#and imparted these messages on us
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Nothing like watching Pride and Prejudice and Little Women back to back to make me yearn for the bond that the oldest and second oldest sister have.
#I’m an only child#but god I want to be a second oldest#and I want to have two younger sisters#and a i want an older sister who I’m closest with#so when it’s late at night after a party or something we can hide under the covers and giggle about boys#and we can shoot each other looks across the table to silently make fun of people#and when we argue it’ll never be something we don’t recover from because our mom would’ve made us watch these movies#and read the books#and imparted these messages on us#and having a little sister seems like so much fun when they’re like 14#I bonded with a kid at the tennis camp I’m helping coach and I’m so sad there’s only one more day#because in my mind I’ve already adopted this kid as my little sister#I just want familial bonds with girls I think#pride and prejudice#little women#jo march#meg march#jane bennet#elizabeth bennet
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not a fan of psychoanalyzing people over the internet but considering all of brambleclaw's abusive behavior was written by accident and that one blogclan post where kate goes "well i don't know what happened there but let's accept that he veered off the right path for a moment alright? he's a good guy! he and squilf would've bullied me in highschool though". really makes you wonder what's going on inside the erins' brains while writing 😭
(and on a meta note: said blogclan post makes me feel we're never gonna solve the "wc fandom treating characters as independent people and not narrative tools" problem when erin hunter ALSO does that. The Horrors)
RIGHT!! Like, I can assume it's an amalgamation of things: the shitty gender existentialist approach a lot of xenofiction takes + some weird beliefs the authors and editors intentionally/unintentionally carry + them playing telephone with books while also pumping them out super fast + no quality control and etc. etc. etc.
that post in particular is like a brother to me. makes it so much funnier when you know kate doesn't like bramblestar.
#deer rambles#i think the shitty messages they impart in their writing DO reflect back on them#so i can't say im not gonna judge the authors#and the editors fuck them for depriving us of avos!squirrelstar
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Habe you ever had a "did we even play the same game?" moment with someone?
My favorite game ever used to be Metal Gear Solid 4, it’s still up there in my top favorites, and this time at a party I met a guy that said he didn’t like MGS4 because he felt like it ruined Snake as a character and that it misrepresented him. I asked if he could elaborate and his response was that they took this Rambo dude, this super manly war hero and emasculated him into a weak old man.
I need you to understand that Solid Snake was without exaggeration fundamental in my growth as a person: I am from a latino country, grew up in what’s widely considered the wrong side of the tracks in the middle of nowhere, being macho, manly, tough was incredibly important to me, because that’s how it was in there, and Snake (plus “The Knight In Rusty Armor” by Robert Fisher) basically made me question all of what I’d grown up thinking up until then, because Snake isn’t a badass because grrr manly beef jerky I kill and swear, he is this incredibly solemn guy who hates what he can do, but is the only one that can do it, and if he doesn’t do it, then nuclear war happens, or worse. There’s a whole angle of expectation as a narrative arc in regards to Snake: Meryl expected a glorious, boisterous war hero, Otacon expected a grizzled, badass action hero, Liquid expected Himself But Better In Every Way, Ocelot expected a tool and nothing else, Naomi expected a callous and cold killer… And they were all wrong, he is, ultimately, an exhausted man that cannot stop no matter how much he wants to stop, because if he does, the world might likely go up in literal flames.
So to hear this self-proclaimed superfan of Snake say this just made me skip anger and go all the way to pity. In-universe, those in the know of Snake worship him as an actual God of War, and it’s a common thing that gets addressed in-universe: The whole point of MGS2 is that Raiden could never have won if he tried to be Snake, because you don’t want to be Snake. Snake hates being Snake. Snake isn’t manly because he beat a tank on foot one on one, Snake is admirable because he does the right thing, even if he’s breaking down molecule by molecule as he goes and he wants nothing more than to fuck off and raise dogs in the arctic, but keeps on going anyways because he can do something about it. The most important message he imparts on Raiden and Meryl is Don’t Be Me; Create A World Where Snake Doesn’t Need To Exist.
I felt pity because if you feel like MGS4 misrepresented Snake, then you really and explicitly are exactly the kind of fodder PMC nobody that feeds the proxy wars in MGS4. I think only by skipping every cutscene you can come out thinking that way. The only thing super about him was ficial.
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Dark! Platonic Father and Mother Faerie x Human! Reader
Seraphina, was surprised when her husband, Sylvanas brought, you, a human child to their home in the faerie realm.
But was delighted when she got to know that he did this for her, because she was infertile.
Just ignoring the whole fact that her husband stole you from a human couple.
Your faerie parents, being creatures of magic, would enchant your surroundings with a touch of their otherworldly essence, creating a home filled with ethereal beauty and a sense of perpetual wonder.
They'd teach you the secrets of their enchanted realm, sharing ancient tales of mystical creatures, hidden realms, and the delicate balance between magic and the mortal world.
Despite their ethereal nature, your faerie parents would express love in unique ways – perhaps through the shimmering glow of their presence or the gentle touch of their wings as they embrace you.
As a part of the faerie realm, celebrations would be extravagant and filled with enchanting rituals, like dancing under the moonlit sky or sharing laughter that echoes through the enchanted woods.
Your faerie parents might gift you with magical items, each imbued with a specific power or purpose, serving as both a connection to their world and a means to protect you in the human realm.
While they understand the nature of human life, your faerie parents would instill in you a deep appreciation for the beauty of fleeting moments, emphasizing the importance of cherishing every experience.
Communication might involve a blend of spoken words and telepathic messages, creating a unique form of connection that transcends the limitations of mortal language.
Your faerie parents would guide you in developing a strong connection with nature, teaching you to communicate with plants and animals, fostering a harmonious relationship with the natural world.
They would be protective, using their magical abilities to shield you from harm while imparting wisdom to navigate the complexities of both the mortal and faerie realms.
The bond you share with your faerie parents would be enduring, transcending the boundaries between worlds.
And as you grow, they'd stand by you as guardians and mentors, always ready to offer guidance from the enchanting depths of their timeless existence.
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I’m watching FD Signifier’s new video about edgelord white guy movies. He spends a decent amount of time talking about how creators have responded to their edgelord fanbases, using The Joker and The Boys as two examples, where these creators feel uncomfortable with how their art has been received and taken up by “angry white men,” and that in response to this, they have followed up these artistic products with sequels or new seasons of television that are incredibly blunt and obvious about how you shouldn’t think of Homelander as a based chad or Arthur Fleck as a motivational figure in your life. And like he ends the video saying this is insufficient because these audiences won’t care about the messages in these follow-ups (largely bc these are downstream of larger social issues), but his framing of it in terms of “the death of media literacy” is still really frustrating and annoying because it’s buying into the idea that the main problem with people “not getting” art is literacy/education. And its not just his video, this framing is a popular memetic phrase across social media, and he does a better job than most people in talking about it
But like I just straight up do not accept that the audience of these edgelord movies “didn’t get” that they are portraying bad people, that audiences of mass media are “taking the wrong message” of “very obvious” pieces of art. Not because I think they do secretly get what these films are ‘actually saying,’ I don’t care about what’s in their hearts, but because this concern with people ‘not getting it’ feels wildly off-topic. I think it has been demonstrated over and over again that mass media is not an educational tool where people go to “learn lessons” or “take away a particular message.” I think the very fact that we have a consumptive marketised relationship to these artistic products structures and produces a specific set of responses, which is, above all else, “getting my money’s worth.” Who gives a shit what the movie is ‘really’ trying to say! That’s unimportant when faced with the question of did I get what I paid for? And I don’t mean this in an annoying lib “consumerism is making us all stupider” way I mean the economic structure of artistic production is the primary determinant of how commodities on a market are received. The idea that, under these conditions, we can purchase a piece of art that will “teach us” something about the world is laughable, that art-by-itself contains the authority to impart political knowledge. The idea that we can purchase our way into good values, good politics, that we can buy a movie ticket and see the error of our ways is buying into this same exact consumptive framing.
“The death of media literacy” implies a point in recent history where this economic relationship to art was unimportant, that we used to be able to participate in mass standardised artistic production and be unaffected by this arrangement. I think about Adorno & Horkheimer’s argument in The Culture Industry, that the profit motive is itself an object of consumption under capitalism, that advertisements are themselves products & as a result, all mass standardised artistic products are advertisements for their own capitalist production processes and logics.
I think when people “don’t get” that Starship Troopers is depicting a fascist society, when people “don’t get” that Travis Bickle is a bad, un-admirable person, they aren’t stricken by a sudden deficit of education or literacy, they are responding to the conditions under which these things get made. Being able to get art’s “true message,” no matter how supposedly clear or compellingly-articulated, is to argue that ‘message’ and ‘meaning’ can be made independent of the conditions under which those things are created and presented to people. The industrial capitalist machinery outputting standardised artistic products is itself an authority telling you how to interpret its own products, much the same way a cathedral is presented as evidence of god. There is a material & physical authority in their presence and social arrangement that are themselves arguments. Adorno talks about this with the radio - that this vast industrial infrastructure of radio towers, broadcast stations, systems of wires and cables, and the production of standardised radio receivers (available for purchase, of course) is utterly incomprehensible to most people and amounts to hearing the voice of god when you turn on the radio. The arrangement of artistic production & presentation is itself the structure through which you experience art, and that structure is an authority you can neither comprehend nor alter. And again as A&H say in The Culture Industry, the techniques, narratives, and genres of the culture industry become standardised themselves, cookie-cutters on a production line, and therefore dictate meaning above and beyond any particular semantic meaning injected into an individual film or story. “Romcoms” are a cultural authority above and beyond the sum total of every romcom film ever made, and it is these genres and techniques that transmit the justification for their own continued reproduction. Under this arrangement, the meaning of this film or that television show are rendered marginal - not unnoticeable or irrelevant, certainly, but secondary to the cookie-cutters they were produced from
Now does this lead to a widespread ignorant, impoverished, reactionary view of art? Of course, but that is not because the guy who likes wearing V for Vendetta masks is illiterate. To place the blame on individual education, discipline, or literacy is to take Hollywood for granted as a natural eternal entity, to take it as just another church. It’s a goofy fucking argument!
#book club#I need to read the culture industry again I read Adorno’s follow up to it recently and it was pretty good
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Foxglove Downs Chapter 3: The Race
Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Lucius Verus x Female Reader Rating: Teen. (Eventual E. MDNI) Summary: Marcus is jealous, Lucius is charming, and Sunny is stuck in the middle. Warnings: Love triangle, horse talk, jealousy, pining, angst, flirting, a kiss, wet Lucius, one slap across the face, age gap (Marcus is in his 40’s, Lucius is in his 20’s). Reader is in her 30's, has hair, and has a nickname: Sunny. Words: 4,000
A/N: Listen, IDK what'd I'd do without @devineconjuring's help and amazing beta work. She's the best and she always imparts wisdom like... ...how I can still take a bath with a toaster... if I just don't plug it in. Also she yells at me and calls me names because I use too many ...'s and I can't stop talking about Lucius's eyes being blue. Soooooooo... ... ... ... I 🩵 her... ... ... Thank you to @artsy-girl-76 for the Lucius pic colorization and everyone who helped me stop overthinking about photo decisions. 😉
Foxglove Downs Masterlist Masterlist
Previous Chapter
—-
Days have passed since the moment Marcus saw you while you were under the warm comfort of Lucius’s jacket. You busy yourself with your daily tasks, checking on the horses and taking care of your breeding program. But the less you see of Marcus, the more his pull on you consumes your thoughts–especially the intensity of his stare when he saw you that morning Lucius dropped you off.
He’s kept his distance since, choosing instead to communicate through brief messages about a few business matters. You wanted to speak to him, yet he seemed to be in a hurry every time you saw him, always heading in the opposite direction.
You couldn’t help but wonder if he was avoiding you, yet you could feel his deep brown eyes on you whenever you were near him.
—-
“Sunny,” he calls out one afternoon, breaking through your peaceful reverie as you lead your horse Harvey out for a ride.
“Yes?” you reply, trying to keep your tone light despite the nervous fluttering in your chest.
“Can we talk?” His voice is low, making all surrounding noise fade away.
“I was just about to go for a ride. Do you want to join? Maybe take Barley out as a treat?”
“Sure,” he responds, his voice still low.
“Okay,” you smile, trying to calm your heart. “Meet you at the back gate in five?”
He nods before heading to the stables.
—-
You greet Marcus as he arrives atop Barley, cantering towards the back gate.
“Ready?” you ask. His face is a mystery, his shoulders tense as he nods. “I figure we’ll just ride to the other side of the lake?”
Another nod without a verbal response.
“Let’s go,” you say, nudging Harvey forward. The horse responds eagerly, trotting out along the well-trodden path that meanders through the lush greenery surrounding Foxglove Downs. Familiar scenery allows your mind to drift, and you wonder what Marcus is thinking about. The beat of hooves on the ground helps you focus back on the present–you can feel Marcus studying you, an air of tension straining between you.
“I’ll never get sick of this ride,” you say, glancing sideways at Marcus, hoping to catch any sign of the thoughts that are hidden behind his stoic facade. His eyes remain ahead, scanning the horizon as if he’s searching for something just beyond reach.
He doesn’t respond. You feel a pang of disappointment.
“Harvey loves this trail,” you continue. “Or maybe he knows that whenever we get to the lake, he always gets a treat.” You chuckle lightly, trying to lighten Marcus’s mood.
His lips twitch, a quick flick of amusement crossing his features before vanishing just as quickly.
“So, Daisy’s looking a lot better already.”
“She is,” he replies tersely.
You bite your lip, suppressing a sigh, taking the hint that he doesn’t want to talk just yet.
As you reach the edge of the lake, you pull Harvey to a stop and look at Marcus, sitting tall on Barley.
“Beautiful day,” you remark, attempting to break through the silence as you dismount Harvey and tie him to a nearby tree.
“Yeah,” he replies, his gaze still fixed on the shimmering lake. “It really is.”
Uncertainty charges between you as you pull a small apple out from your saddle bag for Harvey. You offer it to him while keeping an eye on Marcus as he dismounts and finally turns to meet your gaze.
“What did you want to talk about?” you ask, your voice steady despite the butterflies flitting around in your stomach.
His shoulders deflate with a deep sigh as he ties Barley to a nearby tree. His usually composed demeanor seems to waver just a bit.
“Sunny,” he begins, but then stops himself.
You lean against a large oak tree, crossing your arms as you look at him. “Come on, Marcus. Can you just tell me what’s on your mind?” you tease, trying to lift the mood.
He gathers himself, his brow furrowing as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his thumb nervously tapping against his forefinger as if trying to find the right words. “I’ve been thinking about…”
“About what?” you ask, trying to coax him and get rid of the confusion surrounding the two of you.
“Lucius.”
Your eyes widen at his name, your breath caught in your throat. Marcus’s eyes flash darker when he notices your response.
“Lucius?” you echo, unable to keep the surprise from your voice. “What about him?”
He takes a step towards you, his voice careful and questioning. "Tell me… how serious is he about you?"
You feel the heat rush to your cheeks, a mixture of shock and annoyance brewing inside you. “S-serious? Is that what you think?” Your tone stays light, but there’s a hint of defensiveness underlying your words.
Marcus takes a step closer, his brown eyes fixed on you, his jaw tense.
“Come on, Sunny, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It’s not just business for him.”
You avert your eyes, suddenly finding the leaves of the oak tree far more interesting than the intensity of his stare. “He’s… charming. He flirts. It doesn’t mean he’s serious.”
A thick silence fills the space between you. Tension emanates from Marcus as he closes the distance, trapping you against the tree with his body. Your arms instinctively fall to your sides as he leans in, his chest pressing against yours.
“But you like him,” he states, a note of steel in his voice.
You don’t lie. His closeness pulls at something deep within you. “I… he’s fun,” you manage to say, your breath hitching as your heart races.
His hand tenderly brushes against your cheek, and his touch takes your breath away. “Did it feel good to have fun with him this weekend?” he asks, his voice dropping even lower. A shiver skims along your spine.
“Fun?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.
His breath mingles with yours as he hovers just a heartbeat away. “You looked really good in that dress, Sunny. Never seen you in something that short before.”
You swallow hard, trying to maintain your composure as he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. “Marcus, I—”
“It felt good, didn’t it? To have someone like him give you attention?” A flicker of vulnerability crosses his face before he masks it with anger. “Was it as fun for you as I’m sure it was for him?”
You stand wide-eyed and mouth agape, staring into his dark brown eyes. How dare he. The anger rages inside of you.
“Who the hell do you think I am, Marcus?” you ask, anger raising your voice.
His focus stays on you, unwavering, his expression a blend of frustration and longing. “I think you’re someone who deserves more than just a good fuck and a drive home in a designer car.”
You slap him across the face right then and there. “We didn’t fuck, you asshole.” Your voice is sharp and authoritative. “For the record, he was a perfect gentleman. He saved me from a shitty situation and lent me his bed, which I slept alone in.”
You slide under Marcus’s arm, quickly freeing Harvey and climbing on top of him. "And just so you know, I had a dream about you and I having fun at this lake while I was sleeping ALONE in his bed," you nearly shout.
With a swift kick of your heels, Harvey bolts past him, galloping towards the stables. You glance back briefly to see Marcus standing there, his tall frame silhouetted against the lake.
—-
After a restless night filled with thoughts that shift between deep brown and sparkling blue eyes, you dress in your most comfortable jeans and a loose-fitting shirt before heading down to the stables.
Your horses never leave you feeling trapped. They don’t critique your actions. They will always be by your side.
You lose yourself in the simple jobs, caring for them, grateful for their familiarity and companionship. You feel a sense of peace as you finish your morning tasks in the stables.
As you enter your office, you spot a vase brimming with pink foxgloves on your desk. You reach for the card and read the message. "Please forgive me" is written in angular writing above Marcus’s signature. With a sigh, you toss the card back onto the desk and rub your eyes with your palms, trying to relieve some stress.
This is why you try to keep your distance. This is why you never intended to entangle yourself in the rivalry between Marcus and Lucius. This is why you have always tried to resist both men.
It’s been three hours of trying to focus on work. Your vision blurs and your head pounds as you struggle to make sense of the words on your computer screen. Your heart aches just as much, if not more. You can’t seem to concentrate on anything except the urge to occasionally check out the window to see if Marcus or Lucius are practicing on the grounds.
You grumble to yourself as you get up, throw on your jacket, and head to the stables. Today is not an in-the-office day.
—-
The moment you step into the stables, your worries quiet down. Your boots echo across the cobblestones as you approach the stall where the new stallion is housed. As you get closer, you spot Lucius leaning against the wooden railing, softly talking to the stallion, his voice soothing as he moves steadily closer to the horse.
“Hey there, boy,” he says, extending his hand to pet the stallion’s neck. The horse leans into him, its large dark eyes reflecting trust. You’re captivated by Lucius’s gentleness and patience, unable to look away as you approach.
“Lucius,” you call gently. He looks towards you, a smile full of charm breaking across his face when he spots you.
“I was just meeting the new addition.”
You move closer to him, leaning against the railing beside him, offering your hand for the horse to nuzzle. “His name is Maximus.”
“I think he likes me.”
The gentle smile of joy he gives you fills your heart with a certain feeling–but it’s not the same weighty feeling you get when you’re with Marcus. No, this is a lighter, more hopeful sensation that beats within you.
“Want to take him out for a ride? I’ve been breaking him, and he’s responding great. I’ll take him there, you take him back. Maybe you can grab Edgar? He’s about the only horse Maximus can stand. ”
Lucius raises an eyebrow, a playful glint lighting his blue eyes. “I’d love nothing more.”
“Perfect,” you say with a nod, heading towards the tack room.
Lucius follows you in, reaching for his boots and Edgar’s saddle.
“You want to help me with Maximus first?” you ask as you grab the stallion’s saddle.
“Of course.”
Maximus stands in his stall, watching as you both approach with a saddle and bridle.
Lucius gently places the saddle onto his back while he whispers sweetly to him. His hands work skillfully, knowing exactly how to read the stallion and take care of him. It’s like he’s known Maximus for years.
You pick up Edgar’s saddle and head to his stall, allowing Lucius to finish up Maximus.
You struggle with one of the straps on Edgar’s saddle, softly swearing to yourself as you hear Lucius’s boot steps approach.
“That one is a pain,” Lucius says, leaning in. “Here, let me show you how to do it.”
You try to steady your breathing as he guides your hands through the motions, his fingers gently brushing against yours as he adjusts the straps.
“You know, if you keep this up, I might have to hire you as my official saddle strap consultant,” you tease.
Lucius chuckles softly as he takes a step back, allowing you to secure the last strap on Edgar’s saddle yourself.
“See? That wasn’t so hard,” he praises, giving you a warm smile that sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach.
Once both horses are saddled and ready, you lead Maximus out of his stall while Lucius brings Edgar up alongside you.
The afternoon sun warms your skin as you guide Maximus along the cobblestone path that leads toward the back gate. You still can’t help but look around the grounds, secretly hoping to catch a glimpse of Marcus.
Lucius mounts Edgar, and you swing yourself onto Maximus, the stallion shifting beneath you, eager for a run.
“Race you to the lake?” Lucius challenges as the two of you make your way out onto the trail behind the grounds.
“Yeah?” your eyebrow raises as a smile lights your face. “I don’t think I’ve raced in years.”
“Maximus looks like he’s ready, but Edgar’s fast. Loser has to jump in the lake?”
You laugh, your head tilting back and your head shaking. “Now? Jump in the lake now?”
“You heard me,” his eyes are alight with joy, making your smile stay on your face.
“Are we twelve?”
“Fine, if you win, you can push me in… and If I win, you have to… kiss me,” he offers.
“So, we’re twelve,” you respond, rolling your eyes.
“So… deal?”
“Deal,” you say, your cheeks hurting from smiling.
“Count it down then, Sunny.”
“3… 2… 1!” you shout, kicking Maximus into a gallop. The world you know so well blurs into a streak of greens as Maximus surges forward. The wind whips against your body as the rhythmic thud of hooves against the trail echoes through the air.
You glance back over your shoulder and catch a glimpse of Lucius wearing a smile as he commands Edgar confidently.
You can feel Maximus’s excitement beneath you, feeling his happy spirit as he races ahead.
Edgar gains, matching Maximus’s stride. You look over at Lucius, his expression fierce yet playful. He meets your focus and sends you a wink as he shifts forward, pushing Edgar to go faster.
You also lean forward, urging Maximus to give it his all. “Come on, boy!” you whisper fiercely. Maximus pulls ahead just a little more, the lake glimmering in the distance as it gets closer and closer.
“Come on, Edgar!” Lucius calls out, but his voice is fading as you gain ground ahead of him and the trees thin out the closer you get to the water.
“Almost there!” you shout over your shoulder, laughter spilling from your lips as you sense Lucius straining behind you. “You better catch up!”
Soon, the lake is fully revealed to you, the water’s edge just within reach as Maximus gallops towards it, Lucius and Edgar much farther behind now. You and the young stallion easily win the race as you reach the water’s edge.
You pull Maximus to a halt at the edge of the shimmering lake, the stallion snorting and stamping his hooves in triumph as if he understands the victory you’ve just claimed.
“I win!” you shout, unable to contain your excitement. You slide off Maximus, your heart still racing from the ride and the sight of Lucius approaching. His body is framed against the bright blue sky that matches the color of his eyes. He dismounts Edgar and jogs over, his breath coming in quick bursts, yet a broad grin remains plastered across his face.
“You got me this time,” he concedes.
“Just this time?” you tease.
“I guess next time, I’ll ride harder. But for now…” he pauses, glancing at the lake, then back at you. “A deal’s a deal.”
He strides towards the dock, a small wooden structure stretching out into the lake. Its weathered planks creak softly beneath his weight, the water rippling in the warm breeze as Lucius reaches the edge of it.
“Wait! You don’t have to—” You start to protest, but it’s too late.
Lucius leaps off the dock, and time seems to slow as he jumps into the air. His body gracefully twists before hitting the water with a large splash.
Your laughter echoes across the lake as he emerges from the water, his white shirt now drenched. You can’t stop looking at him and how the now-transparent fabric clings to his muscles.
His blue eyes lock on to yours, a smoldering look sent your way. You feel like you’re in trouble, like he’s almost angry with you. That is, until a broad smile breaks across his face and he runs toward you.
Before you can react, Lucius tackles you to the grass, his wet body crashing down over yours. You gasp as the coolness of his skin meets yours, the weight of him pressing you into the earth beneath. Laughter escapes your lips as he grins down at you, water dripping from tendrils of his brown hair and his strong nose.
“Now who's winning?” he teases, his breath warm against your face.
“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” you reply as you squirm beneath him, trying to find a comfortable position without pushing him off. The way he looks at you–half-smirking with his bright eyes shining–makes it hard to focus on anything else.
“Oh, definitely,” he replies, leaning in closer.
Your heart pounds, no longer from the race, but from Lucius. He hovers above you, and it’s just you and him. The imposing oak tree that Marcus pushed you up against is only a few feet away, but it disappears from your periphery when Lucius’s gaze drops to your mouth.
“Sunny…” his voice changes, becoming lower and more serious.
You swallow hard, caught in the pull of him. “What are you—”
But before you can finish your thought, he closes the small space between you, pressing his lips against yours in a gentle yet searing kiss. You feel your heart beat faster as you respond instinctively, tilting your head slightly to deepen the kiss. His hands cradle your face as you let out a soft sigh, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth.
But just as quickly as it begins, reality crashes into you like a splash of cold water.
You pull back abruptly and breathlessly. “Lucius,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper as you grapple with the sudden rush of emotions swirling within you. “I shouldn’t have let you kiss me.”
He lifts himself off you, his brow furrowed slightly in confusion, but the playful sparkle in his eyes remains. You sit up carefully, brushing blades of grass from your hair while trying to regain your composure.
“I mean…” you stammer, searching for the right words amidst the haze of what just happened. “This is—it’s complicated.”
“Complicated?” he repeats, tilting his head slightly in confusion. He leans back on his hands, water still glistening on his skin under the afternoon sun. The way he looks at you—both amused and intrigued—makes it hard to maintain any semblance of seriousness.
“Yes! The whole business of it all,” you say, waving an arm towards the stables in the distance. “We both know how small this world is.”
You don’t mention to him that it’s because the lips you truly desire belong to his biggest rival.
Lucius chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Sunny, I’m fine with calling this whole thing a… business meeting.” He raises an eyebrow. “One kiss isn’t going to ruin your carefully constructed empire.”
You feel your cheeks warm at his teasing. You take a deep breath, searching for the right words. “You know this whole world is riddled with… rivalries. If word gets out… well, it will complicate things.”
“Sunny,” he says, his voice growing more earnest. “I’m not interested in gossip or rivalries. I’m interested in you.”
You glance away, taking a moment to collect yourself. He looks at you like he sees right through you.
“But what about Marcus?” you ask finally.
Lucius lets out a sigh and runs a hand through his damp hair, sending droplets flying in every direction. “What about him? Why does Marcus matter?”
“Lucius, I like you, but I just… I–”
“Sunny, look at me,” he softly commands.
You obey, your eyes meeting his. His face is understanding, a gentle smile lifting his lips that you can still feel against yours.
“I understand,” he says gently. “You don’t have to go on. Just know, I’m here for you, in whatever way you’ll have me.”
Some of the weight sitting atop your shoulders—and your heart—lifts. “I’d like to have you as I’ve had you–as a friend,” you offer.
“Of course,” he grins, his handsome face and sweet voice reassuring.
You shift closer to him, resting your head against his still-damp shirt as you sit in companionable silence, watching the sun begin to set.
—-
“So, you want to ride Maximus back to the stables?” you ask as you and Lucius walk over to the horses. “I’d love to see how he runs for you.”
“I’d love nothing more,” he replies.
“Just remember,” you say as Lucius moves to mount the stallion, “he can be a bit stubborn. Handle him firmly—but with care.”
Lucius laughs, swinging himself up onto Maximus. “No wonder he and I get along.”
You mount Edgar and give him a gentle nudge with your heels as Lucius maneuvers Maximus to trot ahead of you.
You trail behind, admiring as you observe how Lucius interacts with the horse.
“Keep your heels down!” you call out teasingly.
“Yeah, yeah! Is that your only complaint on my form?” he asks over his shoulder. “I’m a champion, Sunny. I don’t need your opinion. I pay many people to yell at me about my form!”
You shake your head and laugh. There’s something so uncomplicated about this moment—the laughter, the beautiful sunset, the understanding Lucius has shown your heart.
As the back gate comes into view, a bit of sadness settles in you now that your impromptu ride with Lucius is over.
The last time you approached this gate from the lake, Marcus had made you feel so small that you could almost still feel the tears stinging in your eyes.
As you dismount from Edgar and guide him through the gate, Lucius follows with Maximus, the two of you leading the horses to their stalls and bringing their saddles to the tack room.
“Thanks for letting me ride Maximus,” Lucius says, putting the stallion’s saddle away.
“You commanded him perfectly,” you compliment as you pick up a brush to groom Maximus’s coat.
“Perfectly, huh? You know, after one ride, I’m ready to purchase.”
“He’s not cheap–champion bloodline and all,” you say, heading back to Maximus’s stall.
“I’m sure I could afford him. Not every day you find a horse that truly connects with you.”
You nod in agreement—until the memory of how Marcus also commanded Maximus during the stallion’s arrival overtakes your brain.
Lucius watches as you enter Maximus’s stall and begin to brush the stallion’s glossy black coat.
“I should probably get going,” he says reluctantly, checking his watch. “I have a planning meeting about Rome early tomorrow morning, and then I’m training all day. Thank you for today. I needed it.”
“I needed it too,” you reply softly, walking closer to the stall gate.
“Maybe I’ll see you around tomorrow?” he asks hopefully as he moves to stand in front of the gate and reaches out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear.
“Definitely,” you smile. “Come see me in my office. I have your jacket.”
“Keep it. Like I said,” he says, his eyes looking you up and down. Even in your baggiest pair of jeans and loosest fitting shirt, he still makes you feel like the most attractive woman on earth. “You look much better in it.”
He turns to leave, and you watch him go with a slight pang in your chest before you turn back to the soothing work of caring for your horses.
—-
Thank you for reading! Tagging those who asked and some friends! Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.
@ohheypedrito, @schnarfer, @magpiepills, @sawymredfox, @devineconjuring
@mothandpidgeon, @hellfire-state-of-mind, @darkheartgatita, @umnitsa, @christinamadsen
@pedrit0-pascalit0, @ace-turned-confused, @itwasntimethatdidit40, @lotusbxtch, @almostfoxglove
@lady--lynn, @chrissy-forfucksakes-wakeup, @copperhalfcent, @ferns-fics, @thesoftdumbass
#pedro pascal#paul mescal#marcus acacius#lucius verus#marcus acacius fan fic#marcus acacius fanfiction#marcus acacius x you#general marcus acacius#marcus acacius fic#general acacius#gladiator ll#gladiator 2#lucius verus fan fic#lucius verus fic#lucius verus x reader#gladiator movie#gladiator ii#lucius verus x you#gladiator au#lucius verus fanfiction#paul mescal fic#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal fanfiction#paul mescal fanfiction#paul mescal fanfic#pedro pascal fanfic#marcus acacius x reader
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Bingyuan Soulmate au 3
Part 1 Part 2
Shen Yuan was overjoyed now that he had made contact with his Soulmate at last. Binghe was absolutely precious. The burst of his emotions written into his words were all so genuine and adoring. Once Binghe knew that they were soulmates, he all but bloomed into an adorable white lotus. The way he writes in a more formal and archaic dialect is charming, especially since it’s paired with the calligraphy brush he consistently uses. Shen Yuan finds his quirks overwhelmingly cute.
They had only known each other for two days, but Shen Yuan was working out something of a pattern for Binghe’s messages. He would wake up well before Shen Yuan, leaving a message on his wrist like Shen Yuan has done for years. Then Binghe will be busy for the rest of the day until late at night.
Maybe he works on a farm?
Shen Yuan tried to picture an adorable (because there’s no way that Binghe isn’t the cutest thing in existence) child waking up with the sun to work on a farm. Shen Yuan doesn’t really know what work is done on a farm. It would probably be a lot of manual labor. Binghe’s too young to be working all day!
What if he’s one of those kids stuck in a sweatshop forced to do labor?
The thought of it breaks Shen Yuan’s heart, and fills him with protective fury.
His soulmate is a lot younger than him, so Shen Yuan has been trying to keep the conversation more shallow to protect his soulmate’s privacy and safety. However, he’s getting the feeling that Binghe isn’t in a great situation.
Not knowing about soulmates indicates a level of isolation and deliberate ignorance. Being illiterate at 10 implies a level of disenfranchisement. The long hours that Binghe keeps where he’s too occupied to talk. Those emotions of fragile hope and loneliness that undercurrent some of his words.
Something is wrong, and Shen Yuan should address it sooner rather than later.
“Bing-er could you tell me where you live?” Shen Yuan writes during the afternoon, knowing Binghe will likely respond later that night. He keeps imparts emotions of curiosity, concern, and care, hoping Binghe will feel safe enough to tell him, even if they hadn’t known each other long.
He had to wait a few hours but finally he felt the tingle of a brush dragging across his skin.
“This Binghe is a disciple of Cang Qiong Mountain’s Qing Jing Peak” Binghe wrote. Shen Yuan stared blankly at the words. He would doubt them, but he can feel the truth in the words.
Soulmates can tell when the other is lying, because the communication is between two souls that are linked together. Soulmates can lie to each other verbally, but words written on skin can only be true to the soul, if they’re dishonest then your soulmate can tell.
Shen Yuan pulled up his phone and looked up Qing Jing Peak, not expecting anything to come up. He was surprised to get results. However the results were to a web page of a relatively new Web novel called <Proud Immortal Demon Way> which only has 4 published chapters.
Shen Yuan read the summary in disbelief, his eyes skimming over it before reading it over and over again to make sure he got it right. The main character’s name is Luo Binghe, named after the river that his washerwoman adoptive mother found him floating in after being abandoned in a basket on the coldest day of winter.
Shen Yuan didn’t understand what was happening. He didn’t think that Binghe was lying, their bond would tell him. Why would Binghe introduce himself as a character in a web novel that had barely started and had practically no audience. It made no sense.
None of this makes sense.
Shen Yuan can feel the tingle of a brush on his arm, Binghe must be wondering why he was taking so long to reply. Shen Yuan decided to read <Proud Immortal Demon Way> tomorrow during the day while Binghe is busy. He wouldn’t ask any questions that could make Binghe think that he doubted him. Shen Yuan just knows that it would shatter Binghe’s heart.
“Yuan-ge?” Binghe had written, light impatience mixed with a hint of nervousness and hopeful anticipation.
Shen Yuan decides to just go along with whatever Binghe says. No need to contradict him.
“I’m not a part of any sect. How do you find Qing Jing Peak?” Shen Yuan asked.
This time it was Binghe who took a long time to respond.
“This one likes Qing Jing Peak. Qing Jing Peak does not like this Binghe.” Binghe says, his words carry with them the faintest amount of bitterness, with a stronger mixture of sorrow, pain, and loneliness. The words feel like a whispered confession, like a truth too terrible to speak aloud. It feels vulnerable and painful raw in its honesty.
Shen Yuan’s heart hurts with the words. He has gotten so used to Binghe’s overwhelming vibrance, it makes it all the more clear how achingly diminished he feels in those words. All the brewing heartache that’s being exposed.
Shen Yuan glances at the summary page for a web novel, seeing the tags that promise a revenge story and power fantasy. It’s exactly the type of web novel that Shen Yuan likes to read. He pushes away all of his confusion and doubts to focus on what’s important, Binghe.
“I don’t know how anyone could not like Luo Binghe.” Shen Yuan writes, soaking the words with protective anger and overflowing adoration. Binghe is a good boy. Binghe deserves the world. Shen Yuan has only had him for 3 days but if anything happened to Luo Binghe, Shen Yuan would kill everybody in the world and then himself.
“Yuan-ge!” Binghe writes, joy tinged lightly with heartache.
Shen Yuan changed the subject to instead ask about what Binghe was learning. Binghe told him that Qing Jing Peak was a Peak of scholars and that he was meant to learn the 4 Arts. However he wasn’t allowed into the classes with the other disciples and he was told to do chores instead of cultivating.
It filled Shen Yuan with indignation.
“I don’t know if my education holds up to Qing Jing Peak standards, but I have been learning the Four Arts. I’ll teach you whatever I can.” Shen Yuan wrote. He began trying to think of the best ways to teach the subjects with limited space and an inability to actually demonstrate in person. It would be difficult, but written instruction could hopefully help Binghe in some way.
“Thank you Yuan-ge!” Binghe wrote enthusiastically, filled with anticipation and hope. His brush strokes were messier than usual with his giddiness.
Shen Yuan smiled at his arm. He had been thinking about becoming a teacher after he found tutoring his meimei to be enjoyable. Maybe this could be like his test? He’ll take this seriously, only the best for his Binghe.
That means that Shen Yuan will have to do deep research into the four arts to expand his knowledge, and also work on putting together lesson plans. He should also look into teaching methods. (Not to mention the fact that his soulmate might just be the protagonist of a xianxia novel, a fact he was studiously putting out of mind and out of sight, meaning he should also research cultivation type settings.)
The bottom line is that his soulmate needs help, and after 15 years of waiting, Shen Yuan is prepared to do anything for his soulmate.
Part 4
#svsss#bingqiu#bingyuan#luo binghe#shen yuan#soulmate au#mxtx#scum villian self saving system#binggeyuan
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It’s been said that you cannot give away what you do not have. One of the most spiritually important insights or secrets in life is that you already have, and always have had, what you need to give away. If you impart the message that ‘I am not worthy’ the universe will send it straight back in many shapes, forms and circumstances. When we say ‘give me’ we are imparting this message. We are saying we think we need to get something to complete ourselves or prove our worth.
Most of us are taught to live a life of "gimmie gimmie gimmie" – always striving, desiring, wanting, struggling. We do so only because we think that when we get what we want we will be fulfilled and esteemed by others. But it’s an illusion. We are all already complete and worthy but we cannot know it and experience it, until we give it away.
Only giving allows us to know what we are and what we have within. Ask the question – how can I serve? The intention to serve will point you towards what you need to give. If the intention is real it also generates the will. The most successful people in life are not go getters, but go givers.
🔥❤️🔥
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the thing about Handler Walter (his full christian name) is that he's a really horrible guy. he's a guy who's decided that he needs to be an extremely cold, pragmatic, paranoid man willing to use anyone and anything to "right the wrongs of the past" (which is to burn it all down and commit genocide, even if he doesn't know that Coral is sentient that is still what he's doing, plus i imagine every Rubiconian dies too in the Fires ending or are at the very least heading towards a slow death of starvation and such)
but
he's also really sentimental, something he's tried really hard to bury to be the man he feels he needs to be in order to fulfill the legacy passed onto him and Carla. this is why he ends up caring a lot about C4-621 aka Raven (aka G13 aka... the list goes on) and probably all his previous hounds too. he doesn't want to do what he's done to them - using them as slave soldiers, attack dogs to throw into the meat grinder as necessary sacrifices even though he himself is at least capable as a pilot. he lets 617, 618, 619, 620 and who knows how many others get killed because he thinks it's better that they die than that he dies before he can finish the mission. this then likely changes with 621 as he determines that they have a better shot at finishing the mission than he ever did and makes sure that they escape rather than him (also maybe pragmatically thinking "if Arquebus re-educates 621 then everyone loses forever" bc he has at this point discovered that he pulled god's greatest killing machine out from the bottom of the bargain bin) in addition, while i think him wanting to get 621 Raven to "buy their life back" and "undo the surgery, become 'normal' again" is a genuine desire for them to attain some happiness or so, i think it is also, mainly, a way for him to feel better about what he's done to them. a way to wash the sins of his father from his hands - sure, the blood of every other hound is on his hands, and there are still plenty of old gens suffering similar fates to 621, being treated like dogs and machines that can just be switched on or off whenever their Handlers want to, but at least this one made it out, at least this one could escape the Coral
and yet. asking them to burn Rubicon. is dooming them. history knows them as the monster who burned the stars from then on. there is no peace for a hound that chooses to carry on his legacy that he imparts to them.
sure, Walter is kind of, textually, Raven's dad. and he's kind of a bad dad. well-meaning and caring in his own gruff way, but still not great. i think he puts it himself best in the post-credits message, where he says "I'm sorry... and I'm grateful." he knows what a burden it is. and despite the fact that he gives Raven a lot of choices in what they do, it doesn't really change that Raven never got to choose to even go to Rubicon, the legacy is still something thrust onto them with little say in the matter. they were switched off by the cerebral Coral control device when they were being transported to Rubicon, and Walter holds the power over them completely since he decides when or even if Raven gets to be awake and about. i think it is very telling that Raven can and will take jobs that are specifically behind Walter's back, and that it's only once Walter's gone that they dare to go against him directly (or when offered protection by ALLMIND, who proves themself to be able to circumvent Walter's watchful eye).
that's not even to say that i think that 621 Raven hates Walter or anything! the fact that in the liberator ending, after he puts the gun down with the "you found a friend" line, Raven is backing away at first, keeping their eye on Walter as long as they can before turning to escape the Xylem being pulled down by Rubicon's gravity, all that i think means that they do care. the emotional core of that ending hinges on the fact they don't want to fight Walter. it's like how you kind of inevitably love your parents even if you know how they've mistreated you (not saying this is universal but it's what i know from personal experience and from a lot of friends i have that have been in similar situations to me).
but anyways. the point is. i really like walter. he kind of sucks! and i think we should explore the side of Raven that isn't slavishly loyal to him, because they very obviously aren't, or else they wouldn't be so comfortable repeatedly going behind his back. Fires ending is an exception tho since, as i've pointed out in another post, the one where you actively choose to remain nothing more than Walter's faithful hound
#lovi speaks#armored core 6#sorry i had walter thoughts and needed them out#i like him. he's a bad guy though
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A message to my American brothers and sisters whose candidate lost this election:
Firstly, I am neither American nor did I vote for your election so do take what I say with a grain of salt.
I’m writing to you guys because I know how you feel. I’ve been there.
During the 2020 Presidential election of the Philippines, I too supported a movement. Not a candidate—a movement. A female presidential candidate who raised hope, became a champion for marginalized communities whose only goal was to create opportunities to shift my country away from the vitriol that came from a previous president who strong armed my country into a bloody war on drugs that saw the death of thousands of poor people.
And like you, I lost.
With the spread of misinformation and lies, my country elected the son of a dictator who proved himself to be the ineffective, incompetent and dishonest leader we all secretly hoped he wouldn’t be.
Our hopes dimmed.
Tears were shed.
Resentment flowered in us like a storm.
It was difficult to swallow the results of an election that had so much at stake. You see, like your President-elect, our current President spent millions of pesos contesting a fair election that saw him losing out to the vice presidential position during the previous election.
Through bullying and intimidation, he sought to undermine a fair election that took him out of power.
And like your current President-elect, he still managed to win at the end.
It would have been easier to accept the results had it not been for the mocking of 31 million Filipinos who voted our current president into office.
We all heard them tell us, “You’re crying over an election? You need better things to worry about.”
I want you to know that it’s okay to cry.
Your frustrations and disappointment are valid.
It is rare to find a candidate you’re able to place so much hope in and to have that hope dashed away is a bitter pill that is difficult to swallow.
I know, you’re probably tired of hearing it.
“Turn the other cheek.”
“Accept it and move on.”
“It is what it is.”
“There’s nothing more to do.”
It’s okay. I’m tired of it too.
I know you’re probably scared and angry and so, so, so tired. Two years after our election and I am still all of these things.
I still think about the what if, the what could have beens. I think a lot about how better off we would have been if the right person won.
I want you to know that it’s okay. It’s okay to mourn those things.
You did your part. You voted and you campaigned and you fought hard. Sometimes, we just lose.
If there’s any advice I can impart, it’s that I hope you take your frustration, your sadness, you exhaustion, your anger, and turn it into righteous fury.
Take that fury and do something with it.
Because the movement cannot stop here. The moment we stop fighting, they win.
To lose hope means victory for the other side.
I get it. It’s easier to get mad at the people who voted for him. It’s even easier to spew the same vitriolic hate towards them when they start complaining about how things don’t change and how your country is worse off but theirs is the vote that put a wannabe-dictator in power.
Don’t do it.
Because that divide is precisely why they keep winning. It’s the same divide they sowed into my country and we are still struggling to fight that division everyday.
Losing this election is a step backwards but losing hope would be another step back.
Even to this day, my presidential candidate continues to inspire hope for change in my country.
I know yours will too.
It’s not the end.
I need you to remember to breathe.
Breathe in the hope you desperately fought for;
breathe through the hurt of the loss;
and breathe out the fear they so badly want you to feel.
The road is long and it’s scary.
But there’s about 50 or so million other people on that road with you. You might not be the majority but even David was small when he killed Goliath.
Cause if you voted for Kamala Harris, you already know you have the courage and righteous fury to fight for change and you cannot give up now that you’re so close.
You lost the battle but it’s not the end of the war.
So tonight, grieve. Cry. Hug your friends and family who are right there with you. Be sad and mourn the loss of what could have been.
Because tomorrow, when you wake, you will continue fighting for change.
Because no one else will.
#election 2024#us elections#kamala harris#kamala 2024#vote harris walz#harris walz 2024#tim walz#vote democrat#vote blue#blue
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III - The Empress 'Goddess Danu' Talon Abraxas “I am a powerful, nourishing, and creative force. I embrace the fertile energy of the natural world to cultivate abundance for myself and others.” The Empress is the inferior Garden of Eden, the Earthly Paradise, all that is symbolized by the visible house of man. She is the fruitful mother of thousands. Aspects of The Empress have been described as desire, the woman clothed with the sun, as the transitory delights of the world and the veil of the divine realm.
She is above all things universal fertility and the outer sense of the Word. There is no direct message given to man like that which is conveyed by woman; but she does not, herself, carry its interpretation. The card of the Empress can also being interpreted in another way: She signifies the door or gate by which an entrance is obtained into this life, as into the Garden of Venus.
The Empress symbolizes the way that leads out of this life, into that which is beyond. The secret knowledge of the High Priestess is communicated by The Empress to the chosen few. She is the imparter of divine knowledge.
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✿ duskbound, afterlight.
#STARRING: cybertronian femme reader & other characters.
#TAGS: none i can think about???? megatronus appearance lol
#NOTES: sorry i forgot i also had this fic on tumblr lol it's a lot more updated on ao3 / thank you to @juicygf for her OC, Echo! I hope I have done her justice for her small appearance in the chap! Reminder that if you would like your oc to appear on the story, feel free to leave a comment or send me a message!
part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six
Bluey took nearly three days to half-forgive you for that stunt you pulled with the Overseers.
It took even longer for the controversy to gradually die out in the simmering city of Kaon, the audacious scandal of the self-named gladiator, aka you, barraging through the underbelly of the city. The uproar sent tremors through the working bots of the lowest levels, stirring them from their routines and igniting a firestorm of controversy that, frankly, lasted longer than you would have liked.
If the rumors circulating among your comrades held any truth, your actions had caused quite the commotion outside of Kaon.
Your exploits spread like wildfire among the segment of the population that avidly followed the entertainment and broadcasts surrounding the gladiatorial fights. The rebroadcast of your match took the Grid by storm, particularly the 15-second clip that captured the explicit moment when you simply lost it at the disrespect you were facing. The sheer force of your actions made you a topic of fascination and debate throughout the community.
You wondered if your old comrades had heard of this.
Did the miners at Nuna 5PY recall the fierce figure that had defiantly hurled that shard of plating at the crime bosses who loomed over the brutal gladiatorial matches of Kaon? Did they see in her the image of the introverted, helpless-looking worker from the H branch, the one who had, through no fault of her own, been thrust into the role of living entertainment in a world that thrived on suffering?
What might H–01 think of you now? And what of Starlight—had she been alive, would her clear gaze still recognize the essence of who you were? Would they see remnants of your former self entombed beneath the layers of the lessons you had learned, or would they only see the ruthless warrior you were slowly becoming?
What would you even say to them? I swear, it wasn’t me. The Pits changed me. I had to do it. They made me. I made myself do it. To survive. To stay alive. To avenge you. To avenge all of us. Because I was scared. Because I was enraged. Because I did not want to die. Because I lost everything. Because everything was at stake. Because I had nothing to lose. Because I didn’t know what else to do. Because I wanted to prove I could. Because I hated them. Because I hated myself. Because it felt right. Because it felt wrong. Because I couldn’t stop. Because stopping would mean admitting it. Admitting that maybe this is who I always was. Or maybe this is who they made me. Maybe it’s who I had to become. Maybe it’s who I need to be. Maybe it’s too late to change. Maybe I don’t want to.
Between these mumbling thoughts, it became near impossible to discern which were the veracious whispers of your spark and which were the treacherous insinuations of your mind. It was so strange. It was born out of the silence of injustice, the moment you felt the gaping absence of fairness. It changed you, redesigned your beliefs, and imparted knowledge as heavy as stone.
Would they understand if you told them how the days in the dark bled together, how the screams of others became the sounds of the wins? Would they see the trembling servos that first held the blade and understand how they became steady with practice, helmed by obligation?
Or would they turn from you, repulsed by the monster you’d become? You wondered if they would hear the echoes of your defiance in the acts you committed or only see the emptiness you carried now. When you finally stood before them—whether in this life or the next—what could you say that would bridge the chasm of who you had been and who you were now?
Could you ever explain that it was a single moment that changed you? Would that be enough? Would you be enough?
Were you really the same femme you once had been? Or were you merely donning her old protoform?
You paid the price to satiate your spite. You fed your anger; you willingly did it.
What did that say about you?
As everything does, the rumors and whispers faded away. The result was a welcome reprieve; no longer did Bluey or your newfound band of companions feel the need to shadow your every move, their initial worry easing as the crowds of enthusiastic gladiators retreated into the background, no longer clamoring to voice their admiration or to share their astonishment at your audacity.
What bothered you most was that you had not been punished.
You mulled over it as you meticulously honed the edges of various weapons, the lilting scrape of metal against metal breaking the otherwise stillness of the room. With no matches slated for the day, Bluey practically dragged you to the armory you both frequented for peace and quiet.
You were still waiting for one of your comrades to appear, but in order to pass the time, you had come up with the lame excuse of wanting to sharpen some blades in order to save yourself from the imminent conversation Bluey wanted to have.
Inside the pits, the armories were considered a place to reprieve, its cavernous walls holding so many forms of violence in different shapes, its tools long since outmoded or discarded, awaiting purpose or oblivion. Away from everything else, among the scuffed blades and tarnished plating, you could think— or at least attempt to.
Bluey was perched on the edge of a disused weapons rack, his frame slouched but optics trained on you with the sharp attentiveness that he hid so well, so carefully. He knew what you were doing, and yet he was entertaining your wishes. Although, only for a short time.
“Shanix for your thoughts,” Bluey’s voice cut through the quiet. His tone lacked its usual romp and jest, replaced with something softer, something more sympathetic. “Seriously, are you still thinking about it?”
You didn’t look up. “Shouldn’t I be? Nobody gets away with what I did. Not really.”
“Not many are crazy enough to do what you did,” Bluey countered, folding his arms as his gaze shifted to the weapons etched into the wall behind you.
You scoffed. “I don’t know what you expect me to do. Forget about it? Pretend it didn’t happen?”
“You could start by not acting like you’re waiting for a firing squad. You made your point. So, what? You want punishment? You want them to come down here, drag you out, and make an example of you?” His voice sharpened, his optics flickering with barely restrained frustration. “Because if you do, you’re not just slagging yourself—you’re slagging me and everyone else who’s been backing your sorry aft. No one who saw that clip’s going to forget it anytime soon, so maybe you ought to let it go.”
His words stung in a way they weren’t meant to. Let it go. As if it was that simple. As if the memory of the Overseers’ dismissive sneers and the crash of energon cubes toppling in front of their lofty perch didn’t appear behind your optics every time you closed them. The image still flashed in your mind, unbidden—the way their optics finally snapped to you, the way the entire pit seemed to hold its collective breath as you turned and walked out like you owned it.
“It wasn’t about making a point,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.
Bluey didn’t miss a beat. “Oh no, throwing a hunk of scrap at their fancy energon stash was just a friendly little gesture, then? Sure fooled me.”
This time, you did look up, fixing him with a glare. “They weren’t even watching, Bluey. I could’ve been anybot out there, and it wouldn’t have mattered to them. All we are to them is noise. Static.”
“Static doesn’t throw tantrums,” he shot back. “Static doesn’t stop the show cold and have bots talking about it across half the Grid. You’re not static, and you’re slagging well smart enough to know it.”
The truth in his words twisted uncomfortably in your chassis, and you hated that he was right. You hated that, in the moment, you hadn’t thought past your own anger to the weight of what it meant to act on it. To take what you were feeling and throw it—literally—in their faces. You’d discarded the one thing Bluey had drilled into you and now you were paying the price. You opened your mouth to argue, but he held up a servo to stop you.
“You’re scared,” he said after a long pause, “Not of what you did, but what it means.”
With a solemn swallow, you darted your helm away. Just before the mech could speak, he was so close to doing so as his dermas were parted, the doors to the armory bolted open, letting him see the hallway for a second. He saw a pair of sentry guards passing by the doors, but his attention was only caught a split second by them before he redirected his optics to the reason the entrance had opened in the first place.
With airy steps, a femme made her way toward the two of you. To your surprise, behind her followed Megatronus.
Bluey bristled, leaning his servo on the table. “I thought we agreed on a private hangout, Echo.”
The femme looked at him with a raised optic ridge, her expression as unimpressed as ever.
“We did,” Echo said flatly, her voice cool and laced with that signature sarcasm that always seemed to cut right to the point. “Then he decided to invite himself along.”
She thumbed over her shoulder at Megatronus's imposing figure. The towering gladiator's sheer presence filled the armory, his optics sweeping over the room like he was already cataloging the weapons in sight.
The room seemed smaller now, the oppressive silence filling every corner as Megatronus stepped further inside. The dim light and shadows seemed to bend and curl around him, his presence pulling the atmosphere taut like a wire about to snap. Even among gladiators, he was larger than life—a figure carved out of myths and whispered stories that no one dared to speak aloud. His armor gleamed faintly, the darkened metal catching just enough light to highlight the scars etched into its surface, each one a mark of battles fought, victories earned, and enemies crushed.
Bluey shifted uneasily at your side, his servo tightening around the edge of the table. His usually easygoing demeanor—the casual grins, the sly remarks—was nowhere to be found. Now, his optics flickered with tension, darting toward you for something unspoken, something grounding.
"Didn’t realize we were hosting a fragging summit," he spoke directly in Megatronus’s direction, the strain in his voice betraying his attempt at humor. His words cut through the silence with ease, but they did little to lighten the weight in the room.
If anything, the tension seemed to thicken, settling heavily over you. Your spark pulsed harder in your chest as Megatronus’s optics locked onto you, pinning you in place with their suffocating intensity. His gaze wasn’t just commanding—it was predatory, cold, and unrelenting. There was no pretense of curiosity, no veneer of civility. He was here for a purpose, and whatever it was, it loomed larger than any excuse you could muster.
But you’d be damned if you let him intimidate you now. You stepped forward, mindful of Bluey’s optics trailing your every move. “What do you want?”
“You’ve made an impression,” Megatronus said at last. His voice was low, a resonant growl that seemed to reverberate through the walls and into your plating.
The urge to meet his intensity burned within you, but you forced it down, keeping your tone even. You knew better than to show weakness, yet every instinct screamed at you to tread carefully.
“That depends on what kind of impression you mean,” you replied, your voice steady despite the storm raging in your processor.
For a brief moment, the corner of Megatronus’s mouth twitched upward—not quite a smile, but enough to send a shiver down your spinal strut. “One worth investigating.”
The silence that followed was oppressive, each second stretching longer than the last. Bluey shot you another sharp glance, his optics narrowing as though willing you to say or do something that wouldn’t get you both scrapped.
You swallowed hard, drawing in a shallow intake. “I asked you, what do you want?”
Megatronus stepped closer, his imposing frame towering over you. His optics narrowed slightly, studying you with an intensity that felt almost surgical. When he finally spoke, his voice was a deep, measured rumble. “An answer. Not to what you did, but to why you did it.”
His words hung in the air like a blade suspended over your helm, waiting to drop. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet as his question bore down on you, the walls closing in with the weight of every optic fixed on you.
Beside you, Bluey tensed, his servo twitching just slightly toward the blade you’d been sharpening earlier. The movement was subtle, but you caught it, your spark stuttering at the thought of what might happen if things escalated.
Lying would have been easy. You could’ve spun a story, fabricated some excuse that might’ve deflected his scrutiny. But Megatronus wasn’t the kind of mech to accept falsehoods, and you weren’t sure you wanted to risk what might happen if he saw through one. Whatever answer you gave, it had to be the truth—or at least a truth that he’d believe.
You forced yourself to meet his gaze, “Because someone needed to remind them we’re more than their entertainment.”
For a moment, Megatronus said nothing, his optics boring into yours as if measuring the strength of your resolve. Behind you, Echo seemed to pause, her posture stiffening ever so slightly as she watched the scene unfold.
Finally, Megatronus nodded.
“Good,” he said simply, his tone as sharp as it was final. “Then you’re exactly the kind of bot we’ve been looking for.”
“Looking for?” you echoed, tilting your helm slightly as you folded your arms. There was a spark of defiance in your optics, one that you knew full well Megatronus wouldn’t miss. “You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t jump at the chance to be part of whatever ominous plot you’re about to drop on us.”
Megatronus’s optics gleamed faintly, his expression unreadable, though the faintest edge of amusement tugged at the corner of his lip component.
“I expected hesitation,” he said, his tone bearing a poundage that hinted he was more intrigued by your reaction than insulted. “But not doubt. I thought you had conviction.”
Your spark pulsed harder, though you refused to let it show. “Conviction isn’t the same as blind faith. If you want me involved, try using actual words instead of ominous statements.”
Bluey let out a soft, barely audible whistle. “She’s going to regret saying that…”
Echo snorted from her perch near him, lowering her voice. “Nah, I’m betting she survives. Megatronus doesn’t usually scrap his recruits on the first meeting. Makes for bad morale.”
The towering mech’s optics flicked briefly toward her, a fleeting but sharp glance that silenced her with a single raised optic ridge.
“Enough,” he said, his tone dismissive, though not unkind. His focus returned to you, his looming presence swallowing the space between you in a way that felt both suffocating and oddly exhilarating.
“What we’re planning isn’t for the faint of spark,” he continued, his voice dropping to a low rumble that seemed to resonate through your frame. “It’s for those who are willing to challenge the rot festering in Kaon. To remind the so-called crime lords that their reign is built on the backs of those they consider expendable.”
Your optics narrowed slightly as you took in his words. He wasn’t just talking about rebellion—this was something more calculated, something bigger. “And you think I’m the right kind of bot for this... crusade?”
Megatronus’s voice dropped, the intensity palpable. “You’re more than the right kind of bot. You’re the perfect one! You’ve got fire, strategy, and the kind of grit that’ll get us past the ones who think they’re untouchable.”
“And if I say no?” you challenged, raising an optic ridge, feeling a defiant spark of anger flare within you. “What happens then?”
“Then you’ll have made a mistake,” Megatronus replied, his tone cold and unyielding. “One you won’t get a chance to correct.”
You held his gaze, unwilling to break. “Is that a threat?”
“Call it what you will,” he said. “But you’ll find that there's no backing out when you’re involved in this. Not if you value your spark.”
The challenge tainting his words was clear. You tilted your helm and uncrossed your arms, the weight of his scrutiny sinking deep. “And if I decide to play along?”
Megatronus’s optics flickered, something unreadable flashing in their depths. “Then you’ll realize just how much you’re capable of. Soon enough.”
“Is that supposed to be comforting?” you asked.
His optics softened slightly, but only for a split second. “It should be. Because I wouldn’t have wasted my time if I didn’t think you had what it takes.”
You scoffed, taking a step back, feeling the pressure of his presence like a vice. “So, you’re just going to throw me into your plans and hope I don’t get caught in the gears, huh?”
Megatronus took a step closer, his frame almost imposing enough to block out the dim light. “You’re already caught, whether you realize it or not. Follow my lead, and you’ll find out soon enough.”
But you weren’t done yet. “What if I don’t follow your lead? What if I do things my way?”
For a split second, Megatronus seemed to consider it, his optics glinting with something dangerous. Then, his dermas curled into a smile, though it was anything but warm. He crossed his arms, extending a servo out. “Then we’ll find out who’s better at this game.”
The words dangled between you like a challenge, a threat, and an invitation all at once. You weren’t sure which you disliked more.
“What game?”
“You will realize,” he said, his voice dropping to an almost intimate whisper. “Soon enough.”
Your optics narrowed further. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’ll get,” he replied smoothly, a faint flicker of something—amusement, perhaps?—dancing behind his optics. “For now.”
You didn’t respond. Didn’t need to.
With one last lingering look, Megatronus turned to leave, his massive frame moving with the grace of a predator—always hunting, always calculating. The sound of his heavy steps echoed as the doors to the armory hissed shut behind him, leaving the three of you alone.
Echo’s optics lingered on the door for a moment longer before she turned to you, a crooked frown tugging at the corner of her dermas. "Well, that was dramatic. I’ve seen more convincing threats from half-welded scrap drones."
Bluey snorted at that, the sound breaking some of the tension in the room. "Yeah, well, remind me to avoid half-welded scrap drones if they’re anything like him."
You didn’t smile. You didn’t even laugh. It wasn’t funny.
Instead, you simply gazed at the vacant spot where Megatronus had been, sensing the heaviness of his challenge weighing down on you like a persistent pain and pulling you down with it, sinking into your tanks. He had presented you with a decision, but that wasn’t what troubled you the most. It was the realization that, deep inside, you understood it was an offer that would change everything.
There would be no going back from this.
No easy way to evade it.
You didn’t look at your friends at first. You just reached for your blade, the cool metal a familiar weight in your servo. You ran your digits over the edge, feeling the sharpness, the perfection of its form.
You would have to make your choice soon, and there would be no going back after it.
In that moment, you realized something: You hadn’t just been fighting for survival. You’d been fighting for control. And whatever happened next, you weren’t going to let anyone take that from you.
Not Bullway. Not any other overseer. Not any gladiator who thought they could taint you. Not Megatronus. Not anybot else.
#midnightbears#transformers#transformers one#transformers x reader#transformers x you#megatron#megatron x you#megatron x reader#megatronus x reader#cybertronian reader#megatronus#orion pax#elita one#d 16 x reader#d 16 x you#optimus prime#tf
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crawling out of my nest after…four months to write pt 2 of the scent post
scents and pheromones
pt. 1: physiology and function
pt. 2: scent messages
along with reproductive cycles and mating bonds, a heightened sense for interpreting scents and pheromones is a pillar of the omegaverse. this series uses language that describes scents in a way we can understand, but the effort to describe scents is in reality much like the effort to describe color to someone who may never have seen it. scents are intangible, and the descriptors used in this series are abstractions and metaphors rather than direct concrete descriptions.
review
to briefly summarize the first entry in this series, humans have scent glands present all over the body, with higher concentrations in certain areas (e.g. the palms, neck, and groin, among others). the scent carries pheromones which are interpreted by the vomeronasal organ (VNO) and decoded as basic information about approximate age, dynamic and phenotypic sexes, mating status, and pack health.
individual scent
individual scents function exactly as they sound. they are unique markers that help distinguish one person from another. they are the core of a person’s whole scent, and they contextualize all the sensations and underpinnings that carry the broader information about age, sex, etc. these scents are most frequently described with comprehensible reference points: honeysuckle, burning wood, vanilla. there are dynamic sex stereotypes—dark and earthy for alphas; light and floral for betas; warm and soft for omegas. in reality, individual scent is not influenced by a person’s dynamic sex. an alpha is just as likely to smell like chocolate cupcakes as they are to smell like petrichor or citrus.
what does dynamic sex smell like?
this is difficult to describe. dynamic sex can be described almost as a sensation more than a scent, the way that spice and sourness are sensations that can be carried by flavors without imparting flavor on their own. with that in mind, consider the following descriptions.
alpha: heavy, blunt, magnetic
beta: electric, sharp, vibrant
omega: bright, round, slow
the sensation of a dynamic sex underpins an individual’s scent. a warm, woodsy scent might be underpinned with vibrance, which would communicate that it likely belongs to a beta.
the scent of age
it may be more accurate to say that scent carries an approximation of an individual’s life stage. upon birth, infants of all dynamic sexes carry a primarily watery, milky, or powdery scent underpinned by the scent of the parent who carried them. the older a child becomes, the more their baby scent gives way to their individual scent. by five or six years old, a child may carry a watery floral scent.
at the onset of the first soft cycle, the dynamic scent sensation begins to emerge. here, a pup may have a bright, powdery, honeyed scent. the presence of the first two sensations communicates that (1) the pup is likely an omega, (2) the pup is young, and (3) the brightness and powdery scent combined mean that the pup likely has not reached their first hard cycle.
the closer a pup becomes to reaching their hard cycle, the more their pup scent fades. a strongly milky scent combined with the dynamic scent indicates that a pup is very near to their first soft cycle, while a scent that is strongly individual with only traces of milkiness suggests that the individual is approaching their hard cycle.
mating status and pack health
this information is strongly inference-based, as mating only slightly changes an individual’s scent and pack health does not directly affect it at all. bite-bonded mates’ scents will carry traces of their mates’ individual scents. on their own, that those scents are not enough to communicate who someone is mated to, how strong the relationship is, or any information about their mate’s sex. they only communicate that a mate exists. more detailed understanding of both mate and pack health comes form scent marking.
in healthy packs, members are regularly marked with each other’s scent, creating a ‘pack scent’ shared by all members. bite-bonded mates’ scents tend to appear stronger or more intrinsic to their mates because they are emphasized by the ‘mate’ scent marker the bite imparts.
most people infer from a person’s lack of pack scent that their pack is unhealthy or distant, or that they have been shunned. pack scents that are tinged with anger, frustration, or other strong emotions aid in inferences drawn on relationship health.
emotional scents
much like dynamic sex, emotions add a sort of sensation or undertone to a person’s scent. in general, emotions like contentment, joy, and relaxation tend to add warmth, brightness, or softness to a person’s scent; while emotions like sadness, loneliness, or frustration tend to darken, sour, or muddy it. because emotions are complex, however, it would be dishonest to say that ‘joy brightens the scent,’ for example.
there are some universal markers—fear and pain are distinct and consistent scents that can be identified by infants in their first month of life. but while broad emotional strokes can be inferred by near strangers, more nuanced and complex reading of a scent’s emotion requires familiarity. just as you may be able to distinguish your partner’s polite laugh, surprised laugh, and delighted laugh easily, close relations tend to have an easier time distinguishing the scents of frustrated determination, frustrated confusion, and frustrated resignation.
how can any of that information be decoded?
scents carry massive amounts of information that the brain decodes in fractions of a second, providing understanding. to describe how that information might be decoded, consider music.
most people can determine whether a singular note was played by a stringed instrument, a keyboard instrument, or a wind instrument. a skilled violinist may be able to determine whether that note came from a violin, viola, cello, or bass due to their familiarity with and repeated exposure to those instruments.
musicians hearing a singular phrase can determine which mode and key is being played, and they may be able to describe oft-used chord progressions in that mode or genre.
repeated exposure to a stimulus, when that stimulus is important, creates ease in its decoding. while newborns’ vision is blurry and limited in its color perception, a seeing adult parses a myriad of visual stimulus each second, creates connections, and draws inferences, all without conscious thought. we can pick out a close relation’s voice in a crowd because we know that voice intimately. parsing and decoding scents functions much the same way.
#god i have no idea how long this is#im scared lmao#omegaverse#omegaverse headcanon#omegaverse headcanons#a/b/o headcanon#alpha beta omega#a/b/o dynamics#omegaverse dynamics#a/b/o verse#a/b/o#omegaverse worldbuilding#omegaverse scent#omegaverse scents#scent marking#omegaverse pheromones#omegaverse anthropology#scents part 2#scents
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SSR Azul Ashengrotto - Platinum Jacket Voice Lines
When Summoned: Priceless artwork like the halls as far as the eye can see... This is a fantastic opportunity to polish up my artistic sense of appreciation.
Summon Line: Basking in the fine arts is a fine way to forge your imagination. We should learn well from this and enjoy this very worthwhile time together.
Groooovy!!: Love is wonderful. There is no end to the troubles that come from it, so it's quite a favorable emotion for those of us who impart counsel.
Home: How splendid this 100th Anniversary is.
Home Idle 1: Floyd's freewheeling behavior doesn't change even at a museum. He may be a moray eel, but he is nothing like either of the two who served the Sea Witch.
Home Idle 2: I saw Vil-san looking at a painting intently, and when I asked what he was doing, he said he was studying the beautiful posture. He truly is a professional.
Home Idle 3: It is an exhilarating feeling when a piece of work you had your eye on increases in value. It confirms my intuition was on the money, as it were.
Home Idle - Login: If any painting catches your interest, please don't hesitate to ask me about it. I do take art as one of my courses. I may be able to briefly explain it to you.
Home Idle - Groovy: Jamil-san seems to have an expert eye for art. I'll make sure to stay friendly with him.
Home Tap 1: I hear the Lord of the Underworld was a shrewd dealbroker. Not only would I love to hear his stories, I would also love to get my hands on documentation with any details!
Home Tap 2: Many entrepreneurs hold some artistic hobby of some kind. Knowledge of art, literature and music can be very useful when it comes to business discussions.
Home Tap 3: If Ortho-san were to use his sensors, I'm sure it would be quick work to identify any forgeries... If given the opportunity, I should inquire him about that.
Home Tap 4: I wonder just how many of the merfolk the Sea Witch helped. She was one of the greats, I would not be surprised if the count was in the hundreds... No, the thousands.
Home Tap 5: This shell is based on the one worn as a necklace by the Sea Witch. Isn't it just grand?
Home Tap - Groovy: Oh my, I see how your eye shines so... If you've taken a liking to that painting, I shall order a reproduction for you. At a discounted price, of course.
Duo: [AZUL]: This is quite the dire predicament, Jamil-san. [JAMIL]: Doesn't seem to me like you're worried one bit, Azul.
Birthday Login Message: Oh, have you come to request something of me? It would be my pleasure! Please, tell me what it is you'd like. No matter how difficult the task, once it is entrusted to me... Eh? You'd like to prepare a birthday card for me? ...Heh, I think you'll find that person a difficult one to please. But very well, may I ask what message you'd like on the card?
Requested by @pianostarinwonderland.
#twisted wonderland#twst#azul ashengrotto#jamil viper#twst azul#twst jamil#twst translation#twst birthday#mention: floyd#mention: vil#mention: jamil#mention: ortho
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It's actually so disappointing that Naruto's narrative took the route that it did. Kishimoto created an incredibly interesting world and premise, and ruined it by having everything amount to a shallow message of forgiveness that undermines almost every meaningful element in the story. And it's like,, I want to appreciate the world outside of the plot, but the moral framing of the story makes it virtually impossible because of how disingenuous it is. It completely undermines the audience's understanding of the tragedy and horror of the world so that Naruto becoming Hokage and being the most powerful person in the world by the end doesn't come across as distasteful as it actually is.
Like it's made abundantly clear throughout the story that the village system, and Shinobi society as a whole, is incredibly flawed. Kishimoto goes out of his way to show us that Konoha's council is made up of objectively horrible people. We see first hand how the council's short-sighted ideas of what 'protecting the village' means results in devastating tragedy for people both in Konoha and outside of it. It's clear in how Danzo and the rest of the council act that their atrocious behaviour is them just blatantly abusing their power to maintain their authority. The council has no remorse in anything they do; human experimentation, genocide, slavery, and blatant exploitation is all fair game to them if it preserves their status quo. And instead of maybe, like, addressing Konoha's skewed morality in a sensible way and setting the village up for reform, the narrative just tries forcing the audience to perceive Konoha's genuinely heinous actions as necessities. Which, you know, will work when you're like 8, but once you've grown up and developed some reading comprehension and critical thinking,,, it just feels annoyingly manipulative.
At its core, Naruto is a story that attempts to deconstruct morality. Like this is abundantly clear in how Kishimoto is constantly paralleling the dichotomy of good and evil literally every chance he gets. In the end though, this dichotomy just doesn't work in the context of the Naruto story because the narrative framing of the village being the good guys is just hysterically ridiculous. Konoha is an awful place, that does awful things, and is run by awful people that refuse to change anything because it benefits them for the village to remain awful forever. To anyone with a developed sense of media literacy the village cannot in any way be framed as morally good, so when the story resolves itself with Naruto becoming next in line to govern Konoha under the same unchanging authoritarian regime, with the same council supporting him because of his sheer physical prowess and complete dedication to their twisted ideology,,, it's honestly just an incredibly underwhelming conclusion to a story that made itself out to be more profound than it actually is.
If I had to guess, I imagine Kishimoto just didn't think through how negatively the world he created would reflect on the plot. Ultimately though, you can't write a moral story that's so deeply entrenched in real world social inequity and decide halfway through that because you don't know how to fix these things your story's going to have to be about how they're actually okay to be doing and perpetuating,,, like that is awful and also a terrible lesson to impart on an audience of children. With how serious the issues are in Shinobi society, trying to resolve things with the power of friendship was always going to fall flat. These broad scale injustices can't be brushed aside in that way without undermining their severity and diminishing the understandable impact they had on the characters that experienced such extreme oppression. That's essentially the trap that Naruto's conclusion falls into though, and so the story just ends up feeling incomplete and unfulfilling because none of the issues brought up are actually addressed or discussed with the gravity they deserve.
#i guess kishimoto was hoping the aliens would distract us or something#i love the naruto world but i can't stand the pro-konoha rhetoric like it's just so bad#anti konoha#anti naruto ending#anti shinobi system#pro uchiha#pro sasuke uchiha#pro neji hyuuga
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Subtext in The Creeping Man
I find that this story of Arthur Conan Doyle's Holmes canon features some of the most complex subtext we've had aside from A Study in Scarlet. But rather than being complex early-on because of our lack of knowledge of the characters, it is rather complicated by the fact that we both know too much and too little of their relationship. This story, with astonishing subtlety, conveys the cooperative relationship between Doyle's two characters — the nuance in their limits and strains, but also the joys that they work to reach, together. It emblemises the beauty of the Canon, where it all ties back to the joy and complexity of human understanding and belonging.
This story opens in "those latter days" (1903, near to Holmes's retirement) where Watson describes their relations as "peculiar". The word certainly feels like a euphemism from the ever-polite Dr. Watson, when it is soon made clear that their relations were far from amenable. Watson has become one of Holmes's "concentrated habits", and apparently is as good as a piece of funiture, as all of Holmes's remarks would have been as "appropriately addressed to his bedstead." It's given through snapped sentences; "I was a whetstone for his mind. I stimulated him. He liked to think aloud in my presence." This "irritation" and discordance between them is extremely concentrated in the early pages of this story, but drags through it, as well. Take, for example, the "laconic" (or perhaps iconic?) message:
"COME AT ONCE IF CONVENIENT — IF INCONVENIENT COME ALL THE SAME. S.H."
Watson gives us the original of Holmes's telegram to demonstrate to his readers just how "long-suffering" he is. A true exhaustion is apparent in how he simply shows the telegram, rather than politely referring to it. Compare this with the unendingly civil telegram sent to Watson in The Boscombe Valley Mystery, and you can see the great shift that has taken place in their alliance.
"HAVE YOU A COUPLE OF DAYS TO SPARE? HAVE JUST BEEN WIRED FOR FROM THE WEST OF ENGLAND IN CONNECTION WITH BOSCOMBE VALLEY TRAGEDY. SHALL BE GLAD IF YOU WILL COME WITH ME. AIR AND SCENERY PERFECT. LEAVE PADDINGTON BY THE 11.15."
While long-term and intimate relationships will remove need for over-courtesey, there are two very different reasons for why Doyle has shown both of these telegrams at a point in time. This accumulation of Holmes's ungrateful behaviour not only imparts Watson's utter despondancy, but also, importantly, Holmes’s — and this is something that Watson's ever-perceptive and intelligent heart does not fail to miss. It is important to note that this story nears Holmes's retirement, where he acknowledges that he has been "sluggish in mind". There is no doubt, then, that the great detective is out of his prime. Hence the temperementalness, taking his Watson for granted, and a heavier reliance on those "narrow and concentrated habits."
Despite the turbulent roads of their life, we see Watson's undying devotion co-exist with it. Past all the irritation, Watson closes, "Such was my humble role in our alliance." It is more than clear that he consciously makes the decision to remain at Holmes's side, to be his ally. Such has always been Watson's role in their alliance. His "humble" service extends to his practice as doctor and soldier. His pride is in his duty to others, and to Holmes as his assistant.
There is something that shines through Holmes's unsocial behaviour when we look closely at the text.
I sank back in my chair in some disappointment. Was it for so trivial a question as this that I had been summoned from my work? Holmes glanced across at me. "The same old Watson!" said he. "You never learn that the gravest issues may depend upon the smallest things."
We know from the Canon (opening of DANC and RESI) that Watson's emotions are like an open book to Holmes. This 'sinking in some disappointment' is not missed by Holmes's 'glance'. "The same old Watson!" he says, and I feel it important to note that he compliments one of Watson's most distinguishing features; his stability and fixture — the "one fixed point in a changing age." Yet, we may miss these details, because Holmes, ever in his own insecurity, must back-hand every praise with a teasing chide. We could say that an attempt was made to cheer Watson up, though not very successful.
Developments continue, as Holmes tryingly says "I had hoped to have a longer chat with you", then parades him with compliments before their client, "Dr. Watson is the very soul of discretion". But mixed indications continue to come as he flips back to patronising language; "You will appreciate it, Watson, when"—. Doyle further cements Holmes's particular unbecoming behaviour on this day as he further also annoys their client, who speaks in a "tone of reproach" when Holmes does not listen, and is "clearly annoyed" at irrelevant interruptions — to which, Holmes only smiles in, what I believe, is pure self-importance.
Here we find a shift — a greater effort on Holmes's part, a second round of appreciation for Watson's stability, even when his opinion is faulty. "Good, Watson! You always keep us flat-footed on the ground". He's then included in his bubble; "We were gradually coming to that conclusion, were we not, Watson?", and even a sordid attempt at bringing Watson with him on the bait of the Chequers in 'Camford' where "the port used to be above mediocrity and the linen was above reproach." (Which he follows up on!)
And, despite these attempts, their connection still does not rekindle. Watson is clearly irritated still with the inconsiderate easiness with which Holmes was able to leave London, leaving only difficulty on Watson's end to join him. It's an indicator from Doyle that nothing's remedied, yet.
Here is an interesting passage for study.
"Have you the effrontery necessary to put it through?" "We can but try." "Excellent, Watson! Compound of the Busy Bee and Excelsior. We can but try — the motto of the firm."
Burstive praise from Holmes at the merest utterance of a phrase — a phrase which has only ever been used one other time in the Canon; the previous story, The Problem of Thor Bridge. This suggests it may be some small motto of Holmes's, though one not often seen in Watson's records — this makes his use of the phrase a very Holmesian approach. This participation, no doubt, is nothing but a delight for Holmes, who is trying to restring their relationship, and continues to overenthusiastically affirm Watson's sturdiness.
Yet it's made clear that superficial praises are not a true apology, as we see signs yet again of Watson's dispassion. As they sit to their meeting with Professor Presbury, Watson writes:
Mr. Holmes smiled amiably.
This sentence may seem unassuming, but be assured it is one of the coldest in the Canon. This usage of "Mr. Holmes" is entirely unique within the Canon. In other times, when Watson has used "Mr. Holmes" or "Mr. Sherlock Holmes", it has been when speaking directly to his readers, since they would be using the honourific. This moment is the only exception, where Watson has intentionally used "Mr." to create distance and convey undesire for intimacy with Holmes (rather than any professional effect). Why has Watson used the line here? Well, Holmes is 'smiling amiably' — in a way that forces a friendly manner, one that attempts to create a good impression with Professor Presbury — which also didn't work out, by the way. Considering all the superficial means up to now employed by Holmes on his companion, Watson no doubt feels cheapened and no more important than Holmes's investigative objects; as if his trust is just as easy to gain as anyone else's, with nothing but an 'amiable smile'.
We are shown time and again that Watson isn't pleased with Holmes's desultory attempts at reconciliation, until finally, a shift happens. One that is not identifiable in the text, and so is reasonable to assume happened unpenned. We find Holmes acknowledging that "Dr. Watson has his patients to attend to", when before this information seemed completely irrelevant to him. Holmes even sent Watson a "short note asking [him] to meet at the train"! The greatest change is when we finally have Watson using "my friend" and "my comrade" for the first time in this story. Now we see Watson taking real excitement in the case, in the "assurance of [his] comrade". Self-teasing also makes its way into their dialogue as Holmes cries "Oh, Watson, Watson, what a fool I have been!" The emphasised address seems to suggest an apology for something more. It's as if he cries 'Look how wrong I have been Watson, how imperfect and daft I can be!' It's adorable, really.
All semblances of reproach towards Holmes disappear as they steal together in darkness, come to the dénoument of their adventure, as Holmes philosophises on science and nature, and described admiringly as "the man of action". Our story ends in a light-hearted resolution, as always.
"There is an early train to town, Watson, but I think we shall just have time for a cup of tea at the Chequers before we catch it."
To conclude, this story presents so much so subtly in its pages; a reflection of the small, nuanced and unseen processes between human beings, but those which we must be attentive to in order to find fuller understanding between each other. Yet, there is still much uncertainty in my inferences; which also shows the uncertainty of language and communication. We simply must be clear of ourselves, as we can only assume Holmes and Watson were, off-page, for them to have found that resolution, rather than fleeting smiles and compliments. Arthur Conan Doyle, with this story, further cements the triumph of bonds and connection, perhaps far more than any other of his stories.
#acd canon#sherlockian scholarship#sherlock holmes#acd holmes#classic literature#literature analysis#victorian husbands#fun fact I bummed out the LFW server with the “Mr. Holmes smiled amiably” line#was worried this was too long but I think all of this is necessary for my point#CREE is so underrated! I think it's brilliant for this reason#I don't actually care for the mystery. it's shit#the real mystery is whether Holmes and Watson actually made up while in Camford or not#ACD how are you so insanely good at subtext. you put so many treasures in the text for me to find and puzzle over. i love you#hashtag the indomitable human spirit#I could have also commented on some way more suggestive lines but they didn't feel relevant to this analysis#it doesn't actually matter if they're fucking or not sorry guys
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