. “We were told to be on standby, Mace wanted us to be prepared just in case…The only thing Cody and I could think of was that Death Watch had made a move against Mandalore, and because of their neutrality, we can’t exactly just launch the fleet to evacuate the Duchess.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, suddenly finding his neck muscles feeling incredibly sore.

“We were only told to stand down a few hours ago…because of a holo Mace got from your com line.” Sas paused again, waiting to see if the jedi would elaborate on what was said. He didn’t. Cody and Sas exchanged another look. Obi-Wan wondered when they had gotten so good at reading one another.

“The holo came from Ventress of all people,” Cody prompted, but still Obi-Wan stayed quiet. The truth was, at least about the holo, Obi-Wan didn’t know what she had said or told Mace. He never knew she sent the transmission in the first place.

“I just need to get some rest,” Obi-Wan said at last.

“Not before getting checked out at least by Chip,” Sas pressed. “You’re practically slurring your speech-”

“Its just the drink Ventress gave me. I just need to sleep it off.” This time Obi-Wan did miss the look Cody gave Sas.

“Why were you getting drinks with the Witch?” Cody pressed.

Obi-Wan realized he had let something slip. He shouldn’t have mentioned that. “Was it wrong for me to have a drink? Don’t you and the others go out for drinks after a long battle?” He looked up when Sas gave his hands a gentle but firm squeeze. Her brows furrowed low over her brown eyes, there was a determination in her look, something he usually loved, but currently had him feeling more anxious.

Cody didn’t miss it either and seemed to say exactly what she had been thinking. “Usually its with the other commanders or just you and Sas- not an enemy who’s tried to kill all of us on multiple occasions, sir.”

Obi-Wan could tell he upset Cody. There was a certain change in his tone that really only happened when he was frustrated. He might not always be able to see his face under the helmet, but Cody's voice tended to give him away. He didn’t mean to upset Cody. He looked away from the clone commander unable to think of an answer that truly justified any of it outside the truth. He couldn’t talk about it, yet.

“I’m going to go get Chip,” Cody started, and stood up. “See if he’ll make a house call this time.”

The jedi didn’t look up, and flinched when Cody accidentally put his hand on a bruise on his shoulder. The commander gave a quick apology, then clasped Sas on the shoulder before he left. Obi-Wan sat in silence with Sas for a moment, her hands still holding his as she gently brushed her thumbs over his bruised knuckles.

“You know, he’s just worried, right? We both are,” Sas said, though she wasn’t meeting his eyes. “We just weren’t sure what to think. You left so abruptly, not even Anakin knew until Mace told us to be ready to deploy.”

“I don’t mean to worry you so much,” Obi-Wan said quietly. He turned his hands so that he was holding onto her fingers and brushed his thumb over the back of her hands. “You don’t need to worry about me. Neither of you do. This is just part of my life”

The little hum Sas gave in answer told Obi-Wan she wasn’t going to accept that as an explanation. When they finally met each other’s gaze, he was surprised to see that even with the worry creases between her brows, she almost seemed amused. He had seen that small smile before, usually when Pyres Squad was trying to cover up the results of their latest mischief. “You know, even when we first met and you told me that, I didn't believe you. That I really didn’t need to worry about you-”

Obi-Wan narrowed his good eye at her, unintentionally prompting her to put the cool cloth over his swollen one.

“Getting tossed around and getting a few scrapes and bruises was a pretty normal day for both of us, I guess it still is but instead of a once in a while kinda thing, its every other day now…” Obi-Wan realized Sas lost what she was wanting to say. He didn’t mind though, he’d be patient like always. “You’d think we’d be used to that by now, but it doesn’t get easier. It doesn’t get easier knowing that we’re fighting a full out war, even though we’ve been in the thick of it for the last two almost three years. So, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you still aren’t used to people outside the Jedi Order worrying about you.”

“Sas-” he started unsure of how to answer that. He had mostly let her rambling lull him into a relaxed state but her final comment had him at a loss. He couldn’t tell if it was the splitting pain in his head or the small ache in his chest that was making it difficult for him to answer. He could feel that same pang twisting off of her as she seemed to think about what to say next.

“If Anakin is a Master of crash landings, you, Love, are the Master of damage control. You go to great lengths to remain positive and keep others calm, and that isn’t always a bad thing, but it can get a little annoying for those of us who love you and know you’re not doing well.”

Obi-Wan had just leaned more into her touch as she held the cloth to his eye, before turning his head to kiss the inside of her wrist. He knew exactly what she was talking about. He was supposed to be looking out for her though. He was the one with the lightsaber, he was the jedi master. Sas, Cody and Anakin were his responsibility. He loved them too much to drag them into Maul’s crosshairs. “My dear… I don’t know what I can say that can make you see that this mission was nothing for you to worry about.” He blinked, feeling her hand pull away from his face.

“I think you might have hit your head harder than we thought-” Sas said with a tired, heavy sigh. “Obi-Wan, whether or not you believe that Anakin, Cody and I shouldn’t worry about you, we’re going to. You’re their friend. You have my heart in every way-” She paused, “We all love you, so we’re not just going to sit back while you're in pain, when you wouldn’t let us do the same.” She took a deep breath and slowly let it out before continuing. “Our feelings aside, if this mission was big enough that Mace thought to send a task force after you, I would like to know what to prepare for, what to prepare the others for, should something like this happen again."

Obi-Wan turned his head away, and did his best to focus on the stack of books on his desk and the data pad hanging just over the edge. He knew she was right. That even if the mission had been a personal matter, the people that were unfortunately being drawn in deserved to know why. “I don’t want anyone else to be dragged into this…”

“You don't have to shoulder this on your own. You're not dragging anyone into anything…orders or not, Cody, and I will be right there with you. But you have to let us."

He took a deep breath letting her words sink into his hazy mind. Obi-Wan knew she was right. For as patient as she was being with him at the moment, he also knew she was incredibly stubborn and would be at his side in just about any situation without him asking. He was reminded of this as he started slouching forward, as the room seemed to shift around them once again. Without another word, Sas was sitting at his side, one arm on his back keeping him steady, and the other still holding one of his hands.

“Lean on me if you need to. Its okay,” she said softly. “After Chip gives the all clear, then you can rest.”

Obi-Wan gave a nod, but didn’t lean into her. He couldn’t not yet. She was right. People were already getting hurt because of him. He needed to prepare her and the others. He took another deep breath, a sharp pain in his chest made him let it out sooner than he had anticipated. “I was supposed to capture a sith lord,” he said at last. He kept his eyes trained on Sas’ fingers interlocking with his. He took another deep breath.He waited for her to say something, but she waited patiently for him to continue. “Yesterday, afternoon the council received a transmission from Raydonia….Darth Maul was terrorizing a villiage of refugees there. The villagers were waiting for the supply ship he stole, and had no way to prepare- His only demands were that I go to the planet and challenge him. By the time I had arrived he and the monster Savage Opress, had wiped out the village.”

It wasn’t until he felt Sas’ fingers move through his hair, rubbing the back of his head that he realized he had slumped against her after all. Again he waited for her to say something. He was too tired to pick his head up to see her face,even if he wanted to see what she was thinking. After a few more seconds he felt her breath ruffle the ends of his hair. “So, Dooku tried to take on another assassin,” she said at last. He supposed that was the easiest part to process, even if it was incorrect. “That would at least explain Ventress stepping in- she wants her place back…But why you, of all the jedi generals? Why go to those lengths?”

Though her voice was even, maybe even too casual to someone who didn’t know her, Obi-Wan could feel the small trembles running through her. Whether in anger or fear he couldn’t say. He did not want to say more. It would be easy to just ignore those last questions she asked, to say he didn’t know. But he did know. Obi-Wan would only put her in more danger if he didn’t tell her everything. “Darth Maul, isn’t Dooku’s new apprentice,” he started slowly. One thing at a time. “He was attempting to take revenge against me. We’ve fought before, about ten years ago actually. I thought I killed him on Naboo, clearly cutting him in half and falling down a garbage shoot wasn’t enough.”

“You just know how to make the most interesting friends don’t you?” Sas said quietly against his head. Any other time, he might have made a joke about their own first meeting and all the trouble she caused him. Right now though, he didn’t feel like lumping her in with Maul and Savage. “It must have been hard for you to see that holo message though. Mace didn’t show us the holo, at least not me or Cody. He might have shown Anakin. But if it was enough for Mace to want to send a task force with you to Raydonia, then I can only imagine what must have been going through your head.”

He closed his eyes for a brief moment when he felt her lips on top of his head and squeezed his hand. Several things came to him at that moment, including the words I love you. He couldn’t say that yet. She wouldn’t realize how much he meant it; she would only think that he was trying to redirect the conversation. He had to be honest with her. If not for just themselves but for people he failed in the village. “I thought I had put an end to it then- I-” He paused for a moment feeling nauseated. “Those villagers died because of me,” he said. “I never thought that anyone else would-”

“Hey, hold on- You’re not seriously blaming yourself for what happened are you?” The tone of Sas’ voice surprised him. Not that he was surprised to hear her concern, but almost an accusation, as if it wasn’t his fault.

“I didn’t- Stop them.”

“You didn’t know he was even alive. How were you supposed to know that cutting him in half didn’t work? Were you supposed to jump down the shoot to double check?”

Obi-Wan stayed quiet still processing that. Again, he knew she was right but there had to be something else he could have done. There could have been something in the force, some kind of vision or something he had missed. Some kind of sign. He supposed his sign was when Dooku brought in Savage. He should have been more alert. He felt his throat close up and ached as he tried to find the words to explain. He should have done better.

“You’re just one man, Obi-Wan. Sure you can move things with your hand, and force gives you all sorts of abilities- but you’re just one man.”

“I have one obligation, Sas, to protect life, to protect those villagers. They didn’t even know why they were being attacked.”

“Do you think that would have helped?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you think it would have made the last moments of their lives easier, if they knew their world was falling apart because of a one sided grudge match?”

Obi-Wan paused for a moment. Maybe it wasn’t so one sided. “It wasn’t just the villagers I failed. He killed my Master on Naboo. I couldn’t get to them in time. It was my fault he died. Maul said that I should go alone, and he would spare the village. He had already destroyed them when I arrived. I was too late.”

For a moment there was nothing but the sound of their breathing. Obi-Wan hoped that would be the end of it for the moment. His head felt like it was ready to split open, and he couldn’t tell if it was because of how many times he hit it in the fight, or if he was just tired. “You weren’t too late to save Padmé, or to keep Maul from tearing through another village,” she said at last. Though she spoke softly, he could hear the determination in her voice, in the way she started trembling again. “You said it yourself, Maul gave you an ultimatum to meet him alone, and he had no intention of being held to it.”

“Sas- I brought that on them-”

“Did you?” She wasn’t convinced. He felt her bump her forehead against the side of his. “I know you feel guilty. You wouldn’t be trying to convince me you were guilty if you didn’t feel horrible. But its like you’ve told me before, you can’t control everything. You’re one person, and you can’t control what an old enemy does. How could you have even known? You, and everyone else thought he was dead for the last ten years. Placing the blame for his actions on yourself doesn’t bring back those people and it doesn’t give them peace.”

For a moment, Obi-Wan recalled having a similar conversation with Sas a few months ago. That she could appear as an infinite number of faces, but it didn’t change that she was still one woman. “So you have been listening to me these past few months,” Obi-Wan said, holding her hand a little closer to himself, before taking a deep breath and slowly sitting up.

“Sometimes, only when you make sense,” She teased softly. He turned his head to her finally, his face of course still swollen and bruised as he offered her a small smile. He looked away again, wondering if he should let her walk him down to the medical wing now, but stopped when she spoke up again. “Its okay to be upset, I worry more when you try to pretend things are fine.”

“I know and I am sorry for that. I just need time to really process it. It still feels like a lot to take in,” he admitted. “I just need time.”

“And you have time…just try not to let it make your health worse at the same time. We like having you in one piece. You’ve got me, Anakin and Cody to help you. Just don’t push us away. We’re with you through it all.”

Obi-Wan turned his head, when he felt Sas let go of his hand only to lean into her touch when she cupped his cheek. “I love you,” he said quietly.

“I love you, too,” she answered.

For just a second, Obi-Wan thought she was going to lean in for a kiss, but her brown eyes quickly snapped to the door and he pulled away from her touch. Her hand dropped back to his, but she shifted to put some space between the two of them, just as his door opened.

Cody, and Chip stood in the doorway, behind them, Obi-Wan thought he saw the top of Ahsoka’s montrals passing behind the clone medic. If she was there, he didn’t doubt Anakin was standing just out of sight. “We’ll be back later- don’t want to crowd him right now.” He thought he heard his former padawan’s voice say. He assumed it was to Cody, who just gave a nod and a wave down the hall.

Chip was the first to push his way into the room. “No please, don’t stop on our account,” he teased as he moved past Cody. Obi-Wan just shook his head, or at least tried to and stopped when the room started spinning. Instead of just seeing Chip and Cody, Obi-Wan could have sworn a whole squad was trying to squeeze in his doorway.

“Stop what exactly?” Cody asked, shooting the jedi a small grin. Obi-Wan was just glad to see that the few minutes away had settled his friend. Maybe it did them all a little good. “Ran into General Skywalker on the way to get Chip. He uh, got me up to speed on what the mission was,” Cody said sitting down on the other side of Obi-Wan. “We’ll be ready next time.”

Obi-Wan did his best to clasp his friend’s shoulder in thanks. He could sense there was more he wanted to say, but he guessed that he was looking more tired than when he first stumbled in the room. “I should have told you from the beginning-” Obi-Wan started.

“Actually you should have had Ventress drop you off at the medbay landing,” Chip interrupted bluntly as he took the chair Sas had been sitting in earlier and tossed her his med bag. The medic then immediately took the bag back and started digging through it. “Would have saved all of us some trouble- mostly would have saved you a headache.” He pulled out a scanner and held it out in front of Obi-Wan.

“Chip-” Cody warned.

“What it would have! Then a droid could have had this done and he’d be swimming in bacta.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes as the little blue beam shot out of the scanner and he did his best to hold still. He wasn’t going to be surprised if they had to walk him down to the bacta tanks across the temple, but he was feeling a little more relaxed than when he first arrived.

His attention was pulled away when Cody cleared his throat. “So, General Skywalker couldn’t exactly explain the part about the witch-”

“I’m not sure I fully understand it either, Cody,” Obi-Wan admitted. Truthfully there were a lot of pieces that if he had the mental clarity to focus on them, would probably paint a pretty clear picture. He glanced at Sas who had fallen silent the moment Cody and Chip walked in , and wondered for a moment what all was going through her head or if she was trying to connect the dots for them. He gave her hand a small squeeze and she seemed to blink back to the present. She gave a small smile, most of the worry unfurrowed from her brows.

“Can we wait until after I tell Kenobi if he’s dying or not to speculate about the Witch?” Chip demanded as he studied the little screen.

“Actually Chip, it was my dying wish,” Obi-Wan answered.

“Good to see your sense of humor is more intact than your ribs,” the medic answered.

Silence fell over the group for a moment before Cody spoke up again. “Oh forgot to tell you Vom, Skywalker and Tano said they were going pick up something for us to eat-”

“Guess that's our cue to walk you down to the medbay,” Sas said with a nod to Cody who shifted to help Obi-Wan stand.

“Actually I just sent word for some droids to bring a stretcher. The General has been moving probably more than he should have been after that fight-”

“So we’re probably having those burger things-”

“Not my fault if he agrees with me that place was good.” Cody said quickly before Chip decided to chime in as well.

Obi-Wan didn’t mean to tune out Cody, Chip and Sas’ debating dinner options. It all blended together. Not in a bad way. He just let himself lean over back against Sas, listened to her talk, and downplay her worries. He was tired still, and had no doubts that he was about to get dunked in a bacta tank, but part of the weight on his chest and shoulders felt lighter. Despite nothing really changing, he felt like he was having an easier time breathing. He closed his eyes for a moment focusing on the warmth and light surrounding him. That was a feeling he wouldn’t mind getting used to.

#Obi-Wan fanfic #Star Wars #Star wars fanfic #obi wan kenobi #asajj ventress #commander cody #clone oc #swtcw fic #Darth Maul #star wars oc #obi wan x oc #this fic took a lot longer than I thought it was going to #mostly because I'm insecure about how I write canon character pov and how Sas comes off in fics #Sas Vom #Me? not publishing at midnight? what is this?

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VII. THE MAN ON PUTNEY HILL.

I spent that night in the inn that stands at the top of Putney Hill, sleeping in a made bed for the first time since my flight to Leatherhead. I will not tell the needless trouble I had breaking into that house—afterwards I found the front door was on the latch—nor how I ransacked every room for food, until just on the verge of despair, in what seemed to me to be a servant’s bedroom, I found a rat-gnawed crust and two tins of pineapple. The place had been already searched and emptied. In the bar I afterwards found some biscuits and sandwiches that had been overlooked. The latter I could not eat, they were too rotten, but the former not only stayed my hunger, but filled my pockets. I lit no lamps, fearing some Martian might come beating that part of London for food in the night. Before I went to bed I had an interval of restlessness, and prowled from window to window, peering out for some sign of these monsters. I slept little. As I lay in bed I found myself thinking consecutively—a thing I do not remember to have done since my last argument with the curate. During all the intervening time my mental condition had been a hurrying succession of vague emotional states or a sort of stupid receptivity. But in the night my brain, reinforced, I suppose, by the food I had eaten, grew clear again, and I thought.

Three things struggled for possession of my mind: the killing of the curate, the whereabouts of the Martians, and the possible fate of my wife. The former gave me no sensation of horror or remorse to recall; I saw it simply as a thing done, a memory infinitely disagreeable but quite without the quality of remorse. I saw myself then as I see myself now, driven step by step towards that hasty blow, the creature of a sequence of accidents leading inevitably to that. I felt no condemnation; yet the memory, static, unprogressive, haunted me. In the silence of the night, with that sense of the nearness of God that sometimes comes into the stillness and the darkness, I stood my trial, my only trial, for that moment of wrath and fear. I retraced every step of our conversation from the moment when I had found him crouching beside me, heedless of my thirst, and pointing to the fire and smoke that streamed up from the ruins of Weybridge. We had been incapable of co-operation—grim chance had taken no heed of that. Had I foreseen, I should have left him at Halliford. But I did not foresee; and crime is to foresee and do. And I set this down as I have set all this story down, as it was. There were no witnesses—all these things I might have concealed. But I set it down, and the reader must form his judgment as he will.

And when, by an effort, I had set aside that picture of a prostrate body, I faced the problem of the Martians and the fate of my wife. For the former I had no data; I could imagine a hundred things, and so, unhappily, I could for the latter. And suddenly that night became terrible. I found myself sitting up in bed, staring at the dark. I found myself praying that the Heat-Ray might have suddenly and painlessly struck her out of being. Since the night of my return from Leatherhead I had not prayed. I had uttered prayers, fetish prayers, had prayed as heathens mutter charms when I was in extremity; but now I prayed indeed, pleading steadfastly and sanely, face to face with the darkness of God. Strange night! Strangest in this, that so soon as dawn had come, I, who had talked with God, crept out of the house like a rat leaving its hiding place—a creature scarcely larger, an inferior animal, a thing that for any passing whim of our masters might be hunted and killed. Perhaps they also prayed confidently to God. Surely, if we have learned nothing else, this war has taught us pity—pity for those witless souls that suffer our dominion.

The morning was bright and fine, and the eastern sky glowed pink, and was fretted with little golden clouds. In the road that runs from the top of Putney Hill to Wimbledon was a number of poor vestiges of the panic torrent that must have poured Londonward on the Sunday night after the fighting began. There was a little two-wheeled cart inscribed with the name of Thomas Lobb, Greengrocer, New Malden, with a smashed wheel and an abandoned tin trunk; there was a straw hat trampled into the now hardened mud, and at the top of West Hill a lot of blood-stained glass about the overturned water trough. My movements were languid, my plans of the vaguest. I had an idea of going to Leatherhead, though I knew that there I had the poorest chance of finding my wife. Certainly, unless death had overtaken them suddenly, my cousins and she would have fled thence; but it seemed to me I might find or learn there whither the Surrey people had fled. I knew I wanted to find my wife, that my heart ached for her and the world of men, but I had no clear idea how the finding might be done. I was also sharply aware now of my intense loneliness. From the corner I went, under cover of a thicket of trees and bushes, to the edge of Wimbledon Common, stretching wide and far.

That dark expanse was lit in patches by yellow gorse and broom; there was no red weed to be seen, and as I prowled, hesitating, on the verge of the open, the sun rose, flooding it all with light and vitality. I came upon a busy swarm of little frogs in a swampy place among the trees. I stopped to look at them, drawing a lesson from their stout resolve to live. And presently, turning suddenly, with an odd feeling of being watched, I beheld something crouching amid a clump of bushes. I stood regarding this. I made a step towards it, and it rose up and became a man armed with a cutlass. I approached him slowly. He stood silent and motionless, regarding me.

As I drew nearer I perceived he was dressed in clothes as dusty and filthy as my own; he looked, indeed, as though he had been dragged through a culvert. Nearer, I distinguished the green slime of ditches mixing with the pale drab of dried clay and shiny, coaly patches. His black hair fell over his eyes, and his face was dark and dirty and sunken, so that at first I did not recognise him. There was a red cut across the lower part of his face.

“Stop!” he cried, when I was within ten yards of him, and I stopped. His voice was hoarse. “Where do you come from?” he said.

I thought, surveying him.

“I come from Mortlake,” I said. “I was buried near the pit the Martians made about their cylinder. I have worked my way out and escaped.”

“There is no food about here,” he said. “This is my country. All this hill down to the river, and back to Clapham, and up to the edge of the common. There is only food for one. Which way are you going?”

I answered slowly.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I have been buried in the ruins of a house thirteen or fourteen days. I don’t know what has happened.”

He looked at me doubtfully, then started, and looked with a changed expression.

“I’ve no wish to stop about here,” said I. “I think I shall go to Leatherhead, for my wife was there.”

He shot out a pointing finger.

“It is you,” said he; “the man from Woking. And you weren’t killed at Weybridge?”

I recognised him at the same moment.

“You are the artilleryman who came into my garden.”

“Good luck!” he said. “We are lucky ones! Fancy you!” He put out a hand, and I took it. “I crawled up a drain,” he said. “But they didn’t kill everyone. And after they went away I got off towards Walton across the fields. But—— It’s not sixteen days altogether—and your hair is grey.” He looked over his shoulder suddenly. “Only a rook,” he said. “One gets to know that birds have shadows these days. This is a bit open. Let us crawl under those bushes and talk.”

“Have you seen any Martians?” I said. “Since I crawled out——”

“They’ve gone away across London,” he said. “I guess they’ve got a bigger camp there. Of a night, all over there, Hampstead way, the sky is alive with their lights. It’s like a great city, and in the glare you can just see them moving. By daylight you can’t. But nearer—I haven’t seen them—” (he counted on his fingers) “five days. Then I saw a couple across Hammersmith way carrying something big. And the night before last”—he stopped and spoke impressively—“it was just a matter of lights, but it was something up in the air. I believe they’ve built a flying-machine, and are learning to fly.”

I stopped, on hands and knees, for we had come to the bushes.

“Fly!”

“Yes,” he said, “fly.”

I went on into a little bower, and sat down.

“It is all over with humanity,” I said. “If they can do that they will simply go round the world.”

He nodded.

“They will. But—— It will relieve things over here a bit. And besides——” He looked at me. “Aren’t you satisfied it is up with humanity? I am. We’re down; we’re beat.”

I stared. Strange as it may seem, I had not arrived at this fact—a fact perfectly obvious so soon as he spoke. I had still held a vague hope; rather, I had kept a lifelong habit of mind. He repeated his words, “We’re beat.” They carried absolute conviction.

“It’s all over,” he said. “They’ve lost one—just one. And they’ve made their footing good and crippled the greatest power in the world. They’ve walked over us. The death of that one at Weybridge was an accident. And these are only pioneers. They kept on coming. These green stars—I’ve seen none these five or six days, but I’ve no doubt they’re falling somewhere every night. Nothing’s to be done. We’re under! We’re beat!”

I made him no answer. I sat staring before me, trying in vain to devise some countervailing thought.

“This isn’t a war,” said the artilleryman. “It never was a war, any more than there’s war between man and ants.”

Suddenly I recalled the night in the observatory.

“After the tenth shot they fired no more—at least, until the first cylinder came.”

“How do you know?” said the artilleryman. I explained. He thought. “Something wrong with the gun,” he said. “But what if there is? They’ll get it right again. And even if there’s a delay, how can it alter the end? It’s just men and ants. There’s the ants builds their cities, live their lives, have wars, revolutions, until the men want them out of the way, and then they go out of the way. That’s what we are now—just ants. Only——”

“Yes,” I said.

“We’re eatable ants.”

We sat looking at each other.

“And what will they do with us?” I said.

“That’s what I’ve been thinking,” he said; “that’s what I’ve been thinking. After Weybridge I went south—thinking. I saw what was up. Most of the people were hard at it squealing and exciting themselves. But I’m not so fond of squealing. I’ve been in sight of death once or twice; I’m not an ornamental soldier, and at the best and worst, death—it’s just death. And it’s the man that keeps on thinking comes through. I saw everyone tracking away south. Says I, ‘Food won’t last this way,’ and I turned right back. I went for the Martians like a sparrow goes for man. All round”—he waved a hand to the horizon—“they’re starving in heaps, bolting, treading on each other. . . .”

He saw my face, and halted awkwardly.

“No doubt lots who had money have gone away to France,” he said. He seemed to hesitate whether to apologise, met my eyes, and went on: “There’s food all about here. Canned things in shops; wines, spirits, mineral waters; and the water mains and drains are empty. Well, I was telling you what I was thinking. ‘Here’s intelligent things,’ I said, ‘and it seems they want us for food. First, they’ll smash us up—ships, machines, guns, cities, all the order and organisation. All that will go. If we were the size of ants we might pull through. But we’re not. It’s all too bulky to stop. That’s the first certainty.’ Eh?”

I assented.

“It is; I’ve thought it out. Very well, then—next; at present we’re caught as we’re wanted. A Martian has only to go a few miles to get a crowd on the run. And I saw one, one day, out by Wandsworth, picking houses to pieces and routing among the wreckage. But they won’t keep on doing that. So soon as they’ve settled all our guns and ships, and smashed our railways, and done all the things they are doing over there, they will begin catching us systematic, picking the best and storing us in cages and things. That’s what they will start doing in a bit. Lord! They haven’t begun on us yet. Don’t you see that?”

“Not begun!” I exclaimed.

“Not begun. All that’s happened so far is through our not having the sense to keep quiet—worrying them with guns and such foolery. And losing our heads, and rushing off in crowds to where there wasn’t any more safety than where we were. They don’t want to bother us yet. They’re making their things—making all the things they couldn’t bring with them, getting things ready for the rest of their people. Very likely that’s why the cylinders have stopped for a bit, for fear of hitting those who are here. And instead of our rushing about blind, on the howl, or getting dynamite on the chance of busting them up, we’ve got to fix ourselves up according to the new state of affairs. That’s how I figure it out. It isn’t quite according to what a man wants for his species, but it’s about what the facts point to. And that’s the principle I acted upon. Cities, nations, civilisation, progress—it’s all over. That game’s up. We’re beat.”

“But if that is so, what is there to live for?”

The artilleryman looked at me for a moment.

“There won’t be any more blessed concerts for a million years or so; there won’t be any Royal Academy of Arts, and no nice little feeds at restaurants. If it’s amusement you’re after, I reckon the game is up. If you’ve got any drawing-room manners or a dislike to eating peas with a knife or dropping aitches, you’d better chuck ’em away. They ain’t no further use.”

“You mean——”

“I mean that men like me are going on living—for the sake of the breed. I tell you, I’m grim set on living. And if I’m not mistaken, you’ll show what insides you’ve got, too, before long. We aren’t going to be exterminated. And I don’t mean to be caught either, and tamed and fattened and bred like a thundering ox. Ugh! Fancy those brown creepers!”

“You don’t mean to say——”

“I do. I’m going on, under their feet. I’ve got it planned; I’ve thought it out. We men are beat. We don’t know enough. We’ve got to learn before we’ve got a chance. And we’ve got to live and keep independent while we learn. See! That’s what has to be done.”

I stared, astonished, and stirred profoundly by the man’s resolution.

“Great God!” cried I. “But you are a man indeed!” And suddenly I gripped his hand.

“Eh!” he said, with his eyes shining. “I’ve thought it out, eh?”

“Go on,” I said.

“Well, those who mean to escape their catching must get ready. I’m getting ready. Mind you, it isn’t all of us that are made for wild beasts; and that’s what it’s got to be. That’s why I watched you. I had my doubts. You’re slender. I didn’t know that it was you, you see, or just how you’d been buried. All these—the sort of people that lived in these houses, and all those damn little clerks that used to live down that way—they’d be no good. They haven’t any spirit in them—no proud dreams and no proud lusts; and a man who hasn’t one or the other—Lord! What is he but funk and precautions? They just used to skedaddle off to work—I’ve seen hundreds of ’em, bit of breakfast in hand, running wild and shining to catch their little season-ticket train, for fear they’d get dismissed if they didn’t; working at businesses they were afraid to take the trouble to understand; skedaddling back for fear they wouldn’t be in time for dinner; keeping indoors after dinner for fear of the back streets, and sleeping with the wives they married, not because they wanted them, but because they had a bit of money that would make for safety in their one little miserable skedaddle through the world. Lives insured and a bit invested for fear of accidents. And on Sundays—fear of the hereafter. As if hell was built for rabbits! Well, the Martians will just be a godsend to these. Nice roomy cages, fattening food, careful breeding, no worry. After a week or so chasing about the fields and lands on empty stomachs, they’ll come and be caught cheerful. They’ll be quite glad after a bit. They’ll wonder what people did before there were Martians to take care of them. And the bar loafers, and mashers, and singers—I can imagine them. I can imagine them,” he said, with a sort of sombre gratification. “There’ll be any amount of sentiment and religion loose among them. There’s hundreds of things I saw with my eyes that I’ve only begun to see clearly these last few days. There’s lots will take things as they are—fat and stupid; and lots will be worried by a sort of feeling that it’s all wrong, and that they ought to be doing something. Now whenever things are so that a lot of people feel they ought to be doing something, the weak, and those who go weak with a lot of complicated thinking, always make for a sort of do-nothing religion, very pious and superior, and submit to persecution and the will of the Lord. Very likely you’ve seen the same thing. It’s energy in a gale of funk, and turned clean inside out. These cages will be full of psalms and hymns and piety. And those of a less simple sort will work in a bit of—what is it?—eroticism.”

He paused.

“Very likely these Martians will make pets of some of them; train them to do tricks—who knows?—get sentimental over the pet boy who grew up and had to be killed. And some, maybe, they will train to hunt us.”

“No,” I cried, “that’s impossible! No human being——”

“What’s the good of going on with such lies?” said the artilleryman. “There’s men who’d do it cheerful. What nonsense to pretend there isn’t!”

And I succumbed to his conviction.

“If they come after me,” he said; “Lord, if they come after me!” and subsided into a grim meditation.

I sat contemplating these things. I could find nothing to bring against this man’s reasoning. In the days before the invasion no one would have questioned my intellectual superiority to his—I, a professed and recognised writer on philosophical themes, and he, a common soldier; and yet he had already formulated a situation that I had scarcely realised.

“What are you doing?” I said presently. “What plans have you made?”

He hesitated.

“Well, it’s like this,” he said. “What have we to do? We have to invent a sort of life where men can live and breed, and be sufficiently secure to bring the children up. Yes—wait a bit, and I’ll make it clearer what I think ought to be done. The tame ones will go like all tame beasts; in a few generations they’ll be big, beautiful, rich-blooded, stupid—rubbish! The risk is that we who keep wild will go savage—degenerate into a sort of big, savage rat. . . . You see, how I mean to live is underground. I’ve been thinking about the drains. Of course those who don’t know drains think horrible things; but under this London are miles and miles—hundreds of miles—and a few days rain and London empty will leave them sweet and clean. The main drains are big enough and airy enough for anyone. Then there’s cellars, vaults, stores, from which bolting passages may be made to the drains. And the railway tunnels and subways. Eh? You begin to see? And we form a band—able-bodied, clean-minded men. We’re not going to pick up any rubbish that drifts in. Weaklings go out again.”

“As you meant me to go?”

“Well—I parleyed, didn’t I?”

“We won’t quarrel about that. Go on.”

“Those who stop obey orders. Able-bodied, clean-minded women we want also—mothers and teachers. No lackadaisical ladies—no blasted rolling eyes. We can’t have any weak or silly. Life is real again, and the useless and cumbersome and mischievous have to die. They ought to die. They ought to be willing to die. It’s a sort of disloyalty, after all, to live and taint the race. And they can’t be happy. Moreover, dying’s none so dreadful; it’s the funking makes it bad. And in all those places we shall gather. Our district will be London. And we may even be able to keep a watch, and run about in the open when the Martians keep away. Play cricket, perhaps. That’s how we shall save the race. Eh? It’s a possible thing? But saving the race is nothing in itself. As I say, that’s only being rats. It’s saving our knowledge and adding to it is the thing. There men like you come in. There’s books, there’s models. We must make great safe places down deep, and get all the books we can; not novels and poetry swipes, but ideas, science books. That’s where men like you come in. We must go to the British Museum and pick all those books through. Especially we must keep up our science—learn more. We must watch these Martians. Some of us must go as spies. When it’s all working, perhaps I will. Get caught, I mean. And the great thing is, we must leave the Martians alone. We mustn’t even steal. If we get in their way, we clear out. We must show them we mean no harm. Yes, I know. But they’re intelligent things, and they won’t hunt us down if they have all they want, and think we’re just harmless vermin.”

The artilleryman paused and laid a brown hand upon my arm.

“After all, it may not be so much we may have to learn before—Just imagine this: four or five of their fighting machines suddenly starting off—Heat-Rays right and left, and not a Martian in ’em. Not a Martian in ’em, but men—men who have learned the way how. It may be in my time, even—those men. Fancy having one of them lovely things, with its Heat-Ray wide and free! Fancy having it in control! What would it matter if you smashed to smithereens at the end of the run, after a bust like that? I reckon the Martians’ll open their beautiful eyes! Can’t you see them, man? Can’t you see them hurrying, hurrying—puffing and blowing and hooting to their other mechanical affairs? Something out of gear in every case. And swish, bang, rattle, swish! Just as they are fumbling over it, swish comes the Heat-Ray, and, behold! man has come back to his own.”

For a while the imaginative daring of the artilleryman, and the tone of assurance and courage he assumed, completely dominated my mind. I believed unhesitatingly both in his forecast of human destiny and in the practicability of his astonishing scheme, and the reader who thinks me susceptible and foolish must contrast his position, reading steadily with all his thoughts about his subject, and mine, crouching fearfully in the bushes and listening, distracted by apprehension. We talked in this manner through the early morning time, and later crept out of the bushes, and, after scanning the sky for Martians, hurried precipitately to the house on Putney Hill where he had made his lair. It was the coal cellar of the place, and when I saw the work he had spent a week upon—it was a burrow scarcely ten yards long, which he designed to reach to the main drain on Putney Hill—I had my first inkling of the gulf between his dreams and his powers. Such a hole I could have dug in a day. But I believed in him sufficiently to work with him all that morning until past midday at his digging. We had a garden barrow and shot the earth we removed against the kitchen range. We refreshed ourselves with a tin of mock-turtle soup and wine from the neighbouring pantry. I found a curious relief from the aching strangeness of the world in this steady labour. As we worked, I turned his project over in my mind, and presently objections and doubts began to arise; but I worked there all the morning, so glad was I to find myself with a purpose again. After working an hour I began to speculate on the distance one had to go before the cloaca was reached, the chances we had of missing it altogether. My immediate trouble was why we should dig this long tunnel, when it was possible to get into the drain at once down one of the manholes, and work back to the house. It seemed to me, too, that the house was inconveniently chosen, and required a needless length of tunnel. And just as I was beginning to face these things, the artilleryman stopped digging, and looked at me.

“We’re working well,” he said. He put down his spade. “Let us knock off a bit” he said. “I think it’s time we reconnoitred from the roof of the house.”

I was for going on, and after a little hesitation he resumed his spade; and then suddenly I was struck by a thought. I stopped, and so did he at once.

“Why were you walking about the common,” I said, “instead of being here?”

“Taking the air,” he said. “I was coming back. It’s safer by night.”

“But the work?”

“Oh, one can’t always work,” he said, and in a flash I saw the man plain. He hesitated, holding his spade. “We ought to reconnoitre now,” he said, “because if any come near they may hear the spades and drop upon us unawares.”

I was no longer disposed to object. We went together to the roof and stood on a ladder peeping out of the roof door. No Martians were to be seen, and we ventured out on the tiles, and slipped down under shelter of the parapet.

From this position a shrubbery hid the greater portion of Putney, but we could see the river below, a bubbly mass of red weed, and the low parts of Lambeth flooded and red. The red creeper swarmed up the trees about the old palace, and their branches stretched gaunt and dead, and set with shrivelled leaves, from amid its clusters. It was strange how entirely dependent both these things were upon flowing water for their propagation. About us neither had gained a footing; laburnums, pink mays, snowballs, and trees of arbor-vitae, rose out of laurels and hydrangeas, green and brilliant into the sunlight. Beyond Kensington dense smoke was rising, and that and a blue haze hid the northward hills.

The artilleryman began to tell me of the sort of people who still remained in London.

“One night last week,” he said, “some fools got the electric light in order, and there was all Regent Street and the Circus ablaze, crowded with painted and ragged drunkards, men and women, dancing and shouting till dawn. A man who was there told me. And as the day came they became aware of a fighting-machine standing near by the Langham and looking down at them. Heaven knows how long he had been there. It must have given some of them a nasty turn. He came down the road towards them, and picked up nearly a hundred too drunk or frightened to run away.”

Grotesque gleam of a time no history will ever fully describe!

From that, in answer to my questions, he came round to his grandiose plans again. He grew enthusiastic. He talked so eloquently of the possibility of capturing a fighting-machine that I more than half believed in him again. But now that I was beginning to understand something of his quality, I could divine the stress he laid on doing nothing precipitately. And I noted that now there was no question that he personally was to capture and fight the great machine.

After a time we went down to the cellar. Neither of us seemed disposed to resume digging, and when he suggested a meal, I was nothing loath. He became suddenly very generous, and when we had eaten he went away and returned with some excellent cigars. We lit these, and his optimism glowed. He was inclined to regard my coming as a great occasion.

“There’s some champagne in the cellar,” he said.

“We can dig better on this Thames-side burgundy,” said I.

“No,” said he; “I am host today. Champagne! Great God! We’ve a heavy enough task before us! Let us take a rest and gather strength while we may. Look at these blistered hands!”

And pursuant to this idea of a holiday, he insisted upon playing cards after we had eaten. He taught me euchre, and after dividing London between us, I taking the northern side and he the southern, we played for parish points. Grotesque and foolish as this will seem to the sober reader, it is absolutely true, and what is more remarkable, I found the card game and several others we played extremely interesting.

Strange mind of man! that, with our species upon the edge of extermination or appalling degradation, with no clear prospect before us but the chance of a horrible death, we could sit following the chance of this painted pasteboard, and playing the “joker” with vivid delight. Afterwards he taught me poker, and I beat him at three tough chess games. When dark came we decided to take the risk, and lit a lamp.

After an interminable string of games, we supped, and the artilleryman finished the champagne. We went on smoking the cigars. He was no longer the energetic regenerator of his species I had encountered in the morning. He was still optimistic, but it was a less kinetic, a more thoughtful optimism. I remember he wound up with my health, proposed in a speech of small variety and considerable intermittence. I took a cigar, and went upstairs to look at the lights of which he had spoken that blazed so greenly along the Highgate hills.

At first I stared unintelligently across the London valley. The northern hills were shrouded in darkness; the fires near Kensington glowed redly, and now and then an orange-red tongue of flame flashed up and vanished in the deep blue night. All the rest of London was black. Then, nearer, I perceived a strange light, a pale, violet-purple fluorescent glow, quivering under the night breeze. For a space I could not understand it, and then I knew that it must be the red weed from which this faint irradiation proceeded. With that realisation my dormant sense of wonder, my sense of the proportion of things, awoke again. I glanced from that to Mars, red and clear, glowing high in the west, and then gazed long and earnestly at the darkness of Hampstead and Highgate.

I remained a very long time upon the roof, wondering at the grotesque changes of the day. I recalled my mental states from the midnight prayer to the foolish card-playing. I had a violent revulsion of feeling. I remember I flung away the cigar with a certain wasteful symbolism. My folly came to me with glaring exaggeration. I seemed a traitor to my wife and to my kind; I was filled with remorse. I resolved to leave this strange undisciplined dreamer of great things to his drink and gluttony, and to go on into London. There, it seemed to me, I had the best chance of learning what the Martians and my fellowmen were doing. I was still upon the roof when the late moon rose.

#war of the worlds #WWChapter

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bvb-imagines-yay · 2 years

Text

The Letter

AO3 Link

Rating: Teen and Up

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Relationships: None

Characters: Bakugou Katsuki

Additional Tags: Murder, Monologue

Summary: Everyone knew of the letter. The one posted by Dynamight at the start of the war between the hero Deku and the now disgraced hero. The one that started it all. The one that lead everyone to finally agree on the conclusion. Dynamight killed those people. He killed those women and he straight up admitted to it. He had admitted to everything before he eventually went out in a blaze of glory. He had never been the same since he had been kidnapped. Every knew that. They knew that he was an angry child. They knew all about his villainous ways. It was hard to believe that he had even attempted to be a hero in the first place. He was completely too much to handle. Deku knew that all too well. It was completely ignored. No one even tried to think that he was going to end up a villain. The letter was proof enough that he would never be the same ever again.

To the Public:

The less open minded among the world would say that I killed those women. It couldn’t be any further from the truth. I kept them alive. I gave them something few would ever know. Immortality, plain and simple. They said that no one had figured out the secret to eternal youth. Well, I had…I have. It’s called the camera lens.

You reading this-fake psychiatrist, earning maybe two bucks an hour on this lousy anonymous forum-you might want to call the police after you read this, have them track me down. Shouldn’t be difficult considering you know who I am if you’ve been keeping up to date with the news. You should know the general vanity in which I operate and the methods I utilize. And you know what I mean, too, when I say I provide immortality.

Think about if, just for a moment, before you Ruch to any conclusions. Those women-all of them-will live longer lives now that they’ve been dragged out of the shadows. Out of the mundane, the placid. Last week tori faces were plastered, in a deluge of ink, onto every major regional publication. They became famous, well known. I gave them something they never could have been afforded if they had gone on living as they had been. Now they live on in celluloid. In memories. Because memories di a better job of painting someone than their immediate physical presence. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

I understand there are no professional photographers here. There are likely none in the police department, either, at least not any who are versed in composition and the rule of thirds and the right sort of film to buy for a particular atmosphere and so on. The pictures they took of the bodies were rushed, amateurish, did my work a disservice. Now, my photos, on the other hand-the ones which landed smack dab on the front page-they looked so much better. I think, even if you are averse to my activity, you must admit that. You saw them. I know you did. And while you looked at them, casually, you were thinking “Wow. This guy may be a horrible person-mentally cared, devoid of compassion or empathy-but he took such great PHOTOS. Glossy and sheen, just the right exposure. Just the right lens.”

Well. I’m glad you appreciate them. And I’m sure my subjects did as well, when you get down to it. I mean. Think about it. You just walk along that narrow stretch every fay, probably to a hero agency or something, where you shuffle paperwork around, never really accomplishing anything. Never really becoming a part of history. Not that people will remember, at any rate.

Now though, they’re contemporary Black Dahlias. I think the press has become sloppy as of late. Not enough sensationalism, too much accuracy. Not exploitative enough. My dear friends at the fourth estate, had it not been for my painstaking efforts to pose my cadaver just so, would have been at a loss in describing the utter abhorrence of my crimes. I did most of the work for them, and.I thank them for fulfilling my goal. If I can predict how the coverage will plat out that well, I’m surely going to elude justice for a while yet. Just need to plan ahead. That’s really all there is to it. Considering how much hindsight I’ve got, I think I’m well covered in the foresight department.

Not that I hoard technique. On the contrary, I’d be all too happy to let you all in on my acumen. The real trick is keeping the limbs still. They always tend to move, ever so slightly, just with gravity pulling them down. In the end, I decided to use transparent fishing wire, sort of to dangle theyr arms from the ceiling, give the appearance of a handshake or a wave. And of course, I taped some rules to their arms in the back, to ensure the proper righty.

The trickiest part was to get their expressions down pat. I had to stuff their cheeks with cotton balls, tape their eyelids open from the inside. The human face has a ton of expressive muscles, you know. I did my best to cover each of them. Most of the shots, I would say, took at least three hours to set up, when all was said and sone. Three hours the detectives weren’t able yo find me. Three hours with nobody smelling the toying decay from my apartment. Just spending mu time with them. Making their transition into immortality as glamorous and comfortable as possible.

According to what everyone wrote in after the publication of the photos, they said the women appeared undead. Clinically deceased yet with all the charm and effervescence they had possessed when they were living. Staring at the camera with those watery aqueous membrane, grinning with the receding gums. They were lively when I found them on the route. Put up a good fight. Fame doesn’t discriminate, though.

The camera is, in some ways, more adept than the eye. Consider that film is merely a mechanical reproduction of the process which takes place the photoreceptors of the eye. Couldn’t we amplify this process to create scenes which are more vivid, more expressive, more emotive, than those seen via normal unaided vision? That’s certainly what I’ve done. I encased them in vivid amber, engulfed them. Preserved them for centuries to come. After seeing those pictures, odds are nobody will be able to gorget them. I etched them into the public consciousness.

Every roll of film distorted the scene somehow. There’s always the minute probability of light leaking in, as well as the film grain. Really, I don’t think there is a film which can accurately depict the beautiful little still life I had set up in my living room. But I think the simulacra are fine. And I commend the papers on choosing, out go the 750 to so I submitted, the bst ones. Unlike the detectives, it seems the dear fourth estate at least has some lingering sense of scale, of pathos, of distortion.

You don’t know the half of it, do you? The mess they made in the back of my van, anging on the sides. One even put a dent in it. One-I believe it was the one with the frizzy brow hair and the turtleneck-she kicked the window in while I was dragging her across the parking lot at the side of the route, about halfway through its length. The police still haven’t found the blood from the wound I had to inflict to keep her quiet. They are messy, aren’t they?

I don’t expect you to understand, completely, the effort I put in to ensure that those hapless nocturnal pedestrians would be granted the ultimate privilege, one which I or you the manifold billions which infest this planet will never fully attain. They won the lottery.

That’s what you’re thinking. “This guy derives pressure from documenting it.” But you couldn’t be more off the mark if you tried. I get nothing out of it. I merely documented it because I felt that it had to be done. I document everything. If I hadn’t done it, all of you would have to go off of would have been those blurry, garbage stills from the police department. You have to admit to yourself, in all honesty, you wouldn’t have wanted that. It wouldn’t have been exciting. It wouldn’t have been interesting.

But the photos, and the videos, and the other trinkets which even now litter my shelves-they turn this from amber incident, a run of the mill homicide string-into an veritable sensation, a mind-grabbing spectacle. And I’m sure my journalist friends do enjoy that, even if they refuse to admit it to themselves. Their wallets are better off, thanks to my skill. You’re welcome.

It does feel good to get this off my chest. I’m not desperate for attention. I’m really not. I could care less what you think about me, whether you consider me the hero of the villain in this scenario. I know you’ve already made up your mind about me, but that doesn’t matter eater. It’s just sort of nice to jot this down while the memories of their frightened wails are still imprinted firmly in my mind. Unlike photographs, my long term memory isn’t the best ar retaining information. Soon I won’t even full recall the thrill of putting my arm around their throats within range of at least five drivers above the underpass, all of whom could have caught me in the cat. Better to experience something and forget than to never experience anything and remember it.

The route itself-prime real estate for such an endeavor. Empty, secluded, yet in the midst of such urban decay. So much foot traffic to choose from. I spent weeks scoping the area out beforehand-every pipe, every grating, each claustrophobic tank and unattended boiler room. I put the bodies back, at various randomly chose places in the city’s water system. Odds are they won’t be recovered anytime soon. All you’ll have to prove they even existed are the pictures. I’m sure of that.

So I guess this little diatribe-monologue, or what have you-is merely my way of letting you know that I’m out there, an hat I know exactly what you’re thinking. I don’t care about what you think, how you construe these events. There are forces at plat here beyond your understanding and, true, beyond even mine. These women were not taken senselessly. They serve a higher purpose, a function in the scheme of things, like entries in an algebraic equation. They are hints to an all-consuming unknown. You might not know what that blank square is yet, though in time you will. You and the rest of the greasy mob of hypocrites who litter this nation of ours, poison discourse, advocate for blind ignorance.

You enjoy being kept in the dark so much. “Oh,” you say. “They shouldn’t have published those horrid pictures.” Well, they did. And this is only the beginning. Enjoy this level of ignorance while it lasts, because the only thing more terrifying than the unknown is the known. When everything is put into stark contrast, into sharp unflinching comprehension, you’ll be screaming a thousand times harder than any of my victims or any of the oblivious readers who spotted them smiling emptily on page three.

That’s an inevitability.

-Yours

Dynamight

#my hero academia fanfic #mha fanfic #my hero academia fanfiction #mha fanfiction

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