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foreverlogical · 3 years

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Donald Trump’s descent into madness continues.

The latest manifestation of this is a report in The New York Times that the president is weighing appointing the conspiracy theorist Sidney Powell, who for a time worked on his legal team, to be special counsel to investigate imaginary claims of voter fraud.

As if that were not enough, we also learned that former National Security Adviser Michael Flynn, who was pardoned by the president after pleading guilty to lying to the FBI, attended the Friday meeting. Earlier in the week, Flynn, a retired lieutenant general, floated the idea (which he had promoted before) that the president impose martial law and deploy the military to “rerun” the election in several closely contested states that voted against Trump. It appears that Flynn wants to turn them into literal battleground states.\

None of this should come as a surprise. Some of us said, even before he became president, that Donald Trump’s Rosetta Stone, the key to deciphering him, was his psychology—his disordered personality, his emotional and mental instability, and his sociopathic tendencies. It was the main reason, though hardly the only reason, I refused to vote for him in 2016 or in 2020, despite having worked in the three previous Republican administrations. Nothing that Trump has done over the past four years has caused me to rethink my assessment, and a great deal has happened to confirm it.

Given Trump’s psychological profile, it was inevitable that when he felt the walls of reality close in on him—in 2020, it was the pandemic, the cratering economy, and his election defeat—he would detach himself even further from reality. It was predictable that the president would assert even more bizarre conspiracy theories. That he would become more enraged and embittered, more desperate and despondent, more consumed by his grievances. That he would go against past supplicants, like Attorney General Bill Barr and Georgia Governor Brian Kemp, and become more aggressive toward his perceived enemies. That his wits would begin to turn, in the words of King Lear. That he would begin to lose his mind.

So he has. And, as a result, President Trump has become even more destabilizing and dangerous.

“I’ve been covering Donald Trump for a while,” Jonathan Swan of Axios tweeted. “I can’t recall hearing more intense concern from senior officials who are actually Trump people. The Sidney Powell/Michael Flynn ideas are finding an enthusiastic audience at the top.”

Even amid the chaos, it’s worth taking a step back to think about where we are: An American president, unwilling to concede his defeat by 7 million popular votes and 74 Electoral College votes, is still trying to steal the election. It has become his obsession.

In the process, Trump has in too many cases turned his party into an instrument of illiberalism and nihilism. Here are just a couple of data points to underscore that claim: 18 attorneys generals and more than half the Republicans in the House supported a seditious abuse of the judicial process.

And it’s not only, or even mainly, elected officials. The Republican Party’s base has often followed Trump into the twilight zone, with a sizable majority of them affirming that Joe Biden won the election based on fraud and many of them turning against medical science in the face of a surging pandemic.

COVID-19 is now killing Americans at the rate of about one per minute, but the president is “just done with COVID,” a source identified as one of Trump’s closest advisers told The Washington Post. “I think he put it on a timetable and he’s done with COVID ... It just exceeded the amount of time he gave it.”

This is where Trump’s crippling psychological condition—his complete inability to face unpleasant facts, his toxic narcissism, and his utter lack of empathy—became lethal. Trump’s negligence turned what would have been a difficult winter into a dark one. If any of his predecessors—Barack Obama, George W. Bush, Bill Clinton, George H. W. Bush, and Ronald Reagan, to go back just 40 years—had been president during this pandemic, tens of thousands of American lives would almost surely have been saved.

“My concern was, in the worst part of the battle, the general was missing in action,” said Maryland Governor Larry Hogan, one of the very few Republicans to speak truth in the Trump era.

In 30 days, Donald Trump will leave the presidency, with his efforts to mount a coup having failed. The encouraging news is that it never really had a chance of succeeding. Our institutions, especially the courts, will have passed a stress test, not the most difficult ever but difficult enough, and unlike any in our history. Some local officials exhibited profiles in courage, doing the right thing in the face of threats and pressure from their party. And a preponderance of the American public, having lived through the past four years, deserve credit for canceling this presidential freak show rather than renewing it. The “exhausted majority” wasn’t too exhausted to get out and vote, even in a pandemic.

But the Trump presidency will leave gaping wounds nearly everywhere, and ruination in some places. Truth as a concept has been battered from the highest office in the land on an almost hourly basis. The Republican Party has been radicalized, with countless Republican lawmakers and other prominent figures within the party having revealed themselves to be moral cowards, even, and in some ways especially, after Trump was defeated. During the Trump presidency, they were so afraid of getting crosswise with him and his supporters that they failed the Solzhenitsyn test: “The simple act of an ordinary brave man is not to participate in lies, not to support false actions! His rule: Let that come into the world, let it even reign supreme—only not through me.

”During the past four years, the right-wing ecosystem became more and more rabid. Many prominent evangelical supporters of the president are either obsequious, like Franklin Graham, or delusional, like Eric Metaxas, and they now peddle their delusions as being written by God. QAnon and the Proud Boys, Newsmax and One America News, Alex Jones and Tucker Carlson—all have been emboldened.

These worrisome trends began before Trump ran for office, and they won’t disappear after he leaves the presidency. Those who hope for a quick snapback will be disappointed. Still, having Trump out of office has to help. He’s going to find out that there’s no comparable bully pulpit. And the media, if they are wise, will cut off his oxygen, which is attention. They had no choice but to cover Trump’s provocations when he was president; when he’s an ex-president, that will change.

For the foreseeable future, journalists will rightly focus on the pandemic. But once that is contained and defeated, it will be time to go back to focusing more attention on things like the Paris Accords and the carbon tax; the earned-income tax credit and infrastructure; entitlement reform and monetary policy; charter schools and campus speech codes; legal immigration, asylum, assimilation, and social mobility. There is also an opportunity, with Trump a former president, for the Republican Party to once again become the home of sane conservatism. Whether that happens or not is an open question. But it’s something many of us are willing to work for, and that even progressives should hope for.Beyond that, and more fundamental than that, we have to remind ourselves that we are not powerless to shape the future; that much of what has been broken can be repaired; that though we are many, we can be one; and that fatalism and cynicism are unwarranted and corrosive.

There’s a lovely line in William Wordsworth’s poem “The Prelude”: “What we have loved, Others will love, and we will teach them how.

”There are still things worthy of our love. Honor, decency, courage, beauty, and truth. Tenderness, human empathy, and a sense of duty. A good society. And a commitment to human dignity. We need to teach others—in our individual relationships, in our classrooms and communities, in our book clubs and Bible studies, and in innumerable other settings—why those things are worthy of their attention, their loyalty, their love. One person doing it won’t make much of a difference; a lot of people doing it will create a culture.

Maybe we understand better than we did five years ago why these things are essential to our lives, and why when we neglect them or elect leaders who ridicule and subvert them, life becomes nasty, brutish, and generally unpleasant.

Just after noon on January 20, a new and necessary chapter will begin in the American story. Joe Biden will certainly play a role in shaping how that story turns out—but so will you and I. Ours is a good and estimable republic, if we can keep it.

PETER WEHNER is a contributing writer at The Atlantic and a senior fellow at the Ethics and Public Policy Center. He writes widely on political, cultural, religious, and national-security issues, and he is the author of The Death of Politics: How to Heal Our Frayed Republic After Trump.

#ideas

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sokkagatekeeper · 3 years

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[parallel originally pointed out here]

it goes back to book one the way aang, katara, and zuko are set up to be the main thematic triad of the show, all three of them sharing the qualities of being idealists at heart, generally guided by a strict moral code they impose upon themselves, impulsively heroic at times to the point of naivety, and the belief that they have a great destiny to fulfill, for better or for worse. all of them have a certain legacy, a certain chosen one-ness to them, whether they are aware of the fact the entire time — aang as the avatar and the last airbender; katara as the last southern waterbender — or they have an idea, but aren't aware of the full picture until later on — zuko's legacy from both sozin and roku.

a triad is, of course, not made out of the dynamic of three characters together, but rather the individual pairs, then the function them three manage to balance out. in other words, it does not work like a/b/c but rather a&b / a&c / b&c. aang and zuko share, among many others, the weight of a crucial mistake they made in the past and are desperately trying to fix — mistake that, eventually, leads them to fully become the person they were meant to be; the meaning of identity as what you choose to be every day. zuko and katara share the most intense part of the triad — the rage and grief and anger, as well as the faith, hope, willingness and passion that comes with being a hero; they are the emotional fuel, the drive. aang and katara share the most intimate part of the story; of being a child, and a victim, and standing up despite and maybe because of this — both child survivors of genocide, finding solace in each other as each other's first and best friend, and as a grounding prescence in the midset of the cruel reality of war. when all three different dynamics are combined, you finally get the thematic triad — the three characters that embody the themes and values the show intends to portray and represent. the three of them are indoubtedly the heart of the show, and this is made clear throughout the entire first season. katara as the narrator of the story, aang as the protagonist, zuko as the deuteragonist (as well as antagonist, but in terms of primary titles the deuteragonist always comes first.) they are the most important characters, the basis for every other character that comes after, etc etc.

then there's sokka.

i like to think of sokka as the fourth part of the thematic triangle. he is not essential in the way aang, katara, and zuko are in theory, but he is still immediately established as a main character throughout the first book and accordingly developed in later books 2 and 3. and it works wonders, because while sokka's designated role of the comedic relief character would generally be considered enough to make him a main character, sokka is everything aang, katara, and zuko are not. i'd go as far as to say his entire character is contructed this way.

where aang and katara and zuko are idealists at heart, sokka's pessimism/skepticism is able to protect them from a possible threat their story-structured minds might have not been able to predict, for it might not fit the narrative they construct as it fits the reality of disaster that sokka is very much aware of — which is not to say that aang, katara, and zuko do not know the harsh realities of war, two of them being genocide victims and one of them being pretty much a war veteran, but merely to point out that they believe that somehow, everything will turn out exactly as it has to be above all, while sokka... doesn't, and he approaches every situation as such.

where aang, katara, and zuko are all some sort of chosen one and often act and think according to it, sokka does not have a great destiny to fulfill nor he believes in destiny as a concept. sokka is — self-admittedly — just some guy. the avatar's friend, the last southern waterbender's brother, the son of the chief, etc etc. his strength comes from his unique way of approaching things, his creativity and intelligence and most of all his identity as fundamentally, no one. sokka grew up to believe he was disposable in comparison and he actively worked — possibly even unconsciously — to be important, to be valuable, to be necessary. he was not born great, but achieved greatness, as one might say. the weight of being no one and having to work to become somebody contrasts beautifully with aang's and katara's and zuko's and even toph's inherent specialness, especially mixing up with aang's and zuko's concept of becoming who you are meant to be because of your choices.

where aang and zuko value human life above all else, and katara will never turn her back on people who need her, sokka is never afraid to get a little dirty when he wants things to go his way, or when there's simply more important things for him to worry about. sokka has what i like to call the practical murder syndrome, not necessarily as murder — though he does quite a lot of those and is willing to let zuko, ultimate deuteragonist extraordinarie, die in a blizzard, simply because it's convenient for them at the moment — but also as the way he's not willing to go out of his way to help every wretched village they come into contact with (see: the painted lady). sokka has his moral code, surely, and he has his limits, but while aang's morals, katara's morals, zuko's morals persist through war, pain, and punishment, sokka's morals are shaped by these concepts. this brings a certain balance to the text, to the group dynamic of the gaang, to the main cast in general, and it helps broadening the audience's perception and objectiveness as well. (see: katara is the narrator, and we mostly perceive the first part of the show and most of her relationship with sokka solely through her lens, but in reality sokka was more right than wrong, and that doesn't mean katara was wrong, either. once you watch the show twice, thrice, and you begin watching it objectively, sokka's motivations and general characterization becomes clearer, and makes more sense, despite opposing katara's point of view in so many ways.)

finally, where aang and katara and zuko are impulsively heroic, sokka is a chronic planner and organizer — while katara and aang are focused on fighting the firelord as an idea, sokka worries about how they will fight the firelord, and plans an entire invasion to give aang the window of opportunity to strike the final blow. while aang wants to fight off the fire nation as his duty as the avatar asks of him, sokka knows he's in no condition to fight, and in any case, there's still no need for him to waste his energies in a fight just yet. while katara wants to help people and fight for what's right, sokka needs to remain focused on the big picture, and when this doesn't do anything for katara's heroic nature, sokka offers an elaborate plan to make katara's bringing-of-justice as doable and safe as possible, for everyone involved. while zuko wants to defend his people against the injustices he knows he could have committed in another time, as his first instinct is always help them out, it's always this isn't fair, they deserve better than this, exactly the way he did it when he spoke against the massacre of the 41st division, sokka has to physically restrain him from making the same mistake zuko made at thirteen. because it's not that sokka cares less, but he knows when to care, and the way to do so as safe as possible — sokka is always planning things ahead, one might even say he overthinks, because albeit with a good reason, sokka is, at heart, kind of a coward. he's always tiptoeing between logic and reason, and outright paranoia. he is right to be a coward most of the time, because he knows bravery is a privilege, bravery comes with a price. he is right to be a coward because aang, katara, and zuko are not, and they are right, too.

sokka manages to perfectly balance the thematic triad of the show and its individual double dynamics possibly accidentally and on his own, giving the show its own taste of sokka's arc of broadening perspectives about the world and the people in it. the same way sokka is able to offer the logic and reason heroism often lacks when needed, aang and katara and zuko's idealism and heroism affects sokka in its own way, helping him to let go of this self-critical overthinker who often commits self-sabotage, to become some sort of unconventional hero himself — achieving this balance, undoubtedly makes sokka the fourth part of the thematic triangle.

#iv #i've has this concept in my mind for so long #literally years. sokka was just Something Else you know #sokka #sokka&thegaang #aang&sokka #sokka&katara #sokka&zuko #i am NOT biased enough to tag this beautiful analysis of mine in a shippy way but. just know that i could. i could!!!#atla #n #aang&katara&zuko #< i KNOWW i said aang katara sokka was my favorite triad but i was lying to myself. i was lying!!!#so i'm finding an excuse to use this tag and the excuse is [checks notes] the entire analysis i just made about them. i just keep winning #Yes sokka is my favorite character Yes i would love to hear hours and hours of the interactions between a triad that does not involve him!!#in my defense it was meant this way!!! i am simply. not doing the death of the author today #analysis #01 #long post

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sunsetcurvecuddles · 3 years

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51. "You're cold, take my jacket."

And 75. "You're overworking yourself... Please take a break."

For 2020 rayvor

stay as long as you need | ray&trevor or ray/trevor | 2k | g

ao3 link in reblogs!

Ray hasn’t been to this house in such a long time. So long that he thinks, maybe, Rose was with him, the last time, that she’d held his hand as they’d made their way up this strange driveway. It has an eerie quality to it, deeply familiar yet changed, like something he saw in a dream a long time ago rather than somewhere he used to spend a huge amount of his time with the people most important to him.

The barbed wire’s new.

It’s made more surreal by how exhausted Ray is from the last few weeks, and by the phone conversation that preceded his visit, and the amount of time Ray has spent lying awake at night trying to make this decision. Trying to do what’s best for everyone. Trying to figure out where he fits in that.

Anyway. He makes it in through the scary new security gate, because Trevor (or possibly Trevor’s assistant) had the forethought to text him the entry code, and he finds himself at the unnecessarily imposing front door, his confidence somewhat faltering.

It’s not going to do you any good to put things off, a voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Rose reminds him. The thought of her, the expression she’d have on her face as she scolded him, makes him smile, gives him the encouragement he needs to go up to the door and press the foreboding doorbell. He’s almost expecting to be greeted by one of Trevor’s string of housekeepers, assistants, secretaries and associates who constantly cycle through the house, but when the door opens, he’s surprised to be face-to-face with Trevor himself.

It’s astonishingly painful, the kind of emotion that’s so powerful it’s impossible to distinguish between happiness or sadness, like those categories have become irrelevant in the face of its intensity. Trevor looks older, which isn’t a surprise, because it’s not like Ray hasn’t seen photos of him in that time (Ray’s kept up with the tabloids, not that he’s proud to admit it), but regardless, it’s still different seeing him in person. Trevor looks like he hasn’t been sleeping, and not just a usual Trevor level of running on too little sleep and too little food and too little time to breathe, but like he really hasn’t been sleeping, something drawn around the edges of his jaw, huge bags under his eyes. Ray swallows against the lump that forms in his throat.

“Uh. Hey,” Trevor says, intensely stiff and awkward in a way that makes him almost sound like Bobby, for a moment. “You… you okay? Look rough.”

Surprised, Ray responds, “I -- yeah, as well as I can be. You?”

“Fine,” Trevor says gruffly. Then he recovers, somewhat, smoothes it over with his nonchalant celebrity tone when he continues, “D’you mind if we go for a walk? Carrie’s home, I don’t want to stress her out.”

Ray assumes this means Carrie didn’t know he was coming, which hurts a little just because he misses her so much. If it was just that Trevor wanted to talk away from her, the house is large enough that they could go to the other side and yell at the top of their lungs and she still wouldn’t hear them.

(Ray really hopes no one will be yelling at all, regardless of where they’re located, actually).

“Sure,” he says, shrugs his shoulders. Doesn’t know how to deal with this kind of informality when he still feels like he’s gently crumbling on the inside, like everything in him is screaming at him to give Trevor a hug when he knows that’s not appropriate, or in-line with a gradual and sustainable reconciliation, and everything else he’s talked to Dr. Turner about.

Trevor slips out and closes the door behind him and gestures for Ray to follow him, which Ray does, because apparently that’s still what he does. Trevor falls into step next to Ray as he leads him down into the strange, feng-shui garden they’ve got going on at the back of the house. In his rockstar-style heeled boots, Trevor is just a little taller than Ray, their shoulders level as they almost brush. Ray can’t remember being so aware of the space between him and another person in years and years.

The path winds downhill, then curves to the right, around some heavy willow trees that obscure Ray’s vision until it opens up into a glade. There’s a carefully placed wrought-iron bench on one side, looking down over the hill and shaded by the willows flowing down around it on all sides. A few feet over there’s a statue of what looks like a Greek deity, not that it’s Ray’s area of expertise.

Trevor sits on the bench and clasps his hands in the space between his knees. He leaves space for Ray to sit beside him, so Ray does. He bites back the temptation to ask why in the world Trevor has a Greek statue in the middle of what seems to be, otherwise, a very East-Asian style garden. To be honest, he thinks maybe his instinct to make a dig about it comes from the fact that he doesn’t really know what else to say.

It had been so difficult to understand what Trevor was even talking about, over the phone, words all tied up and Ray’s ears ringing with the emotion and surprise of the fact that the conversation was happening at all. Something about the past coming back to haunt them.

“So,” says Trevor. Maybe it’s disconcerting for other people to see him fumble like this, Ray thinks, since he’s usually so charming, so put-together. Ray just finds it familiar, almost soothing, the reminder that Bobby’s still in there somewhere, under everything. “Uh. I know you already told me, but… can we start from the beginning?”

So that’s what they do. Ray does his best to retrace, one step at a time, the events of the day after the Orpheum, Julie approaching him in the kitchen, Papi, there’s something I have to tell you... The way she’d lead him out to the garage when he didn’t believe her, and there they were -- her three bandmates, not from Sweden at all, but from 1995. It was surreal, after so long hearing stories from Trevor and then Julie, to see those boys in the flesh - what at least looked like the flesh. Later, Julie confirmed this, based on Flynn pricking Luke’s finger with a safety pin, and him yelping at the way it actually touched him, the way a real droplet of blood formed in that spot.

(Trevor’s eyes go faraway, unreadable, at every mention of Luke.)

Ray leaves space for Trevor to ask questions, but he doesn’t. He sits and listens, encourages Ray on with something like and then what or is that it? when the silence stretches out too long, but besides that doesn’t have much to say at all.

By the end of the story the sun is starting to set, and the garden around them is growing cool. With the adrenaline fading, the surreal feeling of the situation settling in, Ray realises that he’s tired, too, that this feels like the longest period of time he’s spent sitting down in one place for at least a few weeks. There’s been an overwhelming amount of change and a lot of extra work, for all these new people who need him for different reasons. Really, he hasn’t had much time to process or adjust.

Beside him, Trevor starts to shiver a little. He’s trying to hide it, but again, it’s just him and Ray, so he’s doing a poor job. Ray goes to slide his coat off, pausing to muffle a yawn into his elbow. If it was like old times, he would have just held the side of his jacket open, curled Trevor into it and put an arm around his shoulders. But Trevor’s broader than he was then, seems to be eating better even if he’s not looking after himself in other ways.

Plus all the other reasons. There are so many reasons it’s not like old times.

“What are you -- Ray, stop,” Trevor says, bordering on petulant, god, he sounds so much like himself, like Bobby, “don’t.”

“You’re cold. Take my jacket,” Ray says, raising his eyebrows. It’s an invitation for Trevor to try and lie to him if he really wants, because Ray knows he’s right. Trevor looks down at his feet, kicks a pebble. It’s such a Bobby gesture. Ray will never fully be able to separate the two, no matter how much time he’s given.

He holds out the jacket, insistent. Trevor hesitates, but only for a moment, before he takes it from Ray, slides it on over his probably-disgustingly-expensive plain white t-shirt. “There,” Trevor grumbles, “you happy?”

“Yes,” says Ray, and it comes out too genuine, too heartfelt.

Trevor looks at him again, crease in his brow. Tilts his head, narrows his eyes. “So they’ve just been… living with you, since then?”

Ray blinks, taken aback. “That’s right,” he replies, smothering another yawn into the back of his hand. To play it off, he jokes, “We did always want a big family.”

“You’re overworking yourself,” Trevor mutters. “I can tell how tired you are, and I know having the boys -- the ghosts,” he corrects himself, “having the ghosts around must mean you have a lot going on.” Trevor runs both hands through his hair, pushes it back off his face, and carries on. “I know how good you are at making other people feel like everything’s taken care of, but… you’ll burn out if you’re not careful.”

Suddenly, Ray feels too warm in the face, like there are too many eyes on him even though it’s just him and Trevor in the garden. “I just told you that all of your bandmates came back as ghosts, joined a band with my daughter, and somehow now they’re alive again,” he laughs, “and you’re worried about me?”

Trevor doesn’t laugh. Just swallows, meets Ray’s eyes, and says, “Yeah. I am. Because I know you. And I know how you are, that you won’t let anyone else help unless they make you.”

It’s been such a huge few weeks. And now Ray knows, more than anything, that he should be taking care of Trevor, and here’s Trevor, probably still in shock, trying to take care of him instead. “And who are you suggesting I ask for help?” he says at last. “You?”

“I would do it in a heartbeat,” Trevor assures him. “Anything. For you and the kids and -- and the boys. Whatever you needed. But you can’t keep going on your own til you crash and burn.”

Ray can’t remember the last time he had someone call him out like that, so directly, so shamelessly to his face.

Oh. Yes, he can. His gut twists with missing her so much it hurts.

Trevor smiles, a twisted, grimacing, affectionate thing, and says, “Sorry. It’s what she would’ve wanted me to say.”

“She would have,” Ray agrees. He sits back against the bench. Feels his arm press to Trevor’s. “She always said I needed to be more selfish.”

“She was right.” Trevor nudges him, elbow to elbow. His eyes are bitter and tired and kind. He’s going to break down later, Ray reminds himself, he’ll need me, I know he will. And he’s ready for that, feels bad that they’re not focusing on Trevor right now, but the shock could mean it’s taking time for the news to really sink in. And all Trevor’s expression is giving him is understanding and patience and concern.

Maybe Ray can afford to be selfish, just for a moment. Maybe it would help Trevor, if he was. Before he can think it through too much, he shuffles to lean his head on Trevor’s shoulder, against the fabric of his own jacket. He feels Trevor tense, and he almost thinks he’s made a mistake, but then Trevor takes a deep, shaky breath, and his arm comes up around Ray’s waist, to pull him in closer, to hold him tight. His fingertips dig into Ray’s side, almost too tight, but settling in just right.

“Yeah,” Trevor says, hushed. He turns his head and Ray feels Trevor rest his face in Ray’s hair. He might press a kiss there, but maybe Ray’s tired mind is just imagining things. “Just like that. Just… please, take a break.”

“Okay,” Ray whispers. Doesn’t dare speak any louder than that, for fear of breaking the spell.

Trevor sighs out a long breath like he’s been holding it in for years. Like he’s been holding it in since he was Bobby, surrounded by his boys alive and well, or since he was Bobby, curled on Ray and Rose’s couch, tucked under Rose’s favourite crochet blanket. The trees around them rustle in the cold evening breeze. Ray closes his eyes.

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #fanfic #ray molina #trevor wilson

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sugar-petals · 4 years

Text

♡ Levi Dating A Tall Girl

warnings ⚠️ some innuendo, possessiveness, jealousy, skinship

↳ NOTE. short captain ftw

You don’t fall backwards the first time he hands you a big ass gun to practice target shooting. Finally someone who doesn’t act like a wobbly fool. Long legs. Better shooting stances. No questions asked. Levi likes that.

You can get the emergency supply tea box from the top shelf. He is jealous, this is cheesy, but still. Levi likes that.

You are hard to overlook. For pragmatic reasons since he lives in sheer chaos and needs to collect his squad from the most unholy places, Levi likes that.

But also... he has to confess he finds it fascinating to see you walk and talk. So, Levi likes that.

You can clean the ceiling. For obvious reasons: Levi likes that.

Paintjobs are easy to you. Levi likes that.

You can carry more weapons on you. Knife here, knife there, knives everywhere. Levi likes that.

Without even knowing or trying, you have a natural bold appearance. People don’t start trouble. The squad is peaceful and diligent in your presence. Him, too. He doesn’t say it, but he admits to himself that he feels protected. Levi likes that. A lot.

It might be outdated in the Survey Corps, but Levi enjoys calling you Madam. You really look like one in your Sunday outfit, just so you know. The height difference makes anyone buy into it. So, you go by „Ma’am“ wherever you go, knowing who addressed you that way first because he respects you. Levi likes that.

The advanced Trojan horse: You can smuggle him almost anywhere when you wear a dress. Levi is kinda going crazy with your legs being so up close though. My, my. What an interesting undercover mission. Levi likes that. You, too. Wink wink nudge nudge.

When cooking, you fool around planting your underboob on Levi’s head while the oven does its thing. He’s cursing a bunch of things. But he can’t deny you’re funny and he really fits in that spot, too. Levi likes that.

Your height means more to scrub in the shower. Levi does not shy away from grabbing a sponge for the ladies as we know. Only select people he will foam up personally, so, this is a knighting. If you can shave him, he can shampoo you, it’s tit for tat. A very cleanly exchange. Levi likes that.

In the comfort of your room, not in his, nor his office or elsewhere, really when nobody is watching — Levi sits on your lap. Plenty of space, so. He fits snugly right there. Levi likes that.

You look great when you ride a horse and handle horses well in general. You can get on there in two seconds without delay. Speed is key. Levi likes that.

And I mean.

What’s not to like, anyway? Levi’s captain crush on you equals your height in terms of intensity.

Technically, you, like all other people, qualify as a brat. A tall, noodly brat. But you’re nice to him and vice versa: Don’t deliberately nor accidentally get on his nerves. So the most he’ll do is grumble at you where others would get a speech. If you make a mistake with the equipment, he won’t let it slide for obvious survival-related reasons, but his tone is noticeably gentler, a crucial tinge.

The whole squad — especially the rowdy members who tease him the most ironically — spirals into envy, but doesn’t say anything lest they want Levi’s frown and explanation on how they were messing around while you worked. The guy’s proud of it and wants to deservedly hype your ethic to be honest.

So let us just note that special fondness he has and let it sink in.

Under the guise of “establishing order”, Levi has an excuse to make his schtick for you heard: Indirectly.

Levi scolds anyone calling you bigfoot or titan girl. His supposed reason: They didn’t clean well. In reality, he’s mad they pick on you but he can’t say it.

The captain is concerned that people don’t ruin your day and he’ll do something about it. That’s pretty damn astounding. Levi hardly bothers getting into other people’s mood management and personal things.

Armin thinks it’s adorable when Levi casually walks between you and Hanji, likely headed somewhere to buy conveniences because Sasha is dying to get food. Connie calls it the ‘Levi Sammich’ and laughs his ass off every. Single. Time.

Mad titan scientist she is, Hanji’s latest experiment involves a two-person battle maneuver where you have to carry Levi piggyback. He initially declines, but it looks adorable indeed, actually. You don’t really have to put efforts into holding him in place awkwardly, his legs are strong. So much about two-person maneuvers, the two of you fight well as a duo, your bodies complement each other. Best believe the same feat applies to what happens between four bedposts.

In more casual settings, he dons his usual scowl when he stands next to you, but he thinks it's sexy that you look at his shoulders from above. You can see the weight on them.

He wishes he had your shoulders. But then again, he wouldn’t want to change bodies at the end of the day, as surprising as it sounds. Levi knows he needs to be a compact little unit to do what he does.

A lot of people taunt you as a couple, but after some time of always reacting with anger right away, he becomes cooler about his self-worth. Levi realizes — man, he knows who he is.

Should you ever faint, he can catch you with ease. Levi Ackerman is the last guy to get crushed by his gf, that we all know. He’s not afraid of your body or your weight. No cowardice, no shame, no questions asked.

And as we know. He got a thing with your legs, don’t even try. Legs legs legs leggy legs, that’s all there is on Levi’s brain when you don’t wear a uniform but skirts during leisure time. He tries to block out that thought, unsuccessfully.

Titans he can go without, but you are his irreplaceable sexy goddess you know. Levi admires you.

Whenever you hit your hip or limbs at an awkwardly set-up table, Levi will position it elsewhere immediately. Low door frames he can’t do anything against, but he will tug at your sleeve twice every time you enter a room while walking behind you so you remember to stay alert. It’s... really cute how he’s tugging at you from below. I need a moment.

In the mornings, an even cuter thing happens: When his legs are too short to reach the ground while he’s sitting on an improvised barber chair of yours. You’re cutting his neck hair while he’s pouty about his tininess. You do your best to organize a smaller chair with Armin’s help later on.

But your height difference also causes some upheaval at the start or the relationship and brings up some deeper wounds.

You can easily help tie Eren’s man bun way up there and that makes Levi extra jealous. In fact, he feels like imploding to the point of creating a black hole. Even Mikasa is fine with it because it’s all on a friendly basis with no thought behind it. Like it’s just helping Eren get his hair under control for squad practice. But Levi sees red:

Out of sheer Ackerspite, he will grow out the top part of his undercut and ask you to tie up his hair, too. This guy is on fire. Like hello, he wants your hands in his hair like that as well!

He orders Mikasa to take care of Eren’s “brat mop on his head” every morning “for the sake of the cleanly survey corps dress code” without exception. Eren is totally confused, Mikasa likes the idea, and you are shocked.

Damn, this guy doesn’t play.

He wants you to stroke and tie only his sacred hair if he’s entirely honest with himself. Best time of the day for him. Levi ends up looking like your smol samurai bodyguard with his new hairstyle. You could fancy that in the long run.

And... you know he is insecure. You always know. And, if you’re honest yourself, are glad to have permission to give him such deliberate affection because he values it so much.

Levi hardly builds any romantic bonds and if he does, he easily feels left out because the truth is, he’s needier than the average person. It’s difficult if there are only few people close enough for that, since Levi needs a lot.

Eren is no viable competition, but you decide you gotta make that clear to the touch-starved little guy. Since... In reality, the man bun discussion is not about Levi being petty just because. It’s about wanting to have that connection with you. And: Your attention. Levi doesn’t look like it, but he needs it. A metric ton.

In fact, Levi is the biggest love-deprived attention whore on the entire island and that’s a hard fact.

So, what to do about it. First: Clean slate needed, because you’re a bit annoyed, too.

You sit down for dinner and talk to Levi about how you are not interested in stealing Eren from Mikasa, nor do you think Levi looks ugly or invisible compared to Eren because of the height. You want to be a helpful squad member and he has no business imposing his brat hair rules to make himself exclusive out of fear, as if you would jump Eren as soon as he doesn’t look. And that he should say when he’s envious or wants something, point-blank. You’re very willing to give him all the attention to the moon and back alright.

Levi, grumpy at himself, apologizes for wanting to control the situation instead of saying that he wishes for time with you and makes tea.

He’s feeling mighty called out but owns up to all of this having been a knee-jerk response. Guy’s hard on himself, but that’s how he adapts his behavior.

The whole truth is, he knows that Eren is a lot easier to be around while he, Levi, is a complicated guy that is arguably hard to approach in random matters, even for loved ones.

He beats himself up for that and wants to be more emotionally and physically accessible to you so you can shower your affections on him the way you want to. That’s what it really boils down to.

That means fishing for old parts of his youth he didn’t allow. Levi wants to challenge himself to be more open to receiving. He knows he keeps his appeal on lock and it’s time to change that because he sees that you enjoy such closeness. Just the way he does, but secretly.

He also says to you that you can always touch him the way you desire after work.

Levi sees how you like being hands-on and how you do it, and makes it firm that you don’t have to walk on eggshells, hold back, or ask like it’s a delicate matter.

Levi sees relationships in simple terms: Since you’re together, of course you can touch him. It’s part of the whole thing by default to him and he even assumed you took it for granted like there’s telepathy going on.

In fact, brace yourself: For the lack of a better word, it’s even his expectation that this happens. Not like an obligation but as in, that you take opportunities is a given to him, he anticipates it.

You reply that it’s good he communicates this, it’s got to be outspoken. His views on how this whole thing goes has to be out in the open. It gives you a lot more clarity on his boundaries, too.

Before another bout of jealousy unearths more taken-for-granted things, Levi realizes he has to make up his mind that he has to talk about his limits.

So, he also says he entrusts it to you to find the very right moments for skinship.

That entails kissing and pinning and sitting close to another. And sex. Which is pretty damn enjoyable with him, the real fucking deal. So steamy. My God.

And he makes it clear he does his paperwork fast and you can always ask, he’s never too busy to postpone things entirely. He’d rather die the next day after winding in the sheets than handling paper. Levi can’t sleep anyways so it gets his mind off. It’s always welcome and he tells you not to be hesitant.

Levi is the type to absolutely pick up the cues right away — and proceed to really make out against a wall really intensely — so you’re under no obligation to wave a giant red cloth in front of him like he’s a Spanish bull or whatever. He gets the hints and goes along. Not to worry.

You also ask Levi what he thinks about you initiating romantic things and he shrugs — „Do what you want.“

The brand of romance Levi is out for you can already guess anyways. Tea and more tea.

For now, that’s where you agree to “leave it at that” after he thanks you for being straightforward.

You launch your first affections before bedtime. He lets you sleep in his bed, damn right. You really have to be a priority to be able to reside there, I’m telling you. Levi rests with one eye open and in his harness, you have all the blanket for yourself to cuddle up in. That won’t stop you from peppering his face with a few very deliberately placed smooches.

Levi can’t deny he’s a sucker for getting forehead kisses. He drops his hygiene protocol just for that. Safe to say his man bun jealousy from earlier that day cools off in no time. Not to say it shatters completely when you go for the gold that is his pretty little mouth. He’s so overwhelmed emotionally, he almost cries. Levi never thought someone would do this with him.

You repeat the same thing next day, behind the barracks after sunset. Levi holds you real tight. He’s so addictive in the best way. Going by how breathless it all winds up to be, he doesn’t want the kisses to end.

What your height is handy for here? He can gaze up to the night sky when he locks lips with you. Levi, as we know, likes seeing the moon and training his neck flexibility anyways. But that’s not the purpose behind why he’s so down to kiss you so passionately, rest assured.

If he tiptoes a little, he can park his pretty face under your chin after you both ran out of air. Levi’s drug... your long neck. He thinks it smells so good.

He murmurs in response, but he actually wants to be gently cooed at and petted when he rests there. Just a little. He’s humming. Ah, so satisfying. Guess you aced the „Do what you want“ part. You’ll do this with him Lord knows for how many times.

Levi cuddles up at your chest later. Plenty of space for him, and he loves how your voice resounds from there.

Oh— by the way. Since Hanji installed one between the two apple trees outside: It’s always nice to sleep in a hammock with a tall girl. The fabric doesn’t fold him in, he can watch the stars with you off duty. You give him a reason to be content, and that’s the sweetest thing. Levi’s all in love, he’s really grateful. You go, Ma’am.

— more levi writings: sub!levi hc | levi’s happy end/tea shop hc

#levi hc #levi #levi ackerman #levi x reader #snk hc #snk imagine #levi headcanon #levi imagine #levi scenario #snk #aot #attack on titan #levi fluff #levi smut #shingeki no kyojin

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strangeinternetwasteland · 3 years

Text

Shattered Reality- Chapter 5

A/N: This chapter explains Gojo and Geto a little more. Y/N goes through a lot mentally.

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, fluff

Word Count: 2.6K

You were thankful for Gojo’s sense of urgency. The moment you uttered those words, he just reacted. You were anxious, scared, and uncertain. Sure your apartment building wasn’t very big, only three stories, but really other people’s lives were in ashes too. As you were traveling to your probably non-existing apartment, you were filled with dread. Where were you going to go now? You didn’t have any family around, and staying in a motel was going to cost you money you didn’t have. You groaned externally. How much worse could your life get? You really didn’t need an answer to that question, because you knew the answer.

As you debated your life and whether it was worth living, Gojo grabbed your hand and intertwined his fingers with his. An intimate gesture you’d normally shy away from, but for some reason, you found yourself actually enjoying whatever this was with him. You relaxed a bit. He brought your hand to his lips and kissed your fingers. Each and every single one. He hadn’t spoken a word since leaving his penthouse, but you really could use some sort of positive outlook in this situation.

As he turned the corner of the street where your apartment was located, you saw the fire engines, and police cars blocking the way. Gojo slowed the SUV, while you untangled your hand from Gojo’s. When he stopped you hopped out of the car and jogged to the scene of it all.

The fire was quick and intense, but there was virtually nothing left. It wasn’t as painful for you, seeing as you had very little to begin with, but other people’s lives were completely destroyed. You began to weep for them. You fell to your knees and just sobbed. You wish you could erase the last few days. You wanted it to end, all the pain, all the psychological scars, all the loneliness you were feeling.

Gojo had seen the emotional turmoil you were in. He realized that while the loss for you wasn’t great, for other’s it was more. It was their life. It was everything they owned. He’d do a lot more than burn down an apartment for a lot less. Hell, he did do a lot more for a lot less. It was what he grew up to be, who he was. He did feel an inkling of remorse, but at least nobody died... this time. He couldn’t ignore you or your feelings, he didn’t want to appear selfish or cold. So he did what any good guy did. He would comfort you.

Gojo wrapped his arms around you as you sobbed. He could play the perfect gentleman, he had been taught well. He knew that Geto’s father preferred him over Geto when it came to playing that role. Geto would grow angry quickly, and lash out just as he did two nights ago on you. As always, Gojo would be the one to clean up any mess Geto left behind. Most times, they could just drug them off and drop them off in the middle of nowhere with little regard for their wellbeing. Not this time though.

This time it was problematic, you were Kioko’s best friend, and unfortunately, another complication. So Gojo would play the sweet, and kind gentleman who saves the day. Kioko, who was so totally oblivious to the world around her. Gojo did think of her as a little sister, he cared about her. Enough so that he beat one of her ex’s two inches away from death, just because he grabbed her wrist to keep her from walking away.

Geto was lucky he was the leader's biological son. Gojo could’ve done so much worse to Geto, and he planned on it. While it was tricky, it was not impossible. That was always the plan all along though. It was always sitting in the back of his mind. Geto was set up to inherit the Nameless, when his father died, which could be at any moment. The only terrible thing that Geto did besides get physical with people, was take photos of all his “prizes” as he referred to them. Photos of the women he’d fuck, maim, or kill. What was surprising was the number of women who were into it. They’d allow him to do whatever he wanted to them, only because it was fun for him. Geto was really fucked up, when Gojo actually thought about it.

“Gojo, you’re hurting me.” You said to him. Gojo snapped out of his thoughts and back to reality. Gojo released his grip on your shoulder and rubbed the pain away.

“I am so sorry, Y/N. I was thinking about how awful this must be for you. I was getting upset at how terrible these last few days have been.” He told you as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. You leaned into him.You knew that this relationship, if you could call it that, felt good, even if temporary.

“The good thing here is that no one died.” He told you. You nodded in agreement, and gave him a small smile. You really were thankful you had Gojo to lean on right now.

“I should really find the officer that called me and talk to him.” You told Gojo. He watched you as you did so. Thinking on everything .Gojo waited while you talked to the officer. You gave your name and contact info to him. He asked a few questions about your whereabouts, and you answered them honestly. When the officer turned and saw Gojo he gave him a solemn nod. A secret code between members of Nameless. This was not lost on you, and you were going to ask him about it. The officer feigned interest, and let you go after a few minutes.

After talking to a few neighbors and checking in with them. Making sure there wasn’t anything they needed you walked back to Gojo. He took your hand in his as you headed back to his SUV. You warmed at the action, it seemed as if at least one thing was going right in your life.

“Gojo. I saw you and the officer nod to each other. Is that some sort of secret sign?” You teased him, laughing slightly and the ridiculousness of it.

“Yes, actually. We’re both in the mafia.” Gojo told you honestly. You laughed at him, thankful for his playful attitude.

“HA! HA! Very funny.” You said with sarcasm. Gojo was relieved to hear you think it was a joke, but when it came down to it, he could tell you that he was honest and he did tell you at one point. Gojo turned the car around and started heading back to his penthouse. If he had his way, you’d stay there forever, and he will, but he at least needed to act like you had an option.

“Y/N. I know that everything is really fucked up, right now. I want you to know that you’re more than welcome to stay in my penthouse as long as you’d like.” Gojo offered you. You really hadn’t thought much about it honestly. You would’ve stayed with Kioko, and then you remembered Geto. You decided that you needed to talk to Kioko about Geto, but wasn’t mentally prepared for that. You groaned aloud over the thought.

“Judging by that, I will take you to a family member if you prefer.” He countered.

“I don’t have any family, I was going to ask Kioko if I could stay with her, but…” You trailed off. You knew you didn’t need to say anymore. Gojo was with you through it all. You didn’t want to impose him anymore than you already have. Gojo couldn’t have been happier to hear that you didn’t have any family. No one would interfere.

“Look, if it helps, you can stay in my room, and I can stay in any of the guest beds, or on the couch.” He offered you.

“What if I want to stay in your bedroom with you?” You asked, trying to be flirty with him. He didn’t say anything in response. He just started the SUV and headed toward home. Unsure of what to say, you texted Kioko. The silence that filled the car was slightly awkward. Gojo put his hand on your knee. Honestly, the thought of just keeping you locked away from Geto, and being able to have you for himself was incredibly alluring.

“I was just kidding.” You finally said after a few moments of the unbearable silence.

“Hm? Kidding about what love?” He asked you, rubbing your leg. It seemed weird to you that he didn’t even listen to a word you said. Like some sort of switch had turned off in his mind. Although, calling you love, was almost impossible to not get excited about.

“Staying in your bedroom with you.” You said in a small voice. He laughed at this.

“Oh! Did I not respond to you? I mean, I have expectations of a woman when I am sharing a bedroom with her.” He squeezed your thigh with a lusty look in his eyes.

“Oh...I don’t mind helping out with cooking, or cleaning.” You told him, not understanding why he was acting so off.

“I wasn’t talking about cooking or cleaning.” He inhaled sharply as he pulled off into an alleyway. “I was talking about more intimate matters.” His devilish smirk didn’t hide any of his thoughts.

Gojo’s thoughts were far from his actual actions. He thought that if he could be intimate with you then you’d be more willing to do the things he asked. You were attractive to him sure, but the most appealing thing about you is that you were forbidden. Kioko’s best friend, and wanted by Geto. There was nothing he wanted less right now than intimacy.

“I-I am flattered Gojo, really. I know I said I wanted to stay with you in your bedroom, but I was just trying to be flirty. I really am not like that.” You admitted feeling foolish.

Gojo frowned. You were rejecting him. Something that not many women did. Though he had to admit this made you more appealing. He removed his hand from your thigh.

“My apologies, if I made you uncomfortable in any way. I overstepped my bounds. You already are dealing with so much. I am making it harder for you. If you do wish to stay with me the offer still stands. I will keep my distance from you. If you need anything feel free to ask. Otherwise, if you’d like I can drop you off at Kioko’s, since you're most comfortable with her. I can tell Geto keep his distance, but I cannot guarantee he’d listen to my suggestions.” Gojo’s tone turned cold.

You felt a stab in the chest. The warmth you felt just moments ago. You weren’t sure where you’d want to stay honestly. It was all overwhelming. While you really wanted to keep it all bottled up and suppress it, you felt yourself cracking. You weren’t a desperate person. You didn’t need love or affection, you didn’t seek gratification from people. You put walls up and let no one in. That’s exactly who you were. Why did Gojo’s actions bother you? Why did you exactly want Gojo anyway? Why did you let Geto get away with choking you? Why didn’t you kick his ass? Why? The answer was being screamed into your brain. Because you were weak. It was as simple as that.

Gojo pulled into the parking garage. You couldn’t do it anymore. You broke. You screamed as loud as you could muster. It was high pitched, and eerily reminiscent of the day prior. You felt like you were being tortured. When the screaming stopped, the tears came. You weren’t okay, you were losing it over everything. You wanted to make it all stop, and end it all.

Gojo sat there in the car. While, he really did truly understand this feeling. He was unsure how you wanted to be comforted. He let you scream out all of your frustrations, he knew after the pain, there were tears. After tears, there was emptiness. That changed a person, you either got over it and kept being you, or it changed your whole being.

You began sobbing into your hands. Of course when you truly needed someone there was no one. Kioko never responded to your text. Gojo hated you because you rejected him, and Geto wanted you dead. You were replaceable to everyone. You felt yourself growing angry. Why did it matter if you rejected Gojo? He shouldn’t have gotten mad at you. That’s an asshole thing to do. Gojo, to you, was no better than any other asshole. You felt the anger boiling over. You stared at Gojo, tears streaming down your face.

“You’re nothing but a fucking asshole.” You told him with venom in your voice. You didn’t care how nice he was to you before. It was his fault. Gojo was as unreadable as ever. He didn’t give you any hint of emotion.

“It must be easy for you. To not feel anything. No not give a shit about anyone other than yourself. To play with people’s emotions! To live in your fortress in the sky looking down on all the people like they’re peasants, for your pleasure.” You screamed at him.

“Anything else you’d like to tell me?” He asked you mockingly. You wanted nothing more than to punch him in his fucking face. There was nothing else that would give you pleasure at this moment.

“No, other than you’re a bitch.” You said as you cocked your arm back and then aimed straight for his nose. He dodged the attack, and took your hand in his. A slightly amused look was on his face.

“Y/N. I understand where you’re coming from.” He told you, but you didn’t believe him.

“Yeah, how could you Mr. Rich asshole, know what it is like to be me? You didn’t grow up poor.” You retorted.

“No. I didn’t. I had all my needs met.” He told you as a matter of factly.

“You know you can go fuck yourself!” You spat at him. Your anger was just exploding. You finally connected your fist to his jaw. Gojo couldn’t believe that you actually ended up punching him. It wasn’t super hard, but he did know it would be sore for a day or two. He knew he’d been egging you on. He knew that you needed to release everything you felt. He didn’t mind being the one you took it out on.

Your face turned from anger to horror as you realized what had you happened, what you had done. You backed up as far as you could, which wasn’t that far. You feared what Gojo would do to you. You fumbled looking for the door handle trying to escape as quickly as possible. Again there was no emotion on Gojo’s face, he turned getting out of the car, and walked around the car. He was opening your door, when you fell back slightly. The only thing on your mind was to run. Your fear was at an all time high. You got out of the car, shut the door, and turned to run.

Gojo placed a hand on your arm, squeezing slightly, and pulling you into him. You were unsure of why he would act like this. You didn’t want to have anything to do with him, and he didn’t want anything to do with you, you were sure. He wrapped both arms around you, and whispered.

“You’re okay. You’re safe.” You didn’t want to believe him, and yet, you believed him. He hugged you for a moment longer and grabbed your hand pulling along with him inside to his penthouse. You felt completely empty.

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#Gojo x reader #jjk au #mafia au #modern au

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mhdiaries · 4 years

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Frights, Camera, Action! – Hauntlywood Elissabat Diary

This 2nd Day of August

On the eve of my coronation, 400 years ago tonight, I slipped into the moonless Transylvanian darkness and disappeared forever. I remember it like it was yesterday; The Vampire’s Heart casting its red glow over my room as Lord Stoker explained that I was much too young to be the queen without his help and that if I simply did exactly as he instructed, my unlife would be perfect for us all. I had not been acting all that long by then, but I knew enough to recognize a bad director when I heard one, and I was fangsolutely positive I did not want a starring role in this production. Fortunately for me, I had made friends with a young explorer and mad scientist named Hexiciah Steam. Hexiciah and Lord Stoker did not exactly see eye to eye on, well, anything, and so, partially to help me and partially to tweak LS, Hexiciah helped me escape to a waiting ship that would take me to Londoom. I asked him about the Vampire’s Heart, but he told me not to worry about it and that it was safe from the reach of LS. Thus I became known as Elissabat the First, not because I was the first queen to have that name, but because I was the first to choose self-imposed exile over the throne. I often wonder what kind of queen I would make today, 400 years older and hopefully wiser. I’m certainly wise enough to keep two diaries now, especially since several pages of Veronica Von Vamp’s private musings somehow ended up on a celebrity gossip site. Good thing Veronica never breaks character even when she’s writing.

7 August

My agent sent over a script today for me to read. It’s about a young ghoul who is chosen to be the queen of an ancient kingdom, not because she is the true heir but because the Lord Chancellor wants to control the kingdom through her. Except the ghoul finds out and takes off before she takes the throne, only to be chased all over the world by the Lord Chancellor’s hench-monsters. Besides being completely implausible it involves multiple locations, chase scenes, stunts and a very large cast of characters. It sounds exhausting. I would love to do a small picture next. Something shot on location in Scaris at a small outdoor café where there are long pauses in between conversations and shots of me staring off into the distance as I ponder the deep secrets of unlife. I can just see my agent’s face now. His left eye will start to twitch, and he won’t be able to control it so he’ll put his shades on and then he’ll break into a sneezing fit and have to excuse himself while he leaves my trailer to try and regain his composure. He’s actually a very good agent who really does have my beast interests at heart, but he is such an excitable little goblin that I can’t help but tweak him just a little bit. I do sometimes tire of playing larger-than-unlife roles, even though my fans really do seem to love the films. I would just like to stretch myself as a performer, and I’ve done so many of these... oh well. I love to act, the fans love to watch, and we’re all happy in the end - except the critics, but they’re never happy, so I don’t waste too much time thinking about them. V3

This 10th Day of August

Each day now I hear about growing unrest in the kingdom and how the vampire lords are mounting pressure upon Lord Stoker to find a queen. Personally, I think they are overreacting, since 400 years is just a drop in the coffin for a vampire, but they are a rather stodgy bunch. Order, tradition and discipline are the code they... we... live by. I have applied those virtues in the way I have chosen to pursue my career, and they are the secret to my success. I have been accused of having a photographic memory, but that is not accurate. I simply work as hard as I can to be as prepared as I can so I do not make careless mistakes. My stage fright has never gone away, and I doubt it ever will, therefore intense preparation is the only way I can stand in front of a crowd and do my job or jobs. I think my intensity intimidates other monsters, and I know I am perceived as not being “approachable”, but it takes a lot of concentration to be Elissabat playing Veronica Von Vamp playing a completely different character on stage or in film. It is why I need to not be in “character”, and for that to happen I need to be myself. I should be getting ready to be Veronica again, since a car is about to arrive not to pick up not a queen of the vampires, but a queen of the silver scream. Some days I do wish that I only had one role to play, but which one do I choose?

16 September

I’m making the press circuit to promote my new film today, so I’m bringing Viperine along to do my makeup. Viperine has been doing my makeup for a while now, and I simply adore her. She is chatty but not intrusive, and I completely trust the job she does, which is good since there’s really no way for me to check the work. She started doing my makeup quite by accident, when my regular artist got cast in some unscripted reality show... shudder... and left without any notice. Viperine was just an intern at the time and was cutting her fangs by doing makeup on creatured extras, but when I stepped out of my trailer and called her over, she didn’t even hesitate. She’s also that rare monster that is completely content not being in the spotlight. I asked her if she would like to be in front on the camera one day, and she told me that she felt like she was in front of the camera every time I stepped on stage. She has a fright future in this boosness, I think.

This 20th Day of September

By the pricking of my thumbs something fishy this way comes. It is all over the news that a new vampire queen has been found and confirmed by Lord Stoker who said that he used the Vampire’s Heart to verify that this ghoul is the true heir. Well this is certainly curious, since I know for a fact that the VH is as lost as Hexiciah Steam. Well, perhaps “lost” is not the proper description. Maybe “unavailable for questioning” would be more to the point. I know this because if Lord Stoker had the real VH he would have used it to track me down soon after I ran away, and I would have spent the last 400 years issuing rulings on property disputes, meeting with Yeti ambassadors and doing Lord Stoker’s bidding. I do wish this “new queen”, whomever she is, the best of luck, especially with old LS lurking around. He knows everything there is to know about how the queendom runs, but he couldn’t lead a one-zombie parade. I feel sorry for him, because he could be a real asset to the throne if he didn’t want to sit on it himself.

1 October

I’ve been nominated for another award, which will make the fans happy and the critics not. I think this may be my best performance yet, but it is a rather popular film, and monsters have been creeping to it in packs. Personally, I believe there is a direct correlation between how well critics like a film and how many monsters have actually seen it. The more obscure the film and fewer monsters that have seen it, the more worthy critics seem to heap praise upon it. I suppose it makes them feel superior, especially when they dig up that old line about it being “the most important film of the year.” ‘Tis tiresome, mostly because they hold up a film that very few have seen as the gold standard by which all others must be judged and then sneer at any comparisons to it, which is convenient. I’m not saying that every film I have ever acted in has been perfect; in fact, some of the acting choices I made as a young ghoul I wish I could go back and remake, but regardless of the role or film I always strive to give a performance worthy of the ticket price.

This 6th Day of October

So the new queen they have chosen is Draculaura! I had purposely been avoiding the news because I have been feeling guilty about the situation, so I did not know that she was the one. We used to play together when we were young ghouls back in Transylvania, and I still recall monsters mistaking us for sisters. This is not fair. I like my unlife and I do not want to give it up, but can I really allow another monster, especially one whom I consider a friend, to take over duties, obligations and responsibilities that were meant for me? I ran once. I am not sure that I can do that again.

#monster high #monster high diary #elissabat #frights camera action #hauntlywood

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warlocks-and-warkeys · 4 years

Photo

Name: Samael, or a variety of other aliases

Race/Class/Alignment: Neutral Scourge Aasimar Knowledge Cleric

Vitals: appearance is that angelic sort of perfection - attractive, physically fit, hair like spun metal - has intense gold eyes and blonde hair that varies its length depending on what he feels like at the time, tanned skin, nothing else super physically imposing about him, more notable is his Presence, you always know when he walks into a room, he doesn’t have to say much to be commanding, it’s easy to see at first glance how he can inspire people to follow him, tends to dress nice but simply (art definitely not mine)

Personality: GOAL. ORIENTED. Samael is the poster boy for commitment. If ambition and stubbornness had a child, it would be him. This guy is Driven, and once he sets his mind to something, there is nothing - absolutely NOTHING - that will make him change his course. He lives his life by the principle that nothing is impossible, and - fortunately for those around him - his main goals and motivations tend to center around the simple notion that predestination sucks. He doesn’t like cosmic structure, chafes against the notion that anyone besides himself gets to determine his fate, and finds destiny offensive as a concept. He’s just looking for an escape. An absolute sort of freedom from it all. He doesn’t care who helps or hurts him, though he’ll deal with them in equal measure. Authority tends to rub him the wrong way in general, but he also has a sort of personal code by which he operates. Mostly in that, if he incurs a debt, he’ll pay it back, and he doesn’t lie. Why bother? When the truth is so much more damaging...

Bio: I basically wanted to play Lucifer from the Mike Carey comics, but that would involve some 20+ level business, so the compromise here is that Samael /used/ to be a much more powerful celestial being who, through a series of very specific events, lost his standing and - probably as a punishment - was cast down to the material plane in a mortal body and now has to work his way back up to where he used to be. But his mind and memories remain intact, just enough to make many cryptic mutterings and a lot of long-suffering sighs for the pettiness of his fellow party members and their short, short, insignificant existence. He generally tries to hide who and what he is, hence going by false names, and doesn’t whip out that scourge ability unless it’s an absolute last resort.

Quote: “I do, in fact, know everything.”

Theme Song: “He Is” by Ghost

So I’ve been rereading my Lucifer trades and I can’t get him out of my head.

It’s just...

Words. Cannot Describe.

How much I love this comic.

/cries/

#OCtober #d&d stuff #d&d 5e #d&d character #dnd character #dnd 5e #dnd stuff #cleric #lucifer love

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utopianparadoxist · 5 years

Text

Dialectic Identity? Thoughts on Fozzer, the Page of Heart:

OK this is gonna be shorter than Marvus obvs but Fozzer DID give me a good amount to think about, so here goes

Fozzer outright identifying as a dialectical materialist is exciting for a couple reasons. There’s a lot one could say about dialectics and Paradox Space in general (I’ve been trying to write that script for about a year) but here I want to focus on the Materialist half of that, because it immediately reminded me a lot of @arrghus’ idea of the notional/material divide between aspects.

Ever since the Extended Zodiac, we’ve been wondering if the way the Aspect wheel is laid out might suggest some relationships between Aspects, either original to Homestuck, mirroring the relationships the Signs share in the traditional Zodiac wheel, or some combination of both.

Arrghus’ essay series proposes a model for how those relationships might work, at least in part. I’d suggest checking it out for the full picture, but here I want to focus on the divide I find clearest and most compelling: That between the Ideal/Notional Aspects and the Material/Physical ones.

The gist is this: The top five Aspects (Mind, Hope, Breath, Life, and Light) are more closely aligned with the World of Ideas, and so those bound to them tend to be more concerned with the ideal, abstract, and imaginary. The bottom five (Void, Doom, Blood, Rage, and Heart) are more closely tied to the material, physical, and real.

If you’ve seen my prior writing on Homestuck, you might note that this dovetails easily with Gnosticism’s old cosmology of reality as divided between an imaginary world of Light and a physical world of Darkness. That said, this isn’t a hard binary--Blood obviously refers to some concepts as well as physical experience, and Breath obviously links to some things that happen in physicality, even if those elements are by definition elusive and insubstantial.

Space and Time are an even split, as much conceptual law to be deciphered as they are physical element of reality to be experienced. It could well be that this reflects most strongly in the perspectives those Bound to each Aspect are given to, as opposed to an underlying reality of the Aspects themselves, and in any case all twelve Aspects are necessary to describe a full picture of reality.

One of the most exciting possibilities this model raises for me is the idea of Aspect “Mirroring”, which is essentially a different kind of relationship Aspects can have. Aspects that are Mirror each other vertically, for example, might express the same ideas through the filter of the Ideal vs. the Material--reflecting the hermetic/magical principle of “As above, so below”.

Heart and Light are a pretty good way to express the relationship between vertically mirrored Aspects, as it turns out. Consider:

In Gnosticism, “Light” refers to directly to Information/Ideas, as the world of Light is the world of the imaginary. This is where “Platonic Ideals” live--the perfect imaginary version of any object, from which all physical manifestations of that object are derived.

Humanity gains the ability to access this world, the self-aware conciousness necessary to think, when the Goddess of Wisdom Sophia descends from that realm and imbues us with her Light--the light of curiosity, of wisdom, of the power to know. The light of the soul.

In this way, we can think of the Soul--the Heart--of living beings as their inner Light, expressed throughout their lives in the realm of physicality. And we can think of Light/Ideas as abstract concepts, that can only enter reality proper through the doorways created by the self-expression of individuals, as enabled by their soul.

There are a lot of ideas and concepts that Dirk’s soul seems consistently inclined to express onto reality. The shades, the concept of “being a Bro”, the idea of the Hard Anime Dude, Stoicism, the pervasive homoeroticism innate to the Greek ideals he’s generally shaped by, etc.

The clearest example of this might be his sword, which is itself a physical object seemingly ripped directly out of the “fake” (read: imaginary) world of anime. An idea, made physical, through the sheer expression of will manifested by Dirk’s soul.

This is what makes his katana so powerful:

It’s quite near to being a physical expression of our collective idea of the “Perfect Sword”, much like Bro sets an impossible ideal of “Perfect Manhood” that Dave wrestles with living up to. This might give you an idea of some of the more direct ways Heart’s conceptual toolbox could be exploited or weaponized.

The point here is that just expressing the idea of a “Bro” is extremely important to Dirk, and expressing the idea of “Cats” is similarly important to Nepeta and Meulin.

In the same way, Fozzer seems like an acutely intense expression of a political Persona. A philosophical idea, expressed in the physical world as an intense commitment to an associated identity. His shovel is an expression of that identity, much the same way Dirk’s katana or Nepeta’s claws are expressions of theirs.

But then again, Fozzer’s identity ain’t exactly stable, is it?

Before we talk about The Thing That Happens, we should note that as much as Fozzer seems to genuinely believe in his communist philosophy, he mostly seems interested in it as a means for self-expression, rather than an actual political movement with direct goals and results he’s looking to achieve.

And even though he’s very intense and earnest about it, Fozzer seems inclined to exploit his own identity in somewhat self-serving ways. Unintentionally or no, he more or less uses his ideological speechifying to conscript the Reader into doing work for him, therefore inviting the reader to Serve him through Heart, for Fozzer’s own benefit.

This, coupled with his strongly noted cowardice, leads me to consider him a Page. But my real point here is that even if a lot of us here on Tumblr find Fozzer’s ideology appealing, Fozzer seems less invested in ideology proper than with the identity it comes with--and even here, Fozzer isn’t exactly being portrayed as unambiguously Good and Correct.

Even if he’s preferable to the alternative. Sigh.

Let’s talk about the thing.

[WORLDBUILDING INTERMISSION]

So the biggest surprise of this friendsim was that we stumbled onto what’s basically a swell of Scratch energy just...hanging out under Absence Park, apparently?

Which is. A lot. This energy resets our conversation with Fozzer and changes his personality, which we’ll get into in a minute, but first I want to speculate: How the hell does this thing exist at all, and what does it even mean? There’s a couple of possibilities.

Since this is essentially Time-coded Scratch energy we’re dealing with, @blindrapture pointed out that it could have something to do with the Handmaid, which I’d expand to include Lord English--and though I doubt it’s directly linked to Scratch himself, since he’s not too associated with Time the way the former two are, he may be aware of or able to use this...”glitch” in reality.

It’s also possible this is a natural consequence of a Scratch, and pockets of leftover Scratch energy like these are present in some locations of Post-Scratch worlds. For that matter, it could be a consequence of John’s retcon powers, which act like the scratch in some ways and might have had consequences we don’t yet fully understand.

Finally, given the language, I suspect that the hole in Absence Park is actually just a hole into the Void, leading to the Furthest Ring, much like Roxy’s windows. This Scratch energy seems to have entered the Furthest Ring, and is presumably writhing there until circumstances allow it to vent out through this particular entrance to reality.

What are the implications? Who knows. If this is a hole into the Void, then this is another avenue through which Hiveswap’s cast might be able to exit Alternia and find a new world.

If the Scratch outbursts are recurring enough, then we have at least one way for our heroes to “Time Travel” and basically save scum to try and achieve optimal desires results, like saving a troll friend who gets killed by going back in time for example.

That’s probably the biggest takeaway to me, because having a way to time travel built into Hiveswap’s text already makes me that much more sure that no matter what kind of carnage and brutality our beloved troll friends get subjected to, we’re ultimately headed towards a happy ending where probably nobody dies-- I can reasonably see the possibility that even antagonistic figures like Ardata and even Trizza could be saved, under these circumstances.

Ok back to Fozzer.

So the thing about “Post-Scratch” Fozzer is that I feel he’s being dismissed somewhat due to his admittedly unsavory politics. This still strikes me as a very genuine and direct expression of Fozzer’s Classpect inclinations.

Fozzer is still taking a very materialist view of reality here, for example--he’s interested in the actual physical history of how this system evolved, and considers understanding that history necessary to understanding society.

And however he disagrees with you, his instinctual response is the same. He storms off after verbally thrashing the Reader, but its interesting that he does it the same way both times: By imposing identities onto the Reader. Hilariously, Fozzer is unwittingly owning alternate versions of himself, too, and unwittingly inviting self-owns is basically the core of the Knight/Page aesthetic.

So really, Fozzer’s core personality is much the same--what’s taken place is a binary flip in the persona he relates to the world with. In one reality, he conveys the ideas of the hopeful revolutionary underclass.

In the other, he projects the identity of a happy and willing member for the Empire’s war-machine--the joyful slave, the pain of his own exploitation cushioned by a strong sense of societal purpose and identity. Note how the shovel easily parses as a strong symbol of this identity, too--a triumphant tool with which to serve the empire, rather than an ironic symbol of oppression.

I don’t think we should be hasty in assuming one Fozzer is more real than the other, even if we’re inclined to like one of them more. Especially since Fozzer works in Absence Park and seems familiar with these lights, meaning these scratch shifts might have been happening to him for a while.

The two Fozzers give us a fascinating window into the nuances of Heart, and indeed we’ve been told this sort of splintering of self can be common to the Heartbound by Calliope. Their opposing ideologies present us with a self-contained dialectic, in fact.

A dialectic at its core is a search for truth carried out by contrasting and comparing two diametrically opposed ideas, which in Hegel’s dialetic at least are defined as the Thesis and Anti-Thesis, respectively.

In Hegel’s understanding of the term, we can only truly understand an individual idea (say: Fozzer) by examining the tensions and similarities between these two opposed perspectives.

And these tensions are usually resolved not by one winning out over the other, but by achieving a Synthesis that combines he best traits of both.

Maybe because of that, I find the fact that we can only “win” by embracing the “Happy Slave” Fozzer unnerving. It’s hard to say how Fozzer’s path will evolve going forward, but given how central the idea of conflicting opposites is to his expression of his Classpect, I highly doubt we’ve seen the last of “Comrade” Fozzer.

So, I guess we’ll just have to see how it goes?

[Closing disclaimer: I’m not entirely sure how different Marxism’s Dialectic Materialist approach is from Hegel’s Dialectics. For instance, I’m unsure if it also uses the “Thesis”, “Anti-Thesis”, “Synthesis” model Hegel describes, or if I’m accidentally mixing the two.

@gamblignant8 on the Perfectly Generic Podcast described Dialectic Materialism as being Hegel’s Dialectic applied with a focus on physical reality, mixed with an analysis of humanity’s historical evolution on the physical plain.

Cursory Wikipedia research seems to bear this out, with Marx even describing Dialectic Materialism as simply the opposite of Hegel’s more philosophical and idealistic take on the idea, which Marx regarded as full of “Mysticism”. As a Hopebound more comfortable with the ideal than the material myself, I suppose its no surprise I find Hegel’s dialectics more immediately approachable and comfortable, for now.

What I’m saying here is, take everything I’ve written about dialectic materialism here with a grain of salt: I’m trying to do my homework and make sure I have the facts straight, but it turns out philosophy can get hard to sum up, especially when you’re trying to reconcile it with a fantasy metaphysics system. Feel free to clarify if I’ve messed details up. ]

#Homestuck #fozzer velyes #fozzer #Hiveswap #Hiveswap Friendsim #My MSPA Analysis #Gnosticism #Heart #Light #Persona #Dialectics #Dialectic Materialism

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thesecretfandom · 6 years

Text

Wanderlust: Castle on the Hill -- Bughead (Chapter 9)

Word Count: 6,322

Rated: E

A/N: Approaching the final few chapters, I really hope you enjoy this chapter because I know I enjoyed writing it! In another post I want to talk more about my time in Alnwick and post more pictures. I really felt a strong connection to this chapter. It’s also the longest chapter of the series! Enjoy! (Read on AO3)

(Previous Chapter) (Next Chapter Coming Soon)

Church bells chimed through Edinburgh when they stepped off the bus that Sunday morning. All six of the weary travelers shuffled along quietly toward yet another hostel. What's really only been a few weeks feels like a year after all of the planes and trains they've been on.

Veronica's phone was shouting out directions as they zigzagged through the hilly streets of the Scottish city. Finally they passed a row of blue residences, with a sign for the Cowgate Hostel hanging above the lobby. Again, Veronica handled checking in, offering up her passport as her ID.

"Okay, so you're in apartment ninety-two, just two doors down on your left when you go outside." The front deskperson pointed in that general direction. Flat number three is on the first floor and you are in room two. This code will get you into the apartment, the round key into your flat, and the square key will go directly to your room. How many keys?"

"Three will be fine." Veronica tucked her passport back into her purse.

"That will be thirty pounds deposit that will be returned upon the checkout when you turn in your keys."

"Shit, does anyone have cash?" Veronica looked helplessly back at Betty.

Betty rolled her eyes, but pulled the money from her purse and passed it along.

"I am going to sleep for hours. Might as well just write today off completely…" Jughead mumbled so only Betty could hear him. Veronica led them to the small room lined with six bunks. A few of them were occupied by various individuals. "You didn't have anything planned, right?"

"Just general wandering that can be squeezed in over the next day and a half after today. But I'm warning you, my Harry Potter tour starts here."

"Here, in this dingy hostel?"

"Here, as in, in Edinburgh. You know J.K. Rowling wrote the books here."

"Save the podcast lecture you're about to give me for tomorrow. I'm too tired to fully absorb the knowledge right now."

"Did you just imply that I lecture you?" Betty scowled as Jughead claimed the top bunk for his suitcase. He gestured for Betty's bags as well and set them up alongside his.

"Forgive me if my lack of sleep last night has made me grumpy."

Jughead sat heavily on the lower bunk and discarded his shoes almost immediately. He had tucked himself under the covers before Betty could even reach up to remove her ponytail.

"Are you gonna come cuddle me, or am I gonna have to beg?"

"Hold your horses, drama queen…" Betty tossed her shoes next to Jughead's and sat down. She pulled the curtain that hung across the bunk before letting Jughead pull her to his side. She allowed her head to rest over his heart. His fingers found her hair, tugging slightly so her chin tipped up toward him.

"I love you." Jughead whispered against her lips.

"I love you, too."

"Goodnight." His lips moved to her hair when Betty cuddled against his shoulder.

"It's still morning."

"Semantics…" He yawned. He didn't elaborate and in only a few moments his breathing slowed and his grip relaxed. Betty found herself drifting off as well, falling into the rhythm of his breaths.

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

"So what's the significance of this café?" Cheryl asked. "I do love the color though."

The sign read "The Elephant Café" and was painted bright red. On a Monday morning, there was a line of tourists and locals in front of the glass pastry cases, ordering up coffees for the start of the work week or a day of sightseeing.

"This is where J.K. Rowling wrote much of Harry Potter." Betty replied.

"Today isn't going to be some Harry Potter fangirl tour, is it?" Cheryl fixed Betty with a withering look.

"No, in fact this is the only Harry Potter related place that I know of in Edinburgh."

"Oh, thank God."

Betty bought their morning coffees with two crisp twenty pound notes. From the table they were given at the back of the café, they could see Edinburgh Castle perched precariously on top of a cliff. Large and imposing, Jughead already had his camera out before they were even seated.

Betty laid out her phone with the notes screen open for her friends to see. Listed in bullet points, she showed them their tentative itinerary for the day. Elephant House, check. Next up, a walk up Princes Street to Edinburgh castle.

"And then we've got tickets for the theater tonight at seven and you'll be happy to know that we'll have time to go to the club across the street from the hostel when we get back."

"Now that's what I'm talking about!" Reggie exclaimed. "I mean I'm down for the play or whatever, but a club just a few steps from where I'm sleeping will be such a life saver."

"And we're lucky there are no canals for you to jump into this time, buddy." Jughead supplied, patting him on the back. "And damn I wish I'd been there to see that."

"Hey man, you were too busy getting frisky with Betty." Reggie punched his shoulder. "I can respect that."

"For your information, we only kissed that night. You and that dirty canal water passed more bases that night."

Reggie shrugged, but threw a wink in Betty's direction. Her cheeks flared up of their own accord, wondering what Reggie saw when he saw the two of them together. Then, Jughead put his hand on her knee and she realized that she didn't care what he thought.

"Somehow this conversation is both sappy and dirty." Veronica set her empty mug on the table top and dabbed the whipped cream from her lip. "Let's continue this conversation on the way to the castle. I want Jughead's magical camera on me when we get there."

"I think Betty's got that position taken." Archie nudged her, taking her hand as they made their way out of the café toward Princes Street.

"I don't mind sharing the camera if Jughead doesn't." Betty replied.

"Just answer me one thing, if the camera is magical does that make me a wizard?" Jughead teased.

Veronica glanced over her should at him as they passed a street performer. "I feel like if I say no you're going to revoke your agreement to be my personal photographer so I'm going to say yes. Grand Wizard Jughead Jones!"

"That's what I like to hear." Jughead grinned.

It was a sunny day, hardly a cloud in sight. Those that did cross the sky were like cotton balls, carefully placed there by a higher power. If there was one thing other than Betty that Jughead's camera was drawn to, it was a good set of fluffy clouds. In the foreground the Scottish flag and the Union Jack fluttered in the wind. Further on, a church steeple took the place of the flags, then finally… the castle itself at the top of the hill.

When they'd passed the ticket gate, Betty ran ahead. She was practically prancing when she reached the waist height wall separating them from a deadly drop. She threw her head back over her shoulder, her ponytail flying out. Jughead didn't see anything else. He saw nothing but the grin on her face. Click.

Overcome with a sudden urge, he reached out for her waist and pulled her into his chest. His lips found hers in a warm, wet, passionate kiss. He felt completely overwhelmed with the intense love he felt for this woman who, only a month ago, he hadn't even met yet.

"What was that for?" Betty asked, breathless, when he finally pulled away.

"I just love you…" He took her hand and brought it to his lips. "…like a lot. Yeah, I love you a lot."

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

Hours later, after exploring the cobblestone courtyards of the Edinburgh Castle and the Crown Jewels of Scotland locked up in a tower, they left the extravagant Festival Theatre. Betty was still humming along to "Chitty chitty bang bang" as they walked back to their hostel. Even on a Monday, the music from the club was still loud enough for them to hear in their room. They stayed only long enough to change out of their theater clothes and into more club appropriate garb.

Cheryl hiked up a red mini skirt before pulling off the black dress she'd been wearing that day. This left her with only a bandeau covering her chest. Veronica's outfit had more fabric but was no less revealing. A lace crop over dark, purple bralette. Archie and Reggie, from their respective spots on their beds, watched the girls with interest.

Betty, however, pulled her hair out of its ponytail and ditched her light cardigan, knowing the heat and sweat that waited inside the club.

" Okay, Betty my darling…" Veronica slung her purse over her shoulder and snatched Betty's hand. "Tonight, we are getting you wasted."

"Oh, I don’t think…"

"And therein lies the problem." Cheryl took her other hand and all but yanked her out the door. "You think too much. Jughead, we're relying on you to get her to loosen up."

Jughead took over Cheryl and Veronica's spot, holding her waist as he walked close behind her. "We'll get something loosened up."

They could hardly hear their own voices when they entered the club. Jughead ordered something pink and bubbly for her, and a glass of dark liquor for himself. There was a large, cushioned booth in the corner where the girls dropped their purses. Cheryl and Veronica already on the dance floor. Betty dropped into the seat with her drink, taking a long sip.

The booze went down hot, the burn making her cough. "What is this?"

Jughead sat down next to her. "Vodka cran… double shot."

"Double?"

"You said order whatever." Jughead smirked. "And I may have been hoping you'd, how did Reggie put it… get a little frisky tonight."

Slowly, she let her hand move from his knee to his thigh. Lips moved to his so she could be sure that he would hear every word she said.

"You don't have to get me drunk to get me frisky." She slid her hand up further. "You just have to kiss me like you did this morning."

That was all the invitation he needed. Jughead pressed Betty back into the seat, his hands coming up to her neck. He loved the skin there, soft and smooth… he could feel her heartbeat quicken when he deepened the kiss.

Reluctantly, Jughead pulled back.

"Why?" Betty breathed.

"I just want to finish my drink… so we can dance and not worry about leaving them behind."

"And here I thought you didn't dance." Betty teased. She took a long swig of her drink, almost emptying the glass.

"With you, I'll dance."

Betty and Jughead both finished their drinks in record time and Jughead pulled her by the waist onto the dance floor. Their bodies moved in sync to the music, pressed so close together that Betty could feel every part of her boyfriend pressed against her back.

Betty spun swiftly in his arms, wrapping hers around his torso. Her lips found his neck, sucking a mark on his salty skin. Hands exploring his toned back and fingers tangling with the hair at the nape of his neck.

Jughead's hand was at her lower back, the other reached to grab her hand. Suddenly, he was pulling her off the dance floor and toward the exit. The night air was cool against her skin, but nothing else mattered except for Jughead pulling her into a dark corner at the front of the club.

"I wish we had our own room." He growled, his hands dipping under the waistband of her skirt.

"Who says we need a room?" She wanted so badly to rip his shirt off right there, but was still vaguely aware of the few patrons still milling around the front of the building.

"What, you want to go back to the club bathroom?"

Betty hooked her fingers through his belt loops and started pulling him toward the crosswalk and the hostel.

"I have a better idea." Betty stopped just long enough outside their building to catch Jughead's lips once again. She whispered next right against his lips. "I bet there's no one using the showers right now."

"Good idea," Jughead grinned. "I am feeling a little dirty."

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

The next morning they sped across the countryside on the ten o'clock train. With the fields of sheep and crops, and not a mountain in sight, Jughead could almost pretend he was back in the small town where he grew up. The few stone towers built on the rolling hills were the only sign that they were, in fact, still roaming through a country where medieval castles still existed.

Betty stared out the window the for the entire hour that they were on the train. Jughead spent that hour looking at Betty. Occasionally through the lens of his camera, but mostly through the shaded lenses of his sunglasses.

Alnmouth station was small, in the middle of nowhere, but one of the workers pointed them to a nearby bus stop.

"Are we sure we're in the right place?" Archie asked as they stood under the cover of the plexiglass bus shelter.

"Yes, Archiekins." Veronica showed him the map on her phone for the third time. "The bus should be here within ten minutes or so."

"Okay, I get that, but I thought we were going to some huge British castle, but there isn't a city for miles. This place feels more like a village." He gestured to the few houses around them.

"Alnwick is just a few miles away." Betty supplied. "And the castle is the largest remaining castle in Northern England. It just so happens that it's a pretty rural area up here, but the castle really is a huge tourist attraction."

"Has anyone ever told you that you should be a teacher?" Reggie said. "I mean, that was actually kind of interesting for a minute."

"It was two sentences, Reg. Don't strain yourself." Jughead sighed. "Here's the bus."

Another short jaunt across the English countryside brought them right into the heart of Alnwick. The bus stop was set right in the shopping district, in front of a grocery store that was similarly sized to one he might see back home.

The Black Swan Inn was just down the block and quiet at this time of day. Downstairs was a traditional British pub with old woodwork and charming architecture where a few patrons sat eating lunch. The woman behind the bar was able to quickly check them in to their rooms. They were lucky in making their reservation that all of the three rooms provided by The Black Swan were vacant and available for them.

Jughead was quick to fall onto the bed in the small, but quaint room.

"Our own room, thank God." He groaned, sinking into the pillows.

"Don't get too comfy, Jug, I want to see the castle."

"But we have our own room…" Jughead said slowly. He said up long enough to grab her waist and pull her down on top of him. "Surely, we have some time to waste."

"Tempting…" She whispered, fingers grazing up his side. "But it can wait until tonight."

"You drive a hard bargain, Cooper… but I accept your deal on one condition."

"Yeah, what's that?"

"I'm gonna need the greatest kiss you can muster to tide me over."

"Now that, I can do."

They met their friends downstairs ten minutes later. The castle was situated just behind the pub, but they had to walk around the outer wall of the castle before the castle really came into view. Betty insisted they continue past the castle to the pasture covered the massive expanse of land on the other side of the castle.

The view literally knocked Betty off her feet, either that or it was the patch of mud that she slid on before falling on her ass.

"Shit, are you okay?" Jughead was trying to be serious, but couldn't help laughing at the splotch of mud on the back of her jeans.

"Fine…" She held her hand out for Jughead to lift her off the ground. "Just remind me to change when we get back."

"No need, I'll handle it." Jughead grinned and winked before he started to attempt to wipe the mud off the back of her pants.

"Very funny, Jug, but that's not helping." She pulled his hands off her ass and leaned in close. "You can have some quality time with my body later, but for now your hands are banned from boobs and butt, got it?"

"I like it when you're bossy." His body really had flushed with the implication, but he raised his hands in surrender when she scowled at him. "I mean, yes ma'am."

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

They decided to hit up the Alnwick garden next, opting to give the castle its own day. It was a massive expanse of trees, flowers, fountains and shrubbery. A huge water feature greeted them when they walked through the gate, and a full color map to show them each of the different gardens within the stone walls.

They started at the right side of the garden, where the labyrinth led them through a tunnel of shrubs led them around to a cluster of modern, artistic fountains. Families with small children crowded around this area, with the kids in their bathing suits waiting for the fountain to spray. When the geyser finally shot a shower of cold water into the air, the kids squealed from the cold and excitement that Betty remembers feeling running through the sprinkler as a kid.

They continued on, through a long tunneled arch of ivy.

"I feel like I'm in a real fairytale, Jug." She spun in a circle ahead of him, willing him to pick her up and spin her himself.

"As well you should." He caught up and took her hand in his.

"Especially with that silly hat of yours…" She said, tugging on the fabric of his beanie.

"Excuse me, it is not silly. It's called fashion… you might've heard of it."

"Whatever you say, darling." Betty patted his cheek adoringly. "All I know is that it hides your perfect hair from me, but it does make you look like my prince charming."

"Aha, so you like it then." They emerged on into the rose garden, where other fairytale icons were immortalized in statue form.

"If I didn't like it, I would have tried before now to get you to take it off." Betty rolled her eyes and left the conversation at that when she saw the rose from Beauty and the Beast on a stone pedestal. Then Cinderella's shoe and the Frog Prince… it really was more of a fairytale garden than a rose garden.

A forest of cherry blossom trees covered another corner of the garden, rows and rows of bench swings lined up and perfect for photographing. Betty heard Jughead's camera click three times before she'd even sat down in the swing.

"Perfection."

The sun was beginning to set when they left the garden and began the walk back to their room. They planned to grab dinner downstairs and the head back to their room for an early night, but one pint of cider turned into three and Reggie throwing back beer like it was water. They all found the conversation with the locals to be more rewarding than a night of watching the BBC would be.

Veronica and Cheryl were talking to some of the locals bellied up to the bar, leaving Archie scowling jealously over his beer every time Veronica laughed at something the guy said.

"Poor sap." Jughead said, nodding in Archie's direction. "He's like a puppy… if he's not getting attention, he thinks he's done something wrong."

"He'll get over it." Betty drank down the last bit of her cider, feeling a bit sluggish if not craving Jughead's touch on her body. "You ready to head up?"

Jughead glanced to his drink, then at the look in Betty's eyes. He chugged down the last of his drink and pulled Betty from her seat and toward the stairs to their room.

As soon as the door shut behind them Jughead pressed her against it, his fingers going first under her shirt and unhooking her bra, then to the button of her jeans. All the while, his lips were against hers, tongues dancing blissfully together.

Betty did the same, pulling his jeans down before pushing him back onto the bed. She yanked off his beanie, finally being allowed to fully run her fingers through his hair. Jughead was attempting to pull Betty's shirt over her head, but stopped suddenly when Betty's lips moved down… down… to the elastic of his boxers. She pulled the fabric between her teeth, letting it slap back down against his skin. Then her tongue was trailing up his stomach as she pushed his T-shirt toward his head.

And suddenly all of her warmth was gone, Betty stood up and turned her back to Jughead.

He whimpered, annoyed.

"You just get the rest of your clothes off, and I'll give you a little show." She kept her back to him as she pulled her blouse off and then the straps of her already unlatched bra. Jughead said nothing, even when she pulled down her jeans and turned back to face him.

Jughead was laying flat on his back, his shirt off but his jeans still stuck around his ankles where he hadn't yet managed to get his boots off his feet. Light snores snuck out between his lips.

"Jug?" Betty crawled over the bed until she was laying next to him. She rolled her eyes and sighed when she realized he wasn't faking it. She pecked him lightly on the lips. "Tomorrow then."

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

Jughead woke up with a half naked woman in his bed. That was a bit generous, he thought, when she was completely naked aside from the panties she wore. Jughead was in a similar position, his pants mysteriously missing when he distinctly remembered having them on when he fell asleep.

Betty stirred when Jughead stretched his free arm over his head, the other arm stuck snugly between Betty's shoulders and the bed. She nuzzled further into the crook of his shoulder, her legs sneaking through his. Jughead hissed when her cold toes hit his thigh.

"Sorry…" She grumbled, but Jughead could feel the curl of her smirk against his skin.

"Liar."

"Love you." She finally lifted her head and let her chin rest on his shoulder as she looked up into his eyes.

Jughead shook his head at her, a strand of hair falling over his eye as he did so. "Love you more."

"Impossible." Betty pressed an eager kiss to his lips before disentangling herself and walking to the en suite bathroom. She dropped her panties on the floor before she got there, but didn't turn to give Jughead the view. "You missed a fun time last night."

The night before came flooding back to him. Three beers, Betty was horny, warm lips and cold fingers… and the intoxication finally pulling him into sleep.

"Shit." He pulled Betty's pillow over his eyes to hide his shame. "I'm sorry… I blame the beer."

"No need to apologize to me… you were the one practically begging for it all day yesterday."

"I was not begging…" He argued. Jughead followed her into the bathroom to fix the nest of hair on his head.

"Keep telling yourself that, but you have to wait until tonight to try again."

"I'm literally never drinking again."

"That's a bold statement…" Betty finally stepped into the shower. "We'll see how you feel about that at the pub quiz tonight. Liquor makes the brain move quicker."

"I'm pretty sure that is one hundred person incorrect."

"Points for rhyming though?"

"I'd give it a solid eight of ten." The wet smack of a washcloth hit Jughead in the back of the head. He turned to see Betty scowling, peeking from behind the shower curtain.

"It was at least eight and a half."

"I'll let you have that." He left the bathroom to wait at the small desk near the window. His laptop had been neglected for much of the trip, but now he had at least thirty minutes uninterrupted to continue his account of the trip so far.

He opened up the document aptly titled "Europe." He hadn't yet come up with some clever title, preferring to wait until the end. The last he'd written was during their time in Greece, so he had a few cities to catch up on. He pointed his cursor at the end of the last sentence he wrote, thinking back fondly to only a few weeks ago.

/Golden blonde hair falls over her face, obscuring those features he's come to love. This sleeping beauty doesn't know it yet, but she will soon. He loves her, after only two weeks he found that he could not imagine life without her. He would tell her soon, in Italy. Betty Cooper, the woman he loves./

He thought of all the time and moments that had passed between them. Exchanging 'I love yous', making love for the first time, and the second and the third… he had a lot to catch up on, but maybe he'd keep some of those personal moments in a private folder.

"Haven't seen you do any writing in a while, what's it about?" Betty emerged from the bathroom with her hair thrown up in a ponytail and lips glossed pink.

"I'll let you read it when it's finished, but until then it remains a secret."

"You sure know how to keep a girl in suspense." She grabbed her purse from where it hung on the corner of the footboard. "Ready to see another castle?"

"Always."

They enjoyed another sunny day, the sun bouncing off the stone walls that surrounded the town. Jughead could see every single crack in the mortar, every detail of the stonework standing out in sharp lines. The grass lawn of the outer bailey within the castle grounds was as bright as that of a golf course.

He couldn't quite put into words the simplistic beauty of the castle in front of him. It wasn't as grand as Neuschwanstein, nor as intricate in detail as Prague Castle, but the simple beauty was enough. A court jester was finishing his set on the lawn to the right of the cobblestone path. Flaming batons flew through the air, coming to a final stop in his hands.

"We missed the show…" Betty pouted.

Jughead nudged her shoulder, pointing to a sign set up in front of the performer. Next show: 3:00.

"So only two hours to explore? I think we can make that work."

"Guys! Broomstick flying lessons!" Archie bounded up out of nowhere and grabbed Jughead around the shoulders.

"Oh yeah!" Betty followed along excitedly. "I forgot to mention they filmed some of Harry Potter here… the broomstick flying lessons in particular."

"Damn, this place has pizzazz." Jughead grinned, snatching his camera to get a picture of the twig brooms brought out by the actors playing the instructors. "Can't wait to see the rest of it… like the actual inside of the castle."

"We have plenty of time."

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

After prancing in the grass like a bunch of kids, with brooms held between their knees, they moved on to the sophistication waiting inside. The state rooms were ornately furnished, gold accents on the walls, furniture, and doors. Cheryl walked around like she owned the place, only stopping herself from picking up a candelabra when Betty pulled her back.

"Cheryl, this isn't Thornhill… an actual Duke lives here with his family." Betty led her to the library, where most of the room was thankfully roped off. "No touching."

"I can't help that it reminds me of home."

Betty rolled her eyes, but trusted that Cheryl would keep her hands to herself and moved back to Jughead's side.

"What do you say we hit up the fish and chip shop?" She asked, already knowing what his answer would be. "By the time we're done eating we can see the jester and then the rest of the castle grounds."

He smirked, pulling her into his side with a kiss to her temple. "You are almost painfully organized, you know that?"

Betty shrugged. "You'll get used to it."

"I think I already am. Come on, I'm starving."

Betty ordered fish bites, while Jughead got a full serving of fish and chips, reluctantly allowing Betty to sneak a few chips off of his plate. They continued, hands intertwined, for the rest of the day… up until they were back at the pub for quiz night.

The pub was packed with locals and tourists alike from what Betty could tell. Groups of four and five were given quiz papers and a pencil, blank lines listed numbers one to thirty for the answers to be written. More than half the pub was already on the way to being drunk, so Betty thought they stood a decent chance.

"Well, we all know I have the lowest IQ in the group," Reggie said, returning to their table with two beers. "So I'll sit out on this one."

"Great job taking one for the team, Reg." Archie clapped him on the shoulder and took the second beer from him.

"Hey, those were both for me." He made a move to snatch it back from him.

"Chill, I got the next round."

Betty tucked her head against Jughead's shoulder with a happy sigh. Her two best friends, two new friends, her boyfriend… she couldn't be happier with where their adventure had taken them. It was nearing the end, though. There was only a week and a half left in their trip and they hadn't discussed what happened when they went home.

"Hey," Jughead whispered, close enough that only she could hear. "You want to head back to the room? We've already answered twenty of thirty questions… I think they can handle the rest. Plus, the award for winning is just another round of drinks."

Betty nodded. "Let's go."

Jughead moved purposefully through the crowd and up the stairs to their room. As soon as he'd stepped through the door he threw his beanie on the desk. Betty pulled out her ponytail, sighing gratefully when Jughead slipped his fingers through her hair.

His lips moved languidly over her own, taking his time. Every movement was slow but meaningful. Hands moved to her hips, teasing under her blouse and moving up. Their lips only parted for a moment when Jughead pulled her shirt off. He pushed her down on the bed, smoothly pushing down her short skirt.

"Juggie…" She breathed. Her head pressed back against the pillow when Jughead started to work on her neck, leaving bites all over. "I want to see more of you. Get your fucking shirt off."

Betty was already halfway there when Jughead decided to spare one hand to finish pulling his shirt off. His lips moved from her neck to her chest to her stomach to…

"Oh…" Her breath hitched when his fingers hooked under her panties. His lips moved as he pulled the fabric down, until his tongue met her wet center. Betty kicked off her panties and let her legs move over Jughead's shoulders, keeping him close.

She fisted her fingers in his hair and his eyes snapped up to meet hers. She could see the devilish smirk in his eyes. Betty was already flushed and writhing under his touch, and he hadn't even entered her yet. Jughead slipped two fingers in to where his tongue had just been, watching with a playful smirk when his girl's stomach clenched.

She wanted to hold on, wanted to see him come when she did, but he was doing too much. His thumb moved to rub her clit while his fingers pumped in and out. His lips moved to any bit of skin he could reach, licking the sheen of sweat forming on her skin.

As her climax drew closer she could hardly even feel the hickey Jughead was leaving inside her thigh. Waves of pleasure rolled over her as she came on Jughead's fingers. Her whole body reacted, eyes pinched closed and back arched. Jughead pulled his fingers back and climbed up to lay next to her as Betty came down from her high.

"Jug, that was…" She grinned, letting him decipher the rest. She moved her hands to his jeans, which she hadn't even realized where still on until just now. She shifted down in the bed. "Can I return the favor?"

Jughead stopped her from crawling over his legs, instead pressing her back against the bed again. "Not tonight. Betts, I wanna make you come again."

"What are you waiting for?"

He moved faster now, discarding his jeans and pulling the duvet over their bodies. He captured her lips once more as he moved inside of her. She felt so over stimulated, having only just come down from her first orgasm, but soon she felt even better than the first time around. Jughead was moving in just the right way, his hips snapping against hers.

Betty would worship every part of him if she could, but for now she settle for his collarbone. She nipped at the skin around his neck, leaving marks that would match her own. She tried to distract herself from her own body by focusing on his. She was close to her second climax when Jughead hadn't come once.

"Oh fuck… Betty." He groaned particularly loudly when she bit down hard on his shoulder.

"Don't stop, Jug. Fuck, please don't stop." He was moving almost too slow, trying to hold on to the moment as long as possible. "Fuck me, Juggie… faster."

He did as he was told, his only goal to make Betty feel as good as possible. As he thrust faster, his orgasm crept up on him. Betty's fingernails scratched against his bare back. The sound of their skin slapping together finally making him come undone.

"Shit, oh my God…"

"Don't stop… just a little longer." Betty pulled his lips to her chest, allowing the stimulation to make her finally come.

Jughead rolled beside her, Betty's body fitting perfectly against his when he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She curled up against his side, one leg coming up to rest over his own.

They lay in silence for a while, listening to each other's heartbeats slow to their normal pace. Betty was the first to speak.

"We haven't talked about the future…" She said, her middle finger moving in circles on his chest.

"What about it?"

"This trip is almost over, so what does that mean when we have to go home? What happens?"

Jughead stared down into her eyes. "You're really worried about this, aren't you?"

She simply nodded.

"Well, what happens is… we decide where we want to live. I've got a studio apartment waiting in a shitty neighborhood in New York. I have this feeling you probably live somewhere too?"

"I live with my parents." She slapped a hand over her face, embarrassed. Jughead pulled it away.

"So it's settled. We move in to my apartment."

"Then what?"

Jughead pressed a kiss to her hand, holding it tight in his. "Well, we'll get a dog eventually, get some great jobs so we can move to a better place, get married, have a few wild little children."

"You've thought about this?" Betty sat up straight, pulling back a little so she could see him perfectly. Jughead groaned at the loss of contact.

"Of course I've thought about it, Betty. I love you. How could I not think about it?"

She shrugged. "You really want to marry me?"

"I'd marry you right now if I could."

Betty laughed, not because of how crazy that sounded, but because she agreed. She threw a leg over Jughead to straddle his waist. "I'd marry you right now too."

She leaned in, capturing his lips. When she pulled back, Jughead was staring into her eyes, his eyebrows tense in thought.

"Why don't we?"

"Why don't we what?" Betty's fingers were in his hair again.

"Why don't we get married now? Well, not right now, but this week. We can have a little ceremony with our friends on Saturday and make it official when we get back to New York."

"Are you proposing to me?"

"It feels like we proposed to each other… but yeah. Will you marry me?"

Her smile threatened to split open her cheeks. "Yes, Jughead. Yes, I'll marry you."

Their lips crashed together once more, passion flowing through their veins. Betty lifted her hips, lowering herself onto Jughead's cock.

"Can't get enough of me, can you?" Jughead teased, massaging her ass.

"Don’t pretend you don't want it too. Your dick is hard."

"Thanks, Captain Obvious."

Jughead let his hands rest on her hips as Betty fucked herself on his cock.

"Oh my God, I just thought of something." Betty stopped, eyes widened at Jughead. "My mom is going to disown me."

"You were thinking about your mom while riding me? Christ…"

"No! Oh my God, no. I was thinking about getting married and that led to thinking about how I'm going to tell my mom and how she is going to be so mad."

"Can we stop talking about your mom? Or wait until later?"

"Jug, pissing of my mom just makes this all even better." She started rocking against him again. "I'm being a very bad girl, don't you think?"

"With the likes of me?" He reached around again to grab her ass. "I'd say you are downright naughty."

#bughead #bughead fanfic #bughead fanfiction #betty x jughead #betty cooper #jughead jones #bughead au #riverdale #riverdale fanfic #riverdale au #riverdale fanfiction #edit #bughead smut #wanderlust fic

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ultralifehackerguru-blog · 6 years

Photo

New Post has been published on http://www.lifehacker.guru/patrick-melrose-how-benedict-cumberbatch-climbed-inside-his-favorite-antihero/

Patrick Melrose: How Benedict Cumberbatch Climbed Inside His Favorite Antihero

To prepare for his harrowing role as an addict in the Showtime limited series, Cumberbatch had to ask the tough questions: “Injecting cocaine: what is that like? Why would you do that?”

Benedict Cumberbatch on the set of Patrick Melrose

Photo by Julian Broad

As Emmy nominations approach, Vanity Fair’s HWD team is once again diving deep into how some of this season’s greatest scenes and characters came together. You can read more of these close looks here.

PATRICK MELROSE, PATRICK MELROSE

When a fan asked Benedict Cumberbatch during a 2013 Reddit A.M.A. what literary character he’d most like to play, he offered a definitive answer: Patrick Melrose, the brilliant, damaged vortex around which Edward St. Aubyn’sdevastating quintet of autobiographical novels swirl. The books—and now Patrick Melrose, the gorgeously harrowing Showtime limited series based on them—trace the life of this charismatic upper-class Englishman as he tries to wrestle free from the damage imposed on him in childhood by his monstrous father and learn how to lead a meaningful adult life.

When Cumberbatch rhapsodized about the character on a recent phone call, he spoke so quickly that my ear could hardly take it all in. Which was appropriate enough, since Patrick Melrose wraps himself in language, using words as a both a shield and a life raft. “They are very, very funny novels,” Cumberbatch said, “and there are very funny bits which turn on a knife’s edge, 180 degrees, into tragedy.”

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As an example, Cumberbatch pointed to a scene in the first episode in which the drug-addled, twentysomething Patrick views his father’s corpse at a funeral parlor. He unwraps the body, which has been discreetly covered with tissue paper, turning a grim moment into an exaggeratedly comic scene. “He starts having this dialogue with somebody who’s not there, thanking them for the present of his dead dad—and then he’s fully triggered into this memory of the trauma of being raped by his father. . . . That happens in the space of about 20 seconds him on the page,” said Cumberbatch. “When you get prose as deep and rich and profoundly revealing of a character’s nature, you’re really spoiled as an actor. So much of your background research, your development of deeper psychology, and internal-thought processes and psychology—it’s there on the page. And this man’s salvation comes through a huge amount self-examination. So I just always, always went back to the book on pretty much every level.”

HOW HE CAME TO LIFE

St. Aubyn’s Patrick Melrose novels have been picking up fans since he published the first in the series, Never Mind, in 1992. (The fourth installment, 2005’s Mother’s Milk, was nominated for a Booker Prize). So much of their pleasure derives from St. Aubyn’s prose that adapting them for the screen seemed like a doomed undertaking. Yet screenwriter and novelist David Nicholls bravely took on the challenge—which wound up consuming more than half a decade. The resulting limited series covers Patrick’s life from sensitive child to middle-aged parent struggling to break the cycle of abuse, with his debauched, twentysomething years serving as fodder for the intense opening episode. Certain essential qualities run through Patrick’s entire life, Nicholls pointed out in a separate interview: “The desire to be better, to be less separate from the world, to be less ironic and sardonic, less disengaged.”

Nicholls said he always had Cumberbatch in his head as he wrote Patrick Melrose,even before the actor independently expressed interest in an adaptation. The two men had worked together on Starter for 10, the 2006 British film based on Nicholls’s novel, in which Cumberbatch played a supporting role as the prissy captain of a university quiz-show team—an amusing but two-dimensional character, the kind of work Cumberbatch was beginning to find frustrating and limiting. “Benedict was clearly something special, but everyone also had the sense that he is one of those clowns who could also play Hamlet,” Nicholls said.

As it happens, the tormented Danish prince is precisely who came to mind when Nicholls embarked on translating Patrick Melrose for the small screen. The two characters have a lot in common, not least father issues and a complex relationship with their mothers. There’s also “the potential for frighteningly cruel behavior coupled with a desire—I think it’s a sincere desire—to do the right thing. And certainly the soliloquizing, the playing with ideas, is so much a part of [the books].”

Cumberbatch spent a great deal of time getting to know the author, “Teddy” St. Aubyn, while immersing himself in the role of Patrick. “I asked him about things I won’t go into in an interview, of a very personal nature,” Cumberbatch said, as well as more specific questions about drug addiction. “For example, injecting cocaine: What the fuck is that like? I mean, why would you do that? Why would you do that, and how would you do that? What would happen when you did that? How longwould it happen?” He rattled off those queries at top speed, as if tapping into a sense memory.

“There’s a sort of ringing quality to the way Teddy speaks—everything is very carefully considered, and you’ll drive through until the end of the sentence,” Cumberbatch continued. “They are beautiful sentences. He speaks with the same language he writes with. It’s a joy to be in conversation with the man.”

Patrick Melrose is more than just a character study; it’s also a harsh dissection of British mores. “It captures so much of the hypocrisy and cynicism and sickness” of the upper class, which “hides its secrets and confesses to nothing,” Cumberbatch said. Patrick’s father, David (Hugo Weaving), is a sadistic aesthete who has taken up cruelty in place of a profession. (“What redeemed life from complete horror was the almost unlimited number of things to be nasty about,” David proposes in Never Mind, the first book in the sequence.) His mother, Eleanor (Jennifer Jason Leigh), is a crushed heiress who has seceded from reality.

They are surrounded by equally horrifying members of the aristocracy—most notably, Princess Margaret (Harriet Walker), who in one episode appears as the guest of honor at a fancy dinner party. Far from the chic figure we know from The Crown, the princess here humiliates the French dignitary sitting next to her and callously dismisses the hosts’ young daughter when the girl shyly approaches in hope of meeting a royal. It is Patrick who kindly comes to the little girl’s rescue, seeing in her traces of his old sweet self, ignored by the adults and neglected by his parents.

Cumberbatch said that he too had glimpsed the codes and rituals of high society, through the posh world of his grandmother (“not that she was like that—she was a deeply caring and loving person,” he hastened to add) and his time at Harrow, one of Britain’s most elite boarding schools. “That world was definitely around me, but I wasn’t ever really fully engaged in it.”

Making sure Cumberbatch looked the part was also crucial. According to costume designer Keith Madden, Patrick comes from a British upper class that doesn’t follow fashion, but favors traditional dress that might be embellished with a twist of eccentricity. Colored socks, he said, are “the seal of the aristocratic upper classes.” Patrick may look imperturbable, but Madden hoped to suggest a juxtaposition between his fancy dress and his sordid reality—meetings with drug dealers, descents into a speedball-induced state of madness.

Beyond that, Madden looked to St. Aubyn himself for guidance. “I was privy to some photographs that Benedict showed me of Edward St. Aubyn as a young boy, and then as a young man in the 80s. So, that’s where a lot of the inspiration came from—even the shape of the sunglasses, and the striped shirts, and the pale stone-wash jeans of the time,” he said. Sometimes the author himself would visit the set, “and it would be funny, because he would be wearing something very similar to what Benedict would be wearing in the scene,” Madden said. “I would say, ‘Yeah, we’ve got it right!’”

Cumberbatch confessed that it’s a great relief to have done justice to St. Aubyn’s creation. “I felt a sort of double responsibility,” he said—not just as an actor bringing the character to life, “but also as a reader to other readers of these novels. I do think he’s written some of the best prose of the 21st century, if not the best—and one of my desires is to bring these works to the widest audience.”

Photos: On the Set of Showtime’s Patrick Melrose

Benedict Cumberbatch stars as the title character in the forthcoming mini-series Patrick Melrose.

Photo: Photograph by Julian Broad.

(C)

#Benedict Cumberbatch #Lifestyle #Patrick Melrose #tv shows

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iabsolutelyresentthiswebsite · 7 years

Text

Will Luke Skywalker Fall To The Darkness?

So this is perhaps one of the most talked-about potential happenings in The Last Jedi and we all know how much I love to post Star Wars discourse, controversial or not. Most of my discourse thus far has been pretty controversial, but this is just a post of me talking about the pros and cons of both sides of this situation and perhaps adding my “professional” opinion.

Why do people think he’s going to fall to the Darkness?

To be completely honest, this is a bit of a mystery to me. Most of things I’m seeing can be easily explained other ways. For example, one of the few reasons is that in the cave on Dagobah, Luke failed his test against the Darkness. To be completely transparent again, I don’t see how that scene in the cave was a “failure”. I mean, Yoda said Luke would not need weapons, but Luke brought them anyway, but he used the weapon to decapitate, or to kill, what was embodying his Dark Side there. For me, I always took that scene symbolically as Luke choosing the Light over the Dark.

Also, the scene in Return of the Jedi where the Emperor was attempting to seduce Luke to the Darkness by tempting him to use his lightsaber on himself...himself being the Emperor. Had he chosen to do that, he would have been tainted by the anger, hatred, and emotions that brought his father down. However, he did not falter.

I digress...

One of the biggest things making people think he’s going to turn is from the teaser trailer. Luke’s voice is heard saying, “It’s time for the Jedi to end”. We all know that quote is intentionally misleading. I don’t believe for one moment that he actually means that the Light is weaker than the Darkness. I don’t believe for one second he intends to destroy Light Force users. I think he’s finally coming to terms with the fact that the Jedi Religion is antiquated.

Moreover...

Luke was never fully trained as a Jedi. We must keep this in mind. Luke knew Obi Wan for a week before Vader offed him. And he trained with Yoda for like a month? Jedi training, as in canon, is years, if not decades. Luke was never a...Jedi. Luke is a Light Force User. We only call him a Jedi because...he’s the closest thing we got to it.

^ That might be controversial.

In the teaser trailer, there are books shown in Luke’s cave. Presumably., these books are on the Jedi Religion. After being in a self-imposed exile for almost two decades, I am sure he’s had enough time with these books to realize that “The Jedi no longer exist. I, and those I train and accept my teachings, are what attempt to keep the Darkness at bay. But we are not the Jedi of old. We are a new breed.”

Luke, always the emotional type and potentially even a father, broke more laws in the Jedi Code than I can count and disproved a lot of the Jedi’s beliefs about emotions. He, himself, probably does not identify as a Jedi.

...at least after all those years and all that research.

I am sure he tried to keep the Jedi Religion alive when he was creating his own Temple and training his own Padawan, and perhaps...that is partially what pushed Ben away. Being taught to ignore your emotions and stifle anger, but not control it like Luke learned to do, would not have been healthy or helpful to the young Ben Solo. (Absolutely no excuses made for Ben here. Simple synthesis. I have another post on Ben Solo/Kylo Ren.)

What would be the pros of Dark!Luke Skywalker?

The first- and most prominent- pro is how cool it would be. Let’s be for real here.

Putting all of your feelings aside, analyze the possibility of Dark!Luke from the standpoint of just a casual fan of Star Wars and a fan of cinema.

It’s Intense!

The man who we all grew to love-pretty much unconditionally-over 40 years is now the person who we must fear and pity, if not hate? It’s a hard concept to accept and move on with. The internal struggle of Luke would be replicated by the audience trying to accept what is happening before their eyes.

Is that always a good thing? We’ll get to that later.

Luke Skywalker is/was the last “Jedi” and he has had all the training he needs. He spent decades in isolation training and preparing himself for the day he might return. He knows his powers and can control them perfectly.

What an OVERPOWERED villain he would be!

The sense of urgency and distress would be so prevalent, so much unlike the feeling with Kylo Ren. Kylo Ren is unpredictable and unpolished and almost predictable in that way; but Dark!Luke is a complete enigma.

We have no standard with which to base anything he might do off of.

His whole character would be changed if he turned to the Dark Side!

Now, is that always a good thing? We’re getting to that, as well.

And now, the relationships that Luke has fostered and has yet to foster would be so dramatically changed that it is hard to tell what could be salvaged from the ashes.

Luke and Leia’s bond would be completely devastated. Leia spent years looking for her brother only to have him return and be the one thing she is fighting against? The fact that this would happen if Luke turned Dark would really require a display for Leia’s Force powers, which we, unfortunately, would probably never get.

Luke and Kylo Ren: depending on when Luke would turn, this could really be a disaster. Would Luke join his nephew or would Rey help turn Kylo back only to have Luke betray them both? That would be insane.

Luke and Rey: because I am very sure that she is his daughter, it will be phrased as such. If you disagree with Rey Skywalker, please replace “father” with “Master” and ignore the first sentence. Rey wanted to know her parents, but she never thought it would turn out like this. Her father trained her and taught her the ways of the Force that he understood, but the rug was pulled out from under her when Luke turned to the Dark Side. Ben has turned back and needs reconditioning to the Light, but Rey is the only one to teach him and she doesn’t feel her training is complete. Rey must face her former Master’s pain and darkness, while helping someone fully overcome their own. And she must fight alongside a man she grew to detest.

It’s really cool. The depth we could get into is mind-boggling.

However, there’s always a contra.

What are the cons of Luke turning to the Dark Side?

First, let’s begin with the fact it would be very hard for the audience to accept.

THIS IS LUKE. SKYWALKER. The poster boy for “Good Boy”. Seeing him turn would be one helluva twist that not everyone is going to lay down with.

This is, from a sales standpoint, not something you want to risk with a franchise like this. It also has the potential to insult fans, which is also something you never want to do...especially in a franchise like this with a cult following.

Point 2: Turning Luke to the Dark Side, however cool it is, has the potential to dissect his characterization. That is one of the main side-points from Point 1. The audience is going to have trouble accepting his Turn because...This Isn’t Luke Skywalker. This is someone else.

Luke, as stated, is the poster boy for a good boy. He loves his family, does right by most people he meets, is a good person in general, tries to carry on a legacy, and even if he messes up, you can say he’s never done a single thing wrong in his entire life and still mean it. He had a rebellious phase in ROTJ, wearing all black and probably listening to punk music, but he came back. He never truly wavered, in my opinion, from the path of Good. He did nothing but help his father turn away from the garish darkness which consumed him. He tried to help Ben Solo stay away from the darkness.

Turning Luke Skywalker into a Sith or whatever would really damage the perception we have of him. His character isn’t Kylo Ren, someone we’ve just been introduced to. His character has been set in stone since 1977. If we don’t know who he is by now, we’ll never know.

Luke Skywalker becoming...essentially...an overpowered version of his father would be detrimental to the whole redemption his father endured because of his son. It would not only dissect his character, but damage the character of Anakin Skywalker as collateral damage. What now, would seeing Anakin’s Force Ghost mean, if his son, the person who essentially saved him, is now exactly where he was before he died?

Lastly and shortest, it would be far too much in the relationship aspect to condense into one trilogy all the damage that Luke turning to the Darkness would cause. It would require at least 3.5 hour movies to do the whole thing justice, in my opinion. The sheer damage it would cause to the relationships Luke has and will have is unbelievable.

Now, it’s time for my opinion: I am personally against turning Luke to the Dark Side because I don’t think my heart could take it. I don’t think I could reconcile who I know Luke to be with whom I would be seeing on the screen then. It would be...too much for me. However, if done the right way, I am open to the possibility of it happening. I think that it would be awesome to see. I just don’t see how it could feasibly be done in the right way. It would require so much to do the arc justice. So much to do in too little time.

#star wars #luke skywalker #dark!luke #the last jedi #star wars discourse

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sparklyjojos · 7 years

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hey i sent you an ask but internet problematic here so i dunno if it was sent? As someone with no experience with neurodivergent people i was hoping you could elaborate what you have previously said about Kars in JORGE JOESTAR (and other characters maybe) seeming neurodivergent. Like, i'd love to know your headcanons about jojo characters regarding this, as well as reasoning for the headcanon's (optional, but i'd love it)

(wow this one sure took me a long time to answer, sorry!)

oh boy, this would be an extremely long post if I included all other jojo characters I headcanon as nd so I’m just going to focus on Jorge (the Japanese one) and novel Kars for now

this won’t be a “this character definitely has x thing”, but just pointing out traits and dialogue that may interest someone who wants to headcanon/write these characters as nd

am I going to be reaching with some of those? yep! but if the Jorge Joestar novel itself taught me anything, it’s that:

so, you know. I see what I wanna see.

(tw: mental illness, trauma, ptsd, suicide - all in the Kars segment)

Jorge:

– the sheer difference in introductions is telling: English Jorge talks at length about his family, his classmates, his gay puppy crush, and anything else you’d expect to be major concerns for a kid. Japanese Jorge? social life haha what social life, HOPE YOU’RE READY FOR 10 PAGES OF PUZZLE SOLVING

– no really if the very first thing someone says after seeing all your memories is that you sure spend a lot of time on puzzles then that’s some deep interest you have, a bit of a stereotypical hobby there but whatevs

– hyperfocuses a lot??

– (exasperated Kars who’s been trying to get his attention for a good minute:) “You have a bad habit of not hearing when people speak to you.” (Jorge:) “Yeah, if I’m focused on something else. Sorry. What?”

– tunes out of one phone conversation with Bruno like 3 times

– figures out how time-based Stands work specifically because he has experience with his internal sense of time getting royally fucked up whenever he’s deeply focused

– was inattentive (and hyperactive?) as a young kid to the point it affects how the memories on his disc look like: “I was a fidgety child, and the image rarely focused on [Joseph] for long. I wasn’t interested in his story.”

– visual thinker, good with patterns, can make complicated mental maps and solve slide puzzles in his mind

– his memory is really good until it isn’t (as far as he’s concerned Funny Valentine’s Stand is called Dirty Whatever)

– very particular about meanings of words and names, etymology (his arc starts and ends with him pondering over the kanji of his own name, knows latin names of various species like Hydrangea or Ursus maritimus and what they mean literally, that “sorry that name’s taken” line when Rohan calls something a Beyond, etc)

– doesn’t like (is distressed by?) clutter and things/details being WRONG. (“If details don’t add up right I get agitated, and start searching for a better way. This trait has lead to my room being very clean, and made me a great detective.”)

– infodumps to Rohan about polar bears of all things, and there’s a moment when he stops talking almost mid-sentence after mentioning they’re called Ursus maritinus and instead of speaking out loud he just thinks to himself that “The scientific name was given by John Phipps in 1774” as if he just realized that’d be Too Much detail to share, I feel you Jorge

– (after Erina says he has a characteristic soft smile) “I do? I mean, I guess people do say I look like an idiot.”

– gets urges to laugh at very bad times (”Cars’ whispered response had an air of such grim realism that I almost started laughing, but he was watching me suspiciously. Whoops.”)

– sometimes blurts out things, often fails one-liners, even when he pre-plans what he’s going to say something else may come out (“I’d thought of all kinds of things to say, but what actually popped out in that moment? (…) I have no idea what I meant by that last bit but I said what I said and had to live with it.”)

– sometimes impulsive, like yeah let’s just get up in the middle of the night and search through a 10 km^2 area on a bike for something unprecised while you have several death threats to your name, this can’t possibly backfire

– (after Jorge quite literally blows himself up by impulsive carelessness) “Cars was still laughing. “You really don’t think things through.“”

– small point that’s made moot by paranormal things like that being real in the jojoverse, but his tendency to see signs and messages meant for him everywhere and in every event, and insisting on coincidences not being mere synchronicity gives off a different vibe than intended (at least at the beginning before he knows Stands and Beyonds are a thing)

Kars:

– honestly I could just slap the definition of “neurodivergent = with their brain functioning differently from what’s seen as ‘normal’ in the population” here and point at his backstory in this book and be done with it

– remember everything I’m writing is on top of his canon image of an asocial genius scientist with poor affect (or, in the anime, varying between stone face and painfully exaggerated expressions) who has a connection with nature and animals, which I guess can? be seen as some type of autistic coding (unfortunately in this case it dovetails into “a loner with autistic traits = snaps and kills everyone” type of coding sooo maybe let’s not go there)

– novel Kars talks about how when he was younger he didn’t even know that feeling sympathy and wanting to have emotional attachments with others –was a thing– (apparently his race wasn’t capable of it??), and he had to sorta consciously try to understand and learn it through reading human fiction. It came off to me like he relates better to fictional characters (and maybe animals?) than to his race or humans, too

- ^^(that backstory’s a bit unclear with how it’s told; either just like his race he doesn’t have the drive for social bonding, empathy etc. and his understanding of others is made purely on the intellectual level - that’s relatable for some nd people - or he DOES have those things in a drastic difference from everyone else of his race, which I guess makes him nd by definition. It’s… complicated.)

– on the topic of “consciously learning how to sympathy” - there’s a few times in the novel when he’s a prick not because he wants to be but because he genuinely doesn’t understand why the other person would be upset (”Cars, sorry, but can you put me back at my old height?” “?…isn’t the view better?”), but if that person explains how the thing is upsetting he then backs off like “oh okay” (when Jorge is disturbed about the women’s heads thing - “Yeah. But I just feel sorry for them. I can’t watch this.” - Kars just goes “I see.” and makes them disappear). He still has to work on the “taking your private memories without asking” issue tho

– that moment in the backstory where Kars became deeply aware of just how flawed and “not up to own potential” he was which launched him straight into unhealthy perfectionism and desire for control and power as a way of dealing with it? relatable

– and that thing where him becoming much more chill is preceeded by the realization that he can’t ever - and that he doesn’t have to - become an infinitely perfect being without weaknesses, and that he’d still have worth and meaning even when he’s not performing to some ridiculous self-imposed standards?? GREAT, and I love to see lines like this one coming from him: “Cars smiled. “I have no desire to be the leadingman.””

– he talks about how traumatic events and your emotional reactions to them (“feeling like you’re dying”) can damage your soul. Since he claims to have experience determining soul damage, and the only souls he worked with before belonged to 36 other Karses, we can assume he’s talking about himself as well. (and it’s kinda obvious that having everyone you love die in

– ^^^also worth noting that even if Kars knew a lot about brains biology-wise, he missed out on practically all of modern psychology after 1939, so of course the way he relates to trauma and mental illness would be different, and more informed by what he learned having spent most of his life around ancient civilizations in the Americas - the concept of soul loss. And it’s not like the book doesn’t wink towards it in other places (English Jorge dissociating during torture is described as him having learned how to remove his soul from his body)

– Light Dancer Kars speaks about how he wanted to commit suicide, then in the same paragraph says that he and our Kars feel “the same sadness”, which, wow. Earlier there are scenes where you can interpret Kars’s behaviour as passively suicidal; he doesn’t seek death, but if something (burning upon reentry while saving the humans, fighting Dio) did kill him, he wouldn’t mind that much

– this one is very subjective because you can interpret these moments as just him being very lost in thought / focusing on healing (Jorge sure does), but: when faced with intense emotional stress - like hearing Light Dancer Kars’s existential speech, or almost getting killed because he chose to shield the humans from harm - Kars has a tendency to go non- or barely verbal, motionless, unresponsive to outside stimuli (including people trying to get his attention by calling his name) and staring at one thing / into space, ignoring even a zombie attack or that they’re pressed on time in alternate!Morioh. When I first read it I assumed he just dissociated really hard (ptsd-related?), or was in a shutdown

– if you pay attention to what traits Kars seems to be holding in high regards - either through saying that X is a good thing about humanity, or bemoaning that humanity doesn’t have X (that he ofc does) - they’re stuff like creativity, perseverance, attention to details, pattern-based thinking, the desire to “figure stuff out”, and good memory. AKA traits often (though not always) increased in autistic people

- at one point he says: ”In the end, you’re just another human. You see a mystery and think, ‘How odd!’ and put in on a shelf somewhere.” I’m sorry but even in context it sounds like “apparently people can see an interesting thing without instantly getting fixated and wanting to know and understand everything about it right there and then, what the fuck”

– he tends to be either very invested in what’s going on or bored, no inbetween, and avoiding that boredom is a high priority (”And it seems I’ve run out of time to eat you all… But I wasn’t bored.”)

um yeah that’s all I can think of rn

#aleph-ozone #finally got around to finishing this!#jorge tag #hcs meta and stuff #jorge joestar

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heroesandvillainsofmbti · 7 years

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ISTJ: Odo, “Star Trek: Deep Space Nine”

ISTJ – the Inspector, the Sentinel, the Trustee

Introducing a shape-shifter to the main cast of a Star Trek show meant that we had the chance to see him turn into all kinds of cool stuff. The limits of television storytelling, however, meant that certain restrictions had to be imposed on his powers. Odo must return to his gelatinous state every 15 hours to regenerate, or he risks falling apart. Also, judging from the unfinished shape of his face, he isn’t very good at imitating people (so, no Mystique-style infiltration missions for him).

Thus, despite his fluid body, Odo has the most rigid personality on DS9.

Dominant Function: (Si) Introverted Sensing, “The Study”

Odo keeps to a predictable schedule—the shopkeepers on the Promenade can set their chronometers by his passing when he makes his rounds. He’s a reliable and trustworthy Security Chief, impartial in his judgments whether he’s serving the Cardassians or Starfleet, because he’s only interested in the real facts of the matter. Starfleet keeps him on after they take over Deep Space Nine, thanks to his familiarity with the station and its denizens.

Odo makes a skillful investigator, picking up on details in his environment that build a picture of the crime or suspects he’s studying. This makes it especially difficult for Quark to get any shenanigans past him. Even when Quark seems to have innocuous motives, Odo suspects him, because past experience has taught him that, “You’re always up to something.”

Odo prides himself on his knowledge of humanoid nature, and often uses the phrase, “It’s been my observation—“ when explaining something he’s learned about them.

Though he could take on any form he wishes, Odo settles on the appearance of a middle-aged, grumpy, humanoid man. When he’s briefly turned into a human, he still keeps such a stiff posture that he gives himself a pinched nerve. He somewhat resembles the scientist who studied and raised him, Dr. Mora, right down to the hairstyle. Even his name is a riff on the label he was given as an “Unknown Sample” (“Odo’ital”) in the lab. Other Changelings he meets chide him for sticking to this one form so consistently, conforming to the looks of average humanoids, but something about the man the crew calls “Constable” seems to express Odo’s essence.

Odo has an innate sense of order, of the way things ought to be, that never changes despite the many cultures and environments he lives in. His people tell him that this is part of being a Changeling, the desire to bring order and sanity to the chaotic existence of the solids (non-shapeshifters). When he gets his own quarters, Dax enjoys making him crazy by moving his furniture around, shifting it slightly out of place. Odo can tell when it’s off by even a centimeter.

When he’s temporarily stuck in human form as punishment, Odo keeps his smooth, somewhat unformed face, partly as a reminder by the Founders that he’s not great at the details of the humanoid form. However, he becomes fascinated by the bubbles in his drink, now that he actually ingests sustenance. He eventually gets his shape-shifting powers back, but Odo keeps his new quarters so he can practice shape-shifting—and his old bucket, which he used to “sleep” in before he got his own space, just for old times’ sake.

Odo doesn’t know where he comes from at first. His quest for his origins remains a driving force, a hardwired part of his genetic code, and he’s grieved to discover that his people are in fact the tyrannical Founders of the Dominion. He’s torn between returning to the Great Link from which he was born, and staying with his loyal friends on Deep Space Nine.

As gruff and surly as he acts, Odo just wants someplace to belong. His personal experiences with the crew of DS9 help prove to him that solids are not evil, nor in need of domination. When he finally returns to the Great Link, he brings this knowledge with him in an effort to enlighten his people.

Auxiliary Function: (Te) Extraverted Thinking, “The Workshop”

Odo lives to enforce law and order on the station. He has rules about not carrying weapons on the Promenade, not loitering, not sleeping, and a host of other things. He brooks no defiance of them. He especially loves calling Quark out for minor infractions of station regulations, just to make him miserable. He gets testy when Worf shows up and interferes with his methods, and has a list of security breaches on the Enterprise to rebut the Klingon’s accusations against the Constable’s abilities.

This side of Odo can go a bit fascist at times, like when he supports the declaration of martial law on Earth in the face of Changeling paranoia. When his job is called into question after Eddington’s defection, he complains that if he’d been given the broader authority he asked for, it never would have happened. He quietly believes that although things were grimmer under Cardassian occupation, at least they were safer. He illegally bugs Quark’s communications, and hints that he might do the same for others on the station as well.

Odo gets this drive from his people, the powerful Founders who run the Dominion empire in the Gamma Quadrant. The temptation to join the Great Link is not just that of returning home, but of joining a greater cause and power. He relates to their need to control the messy lives of solids, but ultimately he can’t go all the way with them in their desire to conquer the galaxy.

Tertiary Function: (Fi) Introverted Feeling, “The Deep Well”

Odo holds to a rigid, personal sense of justice. He serves many masters over the years—Cardassians, Starfleet, the Dominion—but he follows his own code before theirs. He refuses to ever carry or fire a weapon in the course of his duties (being able to shape-shift his arm into a whip certainly helps). A major reason he’s kept on by both Cardassian and Starfleet authorities is his commitment to the truth no matter who he’s working for.

Odo’s not crazy about anyone seeing him revert to his gelatinous state for regeneration time, nor really of anyone seeing his personal feelings about anything. He’s chagrined at the informal, affectionate nickname of “Constable” by which the crew calls him. He’s especially uncomfortable with the deference and adoration lavished on him by Weyoun and the Jem’Hadar, who see him and the Founders as gods.

Odo harbors an intense disgust of Quark that somehow also carries deep regard, though he’d never say it aloud (Quark, being an Fe-dom, can see it simply through Odo’s body language).

I really hesitate to praise anything about the Odo/Kira romance, but it does relax Odo emotionally. He’s awkward and fumbling in expressing his feelings to her over the years. When it’s finally out in the open, he’s the most sincerely happy we ever see him. Sadly, his commitment to his people, and to helping them become a peaceful race, must win out over his relationship to Nerys, and he bids his lover goodbye in the end.

Inferior Function: (Ne) Extraverted Intuition, “The Hiking Trails”

Once Odo reconnects with his people, he has trouble learning how to shape-shift. Not that he’s never done it before, but it was mainly in the line of duty. Learning how to “be” different objects and lifeforms, to experience their essence, seems mysterious and untenable. He asks a lot of questions of the Founder to try to understand the nature of the Great Link, but her answers sound to him evasive and vague.

His fellow lost Changeling-child Laas gets Odo to expand his understanding of what a Changeling can be. He doesn’t have to be defined by the humanoid shape he walks around in most of the day, but Odo doesn’t have much practical use for changing forms multiple times in a day unless it serves his law-keeping purposes. He even derides the humanoid imagination in the episode where everyone’s fantasies are coming to life, which doesn’t surprise Quark at all.

Odo’s Intuition usually serves to make him suspicious and paranoid, which is useful for a security officer but detrimental to his mental well-being. On the less aggressive side, he also gets caught up in linking and shape-shifting with the Female Founder, losing track of time when he’s supposed to be helping Kira and her resistance. However, Odo twice becomes a parental figure to a member of the Dominion—once to a lost Jem’Hadar child and once to a sick little baby Changeling—and he wishes very much to raise them differently from the abusive experiences he suffered, or from the expectations of their kind.

Ultimately, Odo proves more flexible than the other Changelings in one key point—accepting non-shapeshifters and their differences as good rather than something to be feared.

It’s this tiny change in one shape-shifter that ends the war and saves the galaxy.

#MBTI #Star Trek: Deep Space Nine #Odo #Rene Auberjonois #ISTJ #cognitive functions #Si-dom #Si #Introverted Sensing #Te-aux #Te #Extraverted Thinking #Fi #Introverted Feeling #Ne #Extraverted Intuition

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