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deepspacedukat · 2 years ago

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From Silence - Part 4

Based on this post with 100000% credit to @toebeans-mcgee for the premise, and written with her permission. Here we go! Part 4! We’re over halfway now! 👀

Part 1 here. Part 2 here. Part 3 here. Part 5 here. Epilogue here.

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Senator Letant (ST:DS9) x Reader

[A/N: No thoughts. Only pretty Senator mans.]

Warnings: Mentions of nightmares, soft!Letant, outwardly-suave-but-actually-a-mess!Letant, realization of feelings, adapting to a severe injury, hurt/comfort, injury/recovery process, imprisonment, telepathy, touch telepathy, telepathic sass, mutual pining, both think their feelings are unrequited, both are idiots.

~*~

In the weeks following Letant’s offer to translate for me, I’d gotten to know the man rather more deeply than I’d intended or ever thought that I would. That grumpy, superior, swaggering air surrounding him was just a facade. The Senator was really just a softy once I delved beneath his prickly surface. Little by little, he lowered his guard, allowing me to see more of his thoughts than he may have intended. Hell, we even developed a rapport as time ticked on.

Whenever one of our fellow prisoners got a little too bold with their claims of combat prowess or became too conspicuous with their attempts to puff themselves up, we’d both raise an eyebrow and trade snide remarks via telepathy.

“I’ve seen Andorians posturing in a less obvious manner and their antennas always end up fixed in the direction of the person they’re trying to impress or intimidate,” I’d think in his direction, and he’d let out a huff of laughter as a smirk spread his lips.

“Even a Klingon targ would appear subtle compared to that display.” Letant would almost always respond with more amusement than derision, glancing over at me as we observed the scene unfolding before us.

We also made bets on how long it would take for the Jem’Hadar to catch on and implement their own special form of discipline. More often than not, he won those bets. Letant’s wit was as sharp and deadly as the most fastidiously-maintained weapon, and it was a pleasure to watch him wield it. Boredom seemed an impossibility with him by my side and in my mind.

I hoped he couldn’t read my thoughts too deeply, because, despite my best efforts, I had grown to admire him over the course of our acquaintance. And not in a professional manner. With almost zero knowledge about how far his touch telepathy would allow him to probe my thoughts, I tried to steer clear of some specific topics while we were in contact. Like how handsome he was...how certain looks from him made my knees go weak...and especially how I loved waking up in his arms each morning.

Thank the stars for that Breen. I doubted I would’ve gotten the opportunity to become this close with a Romulan Senator otherwise. As it was, we fell asleep talking nearly every night and woke up tangled in each other with our hands still clasped.

During the daytime, we were equally inseparable. We’d eventually managed to combine our respective groups of found friends. Together, all of us had come up with an escape plan. It had taken a bit of time to get the Federation officer and Klingon soldier in our group to trust the Senator, but they’d eventually believed me when I vouched for him. Unless I was mistaken, Letant was moved when I ended up swearing a blood oath with the Klingon about his trustworthiness. The dermal regenerator that the prisoners kept hidden from the guards had only worked for a few seconds on each of us, leaving us with scars on our left hands, but it was worth it. A Klingon’s ferocity and combat skills would be necessary if this escape was going to work.

And it would work. We’d kept our interactions brief and discreet, and every single one of us had come up with backups and fail-safes. Assuming we timed it right, we’d be able to take one of the transports that dropped supplies for the prison without anyone being the wiser. Based on our estimates, the next delivery would be in about a week.

As Letant and I lay in bed, I tried not to think about how this would all change in a week. We would be out of this prison, I’d be back at my post...and he’d be headed back to Romulus. I’d be alone.

His palm skimmed over the back of my hand as his arm wrapped around me.

“You’ve been quiet tonight, e’lev. Are you alright?”

Turning my hand so that I could thread my fingers with his, I nodded my head and closed my eyes. Just before I dropped off to sleep, I could’ve sworn that he snuggled just a little closer to me, but that was probably just wishful thinking.

The first time he was aware of the Lieutenant being awakened by a nightmare was weeks ago, and her fingers had still been threaded with his. Letant had been dozing lightly just beneath the edge of consciousness when a choking sort of fear curled from her mind to his. Disturbing, disjointed images wafted over him accompanying the terror she was experiencing. His eyelids had snapped open as he processed what was happening. Her breathing was rapid and shallow, her eyes were wide and tear-filled, and the hand that wasn’t in his grasp was clutching at her now almost fully-healed throat. The Senator’s heart lurched in sympathy. Clearly these were memories of what the Jem’Hadar had done to her.

Seeing her in distress had tugged at some primal part of himself - the same part that made him want to wrap her in his arms and protect her when she found her voice gone. That time, though, he didn’t bother stifling that particular urge.

Nor did he do so now, several weeks later. Comforting her had become something of a guilty pleasure for the Senator. While he despised the nightmares that drew her from her slumber, he welcomed the excuse to hold her close and let his mind wrap around hers in a comforting tangle. The way her anxieties calmed almost instantly at the slightest touch of his consciousness made him mentally preen. He’d finally proved to her that he could protect her sufficiently.

“You’re alright. You’re safe,” he breathed as he pulled her gently against his chest. Coaxing her hand away from her throat as he’d become accustomed to doing, he brought it to the side of his face. Nuzzling into her palm softly, Letant closed his eyes and tried to send calming thoughts and emotions to her telepathically. “It was just a dream like all the others. They won’t hurt you anymore, e’lev. Nobody will ever hurt you again. I won’t allow it.”

After a momentary pause, he felt her grip on his hand tighten just a fraction and she nodded her head. It hit him then that she truly trusted him...and that he trusted her to an equal degree. The realization made him draw her just the slightest bit closer, but he didn’t contemplate the implications of such a thought until he was absolutely certain she’d fallen into a much deeper, more restful sleep.

A trust that was this implicit, that ran this deep was practically unheard of between Romulans and members of other species. But ‘trust’ didn’t seem like a full enough descriptor for what he felt for his Lieutenant.

‘His’? When did he start thinking that way about her? He’d been protective of her from the start, but...but thinking of her as his?

Sure, he’d gotten to know her through their weeks of conversing and touching each other’s thoughts, but...this was different from the closeness of a simple friendship. The only associations he’d heard of that came close to paralleling this level of intimacy were marriages, and��

Oh.

Oh no.

This was love, wasn’t it? Looking silently down at the woman sleeping in his embrace, the feeling resonated through him louder than before, rattling his very soul like a trapped animal in a cage. He loved her.

Letant couldn’t afford love, and yet...as he allowed himself the luxury of gazing at her features with unguarded longing, he knew he wouldn’t have it any other way. This pretty little Human could very well be the weakness that the Jem’Hadar had aimed to give him - she could be his undoing - but it occurred to him that so long as he had her, he didn’t care.

She stirred and nuzzled further into him, drawing a small smile to his lips. He really shouldn’t be surprised, should he? Pressing his lips against the top of her head, the Senator let out a resigned sigh. Very well, then. Since his foolish, traitorous heart had decided that she was the one, he would be the best potential mate that he could be, even if she never learned how he felt nor returned his affection. The Lieutenant may not know it, but he was hers.

#deepspacedukat fic #Senator Letant x Reader #letant x reader #Senator Letant #Letant #feelings realization #mutual pining

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arcticdementor · 7 months ago

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My professional ambition is to be the greatest and most interesting writer Asia has ever produced. Here I am all suited-up, walking out of a helicopter James Bond style. This may be a narcissistic thing to say, but the only way the GIF above can be cooler is if the helicopter explodes in a giant fireball behind me — while I ignore the heat and deadly flying shrapnel like the smooth operator I am, of course. Other cool things I’ve done include: • Starred in The Apprentice • Served in the Air Force • Got fired on national TV for all to see • Trained martial arts for almost a decade • Fought no less than four grown men in the cage for nothing but shits and giggles • Dropped out of University to start my own events business • Got sued for libel • And more

…

Take a look at the great writers of old. Hemingway wrote terse tales about war and adventure because serving as a war journalist was how he cut his teeth. In his later life, “Papa” would also become an avid sportsman and traveller. Bukowski wrote stories about being a drunken degenerate, womaniser and gambler because, well, he was all of the above. He once gave up writing to spend ten years drinking, but chose to return to the typewriter after his decade-long bender not because he felt he was good, but because he thought the other writers were so bad. His words, not mine. And the legendary Chinese poet Li Bai was a fine swordsman in his youth. He killed several men in duels to the death, before getting bored and deciding to travel across ancient China, getting drunk, making friends and writing beautiful poems about the country and his love for it. He even served as an advisor to the Emperor at one point. The writers I mentioned above are some of my favourites because they walked the walk. They didn’t just write about life. They lived it — then tried their best to pen down the highlights. And that’s the way it should be.

…

Contrast these worldly authors to young Christopher Paolini, the man who became a best-selling author at the age of 19. I liked Eragon well enough, and it may not be my place to criticise Paolini, but even he would not deign to refute when I say his world-building skills are not up to par with the likes of Tolkien or Rowling.

…

Reading Paolini reminded me of my teenage years, a time when all I read were stories chock full of swordfights and violence. The fight scenes in these books were expertly written, but after I started doing martial arts, it became blatantly obvious to me that the authors in question had no clue what real-life combat looks like. That was really jarring to me. It took me out of the magical world of the story and into the mundane humdrum of my present existence. This failure to completely suck readers into your story is one of the most deadly failings a writer can commit.

…

What I am saying is the more experience you have, the more realistic your writing will become. We can imagine all we want, but at the end of the day, it’s tough for a virgin to write truthfully of sex, a pacifist of war, and a teetotaler on drunken revelries.

…

First seek to live, then and only then, sit down and pen down the adventure of life. With any luck, what comes out of you will be honest, brash, raw, and above all, interesting. Authentically and organically interesting, the story of a life well-lived. So go out and live an interesting life. Seek to translate your original experiences to the page. Seek to go out and experience instead of stay home and imagine. This is how you avoid dull, inaccurate, unoriginal writing. This is how you become a better writer…while living your best life in the process.

#alvin ang #medium.com #writing

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peaceisadirtyword · 3 years ago

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Heathen V (Ivar/Edlynn)

A/N: Hello! I might have gotten a bit carried away with this(?) Sorry😅 I hope it’s not too boring though🥺 I was just going to rewrite the ending and suddenly... I had 1000 more words💀 anyway, I hope you like it!♥️ In this chapter I talk about norse mythology and christianity, and even if I’ve read about it (norse mythology, at least) I’m by no means an expert, so I had to consult some friends and people I know that are professionals. In any case, I’m sorry if I wrote anything wrong, please tell and forgive me.

Btw, thank you so much for your messages! I’m feeling better now🥰 I watched some videos of Alex and Marco and I calmed down a bit! I suppose I just need to relax a bit, it’s okay, but seriously thank you for your messages and for always being so understanding with me💞🙏🏻

Warnings: talk about religion, mentions of violence, war and all that sh1t... Ivar is too perfect I’d like to marry him but, unfortunately, I can't

Words: don’t hate me but there’s 5492 words under this... I hope it’s worth it (?)

Heathen Masterlist

gif belongs to @therealcalicali

For Edlynn, it was both scary and hypnotizing to see Ivar learning how to read. He seemed to understand things quickly and even if they didn't really have any materials for him to practice writing, Edlynn saw him carving letters on wood more than once, like he did with the runes. In a few days, Ivar could understand some parts of the books, even if he still needed help, and Edlynn remembered bitterly how much time it took for her to learn basic words and how many times the priest that taught her and her siblings scolded her.

In return, Ivar agreed to tell her a bit more about his culture. He talked about the Gods, even showed some runes to her, she asked him to show her their longships, and was amazed by the carvings and the designs. Sometimes, she'd ask him to translate some words from English to Norse, and soon became obsessed with his language, trying to memorize everything she could for when she went back home. Mildrith would love it.

"Can we go back to reading?" Ivar sighed, raising an eyebrow when Edlynn asked him to translate a few words more. He had spent the entire day with Hvitserk and was on a good mood, but he was also tired.

"Yes, sorry" she blushed a bit, realizing her eagerness was probably improper "Just one more, please"

Ivar nodded slowly. He found her excitement adorable, and he had to hold back a smile more than once when she tried to repeat some words with a soft voice.

"How do you say sun and moon?" she tilted her head, curiously "It's true that they are Gods for you?"

Mildrith had told her once that the northman she had been with had told her that they worshipped the sun and the moon, as if they were Saints or Gods. And, for some reason, Edlynn became obsessed with it.

"Those are two words" Ivar smirked "But they are Sól and Máni, and they are Gods, yes, but slightly different from the Aesir and the Vanir" he shrugged "It's a long story"

Edlynn waited a few more seconds, maybe expecting for him to keep telling the story.

"So the moon is a Goddess?"

Ivar hummed, nodding.

"She's a woman, sister to Sól, the sun" he shrugged.

"That makes sense" Edlynn bit her lip, interested "But, how can you say they are a man and a woman? They're not humans" she smiled softly, amused "They can't be man and woman"

"But they are" Ivar frowned "It's like that story of yours about the Virgin, I've heard that one before, how can you tell she was a virgin?" he shrugged.

"Because God chose her to carry his son, the one who would bring His word to us"

"You christians are too obsessed with virginity" Ivar rolled his eyes. Edlynn felt her cheeks burn, and cleared her throat.

"It's a sin not to be a virgin when you get married"

"Yes, I've heard a lot about those sins" Ivar nodded "And I still think it's ridiculous, why would your God demand that you deny the pleasure of having sex to yourselves?"

"It's an act of purity, of faith" Edlynn narrowed her eyes. She knew the northmen were much less... Traditional, with these things, and sometimes she felt somehow curious. It wasn't a topic that was very discussed at the court, and much less at home with her father... Once, Edlynn and Mildrith saw a couple on the stables and asked Hilda about it. The nun was so angry at them that she made them pray for hours, and then made them promise they wouldn't go around talking about it.

"It's stupid" Ivar shrugged "You would be much happier if you forgot about that"

The girl pressed her lips together, a bit bothered. Ivar's smirk showed he was trying to get a reaction from her, but Edlynn wouldn't start arguing.

"I didn't expect a heathen to understand it" she shrugged.

Ivar chuckled, shaking his head.

"I've spent maybe too much time around christians to understand many things, but I still believe your God is weak" he licked his lips "Compared to Odin and Thor, he's weak and demanding"

She ignored him, looking back at the books and parchments they were studying. Finally, Ivar stood up, making Edlynn raise her head as he walked over to the bed, and sat down to take his braces off. She watched as his fingers worked quickly on them, freeing his legs. When Ivar started taking his clothes, she stiffened, blushing again, and stood up to tidy the books and avoid looking at him. If she had looked, she would have seen Ivar's amused smile.

"The day and the night are also man and a woman" he continued, startling Edlynn. She turned to look at him, curious, but turned around when she realized he was shirtless "What? Are you also not allowed to look at me?"

"It's not proper" she muttered, looking down. During the nights she had been sharing his tent, she always slept with her back turned to him, and usually she would already be asleep when he went to bed.

"Do you want to hear the rest of the story or not?"

Edlynn hesitated, but finally turned around. He was doing it to bother her, and wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing it was working. The sight left her breathless. Ivar was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen, but not only his face was beautiful; he was strong, she had already noticed it when he grabbed her for the first time. Edlynn tried her best to avoid staring at his beautiful hair, collected in braids and tied that fell down his back and shoulder.

"Dagr is the day, and he's the son of Nótt, the night, Odin gave each of them a chariot that they can ride on the sky... And two horses, Skinfaxi and Hrímfaxi" his own finger pointed at his chest, which was crossed by dark lines. Those strange drawings on his skin were normal among the northmen; she had seen those on their arms, necks, faces... It was weird but she had to bite her tongue more than once to avoid asking about them.

Ivar had also another one on his back. Edlynn couldn't see much, but from the few glimpses she had caught, it looked like a snake. The ones he showed now had an intricate pattern, and she frowned softly while looking at them.

"They don't look like horses"

That made Ivar chuckle, but he didn't say anything else as she approached him, her eyes still fixed on his chest. When she was close enough, she raised her hand slowly.

"Can I?"

Ivar tensed, but finally nodded softly. Edlynn didn't know what to expect when her fingers touched the dark ink, but was somewhat surprised by the feeling of his skin. It was warm and his muscles tensed under her touch when her finger roamed around his chest following the lines. It was hypnotizing, and she couldn't feel anything else that wasn't Ivar.

She found his necklace. It was always hidden under his clothes, so it caught her attention. The question was written all over her face when she looked at his eyes again.

"Mjölnir" he answered quietly "Thor's hammer"

Edlynn nodded. She had heard about that, and thought it would be something like the cross that hang from her own neck.

Finally, she moved her hand backwards, almost like she just realized what she was doing and was suddenly too shy to keep touching him. Ivar's eyes were still fixed on Edlynn as she turned around, getting away from him faster than he would have liked, and soon she was laying on her side of the bed, with her back turned to him and her body tense and stiff, not bothering to cover herself.

______________________________

Edlynn was amazed by the shieldmaidens. She had heard about them more than once, since she was a kid, and sometimes imagined herself with a sword when she watched her brother, Edward, train with their father. But when she said it once, during dinner, everyone turned to look at her with widened eyes. Both her father and her sister reprimanded her; the battlefield is no place for women, you're needed at home, praying and taking care of the children.

Since then, the thought hadn't crossed her mind again.

She also saw the two viking women training when they were staying with King Alfred. They moved gracefully, and easily defeated male warriors, it was entertaining and interesting to see, and Mildrith and her would always sit and watch her, but always under the stern gaze of their fathers. Once, the blonde woman she had often seen with Bishop Heahmund offered them to try. Edlynn remembered the soft smile and how she approached them. She was sure her face lightened up, but as soon as she opened her mouth, Lord Eldred was behind her, he gripped her shoulder with maybe too much force. His daughter wouldn't go near a sword, he had said sternly. And the viking woman sighed, shooting her a sad smile before leaving.

But in that camp, even with her wrists tied and three northmen around her, she was free to watch as much as she wanted.

There was a group of many women, training with her swords, axes and shields. They fought fiercely, but laughing and hugging each other, and Edlynn was amazed. She barely blinked and didn't know how much time she had been there watching them. The women didn't seem to care, and she felt more at ease around them than around the men.

But when she turned her head, startled by some other sounds coming from her right, something else caught her attention. The first thing she saw was Hvitserk dodging a dagger as he trained with another viking. She knew that dagger, and soon her eyes fixed on Ivar, who was leant on a tree and smirked softly. He had a horn on his hand, and his eyes shone as they only did when he was around his brother. Next to him, Edlynn saw some arrows and a wooden bow, an axe and another sword.

He hadn't seen her, and she stayed silent and still, watching. He was relaxed, laughing and had a playful smirk on his lips. In some way, he was even more handsome. Soon, he got tired of just watching and grabbed the bow and arrows, tensing it slowly. His gaze was fixed on the tree in front of him, and Edlynn couldn't help but stare at him as his whole body tensed. She remembered when her brother learnt archery, when his arms were always shaking. Ivar didn't move a single muscle until he shoot the arrow.

"Don't miss, brother, you have an audience" Hvitserk's voice startled both Ivar and Edlynn, and when his eyes finally landed on her, his expression changed. She wasn't able to point exactly what changed, but Ivar barely looked at her.

"See something you like, princess?"

Edlynn felt her cheeks burn, and pressed her lips together when she heard the guards and some other men chuckling behind her, refusing to let them see her. Ivar also smirked, leaning to grab another arrow.

"I was just watching" she muttered. Ivar looked amused when he turned his head to look at her.

"Want to try?" he pointed at the tree. Edlynn hesitated, knowing that grabbing a bow and shooting arrows wasn't proper. But then again... There was no one there to scold her, right? And probably, if King Alfred reached an agreement with them, she wouldn't have to see any of them again.

She nodded softly, feeling a strange rush of excitement like the ones she used to feel when she was little and did something that was strictly forbidden. Ivar nodded at the guards and they let her go after untying her wrists.

"I don't think you have done this before, am I right?"

Edlynn narrowed her eyes at him and snatched the bow from his hands, making him laugh. It was heavier than she ever thought, and nearly let it fall to the ground. But she could already imagine how much the men would laugh if she dropped the bow.

"Turn around" Ivar ordered, and Edlynn obeyed slowly, still hesitating and nervous because of all those pairs of eyes fixed on her, studying her every move. She wasn't a warrior, but a noble lady that lived in a castle, so her movements were clumsy and not graceful at all.

She startled and nearly jumped when Ivar's hands touched her waist.

"What are you doing?" she whispered, widening her eyes.

"Don't you want to learn?" Ivar shrugged, an innocent tone on his voice that Edlynn didn't believe.

His strong hands moved her effortlessly, and she tried not to blush even more when she felt Ivar's body closer to hers. She could even feel his breathing behind her neck.

Ivar worked in silence, making sure she was on the right position before taking a new arrow. Edlynn frowned when she tensed the bow and her arms started shaking, even if Ivar was the one that practically held it behind her.

"Stop shaking" he scolded her, and Edlynn could hear some chuckles around her. Some of the shieldmaidens had stopped training and came to watch. The saxon girl making a fool of herself, how amusing.

Ivar's closeness, his scent and his body practically wrapped around her weren't helping. Edlynn felt her heart beating faster and faster as his fingers touched hers to position them around the arrow.

"Now" he muttered into her ear when he was finally satisfied "Loose"

Edlynn tried her best to point at the tree, but the arrow flew next to it and got lost into one of the bushes.

Everyone laughed. She could even hear Ivar chuckling next to her ear, and her cheeks reddened again. She glared at them and scoffed.

"It's fine, you'll get better if you practice" Ivar had a smile on his lips, but Edlynn couldn't say if he was mocking her or actually being nice.

One of the northmen said something loudly in their language, making everyone laugh even harder. Ivar sighed and shook his head, but had that small smirk on his face.

Narrowing her eyes, Edlynn reached for another arrow, making everyone stop laughing and look at her with an eyebrow raised. Ivar had an even bigger smile on his face when she turned to look at him.

"I want to try again"

_______________________________

Mildrith was furious. She couldn't understand why they kept discussing God knows what in that tent when Edlynn was held as a prisoner in the enemies' camp. It was true that she was more calmed now that the scout came back and assured she was well and unharmed. Mildrith always knew her friend would survive; Edlynn was strong and smart, but she also knew they could have hurt her in many ways. Especially Ivar the Boneless.

She almost shivered when she thought about him. Mildrith had always wanted to see Ivar at least once, to see if what they said was true, but to be captured by him? Her mind had replayed every single story she had heard about that heathen from the women of York.

Even that young viking she had had a quick affair with had talked about him; he was the most letal of the sons of Ragnar, a monster.

And King Alfred knew it! He had met him more than once, he had been fighting in York after the Great Heathen Army killed both his grandfathers. How he had allowed them to keep Edlynn for so long was a mystery to her.

Hilda kept praying, kneeled at the feet of what one day was Edlynn's bed with a cross between her hands. Mildrith didn't understand what praying would do, God didn't help her before and it seemed he wouldn't help her now. She was also angry at Him.

More than once, she had wished she could use a sword so she could enter the northmen's camp and free her.

"Mildrith" the nun sighed. She had dark circles under her eyes and her voice sounded weak. Hilda had barely slept or ate since Edlynn, the little girl she had raised almost as if she was her own, had been taken. She prayed day and night, hoping she would be well and no one would hurt her in any way "Please, stop pacing around the tent, sit here with me and let's pray"

"I don't want to pray" the young, raven-haired girl, clenched her fists, glaring at her "I want them to get out of that tent and go find Edlynn"

"They can't do that" Hilda sighed, her trembling hands rubbing her own face "The king is doing everything he can, Mildrith, and you know it, he appreciates Edlynn a lot, but they're asking for a high price, and he must think about the rest of the country too"

Mildrith scoffed. She hated it, she hated politics, war and negotiations. She couldn't understand it. They were in their own country! They were stronger! Why couldn't they just raise a bigger army to go and free her?

"We have do something"

"We can't" the nun shook her head "You know we can't, we can only have faith and hope she will be returned to us soon"

The young girl sighed, sitting down on the bed. She didn't want to have faith nor pray, she wanted her friend back. Her only comfort was to know that Edlynn would have many stories to tell, when she came back.

___________________________________

"They're asking for all of that, for a young woman?"

Alfred raised his head, narrowing his eyes at the man who just spoke.

"They're not asking anything, my lord, they demand all of this" he explained, slowly "And Edlynn isn't just a young woman, she is a dear friend, the daughter of one of my most trusted advisors and the sister to one of the men that I trust with my life every day"

"They want gold" Lord Eldred sighed. He was pale and had lost weight, Alfred hadn't seen him sleep nor eat for days "A lot of gold... And land, more land?" he sounded desperate.

"Yes, but separated from the land I gave to Björn and Ubbe Ragnarsson" the king rubbed his face "They also want a truce, some time to settle on our lands"

"That's the part that worries me" Lord Eldred shook his head "Why do they want time to settle? Do I have to choose between my daughter's death and a possible invasion?"

"We don't know if they plan an invasion, my lord" Alfred shrugged "For now, I am trying to save your daughter's life before anything else"

"She must be so scared" her father rubbed his eyes "All alone, surrounded by barbarians, God knows what they are doing to her"

"Our scout assured she was unharmed, Lord Eldred, I believe him" the king softened his tone "Ivar won't hurt her for as long as we don't anger him"

"I will pay as much as I can" Lord Edmund spoke for the first time since the reunion started "To ensure my lady's safe return"

Her father looked at her with a sad smile.

"Thank you, my lord" Alfred nodded "The messenger is out there, ready to leave for their camp to give them our reply"

"What do you say, my king?" Queen Elsewith put a hand on his shoulder. Alfred took her hand softly and sighed, looking down at the table. For days, he had been thinking about his decision, trying to find the best solution for all of them. If he agreed, there would be consequences, Ivar would know he had an advantage, many of his lords wouldn't agree with him. If he refused, Edlynn would suffer things worse than death before her head was sent to them, he was nearly sure of that.

Edlynn was a good girl. Responsible, obedient and polite. They had played together when they were children, and he couldn't stop thinking that it was Elsewith whom they wanted. Would they have so many doubts about saving her or not if it had been his queen?

He sighed.

"I say we agree" he nodded "And that we will meet them in the forest to give them what they want in exchange for Lady Edlynn"

____________________________________

Ivar's arms hurt. It had been a while since he practiced so much archery, and the muscles of his back and arms were already sore when he retired to the tent. His face also hurt from laughing so much, and he didn't remember when was the last time he had laughed so much, probably it was when he was still with Igor. He couldn't help but smile softly remembering the kid he had learnt to love as if he was his own son.

Before entering the tent, he could hear Edlynn whispering some words in English. He supposed she'd be reading, as she used to do since he let her read the books freely. He had to wait outside to force himself to stop smiling like an idiot before entering.

Edlynn raised her head and smiled softly when he entered the tent. In part, it was because of her he had had so much fun that day, he never guessed that teaching archery to a saxon girl could be that entertaining.

She was also tired. Her arms hurt and she only wanted to get into bed and sleep, but at the same time every time she closed her eyes, with her head leant on the soft pillows and inhaled Ivar's scent her mind went back to his hands around her waist, his breath on her neck and the soft whispers with which he had guided her. She even remembered the small smile she had seen on his face when she had finally managed to struck the tree and her cheeks would redden. Now, seeing him entering the tent leant onto his crutch with clouded eyes from drinking so much mead, laughing with his brother and even letting himself take a nap next to the fire, made her heart beat faster again.

"How are you, princess?" the playful tone made her nearly sigh in relief. He was still in a good mood.

"Tired" she muttered "But fine, it was... Interesting, to use a bow"

Ivar hummed softly, sitting down on the bed as Edlynn closed the huge book she had on the bed, leaning to leave it on the floor, next to the bed, she kneeled behind him and watching him as he fiddled with the braces. She bit her lip, not knowing what to say but wanting to keep talking to him.

"The men were quite impressed with you" he said, not looking at her "A shame we don't have time, I'm sure we could turn you into a fine shieldmaiden"

Edlynn tried to hide her excited smile.

"Really?"

This time Ivar turned around a bit. His amazing eyes fixed on her curving lips before landing on her eyes.

"Yes, I think you have potential, it would be though, we'd have to work a lot with those little arms and small hands, but we could do something" he shrugged "But we can't, you're too eager to go back to your castle, your husband and your dresses"

Her smiled faded slowly as he turned away once again. It was true she really wanted to see and hug Mildrith, Hilda, Edward and her father, but at the same time, she didn't want to say goodbye to Ivar.

At first, she had been scared, even tried to run thinking those heathens would torture and kill her, remembering all those stories she had heard about the ruthless Ivar the Boneless. But that playful, blue-eyed northman that she had seen giggling with his brother, telling stories about his Gods and who had guided her until she had finally succeeded with the bow didn't look like the monster they described on their stories. It was almost human; a human with his own beliefs and ambitions that wasn't so different from all those men she had met in England.

"Lord Edmund is not..."

"Not your husband yet, I know, princess" he chuckled "But he will be soon, right? Even if I would advise you to reconsider that marriage, taking in consideration that he didn't came to this camp to cut my head off for taking his woman"

Edlynn chuckled. She knew Lord Edmund couldn't really make that decision, besides, she didn't expect him to risk his life for a woman he just met.

"I can't reconsider anything, actually" she smiled sadly "It wasn't my decision"

Ivar raised his eyebrows, nodding slowly. Then he moved to take off his clothes, and Edlynn looked away with her cheeks flushed.

"If I was your father, then, I wouldn't give my daughter to a man that wouldn't die for her"

"I can't ask him that" she smiled, his words warmed her heart "He barely knows me"

"Wouldn't you prefer to marry someone you loved?" Ivar got rid of his shirt, and Edlynn couldn't help but take a look of the dark lines of his back, shaped like a snake.

"I..." she frowned "I will learn to love him, he's... He's good, a good man, he's nice and handsome and... I'm lucky that he chose me, I know many women that had to marry old men that didn't treat them well... Also, I don't know anyone who married for love" she chuckled. With time, she convinced herself that love was built, not found. All those tales Hilda had told her when she was little were fantasy.

"I married for love" Ivar muttered, almost like he didn't mean for Edlynn to hear "I did love the woman I married"

She felt as if someone had kicked her chest. Suddenly, she stopped looking at him and felt stupid for even feeling sad about the fact that he had a wife. Of course he had a wife.

Ivar groaned as he laid on the bed, covering his legs with the furs and closing his eyes as he relaxed against the pillows.

"I didn't know you were married"

Ivar opened his eyes, looking up with what she could describe as a heartbroken expression.

"I was" he muttered "Some time ago"

Edlynn tilted her head with curiosity.

"What happened to her?" she almost felt bad for asking, but Ivar didn't seem to mind.

"She died" his jaw clenched "She betrayed me and she died"

"And... how was she?"

"She was... Beautiful" he almost smiled, and Edlynn bit her lip, looking down "She looked like Freyja, she was blonde and had blue eyes"

The opposite of me, she thought, and immediately felt stupid for even thinking it.

"She sounds pretty" she smiled softly, hating that sad look on his eyes. Ivar then turned his head to look at her, and blinked slowly, almost like he was realizing something.

"I've only loved three women in my life" he shrugged "And one of them was my mother"

His face contorted again, almost like it pained him to think about her.

"And who was the other one?"

Ivar's lips curved on a smile.

"The mother of my child" he muttered "She was a princess, like you, but she was mysterious while you are not" he chuckled. Edlynn glared at him, but ignored his comment once again.

"I'm not a princess, though"

"Because you don't want to" he shrugged "You could be a princess, even a queen, if you wanted to, you are pretty enough to conquer a king"

"Me?" Edlynn giggled, blushing softly "No, I don't think so"

"You would be a good queen" he insisted "You're strong and smart, you respect people" Ivar nodded.

"I still need to find a king" she shrugged "Still pretty impossible"

"Lord Edmund could be your king" Ivar pronounced her betrothed's name mockingly, as always.

"No" Edlynn shook her head "He's handsome, brave and good, but he couldn't be my king, nor my prince, I'd have to find another"

The intensity of Ivar's gaze burned her skin. Edlynn looked away, and moved to lay down and rest her head on the pillows, sticking to her side of the bed as she always did.

"I never knew my mother" she muttered, changing the topic before the tension on the tent escalated too much "She died not long after I was born... She was from Ireland, from a place called Dubh Linn, have you heard about it?"

Ivar nodded slowly. His people had raided that place more than once.

"So she wasn't a saxon?"

Edlynn shook her head.

"Her father brought her here when his lands were taken from him, trying to procure a good future for her and marry her to a lord, my father asked for her hand... At least, that's what they always told me" she shrugged "Father always said I have her hair, and that I look like her... I think that's why he didn't want to raise me when she died, I think it was painful for him... But I can't complain, Hilda is great" Edlynn groaned and rubbed her eyes when she realized she was talking a lot "Please, forgive me, I talk too much"

"No, it's fine" Ivar shook his head with a soft voice, he had turned to look at her, and he felt like he was looking at a goddess. Maybe it was the mead, maybe the exhaustion, but he couldn't help but move a bit closer to her.

"My mother died too" he added "She was killed" he clenched his fists in rage "She always cared for me, she always protected me, even when my father wasn't there" he had a small, sad smile on his lips as he remembered the, sometimes suffocating, love his mother had showed him "And I miss her everyday"

Edlynn nodded. Even if she didn't remember her mother, she also missed her. And in some way she wished she could have had such a relationship with her, maybe she would have been able to explain to her what was that thing she felt, laying down on a northmen's bed and looking at him closely.

"You and I aren't so different, then" she pointed out, smiling softly. Was it her or they were closer now?

"I suppose we are not" the thought seemed to amuse him "Even if we worship different Gods and speak different languages"

When Ivar turned his head again, Edlynn was so close he could feel her quick breathing on his lips. It was nearly as intoxicating as the mead he had drank.

Ivar's hand reached to caress her hair, making Edlynn shudder and gasp, almost like she realized what she was doing.

"Is it not... Inappropriate to be so close to a heathen, princess?" he teased a bit, enjoying the way her cheeks turned red once again.

"At this point..." she sighed, barely able to think about anything that wasn't Ivar "I don't really care"

That made him laugh and his grip on her hair tightened. Edlynn wasn't lying, she couldn't think about God or anything that weren't his blue eyes and his lips parted. Without even thinking about it, she leant in while closing her eyes, and didn't stop until she felt his warm lips against hers.

Edlynn had never kissed anyone, unlike Mildrith and some of the girls at the court, that were stolen a kiss or two in the stables or in a hidden corner of the castle. She never looked at the boys, too occupied with her books, her prayers and other important things. But she could understand now what the priests meant when they talked about temptation. Ivar's lips were addictive, better than anything she had ever tasted, and ignited something inside her that she couldn't recognize.

The kiss was slow, passionate but also shy. They stopped kissing for a moment, but she had barely opened her eyes when Ivar's hand cupped her neck, his thumb caressing her cheek softly before he leant in again. And Edlynn had to put her hand on his warm chest to balance herself, moving her lips against his and leaning more and more into him, feeling like she would die if she wasn’t as close to him as possible.

When they finally broke the kiss, none of them opened their eyes. Ivar was panting, one hand secured against her neck, to keep her lips close to his, and the other one had landed on her waist when she had leant into him almost straddling his waist, and his heart was beating so fast it was almost scary. Her forehead leant into his and Ivar sighed. It had been a long time since he had felt that warmth inside him.

________________________________________

Tags: @mblaqgi @alicedopey @lol-haha-joke @hallowed-heathen @naaladareia @tephi101 @captstefanbrandt @love-hate-love @titty-teetee @readsalot73 @moondustmemories @therealcalicali @blushingskywalker @gruffle1 @justacripple @heartbeats-wildly @letsrunawaytotomorrow @inforapound @sallydelys @hellogabysblog @winchesterwife27 @hecohansen31 @youbloodymadgenius @xinyourdreamsx @funmadnessandbadassvikings @tgrrose @lovessce @tootie-fruity @didiintheblog @alexhandersenx @belovedcherry @fantasydevil2002 @xceafh @astrape-the-weatherwitch @destynelseclipsa @momowhoo @mcrmarvelloki @nanahachikyuu @valopz @mrsalwayswrite @poisonous00 @whenimaunicorn @heavenly1927 @seeking-a-great--perhaps @nukyster-blog @alexhandersenblog @synnersaint @yummycastiel

#ivar imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #vikings #ivar x ofc #vikings imagine #heathen

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imaginesga1ore · 3 years ago

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Loves Harsh Reality

Summary: Life is a bitch.

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x Reader, Avengers x Reader (all platonic)

Warnings: swearing, mention of past/current abuse

Prompt: “You want what everyone wants. You want a love that consumes you. You want passion, and adventure, and maybe even a little danger.”

Word Count: 1780

Do not copy, translate, or post any of my stories anywhere you write stories, whether that’s here, Wattpad, or Ao3.

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Life never treated you well. Not even when you were just an innocent child, trying to navigate your way in this terrible world. You were forced into a cold and unloving organization that was run by people who don’t really give a shit that you were only 2 when they stole you. They never treated you like a human, more like a laboratory experiment, which kind of went haywire. When you were brought in, the sleaze running this entire operation stripped you of everything you had so far, which was only a name you had just barely begun to learn, and they assigned you a number, much like a court case; experiment 973. And that’s what you went by for the next 23 years of your life.

The day you were rescued from that deranged and psychotic place was...hectic to say the least. It began like any other day while you were their little pet; get woken up at the ass crack of you don’t know when, test out your powers until you physically passed out and then get ungracefully woken again only to be forced to use your powers. This continues for hours on end before these assholes make you go fight actual people in hopes that you aren’t lacking in physical strength. You fight until bodies start piling up and when your sadistic handlers are satisfied with your progress, as if you haven’t they haven’t been training you to take down monsters bigger than Goliath himself. But something wasn’t right and you could feel it in the enclosed space of your cell.

While you normally had a rough awakening by someone poking, prodding, and eventually yanking you out of bed, nobody was there. In fact, there wasn’t even a peep from the cells neighboring yours. That was until you heard multiple gunshots and multiple bodies slumping against the floor. See, the thing about HYDRA is that they’ve trained you for this exact moment but every single ounce of training they’ve ingrained in your body and mind left the building completely as you hunkered down against the wall furthest from the thick, metal door barricading you from the outside world.

Suddenly, the door you were just measly standing behind came crashing down, dust from the unwashed floor rising. After the dust settled, you looked up to see the poster boy of HYDRA himself, the Winter Soldier. “Steve, I’ve got a live one here. Female, looks to be in her mid-20s,” he whispered into his ear piece. He slowly moved closer, putting his weapon away as he noticed your frail body shaking from fear. “У тебя все нормально? Я ведь не бил тебя дверью?*” Shaking your head, the soldier stopped in front of you, kneeling next to you. “Меня зовут Баки. Что у тебя?” Shrugging your shoulders, you made an attempt to look over at him. “That’s ok. How long have you been here?”

“двадцать тр�� года*,” you said, a bit of hesitation in your voice, finding it hard to speak after decades of being punished if you spoke out of turn. As you finished speaking, you heard another voice, one which you assumed belonged to this Steve person.

“Хорошо. Стив дал мне добро, чтобы мы могли убираться отсюда,” Bucky said, standing back up on his feet. But you weren’t too sure about this. Along with your training, your handlers had pushed on you the notion that the Avengers, and anyone associated with them, were out to harm you, always, and that’s why you needed to be able to defend yourself.

“Ты ведь не сделаешь мне больно, верно? О-или убить меня,” you asked, clear hesitation towards the soldier who was about to grant you freedom from this hellhole.

Bucky looked at you with sympathy drawn over his features. Shaking his head, he gently grabbed your hands, a shiver traveling up your spine at the coolness from the vibranium arm. “Конечно, нет. Я вытащу тебя отсюда.”

-TIME SKIP-

It had been a few months since the Avengers had rescued you from HYDRA and you were beyond grateful that Bucky had stumbled upon you that day. But the fear that HYDRA had instilled in you about being near the Avengers was still running rampant in your system. Whenever someone knocked on your door, or came up behind you, your fight or flight instincts kicked in like that of an animal in the wild. You thought it’d be better by now, considering you have been going to therapy since coming to the compound. But today, all your frustrations came to a head.

You probably should’ve been in bed considering it was 4 in the morning but you needed to burn off some steam. What you failed to realize was that a certain super soldier was sitting in one of the boxes above the training center, watching your every move. But, him being a super soldier meant that he could pick up on more than you realized. Bucky had noticed that blood dripping onto the floor, which came from your terribly wrapped hands.

He knew you were on edge, but not like you were when he first got you out. By the time that you realized Bucky was in your presence, it was a bit too late. You felt a hand on your shoulder; two seconds later you had the body attached to the arm on the floor, your other arm extending towards their throat, keeping them pinned to the floor.

Once the haze cleared, you could tell who it was that you had down on the ground. “Buck? Oh my god.” Quickly pushing yourself off of him, you started pacing the gym floor. “Fucking shit. I am so sorry Bucky. I-I didn’t mean to do it. Are you ok? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” You kept rambling and pacing until Bucky stopped you, stepping in front of you to stop you from wearing a hole in the floor.

“I am fine, кукла. Are you ok? Your hands are bleeding.” Looking down, you saw the streaks of red coming out from under the tape on your hands. “Let’s go get you fixed up, ok?” Nodding, you followed Bucky out of the gym and towards the medical center. “So, what’s got you going at 4 in the morning anyway?”

“I couldn’t sleep. No matter what I tried. I even tried that tea Wanda suggested. By the way, don’t drink it. It tastes like dirt.” Bucky chuckled as you sat on a gurney, grabbing supplies from the cabinets. “What are you doing? Shouldn’t we wait for, you know, a doctor, or an actual medical professional to come in and do this,” you immediately questioned him.

“Do you seriously doubt my suturing skills? I did serve in World War II, so I’m pretty confident that I know my way around a needle and thread,” he said, carefully unraveling the useless tape from around your knuckles, taking a look at the damage. “Yeah, this’ll probably take a little bit, but don’t you worry, Dr. Barnes is always here to help.” Bucky smiled at you, calming your nerves the tiniest bit.

After prepping and numbing you properly, Bucky began stitching your open wounds shut. “So, do you wanna talk about why you couldn’t fall asleep? Talking might help, at least it usually does for me,” Bucky asked, not taking his eyes off his work in progress.

“I, uh, I keep having nightmares. They went away for a bit, when I could actually sleep for the night, but for some reason, they’ve come back,” you admitted quietly, almost like it was a dirty little secret.

“Well, you’ve only been here a few months so I wouldn’t expect your nightmares to just instantly go away. It took me a few years to actually get a good night's sleep with them waking me or anybody else up. So I know exactly how you feel,” he said, finishing up before wrapping your hands in sterile dressings. “And you are all set. Now, no excessive force, which includes going to the gym at 4 in the morning and working out like you are about to fight the Hulk.” You laughed lightly, shoulders loosening up.

“Why are you being so nice to me? I mean, you just stitched up my hands cause I got too into my own brain after I almost choked you when you could’ve just dropped me here and gone back to bed.” Tears filled your eyes once more, a thickening feeling surrounding your concerns.

Bucky sighed, gingerly sitting next to you on the gurney. “When I found you at the base, I knew it wasn’t going to be an easy ride for you. Or for anyone here really. Adding another member to the team can sometimes jostle things around. And I knew for a fact that you would feel like an outcast amongst some of the biggest heroes the world has ever seen...so far,” he said as you laid your head against his arm, wiping away the tears that had made their way down your face. “And I thought maybe, just maybe, if we became friends or even just acquaintances, that you wouldn’t feel so alone here. Cause I know exactly how that feels. And ever since coming here, I can see what I looked like when I was found; lost, felt like I didn’t deserve anything good or even deserving of love. But even though you hide it with a sort of tough exterior and you’re used to being trapped away, I can tell you something about yourself that you probably don’t even know,” Bucky said in a matter-of-fact voice.

“Oh yeah? What would that be,” you asked, quite curious as to what he may have found out.

“You want what everyone wants. You want a love that consumes you. You want passion, and adventure, and maybe even a little danger. Cause that’s exactly how I feel right now.” At some point, of which you weren’t sure, Bucky had hooked his fingers under your chin, turning your face up to meet his. Your eyes finally met his, capturing the look of a pure and innocent love in his icy stare. He slowly leaned down, but stopping right before your lips collided. “Is this ok?” Quickly nodding, Bucky pressed his lips to your own, cupping your face as your injured hands made their way to his sides.

Pulling back, Bucky rested his forehead against yours. “Never thought that this is how we would have our first kiss, doll,” he said, making you laugh which in turn caused him to chuckle. “But, I’m not at all opposed to it.”

“I’m glad. Now let’s get out of here. I’m tired.”

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

1. У тебя все нормально? Я ведь не бил тебя дверью - Are you ok? I didn’t hit you with the door, did I?

2. Меня зовут Баки. Что у тебя? - My name is Bucky. What’s yours?

3. Это хорошо. Как давно ты здесь? - That’s ok. How long have you been here?

4. двадцать три года - 23 years.

5. Хорошо. Стив дал мне добро, чтобы мы могли убираться отсюда. - Ok. Steve gave me the go ahead so we can get out of here.

6. Ты ведь не сделаешь мне больно, верно? О-или убить меня? - You aren’t going to hurt me right? O-or kill me?

7. Конечно, нет. Я вытащу тебя отсюда. - Of course not. I’m going to get you out of here.

8. Кукла - Doll

If you see this on another blog, @multifandomwhre , that is my first blog where I submitted it to @sweeterthanthis “Quote Me” challenge.

#bucky barnes blurb #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes imagine #imaginesmcu #marvel

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cybernaght · 3 years ago

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The Rebel/叛逆者: A Review of Sorts

After being only semi-invested in the Rebel, I ended up getting so into it in the final weeks of its release, I’ve shelled out on IQIYI premium just to get the final couple of episodes a few days earlier.

That’s right kids, it’s a Review of Sorts. Unfortunately, I could not find a translation of the novella the drama is based on, so will be looking at it as a separate entity.

Most of this post is spoiler-free, however I have dedicated a few paragraphs at the end of it to discussing the final episode, as there are a few specific things about it I wanted to mention. There is a clear spoiler warning before that part.

If you don’t want to risk it, TL;DR version of this review goes something like this: Rebel is very decent, and positively one of the best things that I have seen to come out of China since I’ve jumped into that particular rabbit hole. It’s pretty well written, it’s very beautifully dressed and shot, and the cast is killing it. I thought it dropped the ball a little in post production, and I did not always love the pacing. Other than that, it’s incredibly decent, and well worth watching, unless communist propaganda really irks you, in which case stay very well away.

I have been having many conversations with @supernovasimplicity all the way through watching this drama, so there are likely to be some thoughts here that are influenced by those.

The story centers around Lin Nansheng, a struggling servicemen in the Guomingdang party. He has a great analytical mind, and absolutely no emotional capacity for his job. He has trouble handling violence, he is impulsive, he cannot speak to his superiors without bursting into tears, and has nothing even remotely resembling a poker face. And that is what makes this drama as enjoyable as it is.

I don’t think Lin Nansheng’s journey would have been nearly as exciting had he started it from a place of competence. He botches up everything he touches because his big brain switches off the moment his emotions kick in. And so, when you see him grow in confidence, learn to control himself, learn to fake his smiles and compliments, you can’t help but feel a strange sense of pride. It also makes Lin Nansheng very likeable as a character for reasons other than Zhu Yilong’s ability to look like a bush baby.

It did take me a while to feel fully engaged with his performance - not because there is anything lacking in it, but just because it’s hard to be truly surprised by his choices after the exposure I have given myself to his work. That said, at about a half-way point I got charmed by him anyway, and there were quite a few scenes that were truly mesmerising. There were scenes where he broke out of the familiar mould of big unguarded eyes and fluttering wet eyelashes, and tried something that was not pretty: every time to a great success. I am hoping to see more of that in his future work.

I really wanted to like the female lead, Zhu Yizhen, but unfortunately both the way she was written and the way she was performed by Tong Yao left me somewhat cold. It did not help of course that the screenplay ended up sidelining her at every turn, leaving her with very little personal agency. She was set up so interestingly, but in the end her sole purpose became being someone for Lin Nansheng to pine over. It is particularly curious from a perspective of meta storytelling: seeing how this is all centered around superiority of communism, which as a whole was, arguably, ahead of its time in the matters of binary gender equality.

The ensemble cast of the drama is stunning. Wang Yang came very close to stealing the show at several points as Chen Moqun, somehow managing to make his rather unlikeable character interesting. I can say the same thing about Zhu Zhu who absolutely shined as Lin Xinjie, showing an incredible range and imagination in her performance.

The overarching story of the show is engaging, with some incredibly suspenseful elements; every narrative arc including a nice progression through it. As spy thrillers go, it was fairly well plotted. You could if you go looking for a few things that did not pay off in a satisfying way (notably, the Chekhov’s cyanide capsule), but you overall the story really was well told for the most of it.

I did, however, feel like the pacing started to fall apart in the last quarter of the drama. Last episode in particular really did feel rushed, not just due to its pace, but also in a way it failed to pay off the final mission in any visible way. There will be more on that in the spoiler section of this post.

Important to note that The Rebel is a show made in Communist China in the year 2021. It does not ideologically side-step from the path that was laid out for it by that fact. Which is to say, it is, undeniably, filled with propaganda. Communists are the good guys, and if you think a good guy (or gal) is not a communist, they probably secretly are. With one exception of a friendly character who is not a communist, and whose fate we actually never find out. Curious, that.

The Rebel is not a kind of a show where censorship-appeasing scenes are shoehorned in. It’s a kind of a show in which the main theme is Sacrifice For the Party.

Aside from the being the moral vector of the show, Mao’s gentle teachings explicitly help get Ling Nansheng out of prolonged depression following his injury, and almost annoyingly, this sat incredibly well with the character, as he was written. Lin Nansheng is conceived as this naive idealist who wants to be on the front line, who needs validation and support of others. His - and I can’t believe I’m saying this - his being disillusioned in his beliefs and choosing to join a party which includes people whom he likes and trusts makes sense. Him finding this one thing that gives him hope and letting it propel him into gaining confidence and competence makes sense.

In many ways, the Rebel is a story of Lin Nansheng’s failure to become an antagonist within the world of the drama.

I have honestly spent this past couple of weeks pondering whether being well written makes political propaganda better or worse, whether the subtlety of it makes it more or less palatable, whether it’s enough, as a viewer, to be aware of it to shrug it off. Ultimately, this is not something I could or should make moral judgements on, but I do believe that it’s possible to acknowledge the fact that propaganda exists in the drama, and still appreciate it for a good piece of television that it is.

That said, I am very well aware that me being kind of okay with it stems entirely from my own removal from the culture this is made in, and I am, perhaps, lucky to even have a choice as to whether I want to engage with a product which is, undoubtably, here to dress political ideology in fancy clothes.

I have, on the other hand, also seen many things in Russian media of the “Annexation of Crimea is Good Actually” variety and those make me feel very unwell, so feeling somewhat at ease with blatant political propaganda in Chinese media makes me the biggest hypocrite.

But, I digress.

Before we go into some specific plot-related things, I would like to mention that the Rebel has this weird dichotomy in which the production is sublime, and the post-production… not so much. The show very well shot. Every element of it sits perfectly together, not a single prop out of place, not a single extra underdressed, not a page of script not put to good use. It’s lit to perfection. It’s scored beautifully. So much of this show is just stunning.

And then… there is post-production.

This is not even about bad CGI (and the CGI is, indeed, bad), it’s just that most of post-production as a whole feels rushed.

Starting with surprisingly imperfect editing, which at times just fails to make the scene flow together. The final line of dialogue would be spoken within a scene, and it would fade to black instantly without a single breath to indicate a full stop. A montage sequence would be created, but every shot within it condensed to a second, making it feel incredibly fast-paced when the effect should be the opposite. There would be a cut away from a speaking character and to the same speaking character from a slightly different angle, making it dynamic without any reason to do so. There are a couple of truly startling jump-cuts.

I did not speed this gif up. This is part of a romantic montage, edited like it’s a goddamn action sequence.

And of course dear old friend slowing down footage shot at 24FPS. Please don’t do this. You think no one notices - but we do.

There are other tell-tale signs of production rushing to the finish line: occasional, but very noticeable ADR glitches, very sloppy job done at sound mixing, which contribute to parts of the show feeling ever so slightly off.

It’s not unforgivable, but it does make me wish the same amount of care and efforts that went into shooting this drama would also go into it after it was all in the can.

Oh, and just because if you know me you know I have a professional fixation on fights, and I am happy to say most action scenes are toe-curlingly delightful. Hot damn those fights are good. I am absolutely in love with the shot below, for example. Placing an actor behind a piece of set so he can exchange places with the stunt double during a one shot is such an old trick, but the execution, timing and camerawork are just... flawless. This is what perfection looks like.

Now we got all that out of the way...

SPOILERS FOR THE SERIES FINALE BELOW

Here’s the thing. I wanted to love the ending and I found that I could not.

The final mission was presented as important, and honestly the scene in which Zhu Yizhen is sending the vital message out as Lin Nansheng holds his ground in hand to hand fight is incredibly dynamic. Party, this is due to the fight itself being incredibly well choreographed, yes, but it’s also where it sits within the narrative, how high the stakes are for everything surrounding it.

But then, the tension all but bleeds out. The Important Message is sent, the fight is won, and we are treated to ten minutes of a very slow car chase, problem of which is not even its speed as much as its placing within the story. As in, by this point both of those operatives have lost their cover, and completed their Very Important Mission. It would be very sad if they died, but their survival does not technically contribute to their cause. Moreover, Zhu Yizhen getting mortally injured in order to protect Lin Nansheng as part of her mission read a little empty when the mission is technically over.

While I personally found Lin Nansheng slow recuperation and his low key ending enjoyable, I think I would have preferred to have seen a more tangible pay-off to all the sacrifices made in the name of “bright communist future”, just a little more justification for every moment of death and despair we witnessed. I would have certainly at the very least preferred to see Wang Shi’an’s death on screen. Considering how many likeable characters martyred themselves on screen, denying us the death of the one antagonist just seemed cruel.

I really did love the ambiguity of the final few scenes however, if we consider the children choir at the end a fantasy. The idea that Lin Nansheng will live out his life in this hope that Zhu Yizhen is still alive, imagining her just outside of his field of vision, his only joy being in this fantasy of her… now, that is incredibly strong. I equally like the idea of rest being promised to him at the end of his journey, and said rest being painful, and slow and unwelcome.

But it felt like as they chose not to to lean into the “sweet” part of the bitter-sweet tone of the ending and we’re unable not commit to the “bitter” part either, so it lands with a splat which is somewhat lacklustre.

---

This concludes my thoughts on the Rebel.

I am more or less out of Zhu Yilong’s filmography to watch, which is probably a good thing at this point. I have just emerged out of several back to back work projects - literally today - and will hopefully once more have time for things I grew to enjoy doing during the lockdown.

Those things, if you have not guessed, include watching Chinese television and writing things about Chinese television.

#the rebel #叛逆者 #Zhu Yilong #review of sorts #now with gifs #chinese drama

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wing-ed-thing · 4 years ago

Text

Fraternizing and Spineless (Kabuto x Reader, Part III)

Synopsis: Kabuto has a fixation and you sometimes apologize to inanimate objects. Ever since one fateful day, you’ve been drawn to each other from opposite sides of the battlefield.

Word Count: 1,987

Warnings/Tags: Shy!Reader, Slight!Iruka x Reader, Fem!Reader

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Finale

Notes: Bruh I just want to write Fraternizing and Spineless and never stop. IT’S GETTIN’ JUICY UP IN HERE.

@exquisitex113 @tiktoktheclockisticking

He told you that you didn’t have to go, in all sincerity. You looked into his deep brown eyes and sighed. He wouldn’t hold it against you if you decided you didn’t feel comfortable going, but you could feel the guilt already starting to creep up on you. And inwardly sighing, you knew exactly what you had to do.

“Yeah, of course I’ll go.” Iruka looked slightly taken aback. After all, it wasn’t too long ago since you had turned down his last invitation to go out, but this time was different.

“Are you sure?” He asked and your tired eyes met his, yielding.

“Yeah, I’m sure. What kind of friend would miss another friend’s birthday?” Iruka laughed nervously. You could tell from the expression he wore that he didn’t expect your answer. He reached up to scratch at the scruff of his neck. A few strands of hair fell from the back of his ponytail.

“You know I’m not trying to guilt trip you, you know?” He said, “I just didn’t want you to feel like I wasn’t including you.” You glanced down to the side before meeting his eyes again.

“Do you not want me to come?” You questioned softly, lips slightly puckered as your eyebrows wrinkled your forehead. Panic overtook Iruka as he looked into your wide eyes.

“No, no, no, no!” He waved his hands in front of his body defensively before one hand returned to the back of his head. “I just want to make sure that you’re comfortable, that’s all. And that you’re not feeling forced to go, ‘cause I know last time…” He trailed off. You bowed your head in understanding.

“I know what I said, but believe me, I’m happy to celebrate with you.” The corners of your lips tugged upward, subtly forced. “Besides, we keep saying how we never have a chance to catch up and how it’s been so long.” Iruka gave a slow nod, not completely convinced. You tried your best to give him a reassuring smile. “Really, it’ll be fine. I think it’ll be good for me.”

“If you say so.” Iruka let out a small laugh again. He had always been a nervous smiler. “I’ll see you there?”

“Sure thing.” You answered and both walked separate ways.

Once turned, you let a restrained shiver work its way down your spine. Anxiety followed you like a cloud hovering over your head. Not many people confronted you about the events that had happened a few months before, but you had also hardly left your apartment. You didn’t mind staying holed up inside with your extensive library, but now you were faced with what you feared most. You sighed, making your way up the steps of your building. You had no idea how you were going to handle this one.

Jiggling the knob of your modest studio, you were surprised to see that your stray cat of a companion wasn’t present. The window, per usual, remained open. You dropped your jacket on the small dining table before pulling open your wardrobe.

Of your options were neatly ironed uniforms lined up in an orderly line and practically nothing more. You looked down at the bottom. Work sanctioned shoes stared back at you. The room became a tinge darker. You closed the door, turning around to see Kabuto lounging on your bed. The comforter of your well made bed wrinkled under him. The curtains were drawn closed.

“I’m going out tonight.” You blurted. Kabuto blinked a few times, staring at you otherwise blankly.

“No hello?” He snorted. Your fingers interlaced in front of you and you nervously began to rock on your heels.

“I just wanted you to know, because I won’t be here to make dinner.”

Your voice jumped an octave, but you hardly noticed the shrillness of your voice. Kabuto’s face was untelling. He cocked his knee, resting his elbow against it as he leaned back. Your eyes darted to his eyes. You pursed your lips, diverting your attention to somewhere else in the room. He sighed, swinging his legs off of the bed and neatly placing his footwear next to your bedside table. Kabuto resumed his lounging position. You let out a breath, not noticing that you had been holding it. He reached down into the space where your bed met the wall and pulled out a book. A bookmark stuck out of the top, the piece of paper lodged quite a ways in.

Kabuto noticed your nervous staring.

“What?” He asked, eyebrows raised in a familiar amused but smug look. “You think I come here just for the free meal?” He cracked open his, well your, novel. You stood in the middle of the room, still and tense, still unsure generally of what you should be doing. Kabuto glanced up at you again. “Or is this about the shoes? Because I know you don’t like shoes on the bed and I knew you weren’t going to ask me-”

“I mean, uh, well…” As soon as his challenging eyes met yours, you promptly closed your mouth. Kabuto stuck a finger out at you, sitting up at the edge of your bed. You only stood a few feet away. His fingers held the pages of the book splayed open

“That.” He nearly spat. “That is what I’m talking about.”

“What?” The book closed with a thump. Kabuto propped a foot up on the side rail of your bed as he leaned forward.

“A little nerve would look good on you.” A burning grew at the center of your forehead.

“That’s not very nice.” You murmured, thumbs twiddling. Kabuto frowned.

“Is it? I suppose helpfulness isn’t always nice.” You couldn’t find it within you to convey the ugly feeling in your chest. You turned back to your wardrobe. The door opened with a pop. Kabuto shifted on your bed behind you. “It would be easier for you to handle this passively, but that’s not going to work, dear. I know that’s what you were hoping for.” You gulped, a violent shiver wracked your system. While spoken with little tact, you should be listening to him.

“Please don’t call me that.” You didn’t dare to face him. Your eyes clenched closed.

“That’s a good start, but keep talking like that and you’ll get torn to shreds, dear.” You stood, hand on the frame of the closet.

A silence. You stood pretending to analyze your collection (or lack thereof) of clothes, but your stare went right through any item that came into your focus. You could feel the peering eyes on your neck. Kabuto took a certain amount of pleasure in being silently right.

“I can tell that you don’t want me around right now, so I’ll leave you to your plans, m’kay Sweetheart?” You heard him climb through the window. “And, Dollface, just wear your uniform.”

The room lightened once again, leaving you alone and your made bed wrinkled.

***

Kabuto settled into the den. Really, the hideout was more of a lair rather than a den, but Kabuto always hated calling it a lair. Such a descriptive word felt far too comically sinister for his personal tastes, so he opted for a different word. Den.

Boredom plagued him as he aimlessly sorted through the lab, attempting to clear his mind with a bit of repetitive meniality. The workspace itself remained far from professional, but served as functional nonetheless. However, it’s dilettantish nature translated to more frequent upkeep. Kabuto wiped down the lab tables before refilling various jars of standard materials. By the time Orochimaru found him, Kabuto had almost finished cleaning all of the scalpels.

“Your toy unavailable to play today?” Orochimaru teased. Kabuto only muttered in response, focus still on the scalpels. Orochimaru crossed his arms as he let out an amused sigh. “My, my, I haven’t seen you this upset since-”

“I’m not upset.” Kabuto quickly snapped, intently fixated on scratching blood stains out of the groves of the tool’s handle. Orochimaru clicked his tongue.

“What? Playdate cancelled for today?” He came to sit on one of the lab tables. He leaned his head back against the sturdy fume hood and crossed his legs. A mischievous glint, normal for Orochimaru, gleaned in his eye. He smirked, biting back a laugh. “Have you met the parents yet?”

Kabuto huffed, carrying the scalpel holder back to it’s usual spot. Sliding the tray into the empty space, Kabuto sought out another task. Orochimaru leered, still expecting an answer. His surrogate son tried his best to concentrate on the maintenance of the stereomicroscope, but even Kabuto was not immune to Orochimaru’s eerie gaze. He huffed again.

“No, I haven’t.” Kabuto admitted, finding it easier to play the game in hopes that the other scientist would leave. It never worked in the past, but Kabtuo’s state of distraction left him vulnerable. Careless.

“And why’s that?” Orochimaru fully turned on the table, legs still crossed. Kabuto remained fixated on the stereomicroscope. His fingers danced delicately around the knobs.

“Because she doesn’t have any.”

“Really? That’s awfully sad.” The Sannin mused, “No family?”

“Nope.”

“No one close to her?”

“Nope.”

“No one who would miss her?”

And in that moment, Kabuto knew that he screwed up. Royally. He didn’t have to look at Orochimaru to know that a wicked grin had overtaken his lips. Kabuto hung his head, exasperated by his own carelessness.

“Not what I said.” He countered, attempting to return to his upkeep. Orochimaru drummed his fingers on the hard surface beneath him. “And I don’t like what you’re implying.” Orochimaru feigned disappointed shock.

“What sinister thing could I possibly be implying?” Kabuto arched an eyebrow.

“That’s funny, because I never mentioned anything about it being sinister.”

“Well, if she has no family and no one close to her-”

“She’s out with friends as we speak. Blood of the covenant, I don’t have to tell you that Lord Orochimaru.” Kabuto looked up from his work, eyes squinted with a certain fierceness painted in them. This wasn’t missed by the Sannin, who quickly took a mental note of it. Orochimaru pouted.

“I can’t meet your friends, Kabuto?” Kabuto tore himself away fully from the stereomicroscope, one finger flicking off the light with a snap. He studied his mentor carefully, an attempt at a prediction. He chose his words wisely.

“We’re not friends.” Orochimaru appeared utterly delighted.

“Then you wouldn’t mind bringing her here. I was simply fascinated the last time I saw her. Quite the interesting specimen if I do say so myself.”

“She’s not worth the materials we would use, Lord Orochimaru.” The Sannin hummed, coming down from his perch to lean against the counter next to his protégé. He grabbed his wrist, forcefully pinning it to the table. The skin around the grip had already begun to turn white.

“I suppose that’s why you seek this little friend of yours out every day, hm? You are like a son to me, so I do you a favor and tell you this; I don’t appreciate liars, Kabuto. You know that.” Venom coursed through his voice. “One little act of what could be considered kindness and you’ve let this low level Leaf thing leash and neuter you, my poor boy. Remember that you were the one who wanted to be somebody. Don’t get distracted now.” Kabuto scowled and pushed the equipment back into their spaces with his free hand.

“This is less out of concern and more of your want to study the Leaf girl’s healing capabilities.” An accusation. The hand around Kabuto’s wrist tightened and Orochimaru let out a deep chuckle.

“That’s funny,” He reiterated mockingly, “Because I never mentioned anything about her healing capabilities.” Kabuto tore his arm away.

“I’ll be turning in, now.” He retreated, trying to think of ways to salvage what he could from his mistakes.

Notes: I’m low key waiting for someone to be like “iTs a MiCrOsCoPe nOt a StErEoMicRoScoPe” to which imma be like “bruh I used one yesterday get outta heeee” then I proceed to dab which disturbs everyone within the tri-state area.

Thank you to everyone who liked, reblogged, and followed. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

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mackeydoodledoo · 4 years ago

Text

The Winged Knight

(Gif not Mine and pretend the Red matches the armor color!)

Pairing: Izzy Garcia x (FemKnight!)Reader

Summary: It follows a girl: Y/N Y/L/N, who currently owns the "Pteradon Champion Zord", along with its DinoSoul Key, who is currently a Professional Box Fighter. The youngest ever to be a pro. What she doesn't know is that she is a direct descendant of the supposed Mythical "DinoSoul" Tribe. [Equivalent to the Ryusoul Tribe]. Her partner, she calls him, "buddy" as she doesn't have a proper name for him. The two of them embark on a journey to figure out who she is, finding an old flame and developing a new crush in the process.

Warnings: Near-Death

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

As you wait outside for Izzy once more, helping her with her morning training session, you go on your phone to check on the ranger hotline news and news in general. You've been helping Izzy the last several mornings to prep her for her upcoming competition she talked about with you and for the two of you to get to know each other more.

"Arctic Knight Ranger," a sudden voice calls to you from your phone, "I know you would sacrifice a lot for your partner. But, what will you sacrifice for your little girlfriend?"

Your phone's screen then cuts to Izzy..

"Bring me the Pteradon Champion zord and she'll live," the Sporix villain demanded, "We're at the 23rd floor of buzzblast.”

"That's where the editing and broadcasting room is," you say to yourself

"Don't do it," Zayto says, offscreen, "Wake the Pteradon Champion zord!"

That's the thing, you haven't been able to awaken his form in weeks. Years even.

"I can't... You can't." he says, "I'm scared..."

"It's okay bud," you say, petting him, "We'll figure something out."

You place him in your backpack and begin heading over to BuzzBlast, "MY lord, it's too early for this kind of thing to happen..."

"You're not giving him to me are you?!" He freaks out

"Of course not bud!" You say, "You're important!"

As the rangers watch their Dino Keys be taken, they all squirm in their ropes further, but getting tighter each time they nearly get free of the ropes. You see, those 'ropes', are actually made from Vinepault; a sporix beast.

"The Arctic Ranger's gonna come!" Izzy says, trying to reassuring her teammates

"As if," the Sporix monster laughs, "They're probably wallowing in their own fear right now!"

As you hold onto your egg for life, watching the Dino Fury Rangers' Dino keys get taken, your egg begins moving.

"What's your plan Y/N?" He whispers

"Can't help but to use this," you whisper, holding the HieHie Ryusoul, "You get out of here."

He does but you didn't realize he had stayed behind.

"HieHie Soul," you whisper, turning your ryusoul into its knight mode, inserting it into your Ryusoul Ken

"HieHie Soul," you sword announces

You open the hilt and open and close it consecutively, twice.

"Kyo!", "Ryu, Sou, Sou!", "Kono Kanjii!!", "HieHie."

You stab your sword into the ground and freeze it, along with the Sporix beasts standing on it. Stopping right at the base of the rangers' captivity; flying over to the rangers and slashing the constricting vines they were enveloped in.

"Arctic Knight oh thank god!" Amelia sighs

You put your sword into your holster and walk over to the frozen sporix beast and take the Dino keys back.

"Thanks man," you smile, kicking him as the ice breaks; causing him to fall back

You run back over to the rangers and hand them their keys back.

"Arctic Knight Ranger," Zayto smiles, "Where's your champion zord?"

"He's somewhere safe," you say

Before you could say anything more, you could easily hear his cries.

"Watch out!" Amelia says, everyone ducking but you

You feel a pair of arms wrap around your midsection as you begin falling down, hearing an explosion in front of you; realizing the sporix beast made a hole in the wall. A decently sized one at the least. You look down and notice it was Izzy that grabbed onto you to move you out of harms way. You stand up, helping Izzy in the process and turn to him and the sporix beast has him in his hand. Izzy immediately charges at the sporix beast and back-hand slashes its hand; freeing your partner. But in exchange, she's the one in your partners' place.

"Buddy I told you to hide somewhere safe!" You sigh, looking down at him in anger

"But I'm not leaving you to do this alone," he says

You smile slightly. But still wanting to scold him for staying behind.

"Hand me your Dino key and she won't get hurt." The beat demands, gesturing to your partner

"Don't do it!" Izzy yells

Her teammates agree with her. However, you wanted to get Izzy out of there without handing over your partner over to the sporix beast.

"Quiet, Green Ranger" he growls

"Hand her over first," you demand,

"You give me your Dino Key first!" He demands, holding up one of his arms toward Amelia's neck area

You sigh, realizing the sporix monster won't come to reason. Reaching for your sword, opening the hilt and taking out its Ryusoul.

"Y/N?!" Amelia and Izzy ask at the same time

"Hey," you smile slightly, "Been awhile Ameils."

Izzy couldn't believe it either. You've kept this 'being a ranger' a secret from her and you've known her for a couple of weeks; being her trainer the two of you pretty much getting to know one another over training. Truth is, you didn't want Izzy finding out so you wouldn't get into a situation like this one. The other thing Izzy knew was that you know Amelia; the two of you were best friends in high school.

"But-but how?!" Amelia asks

"What are you doing?!?!," your partner asks

"Don't worry, I got a plan," you whisper, "Now get over there."

Your partner does so.

"Now, hand her over," you demand

The sporix beast doesn't say anything but immediately runs over to you and punches you, sending you out a gaping hole into her wall.

"NO!" The team yells, Izzy letting out a scream

You let out a blood-curdling scream as you begin falling toward the ground way below the floor you were on. Your champion zord screams and chokes on a cry as he manages to pry himself out of the sporixs' grip and jump out after you.

"No!!" He screams

With all of his might, he grew and he grew into a giant Pteradon. He catches you in the nick of time before you made contact with the ground.

"Y/N, are you okay?!" He pants, nearly gasping for air

"Buddy?" You smile, "Oh my gosh you did it!! Celebrations aside I gotta get back in there and defeat that sporix beast!"

"How?!" He asks, "You don't have your Ryusoul!!"

"あいぼう, 私たちのソウルを一つに." You say [Translation: "Partner, our Souls are One."]

"Alright!" He says, flying up toward the gaping hole

You hop off of your partner's back and once more stab your sword into the ground, freezing the ground; immediately freezing nearly the entire ground, looking up at the sporix beast slightly, whose legs are frozen.

"Not again!" He screams

You inhale deeply then let out an exhale; your breath being visible due to the now cold temperature.

"翼の騎士, リュソウルシアン!!" You announce for the first time [Translation: "The Winged Knight, Ryusoul Cyan!"]

The rangers watch you take your sword out of the ground. Although your Ryusoul was with the sporix beast, a bright, vibrant Cyan aura forms around you, enabling your Ranger form and acquiring your Dino-Freeze armor.

"おれの騎士を見せてある!!" You announced again as you pull Izzy out of his grip and into yours, slashing at the monster [Translation: "I'll show you my Chivalry!"]

You push her towards her teammates, hinting to her to free them. Keeping the sporix beast at a distance from the rest of the team, you engage a battle with him.

"あいぼう!!" You scream holding your hand up into the air [Translation: "Partner!"]

You hear him battle cry as he shrinks, taking the ryusoul back and throwing it to you. You catch it and activate your final move.

"Blizzard, Dino Slash!" You scream, slashing the air, creating a freezing vortex towards the sporix beast

He gets caught up in the vortex and explodes, a slime-looking ball is formed. You watch Zayto catch it before Void knight could get to it.

"Y/N. Right?.." Ollie asks

"That's me" you answer, turning back into your civilian form

"Since when did you have a Dino key?" Zayto asks

"Family heirloom, and he's been around all my life," you say, looking behind you

You notice he's sitting on Izzy's back. You immediately run over to her and try to shake her awake.

"Hey, hey! Izzy!" You try to wake her, but to no avail

You place two of your fingers up to her neck.

"Still got a pulse, but she's unconscious," you say, picking her up into your arms

You walk past the other rangers as you teleport, using Izzy's communicator and disappear.

"Who are you?!" A dinosaur asks, walking over to you

"I'm a friend, but, Izzy's hurt bad and I didn't know where to take her, " you sigh, placing her down into a bed, "So I decided to come here."

"Good choice coming here," she says, "Thank you."

You nod to her as the dinosaur-humanoid begins observing her, figuring out a way to tend to Izzy's injuries.

After a couple of hours you see the rangers teleporting into base. You stand up to formally greet them.

"Y/N Y/L/N," you finally introduce, shaking Zayto's hand, "What you guys call me, the 'Arctic Knight' Ranger."

"We have more people on our team?" Ollie smiles, "The sporix beast won't stand a chance now!"

"Didn't know the Arctic Knight Ranger was cute," Javi tries to flirt with you

"Whoa whoa whoa there champ," you back up," I like girls... 100%."

Ollie laughs as Javi becomes embarrassed at your remark and the fact he tried to flirt with you. You smile and chuckle as you play it off as a joke from him.

"Guys will you keep it quiet?" Izzy groans as she sits up

Javi immediately goes to her bedside and comforts her.

"Hey Izzy," he smiles, "How are you feeling?"

"Considering I almost became a ragdoll, I'm fine, " Izzy jokes, "W-wait how did I get here?"

"This woman carried you back," the Humanoid-Dinosaur says, gesturing to you

"Hey, thanks," she says, stretching out her arm

"Don't mention it," you smile slightly

"Now, with introductions aside," Zayto states, "We have to train."

"No worries, on it," you state

"Ryusoul Change!" You said, inserting your ryusoul into Izzy's morpher

You were figuring out if you could change into your ranger form without the use of your sword. Once you spun the silver 'helmet' on the morpher, nothing happens. You sigh in disappointment and take out your ryusoul.

"Guess it only works with your keys," You sigh, "No worries though! I wanted to see if it worked anyway!"

You hand the morpher back to Izzy.

After the training session, you were about to make your leave for the night however, get a tap on your shoulder.

"Hey Izzy," You smile

"Hey, I just want to thank you," She says, "For the last couple of mornings and carrying me here."

"Don't mention it Izzy," You say, slinging your backpack onto your shoulder, "Thank me when you win that competition tomorrow Izzy!"

"One more thing," Zayto says, coming over, "Now you can teleport yourself to base and join us in future battles with the sporix beasts and take down Void Knight."

You put on your communicator/teleportation device on your left wrist.

"Thank you Zayto," You smile, beginning to walk out of the forest to reach your apartment

Part 3

#izzy garcia #power rangers #power rangers dino fury #female reader #amelia jones #ollie akana #javi garcia #zayto #power rangers imagine #izzy garcia x reader

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defensefilms · 4 years ago

Text

Defense Films Lists His Favorite TV Characters Of All Time

5. Chris Partlow- The Wire

The ending of The Wire paints Chris Partlow as something closer to a serial killer.

He wasn’t. None of his hits were done out of pleasure, curiosity or even impulse. Every one of those bodies helped the Stanfield organization become what they became, even the one on Michael’s stepdad.

What Chris represents is reliability and capability. The ultimate “get shit done” guy. Out of all the characters on the show, none were more dependable or crucial to the success of the institution they served.

Lester Freeman was capable but not a good politician and ultimately a nuisance to his superiors. Bill Rawls was incredibly capable at his job but he was power hungry and ambitious. In season 5, Gus Haynes is the most capable man in the news office but the problem was that Gus questioned authority and didn’t “go with the flow” when the office decided the paper needed a “refreshing” of how they cover the local news.

Chris didn’t have any of these handicaps impeding the people he served.

He recruits the foot soldiers for the Stanfield crew, even training them himself and Marlo had something akin to a small army at his disposal as a result. He organized his sub-ordinates, handled all surveillance when Marlo’s crew was under investigation at the start of season 5 and took care of incoming shipments after they established a direct line to the Greeks.

When the task required finesse or subtlety, like the time he stole Sergey’s picture from the court office, he was more than capable of that too. When Marlo is questioning how to address the murder of one of his dealers, he listens to Chris and chooses to retaliate on the perpetrator directly rather than targeting everyone on his corner.

Marlo truly comes to rely on Chris in matters concerning Omar Little. Every step of how Marlo wants to get back at the near mythical larcenist, is first passed by Chris. Chris takes this as his number one job throughout the show. Anything concerning Omar is handled with brutal efficiency, tact and an almost out ouf place sense of professional pride.

That’s Chris’ most endearing quality. Through all the blood, guts, scheming, lying, betrayal that comprises Baltimore’s underworld, all of which Chris is very much a part of, he has a pride in how he approaches the day to day business aspects of what he does.

Stringer Bell is arguably the best second-in-command in the show’s run but he was dishonest, ultimately harming the survival of the institution he served and damn near going rogue.

Chris doesn’t share such qualities as blind ambition or selfishness. He understands that trust is all he has in this game. When the indictments eventually come down and Chris is facing a life sentence he doesn’t complain or even raise the possibility of turning state witness. Instead he ends up on the yard along side Wee-Bay. Marlo in turn makes sure that Chris’ people are taken care of financially.

Many of the men that serve in the various institutions depicted in the show could learn a thing from Chris Partlow. When the time came, he fell on his sword and did so in full acknowledgement that this is where it all leads. There’s a kind of honor in that.

4. Tony Soprano- The Sopranos

One of the biggest misconceptions about The Sopranos was that it was a story about a gangster. It wasn’t, or at the very least, that would be an over-simplification of what the story actually contained.

What it was was a story about a man and his family, both biological and criminal. That’s the tie the binds all of the story’s narratives together.

Another way of looking at Tony’s story is one of leadership. Having ousted his Uncle Junior from the seat of power, season 2 and onwards, as far Tony’s criminal life is concerned, focuses on what happens once you get to the top.

While the show’s creators gave you plenty of grizzly, violent scenes, what leads to those is the story of a man struggling and failing at leadership.

In every season, Tony has to deal with a problematic figure, employee or subordinate.

Season 1 was his Uncle and the idea of old fashioned leadership. Then in season 2 it was the ever-acerbic Richie Aprile, representing a generation older than Tony’s, that still feels entitled to something. Seasons 3 and 4 gave us Ralph Cifaretto, the only one among the men I’m mentioning that actually earns his status and then in season 5, it was his cousin Tony Blundetto.

Each of these problems is uniquely stressful for Tony because of how they pull at the threads of both his family and criminal life. With the exception of his Uncle Junior, he kills all of them.

By that metric, Tony is in fact a very poor leader.

He doesn’t really deal with the Richie Aprile problem because his sister beats him to it. He doesn’t willingly promote Ralph Cifaretto even though Ralph earns it and is the only one among the candidates with any real intellect and business savvy. In both the cases of Christopher Moltisanti and cousin Tony Blundetto, Tony allows favoritism and nepotism to cloud his judgement and ironically both those men die at Tony Soprano’s hands.

This paints a picture of a tyrannical man, slowly devouring everything around him because he’s got to be in control. Worse yet, his need to be in control doesn’t actually lead to smarter long term decisions or better people management.

Tony’s relationship with Ralph in particular is built on professional envy. He feels entitled to Ralph’s race horse winnings because “why should his subordinate benefit more from anything than he does?”. He then proceeds to take ownership of the racehorse itself without assuming any of the costs of owning the animal. Then to top it off, he steals Ralph’s girlfriend purely because he has the status to do it, even digging in to Ralph’s personal life in order to justify doing so.

Textbook mismanagement. Every type of managerial violation you could imagine.

So how does Tony handle it when an employee is actually being a problem on a criminal/business level?

He rewards Tony Blundetto’s deception after the Joey Peeps killing by letting him run an already profitable gambling joint. He promotes Christopher to “made guy” even with his drug problems being well known, and he promotes Bobby Baccalieri, partly at his sister’s behest and partly out of spite.

It was fun to watch on screen but you’d hate to work for Tony Soprano.

How does that translate to his family? What kind of leader is Tony at home?

Season 3 does well at examining Tony as a father/paternal figure starting with his relationship with Jackie Jr, which is built on concern at first. Then later it starts to make Tony anxious. Before Tony decides to push nature towards taking it’s course, when Jackie runs afoul of men in Tony’s charge.

His relationship with AJ is also a bigger part of the show as the seasons go and it’s not much better in as far as the leadership or guidance that Tony offers. We can waffle on about AJ’s failings as a spoilt teenager but the real problem is that Tony doesn’t see himself in AJ.

That’s the first step to any failure of leadership. An inability to find common ground or identify with the people you’re leading.

We won’t go in to how hypocritical it is because the entire way that Tony entered the mob life is because he himself was a mob prince and his father’s status definitely paved the way for him.

Hypocrisy. That’s the other key to failure in leadership.

All these negatives added up to make the most fascinating television character in over 20 years. A constant stream of contradictions and watching a man say one thing but do another was it’s own experience and you didn’t realize what a horrible human being you were watching until you saw the show over and over again. A scary observation that implies people are either blind or really comfortable with evil and narcissistic behaviour.

3. Noah Solloway- The Affair

Out of all the characters on this list, this one was hurt most by writers hitting a ceiling in how much they could say about the character or how much they wanted to say. Divorced men don’t really have that much representation, so if you’re writing a character that so strongly linked to that one particular event in his life, you may hit a ceiling if you don’t actually have real life examples to work with.

They had the right actor, the right story and it was the right time in human history to tell this story, it just felt like they didn’t follow through on really speaking on the plight or rise of guys in Noah’s situation.

Anytime I watched The Affair, and unlike most, I was pretty loyal to it despite what reviews told me, I identified with Noah. All those other characters didn’t make sense to me the way Noah did.

The story begins with my man being stuck in a rut, the kind of middle age funk married men tend to fall in to, so he drives out to visit some folks and while he’s there he happens to meet a baddie. Story of every man’s life. Only he does what you’re not supposed to do and sacrifices everything he has so he can be with the bad-bad.

Then my mans starts popping off with his book writing, gets a publishing deal and in his 40′s, he starts achieving his highest career peaks. See this is important because it shows that the writers understood the subject matter really well, as well as the demographic they were talking about.

Then the next season, they go in to some murder mystery plot, Noah ends up in jail somehow, almost as if the writers and producers didn’t feel confident that they could tell Noah’s story without the theatrics/murder mystery element.

The other danger that the writers probably didn’t want to indulge was rewarding the character with any kind of happy ending or positive outcome. Noah’s infidelity serves as the jumping off point to all of the story’s unfolding plots, mostly depicting the impact on the lives of his immediate family, a handful of which play out in sad dramatic fashion. So the writers likely felt like Noah couldn’t win at the end.

In the 1930′s when gangster films were first being made, they would commonly feature PSA messages at the start warning against criminal behaviour. 1931′s “Little Caesar” starring Edward G Robinson, features a warning at the end that makes it clear the film’s producers and writers needed the character to go down in flames at the end, to prove the moral point that “crime doesn’t pay”.

A writer’s moral obligation and the times in which they live can lead some to write the ending that makes a moral point rather than writing the most dramatic or honest ending. I think Noah Solloway kind of suffered from this.

I don’t know.

There was a chance to explore modern men in a way that most stories fail to. They had the foundation. They knew enough about who and what they’re talking about. However it didn’t manifest in the telling of the story.

I’m not saying Noah needed a positive ending, it’s just that the one we got was not the most fitting nor did it wind up ending the story honestly or even dramatically.

Noah Solloway should have got the Tony Soprano treatment in as far as how much the writers explored his inner world but instead the show’s creators decided it didn’t matter. They didn’t answer the question of why this happens to modern men.

If nothing else Noah Solloway can be a blueprint or foundation for those telling this story in the future.

2. Ciro Di Marizio- Gomorrah

About as slimy and as low down as a television character can possibly be. Ciro represents Machiavellian criminality pushed to it’s extremes.

When writers plot a character’s trajectory, they often fill it with moments that make the character more endearing. Exploring the relationship the character may have with a child, friend or spouse that makes you see the character’s more genuine/compassionate/likeable side. The writers of Gomorrah did plenty of that with Ciro.

However, they didn’t hesitate to show you just how off-the-rails and downright evil Ciro could be.

What’s funny is that Ciro is defined by loyalty and servitude when the story begins. He is a capable captain and rises to 2nd in command when the Savastano family needs him to. However the death of his close friend and mentor changes him for the worse and he goes ham.

What follows is betrayal and Ciro basically masterminding a coup of the Savastano clan but the levels of paranoia that his new found power push him to, make him question whether it was all worth it. The world burns around him and a kind of justice is restored when Gennaro is able to take back power and restore the Savastano name.

That’s one aspect of the show that Ciro truly exemplifies in that he rises to the top but the throne never truly feels like it’s his.

He is Iago-like in his ability to understand the weaknesses of people around him. He proves himself more cunning, capable, strategic, murderous and even business-minded than almost every other character. Every character except for Pietro Savastano (the man he betrays) and Gennaro Savastano.

The show goes to great lengths to put forth the idea that crime families in Naples are on the same level as the pope. True modern day monarchies. Royal families that have the power to benefit or harm anyone around them. People bow their heads to them when they walk in public and use reverential terms when addressing them. They will often have salons, jewelers or restaurants cleared out so they can enjoy the establishment in ostentatious privacy.

When you look at it like that, Ciro was always an outsider. The difference between just sitting on the throne and being born of the throne.

In that way maybe Ciro’s story is about redemption.

He eventually sides with Gennaro Savastano again, helping him get his wife and daughter back after they’re kidnapped. He does this by essentially lying to/duping a crew of young dealers from Florence to fund this hostage rescue and then he offers himself as a sacrifice when the Florentines demand blood.

At his best Ciro served the clan and went to great lengths to restore what he had destroyed.

1. Marlo Stanfield- The Wire

Is there any greater?

Sure there are characters like Tony Soprano whose world and whose inner thoughts the audience gets more familiar and intimate with. Within the same shared universe as Marlo is a character like Stringer Bell and the writers of the Wire go to great lengths to understand and convey his moral conflict as a drug kingpin turned wannabe real estate tycoon.

Marlo is something purer though.

You don’t need to know his inner-most thoughts like Tony because his utmost desire is simple, he wants to be the top kingpin of Baltimore. What more do you want?

He does not share Stringer’s moral complexity because unlike Stringer he is not conflicted at all. He’s not a drug dealer playing businessman, he’s just a drug dealer and that’s all he ever wanted to be.

From the start of season 3, it was fascinating watching this man move about on the screen with a confidence reserved for the richest and most talented. Indeed Marlo proves he has both in bundles.

He outwits the older drug kingpin in Stringer Bell by maintaining independence from the Co-Op. He matches Avon Barksdale’s war effort step-for-step after Avon comes home from prison. He outsmarts the wily, Proposition Joe in order to learn how to launder his money and then get access to the Greeks.

It was fascinating watching Marlo avoid pitfalls, monopolize Baltimore, out-think his older counterparts and grow his empire to the scope that he did.

There’s a youtube video that compiled all of Marlo’s scenes from his 3 seasons on The Wire and it pretty much plays like a feature film. Watch it here if you dig Marlo as much as I do.

You’re not watching a drug dealer become a kingpin, or at the very least that’s what I believe. It has more to do with watching the younger generation upset the order, and in a lot of ways that’s what Marlo represents. From the moment Marlo shows up, all old agreements are null and void. He does this over and over again throughout his story. Constantly upsetting the order and establishing his own.

Indeed Marlo isn’t aware that this is what he’s doing. He’s acting on ambition, arrogance and naivety.

It speaks volumes that most of the characters on this list have on-screen relationships that explore their personalities, like the aforementioned Ciro’s relationship with his daughter. Marlo has none of that.

Marlo’s most revealing relationship is his rivalry with Omar Little, a man he only ever encounters once. The continuation of their feud happens because Marlo refuses to let any perceived slight towards him slide. One way of looking at what this shows is that Marlo is both egoist and perfectionist, the latter of which is actually very prized personality traits in today’s business environment. The combination of the two is actually commonly seen among CEO’s and top executives.

Marlo shows every weakness and drawback of youth while exposing the follies of the more seasoned and experienced in his field. A walking contradiction in that way.

#tv show #hbo #the wire #the sopranos #the affair #gomorrah #chris partlow #tony soprano #noah solloway #ciro di marizio #marlo stanfield

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multifandomwhre · 3 years ago

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Loves Harsh Reality

Summary: Life is a bitch.

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x Reader, Avengers x Reader (all platonic)

Warnings: swearing, mention of past/current abuse

Prompt: “You want what everyone wants. You want a love that consumes you. You want passion, and adventure, and maybe even a little danger.”

Word Count: 1780

Do not copy, translate, or post any of my stories anywhere you write stories, whether that’s here, Wattpad, or Ao3.

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

“двадцать три года*,” you said, a bit of hesitation in your voice, finding it hard to speak after decades of being punished if you spoke out of turn. As you finished speaking, you heard another voice, one which you assumed belonged to this Steve person.

-TIME SKIP-

“Oh yeah? What would that be,” you asked, quite curious as to what he may have found out.

“I’m glad. Now let’s get out of here. I’m tired.”

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

1. У тебя все нормально? Я ведь не бил тебя дверью - Are you ok? I didn’t hit you with the door, did I?

2. Меня зовут Баки. Что у тебя? - My name is Bucky. What’s yours?

3. Это хорошо. Как давно ты здесь? - That’s ok. How long have you been here?

4. двадцать три года - 23 years.

5. Хорошо. Стив дал мне добро, чтобы мы могли убираться отсюда. - Ok. Steve gave me the go ahead so we can get out of here.

6. Ты ведь не сделаешь мне больно, верно? О-или убить меня? - You aren’t going to hurt me right? O-or kill me?

7. Конечно, нет. Я вытащу тебя отсюда. - Of course not. I’m going to get you out of here.

8. Кукла - Doll

I will also be posting this on my other blog, @imaginesmcu. This is a very, very late submission to @sweeterthanthis ‘s “Quote Me” challenge.

#bucky barnes blurb #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes imagine #marvel

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the-necessary-unnecessary · 4 years ago

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My top 7 Arsenal wfc players, aka the whole team because they're all my children and you can't chose between children

(And they're not many more than seven anyways)

Beth Mead: a wizard on the wong and the original crot queen. She may not have had the best season this year but shes still managed to play an important part in the team and has conquered many hearts in the process. If she has to retire early because of all the hits she receives during matches then she's got a bright future ahead of her as a cringey tiktok star or, if that fails, a career as a HSM impersonator on cruise ships

Cailtin Foord: there were mixed opinions when she was first announced as a new signing, but she almost immediately became one more member of the arsenal family amongst players and supporters alike. Before Covid struck shes already stamped her mark on the club with her skill and made her way onto the scoresheet, and now shes also made her way into Lia's house and infected the squad with the chaotic tiktok bug

Dan Carter: literally a gooner through and through having played for arsenal for practically all her life and pulling through in the big moments. Heartbreak and injury have been her middle names for over the past year having sustained two ACL injuries in 14 months. Even if she hasnt had as much of an impact on the pitch shes still been a large part of injury fc, with her and her diary always being a source of sarcasm and banter through it all.

Danielle Van De Donk: she probably described herself best when she said she was a feisty puppy who wants to ball. A woman who takes no prisoners during matches, opponents refs and the back of nets all fear her. Off the pitch though shes a real softie who radiates chaotic energy and yet has developed over the years into quite the leader (even if she still follows beth around on her tiktok adventures)

Jennifer Beattie: a friendly giant who quietly puts in all the work at the back, being an absolute unit as a last line of defense which was sorely missed during her injury. She came back from City because arsenal is home and that's beautiful. Talking about beautiful, her and Chloe. That's it, nothing more needs to be elaborated on. Pretty underrated although shes been getting more attention lately, she makes Kim company as the quiet Scottish duo who are lethal on the pitch

Jill Roord: despite her love hate relationship with goal posts, shes still made her mark at arsenal this year especially thanks to the fact that she has remained injury free this year (dont worry I touched wood when I typed that) and hopefully next year when shes settled in even more to the team and the league then she'll be able to show what she's truly made of. That is, if she lasts that long before the team kick her out for being too annoying. A woman who likes the two extremes, Frozen and Olaf as well as blonde tattooed players and famous thirst traps, she epitomises this soft yet hard personality dichotomy too

Jordan Nobbs: calm, composed, skillful, professional, dynamic and with the capacity of being able to astutely read the game, she's the personification of arsenal in a player. Having been at the club for a whole decade now she's practically lived it all and yet she continues on hungry for better and more. With the way she acts on the pitch you would never guess her forgetful, dorky, awkward nature off it. The woman with both the longest nando's order ever and the shortest attention span.

Katie McCabe: the Irish devil, the arsenal player founder of the tucked in shirt, member of the love to hate her girlfriend club. Her almost permanent move to left back this season has reaped bountiful benefits for her, a flexible player who always finds freedom on the wing shes proved herself as lethal as both a defender and a finisher. In Jordan's words, she talks about her biceps all the time, but so would I if I was that stacked. That being said, Ruesha always finds a way to beat her which is probably payback for her scoring against West Ham in the cup

Katrine Veje: another player lost to injury this season, although lockdown has treated her well (that makes one of us) and she's apparently fully fit again. Shes been sorely missed as a fullback for most of her season, her explosiveness and crosses in particular. As it is shes used her time to get in some spectacular photoshoots and just be and just be a source of clownery as a veteran at injury fc

Kim Little: as silent as Kim and as deadly as Kim should be new british sayings at this point. Quick on her feet with nerves of steel shes an impressive player to watch and is sometimes the glue in the midfield that keeps arsenal together. Her professionalism both on and off the pitch is as big as her dislike of cameras

Leah Williamson: the face of arsenal and not because of her looks, rather because of her insane talent and her embodiment of all things arsenal. From the moment she was born arsenal was pumping through her veins. One of the best up and coming CBs with long range passes for days she has been a crucial part of the arsenal squad for so long you forget she's just 23. What she lacks in some of her fashion choices she makes up in her bright and nerdy personality and her never ending stream of insults directed at Jordan

Leonie Maier: she recently said that she has never regretted the decision to move to arsenal and that has been because shes been able to shine in defense mainly alongside Leah, each playing off each other's strengths and developing herself as a player in a new league which is never an easy transition. Dont let her banana bread making trick you into thinking shes the mum in the group, shes proved herself to be as chaotic as the rest of them.

Lia Walti: arguably the best thing to come out of Switzerland since toblerone (much better than swiss cheese though). Like a lot of arsenal players, it sometimes seems like she would be better off playing in bubble wrap so she wouldnt sustain as many injuries. She's an intelligent player, one of the best qualities to have as a midfielder, with skill coming out of her ears and unfulfilled potential still to come. Her sunshine-like looks can be deceiving though because she leaves her brain cells in the changing room, as is becoming an arsenal tradition.

Lisa Evans: another alround players who, as a winger-cum-fullback, has thrived in her position this year. Her defensive position yet forward thinking mentality has proved deadly and when shes been given space to roam the wing too shes provided goals and assists a plenty. Her unpredictability on the pitch translates into her chaotic tendencies off it and a love for the arsenal anthem “we've got McCabe, Katie McCabe”. Sometimes she likes to pretend that she's a seal (exhibit A attached below)

Louise Quinn: it would be stereotypical to say that it's natural that shes so good at headers due to her height, but stereotypes exist for a reason and her tower-like build makes her a match for any Millie Bright in the heading department. She's a consistent, sturdy player who is great at starting up play from the back in many cases providing that vital first past (sometimes with her head because she's tall). Her pastimes include drinking a lot of coffee, understandable that she needs to refuel considering her height, and making fun on her teammates so that they dont make fun of her accent and her 183 cm length. Have I mentioned that she's tall?

Manuela Zinsberger: an extremely talented goalkeeper although sometimes people can excusably confuse her with being arsenal's eleventh outfield player. Another bayern recruit she's been key this season making some great saves and causing a few heart attacks in the process (west ham's penalty box free kick anyone?). She may look tough but she's just as much a clown as the rest of them

Pauline Peyraud-Magnin: the second proud member of the goalkeepers union. Shes not called the Hulk for no reason, racking up some great saves and skills with her feet even as Joe's second choice. What she lacks in command of the english language she makes up in utter chaos including hand gestures, shouting and eratic dancing, well as staging photoshoots at arsenal's gym.

Viki Schnaderbeck: shes been able to mostly avoid injury fc this season after a long stint there last year and her hardwork has paid off to establish her as a mainstay here as a skilled defensive player. Shes been loud and proud recently on social media and I am loudly and proudly here to support it

Vivianne Miedema: in Katie's own words “the goat”. Absolutely lethal as a center-forward, calm collected and composed in front of the goal, and also crucial in providing build up play and assists. She can both hold off opponents and reach an unmatched maximum speed with surprising ambidexterity and complete nonchalantness. The only player who is actively lazy and is able to get away with it. She puts up with a lot of chaos but is not unknown to add to it too, mainly providing subtle humor and sarcastic wit. Not a personality for the faint hearted.

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nightklok · 4 years ago

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Why hello it's time for me to be a nuisance and post my detailed Picklegail manifesto after a year of keeping this hidden underground, now it will be raised upground as part of my revenge plan-Under the cut is how I would've wanted their relationship to progress throughout the series-I converted a twitter thread i had into something readable so apologies if some things still don't make sense sdflkj

I like the challenge of trying to keep key elements of the show the same so Abigail won't be introduced until season 4 because I am like this. However, she would be mentioned in passing throughout the series by Pickles. The scene where Nathan mentions wanting to be a regular jackoff in Dethdoubles would probably have a few more lines by Pickles about 'settling down with that nice person you still think about' though the rest of the guys would think it's weird to think that. This would officially start in Snakes N' Barrels Part 2, the scene where Pickles began describing LA.

"Oh yeah, here's where I hosted my first concert in this small club. Got to meet a lot of fans and stuff. Especially this one girl, shit, wonder where she's at now."

This would also kinda explain why Pickles never even seemed to show interest in finding romantic partners throughout the series; almost everyone had an episode where they had a crush on someone even if it never went anywhere in the end. Pickles just never bothered dating because he knew that finding someone genuine as a celebrity was tough and he knew he wouldn't be connected as well as he did with that girl he met back in the 80s. There might also be a scene in Rehabklok where the doctors mention 'letting go of the past', which could also mean both letting go of his trauma from his family and letting go of the idea that he will get the relationship he really missed.

Season 4 comes around and now they all meet. Nathan notices how Pickles looked at Abigail like you would with trying to figure out if you recognize someone.

Nathan: "oh hey was she the chick you went out with back in the 80s?" Pickles: "Ehhh I dunno she is familiar though"

Will it get addressed by the characters? Probably not. Will it instead be painfully dragged out long because the readers will know? Yes, as per the MTL way :D

The two do eventually get some alone time. Abigail interacts with Nathan, Skwisgaar, and him one on one since they're the brains of the band and she wants to get through to them to help get progress on the album. Pickles and Abigail would get more one-on-one time; he especially becomes her translator when it comes to trying to understand what the boys are talking about when brainstorming.

They end up warming up to each other, making jokes, and probably the first time they really did comfy with each other was when Abigail asked Pickles to read the sheet music and he says seriously “I can’t read music”. she laughs thinking it’s a joke (he’s really not)

Abigail: “You know, I met someone back in the 80s who wanted to be a musician but didn’t know how to read music.”

Pickles: “Really? That’s crazy haha wonder if I met em too”

(this is in fact to piss readers off. There will be more dialogue to describe how oblivious the two really are.)

In the background of this, Nathan would be trying to impress Abigail. Her mistake would be beating around the bush instead of telling him upfront, causing very minor miscommunication.

But overall, the progress in the album is coming faster than ever thanks to Abigail's efforts. Though once again Nathan gets the dreams telling him the album isn't ready.

Pickles and Abigail pull an all-nighter to finish one of the last tracks. They get to talking a lot more about their personal lives, finding themselves having quite a bit in common. Abigail mentions meeting a singer back in the 80s who had inspired her to take up music production. After all, it would've been very hard for her to go to college at the time but the man had his own secrets too (being LGBT+ in the 80s) and he somehow managed to be successful. They don't kiss despite the tension but they do fall asleep on the couch together. Nathan sneaks into the recording studio while they're asleep and assumes they're dating which made him quickly back off on trying to flirt with Abigail. It would also make Nathan feel guilty as he realizes that Pickles is still mad at him if he won't tell him about his relationship. However, he wasn't there for that.

He catches the glow of the monitor and sees the album is almost finished. It isn't ready. He quietly attempts to delete it but the light of the monitor changing for him to delete the files slowly wakes Pickles up. He is groggy but then he realizes what's going on and attempts to stop Nathan but once again he's too late.

Abigail wakes up and quickly snaps out of her grogginess when Pickles explains frantically what happened. They both yell at Nathan for destroying their months of progress but Nathan only says, “it’s not ready. We need a better album. Trust me.” But since he doesn’t give a thorough explanation it’s hard to trust him.

Now is Going Downklok. They are in the submarine, Nathan is trying to fix things between him and Pickles but Pickles won’t have it. So he decides instead to let Abigail and him have as much free time as possible.

Nathan just talks about how great Pickles is to Abigail, accidentally dropping hints that she may have known him as the guy from before. And he does the same to pickles though he doesn’t talk to him much anymore and ignores him.

Pickles and Abigail are once again alone at the recording studio, both ranting their frustrations over working with the album once again. Eventually, it carried over to their own personal lives. And finally, they have the braincells to realize that maybe they did meet so many years ago. The room is so stuffy it feels like a sauna and only adds to the growing tension between. It only increased when they tried to leave the studio to remain as professional as possible but one of them instead locks the door. They both end up making out and eventually having sex in the recording studio.

Years of pent-up frustration, loneliness, and overall everything that had led up to the moment washed over. They decide to keep a secret relationship afterward because even though they did find each other, much like in the past, they found each other at the wrong time.

The dinner scene comes up. The two sit feet apart just to make sure no one would be suspicious. Nathan is at his height of frustration because he knows he had to delete the album but everyone is mad at him. He gets a little too drunk, and like the friend he is, outs their Relationship like a drunken wedding speech. Pickles quickly refutes that, instead he screamed at him over broken trust, deleting the second album that Charles had made sure the public wasn't aware and finally decided to quit the band. The news spreads like wildfire.

Abigail is quickly put to blame however it lasted very short since there became other conspiracies surrounding it. Nathan did say quite a lot after all to the point where it’s clear Abigail wasn’t part of the equation. But of course, some people blame her still and she decides to lay low. Pickles has to deal with his own consequences too so he decides to stay at her parents’ place with her as they wait for the news to blow over. While he’s happy to finally be with her, he does miss music terribly. Specifically, he misses playing with Dethklok.

She reminds him he can always talk to Nathan to sort things out but he knows Nathan isn't the type to apologize. The day of the concert comes, things happen as expected in the show. He doesn’t come home because they are in the submarine and he has to explain everything to her through a phone call where he’s beginning to break down, saying he has a terrible feeling that things will never be the same. She tries to calm him down but given how Selacia’s appearance is all over the news, she has the same feeling. They reunite briefly before the funeral.

I haven’t decided on the official ending so here’s ending one:

Toki offers to give up his seat so Pickles can sit next to her. He accepts as he doesn’t want to sit anywhere near Nathan. Magnus seems bothered but doesn’t say anything. There would be a funny scene of them just recreating 'Hello Magnus' 'Hello Pickles' once again.

But Magnus' tension quickly dies down when he hears them whisper to each other. He sees them hold hands discreetly and relaxes.

Magnus: "So I see the rumors are true between you two?"

Pickles: "I-yeah. What are you gonna fuckin' do about it?"

Magnus: "Nah, nothing. Just happy for you, is all."

Magnus does gain Pickles' trust enough to let his guard down by just sharing small talk. When the service begins, MMA texts Magnus over why Toki is sitting so far and how the plan is ruined. Magnus is hesitant to respond for a few moments (regret over what's to come, perhaps?) but he goes through and texts back that there is a change of plans but this plan would be better.

Well, couples would do anything to make sure the other is safe in such extreme circumstances.This plan could be much better, after all.

Ending two: pretty much exactly as canon. Pickles probably a lot more emotional- The end :D

#metalocalypse #pickles the drummer #abigail remeltindtdrinc #picklegail #my writing #I am surprised i managed to get this down #was it wise to post this when the big talk is the movie?#maybe but its part of the plan I think fskjl #gonna @ this to brendon small as my cover letter to let me be a writer just wait fdjld

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drowning-rats-in-fandoms · 4 years ago

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Y/N is an intelligence officer on Ren's ship and he always goes to her before missions

When she first gets hired, she always has the mission information sent to him as early as possible

During the debriefing missions, she has the balls to corrent and add information that aas left out or wrong

It's almost always directed to Hux

Kylo enjoys watching someone else irritate Hux by doing their job

When the missions became more sporadic and information was being brought in left and right, Y/N moved her living quarters closer to Kylo's and Hux's living quarters so when she needs to present the information, she goes to them any hour of the day

Hux hates it, wishing to fire her. He know how important she is to the First Order, so he can't

Kylo doesn't care what time she delivers information. Y/N isnt like the guards that stumble over their words and take for ever to relay information

Y/N shows up (after sometime she is given Kylo's code of access to his quarters), hands him her data pad, and leaves.

Hux get an older model of data pads, Kylo gets her own. Her information is all stored on those two devices

Kylo always returns her pad to the table in her quarters. Hux never seeks Y/N out to give it back.

One mission in particular was stressful

On both their ends

Y/N has a translator implanted in her brain to allow her to read and decipher words

During the mission debrief, Hux suggested that Y/N should go along since she mentioned one(1) time that she is one of the only people able to decipher those words

Kylo immediately rejected, having grown fold of his coworker, not romantically of course

"Commander Ren, General Hux is correct. I should go on the mission."

"You have no field training, you'll hold us back. We can just send you video of the dialect." He thought he had a point

"I remember you forgetting to ask what my previous job was commander, may I fill you in?" She snaps right back, General Hux smirking that she is now attacking Ren instead of him.

"Please, enlighten me." Kylo leaned back in his seat, arms crossed. She was nothing more than a brain.

Y/N untucked her uniform to show a gnarly scar lacerating her entire side.

"That was my last bounty hunting job I did with a mandalorian. Saved his skin and his ship. Left me for dead. General Hux has been watching me for a while to recruit me, saw his chance." Y/N would never credit Hex with saving her life, even though they both knew it.

"I know my way around any weapon you give me. I'll do my job and stay out of your way." She sits down in her seat, readjusting her clothes.

Kylo sits there for a moment, empathetic for her, his mask not showing it.

"Report at the hanger at 0600 tomorrow. Stop by the arsenal to pick a weapon." Kylo then leaves in a rush, the meeting quickly adjourned

Never

Left

Her

Side

The crypt was filled with strange coffins, some decorated, some not.

Cobwebs and rodents fill the place, Commander Ren taking lead and eliminating the distractions.

Any rune Y/N would see, she would decipher, hoping to point her commander in the correct direction.

Once they get to the end of the tunnel, a bare wall is presented to them.

Kylo ignited is Saber and was about to destroy the wall when Y/N shouted for him to stop.

The urgency in his voice made him hesitate, the hand on his arm guiding the saber close to the made him stop. He allowed her to hover his saber closer to the wall, her hand warm though his field clothes.

Then he saw it.

The heirogliphs showed faintly though the light of the Kyber crystal, the regular lights not doing anthing.

"Lights off. Now." The 4 storm troopers accompanying them complied, turning the hallway dark except for the glowing red saber.

The wall completely illuminated with glyphs, making Y/N gasp.

"What is it?" Kylo asked, his mask trained on her astonished face

"You found it. What your looking for is on the other side. I just need to find a way in." Her voice is low, focused. Kylo saw that she was in her environment, adrenaline rushing through her veins allowed for a quicker deciphering.

Her hands voided the saber in weird movement along the wall, allowing for her to read.

Kylo noticed everything about her, the way she bit her cheek when her breathing picked up, her eyes flickering to him fir a moment before continuing to read. Her grip on his forearm tightens as she holds her breath, hovering over the last hieroglyph.

Y/N let's go of Kylo's arm and takes a step back, creating professional spacing.

"In short, you actually have to stable the wall. In long, you can only stab it in one spot. Only you can see the spot using the force. Dont ask me how, it never said." Y/N steps back with the troopers, allowing Kylo to do his thing.

He nods his head to her, she nods back, her face blank.

Kylo turns to the wall, closes his eye, feeling for the weak spot. He grows frustrated when he cant find it, letting out a huff.

"What do you feel." You.

"There is no weakness in the wall." His voice is strained though the modulator, trying to not last out.

"Maybe the wall is all weak and you need to look for the strong spot. Breaking that should weaken the hold on the weak spots, allowing the wall to crumble." She sounded so close to him, like it was only them.

Kylo focuses on the calm in her tone of voice, allowing him to concentrate on his objective.

Not even seconds later, he finds it, the spot is in the direct center of the wall.

"The keystone." He whispers, the modulator garbling the word.

He reposition his last connection to his grandfather, the helmet being completely destroyed by Supreme Leader Snoke. Kylo drives the blade through the spot, the wall immediately shaking.

Two strong hands grab his robes and pull him out of the stones impact, the small group watching the wall shift and change.

Larger pieces of rock fall as the smaller ones swirl in a circle, assembling themselves in the doorway behind the wall.

The door opens to reveal a corpse cradling a book to its chest.

Kylo immediately rips the book from the corpse's grasp before Y/N could stop him.

"Is that what you need?" Chills run down her spine as the entire crypt turns silent.

Too silent.

"Yes." He turns back to her, handing the text to Y/N, allowing her to out it in her book bag.

Before the mission he pulled her aside. Her job is to translate and to protect the text. His job was to get them in and get them out. They agreed.

Y/N facial expression and the sense of dread Kylo could read on her told him to move quickly.

"Stay behind me. Make sure she doesnt get hit." He points to the respectful groups before charging off into the darkness.

Y/N asks the trooper to turn their lights back on to help them see their way back.

Not everyone has the force to guide them.

Everyone did their jobs, quickly and quietly. The six moved through the crypt, moving up from the deep dungeons.

Once they get to the first open area, they were ambushed. Reanimated skeletons, strange tan creatures, and those damn rats attacked the group.

Y/N drew her sword, charging it. She stayed relatively near the middle of the room, not seating out a fight.

Kylo Ren sliced and diced through the enemies, keeping an eyes on Y/N. The troopers shot down the rats with surprising accuracy. Kylo took care of everything else.

Until two yellow monster slipped from the main group and attacked Y/N from infront and behind.

Kylo quickly eliminated the rest of his threats and watched in awe as Y/N gracefully finished the fight.

Her kicked the one infront of her, throwing him on his back. She quickly pivots, her sword cutting up through the stomach, and down across its head. Before the second monster can register what happened, Y/N turned again, finishing off the first monster with a quick decapitation.

She quickly disarms her sword, reattached it to her back, and looked at the other 5 people in her group.

"They said that more are on their way. We need to leave. Now." It took Kylo a sweet second to put his ass in gear and steer his group out of the crypt, not meeting any more strange creatures.

Once in hyperspace, Y/N stands behind Kylo's chair, watching the stars.

"How did you hear them communicate? None of them spoke." Kylo was watching her through the reflection of the window, further respect for his colleague bloomed in his mind.

"The rats were actually in charge. The yellow creatures, called voulnders, were allowed to live in and around the crypts. Their exchange was that the Voulnders were to reanimate the corpses with their magic when their temple was under attack."

"They said all of that?" Kylo turned in his seat, Y/N already standing far enough away to not get hit.

"The wall that you hit showed the pact that those two creatures made. It also showed how to get in. Only a might warrior could." There was a pause before Y/N spoke again.

"Don't let that go to your head." She then walked out of the room.

Over the years, the two grew closer.

Sparring, talking, planning missions. Everything platonic.

When Kylo cant sleep because of the nightmares caused by Snoke, he'd go into Y/N's room, falling alseep on her couch, in view of her bed.

"If you like my couch so much, why not move it to your room." Y/N asks one morning, handing Kylo his caf.

"It's not the couch that puts me to sleep." His voice is low, eyes dropping to the ground.

Y/N hand cups his chin, lifting his eyes to meet hers. Her gentile smile puts him at ease.

Y/N remembers the first time she saw him without the mask.

It was a few nights in after relentless nightmares, the first time Kylo slept in Y/N's room.

He was half asleep, running on caf and a few minutes of sleep. Everyone on the ship could sense his worsening mood, assuming that it was from the last failed mission.

It was a repercussion of it, Snoke filling everyone involved in the mission with thoughts of dread.

Y/N hid it suprising well when on the command deck, doing her job.

But now, in the middle of the night, she knew she looked like shit.

When her commander knocked on her door, she rolled out of bed, her hair in a loose braid, her body clad in a pair of over sized black training shots and shirt.

Her commander was dressed similarly. She recognized the drained look in his eyes from her own.

She stepped aside to let him in her space, her eyes never leaving the constipation of beauty marks on his face.

Y/N shut off her night, resetting their automatic switch.

She grabs Kylo's bare arm and leads him to bed. She lies on her back, and she pulls him into her, his head resting on her stomach.

Kylo didnt right against her, his mind not raising any alarms.

Once her hands started to play with his hair, Kylo was out.

Y/N stayed awake a little longer, enjoying how soft and smooth her Commander's hair is. She falls asleep, her hands still tangled in his hair.

She woke up first at the rising of the dim lights, she took her time to wake up, enjoying the presence of another body against hers.

Kylo's breathing was still even as she replaced her body with her pillow.

Y/N went to her closet, pulled out her repaired bounty hunting armour, the silver beskar reminding her of painful memories of her old partner.

She changes quickly, keeping an eye on the commander in her bed.

"where are you going?" His voice asks, not removing his head from your pillow.

"To fix our problem."

"Snoke doesnt respond well to asking nicely."

"Oh, that's not why in going to Snoke. Go back to sleep if you can Commander. You need it." He seemed to get only a few hours of sleep last night.

Y/N straps the rest of her weapons to her body, her rifle sliding easily over her back. Her viroblade in the holster at her waist.

She tucks the bucket in her arm, looking at Kylo one last time before going on her first line mission during her First Order Career.

It wont be her last.

It only took her two days, the bounty hunter returning to Snoke with a head and the correct location of the cargo.

"How do you know its correct?" Snoke leans in his chair, observing the cleanly severed head at his feet.

"This tracker." Her voice is modulated, she throws the red chip to her Supreme Leader.

Snoke catches it, hums in approval.

"You have a new job. We have a suitable replacement for you."

Commander Y/N Y/L/N, leader of the bounties hunters and scouts of the first order.

The nightmares stopped

Missions became more successful

Kylo still couldn't sleep without being in the presence of Y/N. Her calm attitude put him at ease enough to fall asleep.

#star wars #kylo ren #reader insert #references of the mandalorian #bounty hunter #adventures #slow burn #professional to platonic to romantic #soft!kylo #rage!kylo #sassy!kylo #Kylo Ren is hopelessly in love #reader has a back bone

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samwellmarinesociety · 4 years ago

Text

Be Still, and Know That I am Near

[I’ve also posted this on my AO3!]

As a freshman at Samwell University, Connor figured that he'd be leaving his home life behind in Arizona. However, an early morning encounter in the locker room provides him with the opportunity to grapple with his faith as well as find some sense of closure.

(A special thanks goes out to Emiliana [ @lifeofthetryhard on Tumblr] for her help with translating the Spanish. Although Connor is Mexican-American and she’s Venezuelan, her grasp of Spanish is much better than my own.)

“¿Estás seguro de sabes dónde está la pista?”

Connor pinched the bridge of his nose as he glanced up at the clock above his dorm door. “Sí, Mamá,” he answered, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice lest he be called out for using a tone. “Tengo el mapa que me dio.”

“Solo pregunto porque me preocupo de ti, mijito,” his mother reminded, still using the sickly sweet tone that she used when he was a baby. “Trajiste el-”

“Me tengo que ir, Mamá. Te quiero.”

“Te quiero, Connor.”

Putting his phone away, Connor picked his gear bag off the floor and quickly made his way out the door and down the lobby stairs. The fading summer sun was already halfway to its throne at the top of the sky, bathing Lake Quad in its brilliant golden light. Since the semester had not officially started, he could walk along the cobblestones without fear of crashing into someone.

As clichéd as it was, the photos on the official Samwell website could not compare to the beauty of the real campus. Given how the weather along the Eastern coast had been much warmer this past year, the trees were still lush with their leaves. It wasn’t nearly as warm as it would have been back in Arizona, but the feeling of the sun on his back was like a hug from an old friend.

Faber Memorial Rink was a decidedly modern building, especially in comparison to the more colonially-inspired architecture of most of the campus. It was almost intimidating in the way it loomed over the trees and shrubs that dotted its exterior. To some, sports were akin to a religion, so Connor supposed that Faber would be a cathedral. The giant windows that captured the morning light only more strongly enforced the metaphor.

“Mamá would probably have my head for talking about religion like that,” he grimaced as he entered the main hall of the rink. Still, Connor couldn’t help but compare the giant crimson banners that adorned the walls to the purple flags that his home parish would put up during Lent. Signs and symbols of what each institution held dear were woven into both. Even the Latin motto of “Penitus Potes de Fonte Sapientiae” was a reminder of the life he’d left behind at home.

Or rather, the life he was trying to leave behind.

The lights already being on in the locker room was strange, but Connor brushed it off as one of the custodians passing through earlier. The expanse of rooms that he’d toured through after officially accepting his admission offer was by no means the most extravagant he’d seen. In fact, it disgusted Connor just how much money some schools put into their sports teams while letting their libraries and lecture halls fall into squalor. It was, however, nice that he didn’t have to worry about tripping over ripped carpeting.

He paused for a moment before the trophy case. In the aforementioned light, the wood finish of the cabinet appeared to be the same shade of crimson as the Samwell crest. Connor wondered if that was an intentional choice on the commissioner’s part. Beyond the glass panes were the various trophies, plaques, and medallions that had been awarded to Samwell players of yesteryear, though the majority of them were more recently dated. The name Jack Zimmermann seemed to be part of ninety percent of all the awards- he even had one all to himself for being voted team captain three years in a row.

“I guess he really was well liked, both on and off the ice.”

Another award that caught his eye was the John Carlisle Award. “For exemplification of team spirit through enthusiasm and devotion to the game,” Connor read aloud, his eyes falling on the only recipient of the award. “Eric Bittle, 2013.”

News about Eric Bittle had spread through the college hockey channels even before Connor had decided to accept his offer to Samwell. He was just rather different compared to almost every other up and coming forward- a background in figure skating, a fondness for baking, his… general demeanour, to put it lightly. Connor supposed it was noble in its own way for Eric to stick to his ways rather than try to change his personality for the sake of a sport. As long as Eric was good on the ice, he didn’t really care about what the guy did in his spare time.

Hockey wasn’t what Connor pictured himself doing after graduating- part of it was the lack of privacy associated with professional sports. Even if he didn’t do post-game interviews or speak to reporters, his whole identity would be up for the world to speculate about. That was the sort of perpetual attention that he couldn’t stand.

As he came out of his labyrinth of thoughts, he became aware of a repetitive sort of sound that couldn’t be attributed to the sound of the water pipes up above. Grabbing his bag, Connor tried to move towards the locker room as quietly as he could. Fear wasn’t something that ran in his blood- not fear of noises anyways.

Connor stopped just by the doorway. His grip tightened around the handle of his bag, as though he could swing it in self-defense. Most days, he paid more attention to his legs than his upper body. One of the upperclassmen- Chowder, he thinks their name was- had mentioned something about Coaches Murray and Hall being strict about workout regimens. That was the kind of infringement that Connor didn’t quite appreciate, though he understood why it’d be important. With bated breath, he whirled around and nearly stumbled into the locker room.

“Hello, Connor!”

“Tony?” he replied in surprise before quickly correcting himself. “I mean, Tango?” The nickname culture was still something he was trying to get used to. Prior to coming to Samwell, he had simply gone by Connor or, more rarely, ‘Con.’ The others on the team, however, were insistent on giving him a new nickname; he’d be damned if it was something silly like ‘Whiskers’ or even ‘Whiskey.’

“I don’t even like the taste of whiskey.”

“You’re on the floor.”

Tango’s eyebrows shot up as though he were surprised by this observation. “I was pretty much done anyways!” he answered as he got back on his feet. “Did you want some privacy? My stall’s over there anyways; I just like the airflow from the vent here and-”

“Hold on.” Connor sliced his hand through the air, his lips tight as he tried to keep his expression neutral. “Done with what, exactly?” It was only then he noticed that Tango had something in his hand that was also looped around his wrist.

With that, Tango simply opened up his fisted hand to reveal a rosary, its glassy blue beads refracting the overhead light. “Praying- I try to get a decade or two in before practices.” When Connor didn’t immediately respond, he started to explain. “Oh, it’s a rosary- Catholics use it to pray and we count along the beads, but we start here with the crucifix-”

“I know what a rosary is, Tango,” Connor quickly interjected before he got a Sunday school crash course. “I was just, I don’t know, surprised, I guess. To see you, you know…” He gestured at the part of the locker room floor where the other man was just kneeling.

To his surprise, Tango didn’t seem quite upset by his rather abrupt response. Instead, he simply ran his fingers over the beads before looking back up at Connor. “I didn’t scare you, did I? I’m just used to being the first one in a locker room since my dad was responsible for maintaining the rink back home.”

“No… Look, can I ask you something that’s probably a bit personal?”

“Of course! What is it?”

Connor sighed as he looked up at the vent Tango had mentioned earlier. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he began, a sentence starter that was rarely, if ever, followed by an easy question. “Why here, why now? You could always go into Boston on Sunday.”

As the words left Connor’s lips, there was an aching at the back of his mind. He knew exactly why Tango would be praying the rosary. It was as if he couldn’t believe himself- the truth sounded like an utter lie when he said it.

Doubt, he had been told all his life, could not coexist with faith. In fact, it was the absence of faith. Connor wondered if the priests back home just had a script to follow when it came to quelling uncertainties about the hows and whys of Catholicism.

“You know in your heart that the teaching is clear.

Faith in the Father has led your soul here.

Bear up the cross, let the Church be your spine.

Don’t question too much,

And you’ll get along fine.”

Eighteen years of being told to follow, obey, and believe had caused Connor to falter in all three aspects. Actually, scratch that- it was easy to follow. Perhaps too easy at times. He went to Mass every Sunday because his whole family went- one had to be on their deathbed to miss out. Knowing his family, they’d even wheel him in and park said bed in the aisle during the Mass.

Obeying was similar in most respects. Connor knew the rules and why his family insisted they follow them. That was the difference, really- to obey was to intentionally follow, to be mindful of why the rules are what they are. Funnily enough, he had to look into the history of the Church’s customs to understand their context. The priest at his home parish always glossed over those in favour of condemning the ways of the world in his homilies.

To believe… that was the hardest part of his faith. Catholicism, like so much of life, was full of self-contradictions. Having existed for over two millennia, such was inevitable. Yet rather than try to reconcile the conflicting doctrines, the faithful were expected to accept it all as God’s will.

“What good is it to blindly accept it and believe? Do you really have faith if you don’t know who or what you’re putting your faith in? Not that I could ever ask that out loud- those would be grounds for excommunication. Or worse, rejection from my family.”

It seemed that Tango was also deep in thought because it was only now that he gave an answer. “I know I could pray at church, but why not make use of my free time right now?” He gestured to the still, empty locker room. “Everyone’s got their pregame rituals, their ways to clear their minds. Mine just happens to be prayer.”

“How can you believe in something that doesn’t make sense, in something that condemns people for things they can’t control?” Connor could feel a hauntingly familiar tightening in his chest and his throat. To keep his hands from shaking, he balled them up into fists, his nails digging into his palms. The thoughts bouncing around his head were no longer under his tight mental control- it was as if Connor was now feeling everything he’d been bottling up for so long all at once. “It doesn’t fucking make sense!”

Tango, by virtue of him being, well, Tango, was probably preparing to ask a question. So Connor steeled himself in preparation so that he wouldn’t end up lashing out at his teammate. His own questions about their apparent shared faith were already volatile enough, so he wouldn’t be surprised if Tango was offended by his language and gave him the cold shoulder from now on.

Yet, instead, Tango took Connor’s hand and just gave it a gentle squeeze. “I know it doesn’t make sense- if the Church couldn’t figure it out after two thousand years, they probably never will.” He looked up to meet Connor’s eyes. “There’s not a lot I’m sure about, Connor. But I know that praying helps calm me down. That and going to Mass are just things my family has always done- so I guess it’s like bringing a part of home with me?”

“Part of home,” Connor echoed as he reached into his bag and pulled out the rosary his Mamá had packed into his belongings before he left Arizona. The dark green glass of the beads were almost black in the shadow of his fingers, but the medal of St. Sebastian at its center seemed to sparkle nonetheless. “Jesus, I- wait, no, shouldn’t have said that. I just- I haven’t really prayed this in so long. Most of the time, I just followed my family when they moved their fingers.”

Tango’s eyes went wide as he looked at the rosary in Connor’s hand. “Woah, did you get that for your first communion too?”

“Uh… probably?

“Me too! Unless this was my confirmation rosary… or maybe it was my graduation rosary? What is it with relatives and giving rosaries as presents?”

Connor shrugged, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re telling me- my abuela gets everyone in the family a rosary every Christmas, Easter, and September 8th. Somehow, she hasn’t bought any duplicates so far.”

“My aunt makes them with string and those plastic beads little kids use to make art- like this!” Tango gestured to a bead lizard that was hanging off the side of his own hockey bag. “I can’t even imagine how long it takes her to make them for all of my cousins…”

Instead of using the extra time on their hands to get changed, Connor and Tango ended up sitting together in the former’s stall, just talking about their families and lives before Samwell. For Tango, it seemed that praying the rosary was less about delving into his connection with God, but rather, about keeping his connection with his family.

If Connor were a philosophy or theology major, he’d be tempted to say that those things were one and the same.

As Bitty called everyone out to the ice to begin practice, Connor took one last look at his rosary, now hanging from a hook in his stall. Even if he wasn’t any closer to understanding the faith he’d been raised in, he at least had a friend to take this journey with.

⁂

Sundays, according to Bitty, were generally free days for the Samwell Men’s Hockey team unless they made it to the playoffs. So the following week, Connor met Tango in the South Quad early in the morning before heading into the suburbs around the university. He was thankful for the rows of trees that lined the campus sidewalks- it was always gross to sweat through his dress shirt.

Mass at the parish of Our Lady of the Incarnation didn’t start until 11:00 AM, so after they sat in one of the pews, Tango pulled down the kneeler. With a nod from his new friend, Connor fished into his pocket and took out the beads his mother had packed in his belongings.

“Go for it, Whiskey.”

His rosary, once a foreign, almost unnerving memento, now felt intimately familiar in his hand. He pulled out a small paper from his other pocket and began to read it, the pewter crucifix held reverently between his thumb and pointer finger.

“En el nombre del Padre, y del Hijo y del Espíritu Santo. Amén. Creo en Dios, Padre todopoderoso, creador del cielo y de la tierra…”

#omg check please #connor whisk #Tony tangredi #whiskey x tango #my writing

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randomnumbers751650 · 4 years ago

Text

Long, unedited text in which I rant about comparative mythology, Joseph Campbell and his monomyth,

Back in 2012 I wanted to improve my fiction writing (and writing in general, because in spite of nuances, themes and audience, writing a fiction and a nonfiction piece shouldn’t be that different) and thus I picked a few writing manuals. Many of them cited the Hero’s Journey, and how important it became for writers – after all Star Wars used and it worked. I believe most of the people reading this like Star Wars, or at least has neutral feelings about it, but one thing that cannot be denied is that became a juggernaut of popular culture.

So I bought a copy of the Portuguese translation of The Hero of a Thousand Faces and I fell in love with the style. Campbell had a great way with words and the translation was top notch. For those unaware, The Hero of a Thousand Faces proposes that there is a universal pattern in humanity’s mythologies that involves a person (usually a man) that went out into a journey far away from his home, faced many obstacles, both external and internal, and returned triumphant with a prize, the Grail or the Elixir of Life, back to his home. Campbell’s strength is that he managed to systematize so many different sources into a single cohesive narrative.

At the time I was impressed and decided to study more and write in an interdisciplinary research with economics – by writing an article on how the entrepreneur replaces the mythical hero in today’s capitalism. I had to stop the project in order to focus on more urgent matters (my thesis), but now that I finished I can finally return to this pet project of mine.

If you might have seen previous posts, I ended up having a dismal view of economics. It’s a morally and spiritually failed “science” (I have in my drafts a post on arts and I’m going to rant another day about it). Reading all these books on comparative mythology is so fun because it allows me for a moment to forget I have a degree in economics.

Until I started to realize there was something wrong.

My research had indicated that Campbell and others (such as Mircea Eliade and Carl Gust Jung, who had been on of Campbell’s main influences) weren’t very well respected in academia. At first I thought “fine”, because I’m used to interact with economists who can be considered “heterodox” and I have academic literature that I could use to make my point, besides the fact my colleagues were interested in what I was doing.

The problem is that this massive narrative of the Hero’s Journey/monomyth is an attempt to generalize pretty wide categories, like mythology, into one single model of explanation, it worked because it became a prescription, giving the writer a tool to create a story in a factory-like pace. It has checkboxes that can be filled, professional writers have made it widely available.

But I started to realize his entire understanding of mythology is problematic. First the basics: Campbell ignores when myths don’t fit his scheme. This is fruit of his Jungian influences, who claim that humanity has a collective unconsciousness, that manifest through masks and archetypes. This is the essence of the Persona games (and to a smaller extent of the Fate games) – “I am the Shadow the true self”. So any deviation from the monomyth can be justified by being a faulty translation of the collective unconsciousness.

This is the kind of thing that Karl Popper warned about, when he proposed the “falseability” hypothesis, to demarcate scientific knowledge. The collective unconsciousness isn’t a scientific proposition because it can be falsified. It cannot be observed and it cannot be refuted, because someone who subscribe to this doctrine will always have an explanation to explain why it wasn’t observed. In spite of falseability isn’t favored by philosophers of science anymore, it remains an important piece of the history of philosophy and he aimed his attack on psychoanalysis of Freud and Jung – and, while they helped psychology in the beginning, they’re like what Pythagoras is to math. They were both surpassed by modern science and they are studied more as pieces of history than serious theorists.

But this isn’t the worst. All the three main authors on myths were quite conservatives in the sense of almost being fascists – sometimes dropping the ‘almost’. Some members of the alt-right even look up to them as some sort of “academic’ justification. Not to mention anti-Semitic. Jung had disagreement with Freud and Freud noticed his anti-Semitism. Eliade was a proud supporter of the Iron Guard, a Romanian fascist organization that organized pogroms and wanted to topple the Romanian government. Later Eliade became an ambassador at Salazar’s Fascist Portugal, writing it was a government guided by the love of God. Campbell, with his hero worship, was dangerously close to the ur-fascism described by Umberto Eco (please read here, you won’t regret https://www.pegc.us/archive/Articles/eco_ur-fascism.pdf).

“If you browse in the shelves that, in American bookstores, are labeled as New Age, you can find there even Saint Augustine who, as far as I know, was not a fascist. But combining Saint Augustine and Stonehenge – that is a symptom of Ur-Fascism.”

Campbell did that a lot. He considered the Bible gospels and Gnostic gospels to be on the same level. Any serious student, that is not operating under New Age beliefs and other frivolous theories like the one that says Jesus went to India, will know there’s a difference between them (even Eliade was sure to stress the difference).

But Campbell cared nothing for it. He disliked the “semitic” religions for corrupting the mythic imagination (which is the source of his anti-Semitism), especially Judaism. When I showed him describing the Japanese tea ceremony to a friend who’s minoring in Japanese studies, she wrote “I’m impressed, he’s somehow managed to out-purple prose the original Japanese”. So, it’s also full of orientalism, treating the East as the mystical Other, something for “daring” Westerners to discover and distillate.

What disturbed…no, “disturbed” isn’t the word that I need in the moment, but what made me feel uncomfortable is that, in spite of all his talk of spirituality, the impression I had of Power of Myth is that I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone more materialist than him. Not even Karl Marx, founder of the Historical Materialism, was as materialist as Campbell.

At one point in the book, he was asked if he believed in anything and he gave a dismissive reply and said “I want to get experiences.” A man who studied all the myths of the world available, apparently didn’t believe in anything. Is that what spiritual maturity is? A continuous flux of experiences? Being taken by some sort of shamanistic wind like a floating plastic bag?

In nowhere in the interview he talked about virtues. In rebellion with his Catholic childhood, he said that we should go to the confessionary and say “God, I’ve been such a good boy”. Any cursory reading of the Gospel would say otherwise. Wasn’t this exactly Pharisee’s prayer in Luke 18:9-14? While the wasn’t the publican, who went with humility and asked for forgiveness, the one who walked out with an experience? And not only in Christianity, since in Tibetan Buddhism, a tulpa is something you have to kill, not foster like an imaginary friend like in some internet circles, contamined with this obsession with experiences.

The way I came to see Joseph Campbell as a man who was so stuck in his own world that nothing could move him out of it. All he wanted to do was this big experience, but in the end it’s as wide as the ocean, but shallow as a puddle. Even when Campbell speaks about having a “cosmic consciousness”, all that New Age jargon, claiming it’s about people discovering they’re not the center of the universe, it’s still so…self-servicing. It addresses a crowd so obsessed with experiences, but wants nothing to do with anything that requires compromise. He quotes the Hindu concept of maya, that life is an illusion, but I wonder how right he is about it.

I want to share this critique, by a researcher in comic studies: “We do not remember The Night Gwen Stacy Died because Gwen’s death reminds us of our own mortality, ‘the destiny of Everyman’, but because the story exposes the fragility of Spider-Man reader’s fantasies. Even icons can die.”

The exposition of the fragility of myths, especially the Hero’s Journey, never happens in Campbell’s work. It never talks about the potential of myths hindering entire societies, causing strife and causing people who can’t fit to become outcasts. Not even the cruel ones, like the Aztec death cult is treated as sublime, ignoring the fact that the Aztec neighbors helped to Spanish because they had enough of the Aztec myth.

I have changed my article. While I will still write on the hero entrepreneur, I’ll take a more critical view. The focus of the entrepreneur as an individual has many issues, because it ignores the role of public investment (necessary for high risk enterprises, like going to the moon or creating touch screens) and it treats with contempt the worked wage. Cambpell also treated with contempt the “masses”, who cannot be “heroes”. The theory on the entrepreneur is the same, treating the entrepreneur as a hero and the waged workers as lowlifes who have nothing to do, but to work, obey and be paid – to the point it feels like some economists treat strikes as crimes worse than murder. Not only that, but they can exploit the worker (see a book named “Do what you love and other lies about success and happiness”, it could be replaced with “Follow your bliss…”).

Campbell wrote in a time that there was no Wikipedia. So his book was the introduction of myths to a lot of people. It helped it was well-written. He considering his approach apolitical, but it’s clear that’s it’s not exactly like that (though this is a reason why Jordan Peterson failed to become the next Campbell, since he’s also a Jungian scholar, but he tried to become a conservative guru and this was his downfall). And, nowadays, Campbell is still inevitable in the circles that his themes matter, unlike Freud and Jung. Read it, but be aware of its problems, because it has already influenced what you consume.

#my rants #this is just a rant #so don't take it as a final word #sources can be provided on request

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apparitionism · 5 years ago

Text

Run

This is a pointless AU, a little idea from elsewhere that’s in the process of turning into a story-esque thing, not a comedy or a drama as such, just a “here’s another way two people might find their way to each other” tale. Also I’ve never deployed a Giselle character, really, and I figured I might as well try. She’s not a bad guy, mind you, nor even an obstacle; the only obstacles, at base, are misunderstandings and circumstances. Conventional ones. They might accurately be called clichéd. Anyway, this is some kind of starting line. Bang. (That’s meant to be a starter’s pistol, by the way; don’t be getting any ideas.)

Run

At four in the morning, Myka Bering sat three steps from the bottom of the dark staircase in her apartment’s foyer and pushed her feet into new running shoes. They looked like nothing special: a standard navy blue faux leather, with their manufacturer’s stylized “Z” logo embossed in silver on the sides. The pristine white of both the slim soles and the no-tie laces pleased her, despite the fact that their just-out-of-the-box luster would of course start graying at the first exposure to the city.

Myka stood up in the shoes and bounced on her toes, her ritual commencement of every day’s run.

The instant her heels left the ground, she understood just how difficult her life was about to become.

For this decidedly unspecial-seeming shoe—the Deceit—represented the latest attempt by the Zelus athletic corporation to gain an insurmountable advantage in the sport of running.

Myka’s job was to stop them.

At her desk at work later that morning, Myka revised, for accuracy, her overly dramatic thought of the morning: a small part of her job was to help stop them. Her actual job was to co-direct certification and compliance for Athletics Authority International, the globe-spanning organization that governed running, jumping, and throwing events. The organization regularly dealt with issues of equipment inappropriately boosting performance; thus Deceits, understood one way—nondramatically—were just the latest technological challenge to the idea of a level playing field.

But based on her morning’s run, Myka did not think Deceits could be understood nondramatically.

“Did you try the Deceits yet?” she asked Pete Lattimer, her co-directing partner. They had taken to joking that in their area, he was the “athletics”—an Olympic-team-alternate decathlete—while she was the “international,” for she’d got her job based largely on her wide-ranging language fluency. Myka suspected that today, athletics aside, his answer would be “no”; they’d received the shipment of test shoes only a few days ago, and Pete was focusing more on language than sports lately anyway, Duolingo-ing his heart out in Spanish so as to one day be able to impress Kelly Hernandez, head of Latin American outreach, such that she would first agree to go to lunch with him and then, swayed partially by his language skills but mostly by his charm, acknowledge that they were destined to spend their lives together. Myka wasn’t at all sure Kelly was going to persuaded by Pete’s bilingual (or “bilingual”) flirting... though he was also concentrating heavily on vocabulary related to sandwiches, so he’d probably end up with at least a food-related happy ending.

“Nah,” he said, confirming her prediction about the shoes. “I’m guessing you must’ve, though. They as crazy as those trials records make ’em seem?”

“Crazier,” Myka said. “To me. But I want to know how they really feel. To a real athlete.”

“Somebody needs a real athlete? I see why Lattimer’s not up to it,” remarked a tall woman as she approached Myka’s desk. Myka looked up and smiled.

“Same goes for you, Giselle,” Pete said, but with cheer. “How’s communications?”

“Turn those children over my knee if I could,” Giselle replied, equally cheerful. “That’s where you can help: how’s your javelin these days?”

“Why don’t you just run away? I thought you were supposed to be fast or something.”

Giselle Wade was fast—Myka knew it, and she knew Pete knew it too. Giselle was a legend in East Texas, where she had shattered high school track records, particularly at the longer distances. She’d done the same to NCAA times, placing some out of reach for what would probably be generations. U.S. bests had fallen to her too, though worlds had been elusive... but she had some impressive Olympic hardware all the same.

“Outran you,” Giselle said, which was true; her 1500-meter times were faster than Pete’s had ever been.

They would have gone on for a while before they wound down, but their jabs gave Myka the opening she needed. “Speaking of running,” she said to Giselle, “did you try the Deceits?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“And exactly what you think,” Giselle said. Before Myka could get her to clarify, she went on, “And this very morning I heard Zelus wants to push a version with spikes for sprinters.”

Myka objected, “But the thin soles!” Sole height was a major issue. The Deceit’s predecessor shoe, the Zelus Induct—which had also given runners a clear advantage—had been recognizable due to its oversized sole, packed with lightweight foam, that effectively lengthened a runner’s legs. The sole contained within the foam a carbon plate that acted as a spring, enabling a stride that used less leg energy and thus translated into distance runners having more kick over an entire race. AAI had rapidly banned that shoe, but the Deceit upped the ante because it somehow managed to do all the Induct’s dirty work, and apparently even more, in a standard-sized sole. Sprinters’ soles were basically flat, though, so how could the foam and plates fit? Not to mention: “Why would Zelus want to start a fight on another front?”

“Some other company rolls out skinny little cheat spikes first if Zelus doesn’t get on it? Old story about the toothpaste and the tube? You know.” Giselle shrugged. “All we can do is try to slow it down.”

“Ha!” Pete barked. “I see what you did there! Slow it down! Fast shoes!”

Giselle shook her head and murmured “that man” mostly to herself, but a little bit to Myka, who nodded in sympathy a commensurate little bit. Then Giselle said, “Thank sweet Jesus I don’t have to run in Deceits or against them. Glad I’m out of that part of it now.”

“I’m glad I was never in it,” Myka said.

“You know you got the discipline,” Giselle said. She’d told Myka this before.

It was a real compliment, but: “I don’t have the gift,” Myka responded, as she had in the past.

“Discipline counts. Makes up for a lot.”

“Those Deceits do too,” Myka said. “I barely even broke a sweat this morning.”

“That’s a shame.”

Myka offered a “huh?” expression, though she was pretty sure she knew what was coming.

“You, all hot and sweaty?” And Giselle sighed, a parody of infatuation. “Yes indeed...”

Myka rolled her eyes, and then they both laughed. It was a ritual: Giselle “flirted,” Myka “suffered,” they laughed.

Some months ago, not long after Giselle had been brought on board by AAI, she’d asked Myka out.

“I have a boyfriend,” Myka had said, because that was what she almost always said, as a learned reflex, in situations like that.

“Well,” Giselle said. “Look at me, getting the wrong impression. Sorry, Myka. Guess we’ll keep it professional.”

Giselle tended to put a drag on the last word of every sentence, a vocal habit that kept a listener hanging: would she say more? It might or might not have been intentional, but it was effective, particularly when combined with her linger of a Texas drawl. Thus her “professional” came out “pro... fess... io... nal.” Myka half-expected her to follow up with “or not.”

“Well,” Myka said back, when it became apparent that no more was in fact forthcoming, “not totally professional. We can still get coffee, right?” Because she did like Giselle.

Ah, there it was: Giselle gave her a still-flirty head toss and said, “Not to make the same mistake twice, but I did ‘get coffee’ with a lady one time and it turned into three days in Monaco. So we’ll see...”

Myka rolled her eyes, but then she laughed, and Giselle did too: the start of the ritual.

That should have been that.

But an international athletic governing body was apparently like every other semi-hermetically sealed social environment: a school, a team, a lab. Things got around. Mere hours after that conversation—which, granted, had taken place in the 40th-floor elevator lobby, the transit funnel for every employee of AAI, which occupied the entirety of that skyscraper level—Pete had marched back into their area from lunch and confronted Myka with, “I heard Giselle asked you out.”

Myka had tried not to respond, because really, what was there to say?

He went on, “And I heard you told her you have a boyfriend, which is what you said way back in history when I asked you out.”

“History? That was less than two years ago.”

“Anyway, I heard she believed you. Just like I did.”

“That was the idea. With her and with you.”

“I still don’t see why you didn’t just say ‘Pete, I don’t want to go out with you.’ It would’ve been fine.”

“I’d barely met you. I had no idea if you’d be a decent guy about it.”

“But I am a decent guy. About everything! So it would’ve been fine.”

“But I didn’t know you were a decent guy.” She had barely started at AAI; all she’d known about Pete Lattimer was that he’d been a decent decathlete. And that was no help at all, for every new coworker she met was a former Olympian or member of some national team or at least a famous ex-coach. It all made her feel as if she had no business working for the organization in the first place. They should have said that “athletic” was a requirement... each successive introduction seemed to drum with more force into her that a law degree and several languages were nothing against a sub-four mile.

Given that insecurity, she hadn’t needed any additional inputs or variables, so when Pete had said, “We should get dinner after work sometime,” she’d said what she almost always said, as a learned reflex, in situations like that. It had become a reflex because regardless of any other complicating circumstances—such as a new job where her body itself didn’t belong—it was easier. It was almost always easier than whatever might follow her saying anything else.

Pete said, “You didn’t know I was a decent guy, so you lied about having a boyfriend. And now you’ve lied about it again.”

She’d winced at the word “lied.” It was accurate, but she didn’t like it. Then you probably shouldn’t do it, her conscience told her. She told it to shut up. Then she told Pete, “I know that and you know that. Giselle doesn’t need to know that.”

“But you already like her better than you would’ve ever liked me.” At that, Myka started to protest, but he waved her off. “You know I mean because she’s a lady. Why didn’t you say you have a girlfriend?”

Speaking of what was easier: “boyfriend” was easier than “girlfriend.” It raised fewer questions, and it raised fewer... thoughts. And that was easier too.

It was supposed to raise fewer thoughts, anyway.

Fortunately, Pete hadn’t waited for an answer, or for Myka to start thinking any thoughts, instead moving on to what he clearly found most important: “And lady-wise, don’t you think she’s hot? I think she’s hot.”

Myka sighed. “Yes, I think she’s hot. In fact I know she’s hot. I have eyes.”

“So go out with her. She’s hot, you’re hot. Sizzle!”

“I just don’t want to.”

“Then why didn’t you go ahead and tell her that? Do you think she isn’t a decent guy?”

“Pretty sure she’s not a guy at all,” Myka had said, trying to joke him into just... stopping.

She didn’t want to get into the complicated conversation that would have ensued if she’d admitted to having genuinely, if fleetingly, regretted her reflex—because he certainly wasn’t wrong about Giselle being a woman, and he double-certainly wasn’t wrong about her looks. She was stunning; she’d had that wildly successful athletic career, then transitioned with seemingly no friction at all into modeling, at which she was even more wildly successful. Her legs were as long as the miles she used to run, and Myka was certainly, in that sense, human.

But Giselle had already developed a reputation at AAI, despite her brief tenure, for what could charitably be called a... short attention span. Maybe it was the inevitable result of her having been able to have just about anything—and anyone—she wanted, in not one but two elevated realms, or maybe it had always been Giselle’s personality as a romantic socializer, but while Myka had no trouble observing it from the outside, as a characteristic of her friend Giselle, she didn’t particularly want to be subjected to it. What if she slipped and overinvested? Exactly the kind of difficulty she didn’t need, regardless of any other complicating circumstances. Exactly the kind of difficulty she had never needed, and if she had slipped and fallen into it in the past? Well, that was the past, and she certainly didn’t need to revisit any part of that, much less repeat it.

These months later, however, some days Myka had a vague sense that a day should come when she should talk herself into telling Giselle she didn’t have a (nonexistent) boyfriend anymore. A day, that was to say, when she should ask for Giselle’s attention, if only for a short span. It seemed normal, human, to think that a short span of time, even if it led to a complicating slip and overinvestment, might—should?—be better than nothing, and so some days, Myka tried to want to talk herself into that.

But on different days, she’d think, definitively, I don’t want to. Because talking herself into it felt dishonest. Even if Giselle subscribed solely to Pete’s “she’s hot, you’re hot; sizzle” theory of the case, even if both of them might have enjoyed much of that short span of time: dishonest. Inauthentic. Deceitful.

“You’re not very good at having fun, are you?” Pete had asked her once, when she’d told him, in response to his sincere inquiry, that she had never actually dreamed of having Disneyland all to herself for a day. She’d agreed that no, she really wasn’t very good at having fun, and he’d said, “You need to get out more. Maybe not to Disney, but you need to get out more.”

You need to get out more. She’d laughed at him, because the most out she ever got, away from work, was for her 4am run. That, she could talk herself into without feeling dishonest at all. Far from it: she reveled in the discipline required for that strict self-persuasion every day, which was probably why she’d found that she could, ultimately, work well—reasonably well—with athletes. Athletics at its highest level was discipline, and Giselle and Pete and most of the others could see that Myka got that, even had that, as Giselle kept telling her.

But as Myka always told Giselle in return (not that Giselle needed telling), for real athletes, that discipline had to be kissed by the divine, and Myka had no access to such physical divinity. None at all. She was an exercise runner, lowest of the low in terms of athletic esteem. She knew because that was how the athletes said it, with a twist of pity: exercise runner. That was what she was, and she knew it.

Until she ran in the Deceits.

They were named, of course, for their unassuming look and for the illicit advantage they gave the world-class athletes. But for Myka-the-unesteemed, they were differently deceptive: they made her feel like A Runner. Giselle and her peers had been born with the kind of legs these shoes changed Myka’s into, springing from the ground with power, creating a feeling of “this is my body; this is what it can do, and if I push, still more,” and miraculously—deceptively—there was still more it could be pushed to do. Myka felt like her body before the Deceits had been Clark Kent, like it had been waiting for the chance to reveal that it wore the suit and had superpowers, like this had always been how she could run.

It wasn’t real. But it felt real.

So she understood why Deceits were breaking records—speed records now, but eventually, they would break sales records, too.

She also understood, very clearly, that they should be banned.

Even for exercise runners like her: deceiving oneself, Myka felt, was worse than deceiving others, regardless of whether they were fellow competitors or the outside world in general. Just as she didn’t want to talk herself into Giselle, she didn’t want to run every morning in those shoes. If she did, that self-deception would become a habit of mind, and Myka deep-knew that being clear-eyed about oneself was essential. A moral duty, her inner rector told her, and even though she would probably have been happier to not live her life quite that ramrod-straight (to, for example, be better at having fun), it had been her thought as she’d begun that first run in the Deceits. She’d kept on thinking it, throughout her entire route, as she devoured the miles with her newly athletic strides. Clear-eyed, mor-al, du-ty. Right-left, right-left, right-left.

Administratively, the world of athletics moved at a speed inverse to that of the track. The relatively “rapid” ban of the Deceit’s predecessor had taken six months to work out and implement, so it was no surprise that several weeks elapsed before AAI even scheduled negotiations with Zelus reps over the new shoes. They would be delicate, the negotiations, for Zelus money was essential to the sport. It was imperative not to make any penalties too prohibitive or too “insulting” to the company or its affiliates. Could already-ratified world records set in Deceits be voided? Would that lead to Zelus-sponsored athletes boycotting competitions? Could Deceits be banned? Would that be at all enforceable?

Myka knew that Dan Badger, the president and CEO of AAI, would be scrutinizing everything she and Pete and their team proposed. Newly appointed to show that AAI was turning a regulatory corner, he had made clear that his watchword was “integrity,” and that applied not only to the sport as a whole, but to every athlete who participated in it, every piece of equipment they touched, every employee under his purview, every official action they took. Unofficial actions, too: there was, as far as Myka could tell, no ethical give in Badger’s worldview. Where prior heads might have made a handshake deal of some sort with Zelus’s own CEO with regard to the Deceits—and Myka suspected something along those lines had occurred for the Inducts, most likely involving a wink-nod to the already-in-the-pipelines Deceits—Badger would have considered the mere suggestion of such a thing a personal affront.

“Why doesn’t Badge like you more?” Pete once asked Myka. “You’re exactly like him.” Myka wasn’t, in fact, exactly like him, for Badger was an athlete’s athlete, a hurdling champion from a decades-ago golden age of British track and field. That gilded aura was a carapace around him, deflecting whatever might have been directed his way from beings he considered lesser, including nonathletes like Myka. It wasn’t actively insulting or cruel, just... clear. The athletes called him “Badge,” among themselves and to his face, while Myka had the sense that if she uttered that collegial syllable, no one, and certainly not the man himself, would even perceive that any sound had escaped her lips.

Pete wasn’t entirely wrong, though; Myka had enough consonance with Badger that she couldn’t quite bring herself to resent him. His absolutely unimpeachable reputation was supplemented by the fact that he looked exactly as an athletic lion of his age and era should: face appropriately tanned for health and creased for character, hair silver and full, height calibrated as if to the millimeter to be imposing but not incongruous. He was the ideal figurehead for an organization that wanted to burnish its standing as a virtuous guardian of all that was competitively good in athletics.

In the end, Myka’s own inclinations aligned with her need to fulfill Badger’s expectations, yet neither she nor he could change the underlying economics of the sport. She might have been moved, under other circumstances, to restore her single-run-sullied Deceits to their silver Zelus box and push that box to the back of her closet, but instead she spent an inordinate amount of time looking at them. Was there any way at all to tell, just by looking, that they could do what they did?

Enforcement was a matter of measurement and testing, but these shoes were a drug for which no test existed. AAI had hired a group of materials engineers to take them apart, so Myka now knew how they did what they did: even newer foam, plus two carbon plates, set at angles to each other. They really might as well have been springs—invisible to the outside-shoe naked eye, but springs all the same.

AAI could nominally ban double-plate soles, but it couldn’t possibly dismantle every Zelus runner’s footwear at every event to ensure that the ban was being respected. Myka saw no way out other than to ban Zelus shoes across the board (for she’d been thinking, too, of what Giselle had said about spikes), but that brought her back to financial impossibility. And around she went again. And again. And again.

Fortunately or unfortunately, the rest of athletics administration proceeded without heed for Deceits, no matter how long Myka stared at them, no matter how many negotiating scenarios she tried, unfruitfully, to game out. Meets and championships and trials all continued, requiring level upon level of authorization and accompanying paperwork...

One morning, Myka was concentrating, squint-eyed, on a spreadsheet when she felt a tap on her shoulder. “Pete,” she began, still squinting at her screen, “I told you if I don’t approve the new certification tables for posting this morning—”

“I’m so sorry,” said an English-accented female voice, “but I’m not Pete. And I seem to be lost.”

Myka looked up. No, you’re not, was her first thought, which resolved into: You’re not Pete, and you’re not lost. You belong right here.

TBC

A few notes, just because:

I made up the governing body; it’s intended to be vaguely like the real organization World Athletics (formerly IAAF), which determines what’s allowable in track and field competition, but I’m not trying to replicate its structure at all. Further, the actual organization maintains that it doesn’t consult with shoe companies before making regulatory decisions... whether you believe that claim is of course entirely up to you.

Two passages from Freud’s Civilization and Its Discontents are in some sense guiding my thinking here (because I’m like that). The first is this: “Man has, as it were, become a kind of prosthetic God. When he puts on all his auxiliary organs he is truly magnificent; but these organs have not grown on to him and they still give him much trouble at times.” He’s talking about cars and eyeglasses and such things, but obviously the idea is applicable to athletic tech. An idea from a little earlier in the book seems relevant as well: “What we call happiness in the strictest sense comes from the (preferably sudden) satisfaction of needs which have been dammed up to a high degree, and it is from its nature only possible as an episodic phenomenon.” Right? We’ll see about that latter part though, Dr. Freud.

Finally, as that rude anon suggested some months ago, I’m obviously speaking to a community that’s mostly inactive now. But I’m a keeper of faith: one of the things I do best is wait. So one point of this story is that it exists. I’m waiting. C’mon and wait with me, if you like.

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #Run #AU week

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