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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 4 years ago

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Never Mess With a School Teacher

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Collection/Series: Western AU- Putting Down Roots

Pairing: Sheriff Din Djarin x Female Teacher Reader

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Rating: M

Warnings: Violence, oh my god, the violence. Also swearing, derogatory language. Threat of violence towards kids, but no actual violence, all violence is actually centred on the adults.

Summary: He curses himself for getting so complacent, soft, it shouldn’t be this hard to chase down a thief. The thief should never even have made it to the steps of the schoolhouse, let alone inside. Luckily for your kids, an angry school teacher is worse than a pissed off sheriff.

Notes: Someone said they wanted angst...well, I have delivered angst and fluff, hurt and comfort in one piece.

Archiveofourown

Generally speaking Din’s job as sheriff had been pretty quiet and tame. An easy job. Navarro did not get a lot of crime and generally speaking the only people in his cells were the few regulars at the saloon who always got a little bit too indulgent with their alcohol and then started fighting over whichever girl they’d both decided they wanted that night. He hadn’t dealt with a murder, rape or assault his whole time here. He hadn’t dealt with major crime, not even horse theft. His life had become relatively...domestic and safe, compared to his previous. He’d gone from hunting down some of the most dangerous criminals around to simply wrangling a couple of drunks on a night and the occasional robber who tried his hand at a petty crime.

He liked to think he was a competent sheriff, that part of the reason for the quiet was that he was just that good, the truth was in a small mining town nothing much happened. So he’d never had to worry, not about Grogu or about you or about the little ones you taught or any member of town. You were as safe as you could be. Navarro was probably one of the safest places around, it made his job as sheriff a damn sight easier that’s for sure.

“Osik! Kolar! Get over here!” Which is why he’s feeling a little more winded than he used to when he runs through the centre of town after a lousy thief waving a gun in one hand and a bag of stolen credits from the mayor’s office in the other. He can feel a stitch pulling in his side and his knees don’t feel like they used to.

He hasn’t had to run like this in a couple months, not since moving into town and perhaps he should have been going on daily runs because he’s feeling his age all of sudden. It shouldn’t be this hard to catch up to the guy, he’s not even that fast and he runs like a donkey’s shebs, all arms flailing about and no sense of his own centre of gravity. If he could just reach him then he’d be easy to tackle to the ground. Din was at least twice his size and even with that damn cattleman revolver being waved about he’d be easy to take on. But, of course Din’s getting old and of course he’s been complacent, not been working himself as hard as he should have been. Of course he feels like he’s about to bust a lung just from running for 5 minutes. He feels older than his years all of a sudden and can’t understand how he used to chance criminals down all the time with success.

He pushes his legs even harder when he realises the direction the thief is going in, “Haar’chak!” He hasn’t sworn this much in months, but he recognises the path towards the school and it’s the middle of the day. School is in session and he wants to just grab the guy before he causes more trouble. He has images of you standing at the front of class, radiant and warm, turning to fear as the man storms in. The thought makes him try harder.

“Get you’re fucking no good ass back here! Boy, don’t make me shoot you!” He’s reaching for his gun at about the same time as the schoolhouse comes into view and Din can feel all the blood draining from his face, fear gripping his heart tighter than any lasso at the thought that you’re in there, the little ones are in there and this di’kut is about to go storming in with a goddamn gun.

“I said don’t make me shoot you!” He’s got the gun out now, his trusty pistol, not his preferred rifle, but he’d left that in the sheriff’s office in a rush after hearing yelling and a commotion he wasn’t used to. He’s never leaving it behind again he decides, this has been a wake-up call, he’s gotten lazy, complacent, too soft. This town has damn near domesticated him. He needs to keep himself in shape and his wits about him if he wants to be a decent sheriff. Maybe he’ll telegram Cara, get her to come back him up as deputy or Paz, whichever wants the quiet town life more.

He hesitates because of his recent domestication, his increased softness of heart...because if he shoots he’ll put a bullet in your schoolhouse and he knows it could go straight through, could hit one of you inside. But, mostly because he knows how much you care about that damn schoolhouse and he can’t bring it in him to damage it knowing you’d be devastated. Paz would laugh at him if he saw him now, tell him he needed to pull his trousers up and get on with the job. He’s never been very good at that. He curses kicking a rock nearby as the thief runs straight through the schoolhouse door with you inside.

He’s panicking, he can feel it well in his chest, clutching at his throat and he’s not sure what to do. If he storms in it’ll be a mess, little kids and you, all at risk, but if he stays outside he can’t do a damned thing. He can’t begin to imagine how you’re feeling in there, probably panicking, the kids are probably scared, that’s soon confirmed by the terrified little screams he can hear. There’s a panic inside and it just swells his own until he feels like he’s choking.

“Come out! Leave them the hell alone, boy! Do not test me!” They’re empty words because he can’t do a damned thing, but if that thief lays a hand on any of you he isn’t going to bring him in warm, he’ll be in a jail cell, cold, waiting for the coroner to come and collect him. That he’s certain of, a single hair out of place, a single bruise or mark and that man won’t be breathing for much longer.

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“It’s a well known fact that we’re all acted upon by a force we call gravity! Now gravity-” The door to the school slams open with a supreme force that shocks you so hard that you jump from your place at the front of the class, chalk falling from your hand in a perfect demonstration of the force you’d been discussing. The children react in an instant, jumping from their feet then all clamour towards you like a stampede of panicked animals and it is all you can do in that moment to grab the yardstick you use in mathematics and occasionally in science and hide it behind you.

He’s wild looking, the man who storms into your school. Bulging big eyes roaming over the lot of you with a snarl, almost foaming at the mouth with aggressive energy, gun clenched tightly in one hand. He’s red in the face, huffing and puffing from running from god knows where. You can hear Din outside, he’s cursing and blinding, you can hear the panic, you can taste your own on the back of your tongue like a sour candy, like cough candy, the ones your father used to love and you used to hate so desperately.

“Now, sir, I-”

“Shut up!” It’s in this moment you realise that you cannot deescalate this situation, this man is like a wild dog, he is ready to bite at the slightest sound or provocation and the children are your main concern.

Panic gives way to anger, that bitter resolve, that feeling of indignation at this man’s brazen act. That he felt he could come into your domain, your space, that he could threaten you and your children. That he could point a gun in their direction. It’s the gun that angers you the most, it’s not pointed at you, like any sane person would do, it’s not pointed at the one adult in the room, but at Jerome who is shaking so hard you can hear his teeth clattering together. He’s barely a boy of fourteen, not a threat in the slightest.

You wait, wait as he takes steps closer and closer, drown out the sound of Din’s panic outside, drown out the sounds of your own children, the adrenaline making you feel like your skin is buzzing, like you’ve touched an electric circuit, but there’s no electricity in the schoolhouse at all. You’re shaking, that’s just how much energy is buzzing within you, you’re shaking like a leaf on a windy November day and you can’t physically contain it, stop it.

When he’s mere feet from you, you lift your chin defiant and angry, mouth opening in a tirade of angry words, as you rush forward in what you’re sure would be a stupid act if you weren’t so desperate for him to ignore the children and focus on you.

“How dare you come into my school and threaten my children!” It’s almost a scream, you’re so angry, so scared, that you don’t even think when you pull the yardstick from behind your back and swing with both hands for the hand holding the gun. It connects and for a moment he fumbles, you’re sure the gun will fall from his hands, but he catches it at the last second.

His hand comes up, “You bitch!” and clocks you across the face with the butt of his gun. One hit, hard enough for your ears to start ringing. You can feel blood drip from your lip which stings as it splits itself open, your teeth clatter together and by some miracle you stay on your feet, swaying back and forth. The children have begun to cry behind you and you can hear the sounds of roaring anger from outside. Din’s voice, clamouring louder than you’ve ever heard it.

“You lay a hand on her and you’ll wish you never came to this town!” It’s too late for that you think, he’s already laid that hand and if Din doesn’t get to him first you’re determined to deal your own blows.

The yardstick is ripped from your palms and you’re sure for a moment that he’ll simply throw it away, out of reach but he doesn’t. Whatever anger he is feeling boils over and the slab of wood hits you in the stomach, the ribs, the back. A hit to the face has your nose bleeding, your jaw feels like it might be broken and your only thought is ‘stay up, stay standing’. Your only relief is that the attention is on you now and not the children.

“Nar’sheb!” You spit it out, the pronunciation is awful, but the one insult that Din had taught you tumbles from your lips, hoping to keep his attention on you, hoping the provocation gives Din some time to think, to plan. Even, if you feel like he might actually kill you, like he’s capable of it.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“I said shove it, you filthy nerfherder!” It’s enough of a push for him to grab you by the front of your blouse and pull you forward, one arm coming underneath your neck, hand gripping your jaw painfully tight, especially with how broken it already feels, no doubt his fingers are going to leave bruises, while the gun is pressed to your temple.

The fear comes back in full force this time as you hear the children crying louder at seeing you being abused, seeing a gun to your head. But you know you have to be strong because they are your children and you have to protect them, that’s your job, it’s your duty. So you’re almost relieved when he spits at you.

“Let’s go see that sheriff of yours, huh? He seems mighty concerned for you.” It relieves you because you’re beginning to move inch by inch towards the door and you know the older kids will take the younger ones out the back door, usher them quietly out of the schoolhouse and to somewhere safe. You can breathe easy because even if you die today those children are going to be safe, you’ll have done your job. The most important one. Keeping them safe.

He sees you first, you’re blinded by the light blinking at the midday sun, but, Din? He can see you clear and bright and he has never been so angry in all his life. Your lip is busted open, blood running down your chin, staining your white blouse, there are bruises over your jaw, your nose is leaking more red and he can see by the way you carry yourself that your ribs hurt. The thief’s dirty hands are on you, one clutching your jaw so tight that he can see the indentations his fingers make even from a distance away, the other holding that damn cattleman revolver to your head. It makes him want to beat the guy black and blue, forgoing guns, just give him his bare hands and he’ll ring the guy's neck. Just let him go absolutely feral on the man, let him tear him apart. Din clenches his hand tighter around his gun, the other tightening into a fist, he widens his stance. If it is to be a fight then that’s fine, so long as you’re not in the middle of it.

He looks scared. That’s the first thing you think when you see Din. He looks scared and angry, his gun is pointed but you know he won’t trust himself to shoot it, his brow furrowed, wet eyes, and teeth biting into his lip hard enough to bleed. He looks raging and scared and wild. This is a side of Din you have never seen, you are so used to the calm, the quiet, gentle Din. But, this Din doesn’t scare you, it fuels your fire again, that this man would make Din feel like that, that he would make this kind man scared and angry. You can feel that rage welling up, shaking you physically. He thinks you’re scared, you can tell by the laugh and little comment ‘oh don’t be scared now’, that he whispers into your ear, his breath hot against your skin, making you shy away in disgust. It crawls over your skin in a most unpleasant way.

“Now, Sheriff, i’m going to make you an offer that I wouldn’t refuse, not if you want this pretty little thing to come out in one piece that is.” That name angers you even more, how dare he condescend you, how dare he call you that, it’s worse than being called a bitch or a cunt or any other number of derogatory names.

You don’t even give him the chance to make his offer. You slam the pointed heel of your boot into his foot, hard as you can, before bringing an elbow back into his stomach and using what little you know about the centre of gravity to off balance him and shift him over your head and in front of you. The gun goes flying and your hands reach for the heavy metal pail you keep in front of the school house for collecting water, thanking God that you’d decided a cast iron one would do better than tin as you heft it over your head and across his face with a ringing smash and a crunch of bones.

You stand over him, chest heaving, “You come near my children again and I will kill you, do you hear me! I’ll show you what a pretty little thing like me can do, sir!” For good measure your swing the pail down again, the man groans and far from being disgusted with your show of violence, you feel better than you have all week at knowing the threat has been dealt with.

You look up breathing heavy, blood dripping from your lip to see the children had made it outside, watching you with wide eyes, almost as wide as Din’s, but not quite. The gun is slack in his hand and he is watching you with a heat you’ve never seen before, it makes you swallow hard.

Din’s sure he’s in love. That’s what he thinks it feels like as he watches you, your chest heaving in anger, your features twisted from their usual soft and delicate countenance. This is love, this feeling like you’ve reached into his chest and grabbed his heart in your bare hand. You are the picture of a mother bear protecting her cubs and that part of him that is deeply Mandalorian cries out for you, cries out to grab you and hold you close. You are in that moment more Mandalorian than he is, mandokarla in every sense of the word. You have the spirit of a true mandalorian, the spirit of a mother, strong, brave, prepared to do what needs to be done. Undefeated. The man beneath your feet groans and it spurs him to action.

Pulling handcuffs from the back of his belt, Din closes the gap between himself and the thief. He’s rough as he rolls the man onto his front, pulling his arms far behind his back and locking them together. He knows he’s rougher than he needs to be, but the man’s lucky. Lucky that he can’t bring himself to hurt him more with you stood there.

“You’re lucky I don’t put a bullet in your head right now, osi’kovid. I should kill you for what you’ve done.” He means it too, he wants to just do it, but he knows it’s not right. Not when the man is incapacitated, unable to defend himself. Not when the little ones are watching on, many of their parents having made their way through town at the sound of the disturbance, clutching at the little ones with relief and shock.

“Then why don’t you, big bad sheriff?” Din hauls him to his feet roughly, presses his mouth close to the thief’s ear not wanting the others to hear him.

“The only thing keeping you alive right now is the woman standing in front of you. If she wasn’t here I'd tear you limb from limb. You’re lucky she’s there.” He means it too. He won’t hurt him, not like this, because he knows you wouldn’t approve, because he knows no matter how angry you are you’d never be okay with him hurting an unarmed, handcuffed man. But, god if he isn’t close to snapping. All that panic has turned into anger, anger which he focuses on the man as he roughly drags him towards the cells.

You think you weren’t supposed to hear it, the threat, but you did and it is both scary to see him like this and a mite attractive. Your gentle sheriff is showing a harsher side than you’ve ever seen and it should shake you to your core, make you distance yourself, but it doesn’t. Did you not just show the exact same side of you? Did you not just consider beating the man to a pulp yourself? All because you loved your children, wanted them safe. You think this anger from Din is a reflection on how much he cares for you and the children, how scared he had been and it warms something inside of you. Your chest aches with a longing that you don’t understand as you watch him roughly walk the man away.

“Are you alright, Miss!” It’s Mr Hewitt, concerned for your welfare, but you just wave him off and make your way to the children, hand clutching at your ribs.

“I’m perfectly alright, Mr Hewitt, don’t you worry about me!” The children, for the most part are with their parents, all of whom have congregated after commotion drew their attention and word spread quickly through town. They’re crying into their mother’s skirts and their father’s trouser legs and it breaks your heart. They should never have had to witness or experience that, it should never have happened.

“Children!” Their heads snap up instantly, ever attentive to your teacher's voice; they watch you with focused eyes even while they hiccup and sniffle. “I think we’ve earned the rest of the day off, don’t you? Go home, rest, play and I shall see you bright and early tomorrow morning!”

Truth is you need to sit down. You can’t even begin to think about teaching right now. So sending them home seems your only option.

Parents smile at you, wish you well, tell you to look after yourself as they escort their children home. The only little one left is Grogu who runs towards you with panicked eyes, and despite the pain you kneel on the ground in front of him. The little one wraps his arms tight around your neck before pulling back, little hands patting over your cheeks and hair, as if imitating an adult checking your injuries. It brings tears to your eye because in that moment you’re reminded of what could have happened, what could have been lost. It’s not fear for your own life that has tears falling, but fear for him, for all the little ones and their youthful innocence.

“Cabur...cabur” It’s said to you, little hands framing your face, big brown eyes serious as he looks up at you. It isn’t a word you know, mando’a you are sure, and it’s not a word you’ve ever heard leave his lips before. A quiet child he had only recently begun to start talking and often in one or two words only.

That’s how Din finds the two of you. You’re kneeling in the dirt, skirt stained probably beyond repair, blouse bloody, face bruised and cut. Grogu is in your lap, your arms wrapped around his little chubby body, his hands cupping your face as he says it over and over again. ‘Cabur’. Guardian. Protector. It warms him from the inside out, that his ad, his son sees you as such, that his son cares about you so much and that you care about him just the same. He has no doubt that you were prepared to die for those children and it scares him and warms him in equal measure.

You hear his footfalls, dirt and gravel crunching under well worn boots, spurs clinking lightly as he comes to crouch next to you. Warm fingers reach out to gently graze your jaw, taking in the dark mottled bruising and deep swelling.

“What does it mean?” Wide eyes turn on him and he can’t help but smile softly at you, moustache twisting upwards at your curious nature, always so eager to learn, always wanting to engage more with the world around you.

“Protector, guardian, cabur’ika.” You wince slightly when he presses around your nose, checking to feel if it is broken. It’s not, but it will swell and bruise along with most of your face. The blood has stood spilling from it and that reassures him that it isn't too serious. It still hurts to see you like this, to see you hurt in any way.

“Ika?”

“Little.” He can already see your brows furrowing, lips setting into an offended scowl as you glare up at him. At the diminutive suffix, not fully understanding the nuances of mando’a yet.

“Little!”

He laughs at your offence, not because it’s funny because it does not mean what you think it means, “It’s a...a familiar term. It’s not because you’re little.” He hopes he makes sense. He doesn't call you a little protector to make fun of you or tease you, but because it shows familiarity, closeness. You are becoming part of his clan without realising it and the familiarity feels good to show. Just as when he calls Grogu, Gro’ika.

“Oh.” The annoyance metals from your features as quickly as it came and he continues his prodding of your skin, carefully assessing your injuries. Your jaw isn’t broken, he tells you, but it is badly bruised and he tells you to talk less in class, although he gives you a look that says he understands that is unlikely to happen. A gentle finger pulls your lower lip from between your teeth, you hiss, but he’s gentle as can be when looking at the split lip. Badly split and still bleeding red over your chin and blouse.

Din rises to his feet, offering you a hand, “Let’s get you clean up, cabur’ika”. He helps you stand, Grogu letting go and sliding from your lap to instead hold your skirt hem as the three of you walk.

Din wraps a strong arm around your waist to help you walk, your pace is slow, careful and it takes longer than it really should to get across town to your small house. It’s not much, just 2 rooms; the main living area with your kitchen, wash basin, tub and a bedroom separated from the rest. But it is home. Cosy, he thinks, like you. It screams home, lived in, a place to live, not just rest your head.

He eases you onto your settee, propping up pillows behind your back as he urges you to lay down. He even plumps a few in his hands like a mother hen, clucking around you as he unlaces your boots and gently pulls them off to make you more comfortable, grabbing a throw and tucking it around you. He’s filling a washbowl with water from your tap, the one luxury you have, being a plumbed-in kitchen sink.

“Din...you don’t have to do this.” He should be dealing with paperwork, probably writing a telegraph for someone from a local prison to come and collect the man currently in the jailhouse. He shouldn’t be here with you, he has better things to do.

“Yes. I do. Someone needs to look after you, cabur’ika.” You watch him grab salt from the side mixing it in with the water, just enough to help keep your wounds clean. Watch him decide which cloth on your countertop is the best to use. He feels the fabrics, which is too abrasive, which is softest, gentlest, before deciding on one and dropping it into the washbowl.

Grogu is sat by your fireplace watching as his buir shifts you slightly so he can sit on the edge of the settee, washbowl placed on the ground. His fingers are gentle as they rest underneath your chin and urge you to look up at him, calloused but soft on your skin, careful of any pressure that might hurt you.

The salt water stings, but the cloth is soft and he hushes you quietly at every hiss or groan of discomfort you make. Carefully cleaning your wounds, wiping the dirt, sweat and blood from your skin.

“It’s okay, Cyar’ika. I’m sorry….i’m sorry.” It’s more than just a sorry for the temporary pain of cleaning your wounds, it’s more than just sorry that I am causing your wounds to sting. There is a deep pain in his voice that strikes you to your core and you shift, hands wrapping around his wrist as you sit yourself up despite the pain in your ribs.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Din. Listen to me,” you tug on the wrist, pull it towards you and hold him to your chest, urge him to look you in the eye. You can feel the guilt rolling off of him in waves, “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not your fault.”

“You wouldn’t be like this if I was better at my job...I got complacent, lazy, I should have been able to catch him before he even got near the schoolhouse! You shouldn’t have ever been put in that position, you and the little ones…” It’s the break in his voice, the tears welling in deep brown eyes that has you wrapping your arms around his head and pulling him to rest his cheek on your chest. Rubbing circles in the back of his neck, twisting dark curls between your fingers.

“You did everything you could. You are not at fault and I will not have you blame yourself for something you had no control over. You are a good sheriff, Din. You are so good. Please don’t blame yourself for this, darling.” You scratch careful circles into his scalp with your nails, rub soothing lines over his neck and under his jaw, whisper gentle reminders that he is the best thing to happen to this town. That he provided you with a school. That he has made this town safe. That he is not at fault for this. But, you know, deep inside you that he will carry this moment with him, that he will not forget what happened and what could have happened. This guilt will weigh heavily on him, and will follow him.

“You could have been killed. The little ones could have been hurt.” He has always been a man of emotions, quiet emotions, but emotions nonetheless. You’d known from the start that he had a protective streak, that that extended especially towards children. That the mandalorian in him, his upbringing, urged him to keep them safe as much as your own duties did.

“But they weren’t. Keeping them safe is my job, Din. Don’t add it to your worries.” But, they weren’t his responsibility. When they were in your schoolhouse they were yours. The last thing you wanted was him to take that responsibility onto his shoulders when he already had so much, that guilt. It was your responsibility to protect them and while scared and shocked, none of them had a hair out of place or a scratch on them. They were okay.

“You could have died, cabur’ika. You could have died.”

“I know. I know,” It hits you. Like being trampled under horse hooves and the wheels of a carriage, like the yardstick to your ribs, full force and winding as you finally understand. You could have died. You could have died.

It is your turn to cry as your breathing becomes uneven and your mind tries to make sense of the fact you nearly died today, just doing your job, just in your schoolhouse. That there is so much you have not achieved, so little you’ve seen or done and you could have lost the chance to ever do. “Din…” You’re clutching at him, fingers digging in his back as he pulls you tighter to him.

There is a moment where he worries that you cannot breathe, that the force of your tears will choke you in his arms and so he holds you tighter, barricades you in his arms. Walls shielding you from the world. He brings a hand to the base of your neck cupping it to tilt your head up as he presses his forehead to your own. A comforting gesture, a keldabe kiss, he wants you to feel safe again. Wants to impress upon you your importance in his life even if he is not ready to say it yet.

He can feel your breath evening out with the gesture, your lungs relaxing as his presence comforts you. It pleases him to know he can calm you. He is the only thing present in that moment, not what happened, not the wild eyes of your assailant, not the fear, not the kids, not the room around you. Just him. His warm forehead pressed into yours, gentle, but firm enough to ground you. Large hand cupping the back of your neck, the other arm wrapped entirely around you to keep you close.

It is a little movement behind your back and two small arms wrapping around your back, unable to truly wrap around you fully that bring you back into the present.

It’s a little voice saying ‘Cabur’ into the fabric of your blouse, little hands gripping at you, trying to soothe you that makes your heart ache in an entirely different way. You pull back from Din, enough so that you can reach around you and pull Grogu into your lap, between the two of you, shielded by you both. It should scare you, how it feels like you have your entire world on your settee, how it feels like family. It should scare you what you would do for Din, for Grogu. What you would do to keep them safe, happy, healthy. Instead it warms you, to know that you’ve found somewhere to belong that isn’t just a schoolhouse and a classroom.

“It’s okay, Ad’ika. I’m okay. I promise.” You run a hand through his dark curls, boop him on the nose to make him smile and feel a true smile creeping on your face even if it hurts. You’re not lying either. You’re okay. You will be okay. With this little child who cares for you deeply, with his father who is always there to look after you, you know you are okay and will be okay.

“Ori'haat,” Din says to you, lifting your eyes back to him and the soft little smile playing at the corners of his mouth, “I swear. You said you wanted to learn more.”

“Or-e-haht?” You are back to your little game. The one where he tells you a new word and you try to pronounce it, but the unfamiliar words twist wrong in your mouth, coming out butchered to his amusement. He enjoys it, you know he does. It is easy to see because his eyes always twinkle with humour and his face softens, some of the harsh lines fading away.

“Oh-ree-haht.”

“Oh-e-haht?” You always concentrate hard and it is this fact that makes your mispronunciations cute, copikla, rather than frustrating. He does not mind you making mistakes because you try earnestly to correct them and always practice the words till you have it right. He enjoys teaching you because he enjoys hearing his language from another person, enjoys the familiarity, the homeliness of it.

“Oh-ree-haht!” This time it’s Grogu who announciates it, loud and clear with a little grin on his sweet little face as he looks between you and his buir as if waiting for praise.

“Very good, Gro’ika,” Din ruffles the boy’s curls before turning his eyes back to you. The boy preens under the praise, little grin growing in size as he sits between the two you. How he always manages to get it right on the first try you don’t know, you’re a little envious of the boy's knack for seemingly everything. He is a quick learner in school and out of it.

“Oh-ree-haht?”

“Jate, good.” You smile proud of your efforts and shift a little in your seat, ribs pulling and causing you to let out a pained breath. It's going to be sometime you think before you are fully back to how you were, without pain or bruises. You have yet to look in a mirror but are sure that you look terrible.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” You extend the invitation, knowing you don’t want either of them to go just yet, even though Din probably has things he needs to do and it is selfish to ask him to stay when he has his duties to get on with.

“You’re not making dinner, cyar’ika. I’ll make it.” He untangles himself from you, grabbing the washbowl to empty in your garden. The view of you with his son cuddled up to you makes his heart warm, even with the mottled bruising and cuts across your features.

“Din…”

“I will not argue about this with you, i’m taking care of you and you will rest, cabur’ika.” His tone brooks no argument, demanding for the first time, truly, that you listen and do not fight him on this. You should be resting, not standing cooking dinner. You are in too much pain and he would sooner tie you to your bed then let you hurt yourself in an effort to be the hostess.

With a heavy sigh, you conceded defeat. “Okay, but I’m not happy about it, Din Djarin.”

“I know.” He says with a smile.

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Mando’a Translations:

Nar'sheb - contemptuous comment, like saying shove it.

K'olar! - get over here!

Cabur - guardian, protector

Cabur’ika - lit. little guardian/protector, but the ika shows familiarity, making this more of a pet name, friendly term.

Haar’chak - damn it

Shebs - butt, ass.

Di’kut - idiot.

Mandokarla - having the *right stuff*, showing guts and spirit, the state of being the epitome of Mando virtue

Osi’kovid - shithead

Ori'haat - I swear

Cyar’ika - sweetheart, darling

Jate - good

Copikla - charming, cute, typically not used for women, but for animals and children. But honestly, I think the reader wouldn’t be offended like a typical mandalorian might by being called copikla.

Ad’ika - Little one.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin / reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian reader insert #reader insert #readerinsert #western au #putting down roots #din djarinxreader #din djarin/reader #female reader #female identifying reader

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vinylhazza · 5 years ago

Note

Can you write a lil thing about confiding in your best friend (either twin) about your abusive relationship and then he helps you leave and shows you real love. I'm in a abusive relationship atm and I wish I had it :(

LEAVE HIM FOR ME (G.D)

warning: mention of physical abuse, trauma, mention of sexual abuse, angst, fluff

*italics are flashbacks/past conversations*

grayson would have been trying for so long to figure out where the bruises were coming from. he stopped at nothing to try and pry the information out of you until he finally started to back up after you got angry at him one evening for not letting it go.

“just let it the fuck go grayson, i fell. i told you that.” or “yeah straightener is a bitch you know? you’re not a girl you wouldn’t understand gray, i’m okay.”

you knew he was trying to help, but feared that giving them the knowledge would only make it worse. your jackass of a boyfriend was dangerous, you knew it even if he didn’t. he could hurt him, and that was the last thing on earth you would ever want - for grayson to be hurt. you would get teary eyes and a flustered blush when he noticed your frown at the mention of the bastards name. it was like a shock to your system. with grayson...everything was different. you weren’t weak. you weren’t some piece of meat that could be abused and used whenever he pleased. you weren’t a derogatory name that seemed to define you.

he kept you safe. he kept you warm when you shivered. he made sure you ate when he notices you haven’t touched a single piece of food all day, takes e time to cook your favorite meal of all. he would care for you, wait on your every hand and foot when you felt ill, make that special soup his ma taught him when he was younger, he knows how much it helps. he braids your hair to help you calm down, and he’s actually very good at it. something about the tenderness and care he gives you when he’s messing with your hair immediately eases your stress, and you don’t know it, but he has a small smile the entire time.

God that man would love the fuck out of you, just waiting in the shadows for you to see that he was right there, waiting to give you all the love that he could give. Grayson’s love language was physical touching, he loved to have his hair played with, back scratches, hugs that last too long, having your legs propped up over his lap as you watch a netflix special. he often watches you close in those moments, running his own fingers through your hair, deep slow massages, and sometimes....he even leaned in for a kiss on your cheek, your forehead, and when he was especially clingy, your neck. you didn’t think anything of, even tried to ignore the fluttering in your stomach - the butterflies swirling around like a tornadoe. and you especially ignore the clenching in your lower region, trying to convince yourself it’s not him in particular but the lack of affectionate touches you never receive from your boyfriend.

deep down, you know your heart tells you different. but you aren’t a cheater and how could you leave? you know he would come after you, after your family, after grayson, even after ethan if he’s as crazy as you thought he was.

the first time he hit you, was the first night he ever yelled at you as well. it had been sudden, out of nowhere, shocking. he was...not right that day. he was irritable, not really speaking to you all that much...just quite frankly being a dick. your love language is physical touch just like graysons, but...not that kind. you had just wanted to hug him, maybe give him a reassuring squeeze to let him know you were there to help him and be there for him through whatever it was he was struggling with. you know how hard it is to be in your own head and have no one to share your pain with.

but his hand slapping into like a tidal wave prevented that from ever happening.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?! can’t you see i want to be left the fuck alone?! are you fucking dumb?! get out!”

you spent the whole night crying, curled up on the couch with a blanket wrapped around you tight, a bag of frozen peas pressed up against your right cheek. in the morning when you woke up with a groan, you stumbled into the bathroom to find a black and blue bruise right along your cheek bone - a hateful looking mark. this...this wasn’t love.

“such a slutty, dumb little bitch. thinking you can wear that out and strut around like a whore? then i’ll treat you like a whore.”

he never apologized and the violence never stopped. the punches became more frequent, and it was getting so hard for you to hide them that you began making excuses: falling, fluke accidents that sometimes made no sense, dropping something, bumping into things. but everytime you made up a lie, it took a piece of you away. a piece of you that you felt would always in some way be connected to him. to his viscous words, actions, and those little moments that kept convincing you to stay.

you stayed for the rare moments he would smile, the times that would remind you of the man you fell for - the one that didn’t exist anymore. you knew you were foolish and anyone with a brain could see right through your stupid lies and excuses, but you simply avoided talking about him. he made you think it’s what you deserved. and after a while you believed it.

you stopped being sexually attracted to him in the very beginning, when the hitting first began...but he...he was a man of selfish desire. take what he wants and be on his way, keep treating you like dirt, keep kicking you while he knew you had no fighting chance. he took advantage of your body, used you like a toy and threw you away. made you think it was a yes even when you screamed no. a hand over your mouth, his tongue down your throat, you didn’t have a choice.

grayson knew it all along. he knew the bastard hit you. he knew the disgusting filth of a man you would go ‘home’ to. he knew it wasn’t your true home. your home was him. your home was grayson. but you had to keep him safe, hence the reason you never admitted to the consistent mental, physical, and sexual abuse. but grayson refused to do nothing, stand by and watch the women he loved suffer all alone, determined to be your knight in shining armor, save you from the villain trying to ruin your beautiful life so full of purpose.

“what am i supposed to do e? he’s hurting her, like really hurting her. the bruise on her neck isn’t a fucking burn it looks like a goddamn hand was choking her to death. what am i supposed to do? tell me what to do.”

Distraught was an understatement when it came to a teary eyed grayson sitting at the foot of his brothers bed. you had left after a movie night, having to lie to your boyfriend and tell him you were at a girlfriends house, you’ve already been beat up for even mentioning graysons name. you would never make that mistake again.

ethan sat straight up against his headboard, pulling at the stubble on his chin, brow furrowed with a concerned, and angry, scowl.

“the asshole thinks he can just get away with hurting her because she sits there and takes it...it’s killing me. God how did she get herself into this mess...i just feel...useless. i’m supposed to protect her e, that’s what you do for the people you love and i fucking fail her over and over again everyone i let her walk out the front door of this house,” grayson grumbled, leaning over the bed with his head in his hands. his shoulders were tensing, something that usually happens when he’s especially stressed or upset about something.

“i’m sure ‘taking it’ isn’t exactly what she’s doing. she’s scared. he’s a big guy gray, a dangerous guy, he can really do damage to her if she tries to fight him back,” ethan mutters, not wanting to make his brother more upset. it didn’t seem to be working, “you know this isn’t her fault and so do i gray. a man like that will stop at nothing to control her every move. it’s an act of dominance, control, he wants to rule every action, every thought, every move she might make. if we do anything, we need to do it fast, and do it in a clever way that won’t get her fucking killed by that psychopath.

“it’s just impossible to sit here and have her flinch when i try to touch her...i would never fucking hurt her. i never have. and i know it’s so hard for her to trust anyone with all of the shit she has to deal with...but God dammit i would move heaven and hell for that girl and i need to save her,” grayson sits up, a noticeable tear streaming down his face. his love was evident in his every word, “i’ll take my time. make her see she deserves better. whatever the fuck she needs to convince her to leave that dumbfuck, i’ll do it. i just need help e, that’s all i’m asking.”

“of course gray, you know i got your back. and i have y/n’s too. we are gonna get her away from that creep and show her what real love is. not that fake disgusting shit he claims it is. doesn’t even know what the fuck it means and he has no business using that word frankly.” ethan’s tone is clipped, sharp, and deep - he would do whatever he could to get away just like grayson would. granted he’s not in love with you, but he doesn’t have love for you, and he would still do anything to protect you, “but be patient with her. a guy like that stops at nothing to tear down a woman until she thinks she deserves what’s coming to her. she accepts the pain because she is trained to live in silence. we need to break that silence and make sure that she knows it’s okay to tell us and we would never put her in danger.”

there is silence for a moment, full of tension, worry, for their friend. graysons worries if he speaks, he might cry. instead he ops for bouncing his knee in a steady rhythm, something you taught him to do when he felt restless. and it helps. but with a deep breath he’s turning back to ethan.

“okay so, how do we do it?” grayson stands, ready to take on whatever it is to get her in his arms safe and sound. even if that means hurting her jackass of a boyfriend. hopefully soon to be ex, he thought.

“well, i think maybe tricking her into a little intervention is the only way to go about it. or maybe one of us can convince her to spill the beans. it might be too much on her if we both start hounding her with questions she’s scared to answer. i’m sure some of them are very personal. we can’t freak her out, she’s already so fragile.” grayson knew he was right. he needs to proceed with caution. maybe if he could convince her he’s who she belongs with...confesses to his desires and wishes maybe she would have the strength to leave. if that’s even what she wanted. if not it would ruin their friendship and she would still be in a bad situation.

“true...if we go to their apartment fists up and ready to fight, it will probably make it worse and fall back on her. she’s doesn’t need any more problems than she already has. i mean hell, she’s even scared to sleep anymore,” grayson ponders. he remembers the nights she would stay over when her boyfriend was away gallivanting with whatever floosy he could find. cheating abusive bastard that he was. then it dawned on him.

“what if, and hear me out, what if we just move her out and have her live with us? i mean the guy doesn’t know where we live and fuck it i’ll get security if i have to. we’ve been needing it for a while anyway. she would be safe, protected, and with her closest friends who wouldn’t let a damn thing happen to her,” grayson tried to explain himself, gauging ethans reaction to see if he had a disapproving face.

to his surprise, he didn’t. in fact, it was like a lightbulb clicked inside of his head. with a clap of his hands he’s standing.

“that’s actually a great idea. i don’t know when he leaves or whatever the dumbfuck does but when he does we can go over there and get all of her stuff out and move her in here. we just have to make sure we know when he leaves, when he comes back, and most importantly if she will even say yes.”

it was three days after when you finally stopped by. the bruises on the left side of your neck and cheekbone fading away. graysons heart broke every time he saw the purplish hue on your face. he would kill him if he could. he would do whatever it took to keep you safe. he just had to do it like a civilized human being. he knew that at least if you’re on his property and your stupid bitch if a boyfriend came by...well let’s just say he wouldn’t be so forgiving.

he pulled you into the backyard with the sun just sinking under the horizon. he wondered how you managed to sneak away without a scratch, but hopefully it would be the last time you had to.

“i need to talk to you about something,” grayson started, pulling at your hand to bring you further into the backyard, standing in the grass just beside the pool. he was nervous, palms sweating already. this was a big moment, and it could change everything for them.

“is it about the last piece of banana bread? cause i ate that like a week ago and if you just now noticed maybe you don’t really love it like you claim you-“ you started, teasing him with a smile. always the jokester. he wondered how you found the strength the smile. but he cut you off before you could finish. his frown had your smile wilting.

“i know he’s hitting you. don’t try and hide it either like you always do. you always try and cover up his abuse and his fucking disgusting behavior. and i understand you’re scared, y/n. but this ends now. i don’t care what i have to do to make you see you deserve better but this...this isn’t it. you have so much to give and deserve someone that would burn the whole fucking world down to keep you safe. so stop pretending and tell me the truth.” there it was. that face he was dreading. the face of absolute terror.

he knew. he fucking knew.

you thought you had been good at hiding it from him, from everyone really. even your mother loved your boyfriend. she often said he was “good for you” that she was happy you found him when you did because “he’s the only one that’s really ever gotten you under control”. you haven’t talked to her in months, to say the least.

grayson recieves a chest rattling silence. something he wasn’t expecting from a girl that was known for word vomit and stuttering all over herself trying to get a thought out fast enough before it slipped away. but you stared at him with wide, misty eyes. you were scared - frozen in his backyard. you couldn’t believe he had come right out and called you on your bullshit. but you knew it was coming, you tried your hardest to hide it, but grayson wasn’t stupid.

with a slow shake of your head, you swallow the tears threatening to escape your eyes. you won’t be weak in front of grayson. you spent so much time being weak because of him, but no, not in front of grayson. he deserved better than someone that couldn’t even escape a white boy she fell for after a run in at the movie theater. he deserves someone that can fight for herself.

“so you know. you and ethan i’m assuming?”

a nod with more silence. he is watching you, not exactly staring, but certainly focused on watching you try and hold yourself together. you know ethan is somewhere close by, watching this go down from his own little hide out. you’re half tempted to yell out to the house and tell him to get the hell out there and face you, but then you know you’d have to confess the truth in front of not one, but two of the most important people in your life.

“...what then? you want me to sit here and cry? you want me to break down and talk to you about all the times i’ve come over here and lied? pretending everything was okay and putting a smile on my face? because believe it or not this is my safe place and i’d rather not think of him. you make me forget. i just wanted to forget and i know that hurts you that i didn’t say anything but i don’t know what i’m supposed to do right now gray...” your voice is thick with emotion, hands coming up to twist at the flowy tank top resting on your torso. it suddently became very chilly in the backyard that felt previously warm in the suns dying moments until morning.

“i’m not letting this go. not like all those times before. i had my suspicions, had those little clues that would pop out when i reached to tuck your hair out of your face, or help you with the laundry you still do even when you don’t have to. you would jump, y/n...from me. and i would never,” he swallows, you can feel all the strength it’s taking him not to show you just how much he wants to cry, “i would never, hurt you. there isn’t a bone in my body that would ever touch you in any way other than love and adoration. i know it’s because of him. he’s - he’s fucking sick, y/n. he’s twisted and made it almost impossible for you to live a normal life. you snuck over here didn’t you? it’s nearly 8.” you know he won’t let it go until you answer, so you give him another small nod, biting at your bottom lip and flinching at the tear that drops down onto your cheek. it would wash away that pathetic layer of concealer you put on, exposing more of the purplish bruise he left there.

“where is he? let me guess - he said he was going to “tanners” right?” his voice remains calm, with just a hint of a grit there to show how truly disgusted he was by the man that abused you time and time again.

another nod and small sniffle.

you felt like a child getting caught by your parents for sneaking out.

you and grayson both knew there was no tanner. there was and never would be. it was just another girl he decided to fuck around with before coming back to control you, make you feel like the disloyal one. make you feel like the monster.

“and what happens when he comes back and you’re not there huh? what happens if he comes back early and wants you to text him a picture of where you are? actually fuck that have you even thought that maybe the psychopath put a tracker on your phone? ...why are you back away? hey hey come here it’s okay i’m not mad at you,” grayson is trailing off into an apology when he notices the distance beginning to grow between your two bodies. he was near yelling at the end of his little speech and you’ve learned enough to know what yelling means. of course he said he wouldn’t hurt you, but that’s exactly what he said in the beginning too. and look where you are now.

before you can back away from his touch any further, he’s tugging you into a hug, cradling the back of your head against his chest. his heart beat was steady, the calm thumping easing your own nerves. he never held you like this. grayson wasn’t him. it was unfair to be afraid of everyone because someone tried to stifle your fire. with your body tucked into his arms, grayson rocks side to side on the bottom of his shoes, eyes closed and chin resting on the top of your head. you liked to be held when you’re upset and overwhelmed and he knew it. it helped ground you.

he’s pulling away too soon, swiping a hand through his hair in frustration. you know it’s hard for grayson to express his emotions sometimes. giving him the same patience he gives you is the least you could do. you stand quietly in front of the tall block of muscle, arms crossed once again - a comfort mechanism you’ve taken up over the past few months - and wait for him to sort his thoughts out and try again.

“i didn’t mean to yell but dammit, y/n. i mean it when i say you can trust me. i know he’s ruined so many things but this - us - isn’t going to be one of them. he doesn’t get the satisfaction of pushing us apart. you -“ a huff “you’re too...special to let go. and it’s his own fault he can’t see it.” from the dead serious look in his hazel eyes, you know he means every word.

you wouldn’t say grayson is entirely closed off, especially when he’s always touching you in secret, tender ways when no one else is looking. he tells you secrets he’s scared to tell anyone else. he’s not a secret. he’s just in some way...scared just like you.

“gray i don’t know what to tell you...it’s not as easy as you’re making it seem. and yeah he has ways of tracking me i’m sure, but i can’t just go without you you idiot. that would kill me. it would fucking break me and i hate that you’re making me admit it.” he frowns at the break in your voice.

“leave him,” graysons voice is soft, but more serious than you’ve ever heard it. so deep rooted with...something you can’t quite catch...that it makes you shiver.

“gray...”

it’s not that simple. you can’t leave a man that has his grip on you too tight. you can’t just leave a man that has made it his goal to make sure it never happens. you can’t just leave because you wish to be with the love of your life...you can’t just...want love when you’re trapped with no hope of escape. especially when that very same person whose love you yearn for is promising it to you, unknowing of the sure consequence.

he doesn’t give you a chance to turn him down, say anything more that will certainly be a way to weasel yourself out of this. he knows you’re in denial, denial of what there is blossoming between you, the bod consuming desire to always be touching whenever you are together - whether it be a pinky hooked around another, an arm over your shoulder, an arm around his waist, fingers massaging at your scalp. whatever it was, it was real.

“might i make a suggestion gray?” ethan frowns, biting at the skin of his bottom lip, now raw with his anxious assault.

“whatever it is make it good because i’m not changing my mind,” grayson grunted, slicing his bananas at a quicker pace. he’d have to build up strength for this conversation, lord knows it’s going to tire him out. you’re a tough one to crack. another reason that he fucking loved you so much.

“tell her how you feel before it’s too late. i’m sure you’ll be pleased with the outcome.”

how could he be so sure?

fire twists in your tummy as grayson inches towards you, eyes narrowed right at your own misty orbs. with irises blown out and black, he tucks that cussed piece of hair behind your ear. with his fingers feathering across the skin of your cheekbone, another tear drops to your cheek. it streaks a hot river across the skin, chipping away that milky concealer, a mask to hide the evil. the way he gazed at you like you were and always would be the most beautiful treasure, only made you confirm to yourself that it was torture to love someone you were scared to have.

“i know you feel this...don’t fight it...just let me show you how good this can feel...how it’s supposed to feel” his voice had switched from one of raw emotion to one of earnest and...need.

within an instant he is grabbing your face and pulling you close by the back of your neck, a hand digging deeply into your mane of hair. he made a fist to secure you to him, afraid if he let go you might disappear. another hand was pressed against your cheek - being careful to not apply direct pressure to your bruise, instead rubbing it tenderly with his thumb. his touch not only eased the pain, but the memories that matched themselves to it. soft plump lips landed on yours perfectly with a hum resonating in his chest. it was a pathetic, needy sound - one that made you aware that he really meant it. he’s been waiting for this. to have your lips smashed up against his. it was like an itch he’s been waiting to scratch, now relieved. he takes his time to let himself feel his way through the kiss - initially feeling your shocked lips at a stand still.

he almost backs away in defeat, but then... you’re sighing, a satisfied, eager sigh tossed between the two of you. biting at his bottom lip felt like a burst of unashamed power coursing through your veins. your tiny nimble fingers are tugging at his white cotton t-shirt and pulling him even closer if possible, goose flesh tracking from your shoulders down to your fingertips. youve kissed let that be known, a guy here or there, but none of those kisses had ever felt like this. before registering how much trouble you would get in if he ever found out what you were doing and how good it felt doing it, you are tilting your head to the side and moving your lips against his greedily. humming into his mouth and pushing your front against his flat. fuck his kiss felt so good. his lips were patient and languid, lapping like smooth waves of the ocean. persistent.

his hands made sure to move your face just the right way, get just the right angle, sure he could feel you turning weak at the knees already. not anything like any other kiss you’ve been given. it’s patient, tender, purposeful - that purpose being to convey just how much you mean to him and always will mean. the way he’s kissing you is a desperate move to tell you how he feels without having to say it just yet. this is everything you’ve ever wanted but never knew you could have, or feel, or want.

his tongue is slipping into your mouth when you gasp in shock at the electric fire burning through your senses and into every nerve in your body. your hands feel tiny on his massive biceps, but he loves the feeling of your thumbs rubbing at his skin while he kisses you so deep. your tongues danced together, the kiss stealing your breath away. it was fierce and passionate, everything you thought kissing him would be like. you had daydreamed about this moment forever, and you couldn’t believe it was finally happening. especially not like this. not when you’re a damsel in distress, waving your pathetic hand at the top of the tower in hopes your knight in shining armor would come and save you. the day had finally come.

he’s pulling away slowly, begrudgingly, panting from working his mouth so hard against yours. wanting to take it farther than a kiss, but understanding enough to know it would take a lot more time to be at that poin - no matter how bad you both wanted it. your trauma lurked beneath the surface, a fight for another day. he poured everything into that kiss. the rosy red color of his skin being a testament to that. he hoped you knew just how much it meant to him. from the way you stared at his mouth in a trance, he knew it meant just as much to you. the look of wanting in your eyes made him shiver.

“you want me?”

the best you give him is a puffed out “yes” between your lips, staring at his own longingly. it was a pathetic sound, a cringe fighting to shrink in your shoulders and hide yourself from him, but you accepted it as it came. you wanted more. you thought for a split second that you couldn’t imagine never feeling that again. electric. strong. like fireworks igniting in your body over and over. your eyes travel slowly from his mouth to his soft wishful eyes, feeling the sudden urge to cry again.

“leave him for me,” his whisper is pained, vulnerable and aching for you to want him back. need him back. love him back.

“but i can’t have you, you know i can’t. he won’t allow me to leave him.” God it killed you to even say it. You wanted to throw caution to the wind, and in a way you had, but to throw it all out would mean putting him in the line of fire - and you didn’t know if you could bare seeing him burnt.

“yes you can, you can have me. every hour of everyday. you can fucking have me. you have always had me, y/n. i think you know that. i can’t lie anymore. not when it means this much to me. he won’t keep you a prisoner. i refuse for it to happen. i know you want this as much as i do. i feel it. i’ve always felt it. if you don’t leave for you, then leave for me. just...you have to let me protect you.”

the way he says it, just holding you in place, forehead resting against yours in an attempt to stop the tears bubbling behind his eyes. it killed him to see you caged like an animal when you wanted so badly to be free. he would do whatever the fuck he needed to do and he swore his life on it. whether you believed it or not.

“but how? he’s a psycho grayson the man beat me for getting gas without telling him. i was gone for 5 minutes.“

“i know sh, i know it sounds crazy and reckless,”

“really reckless,” you tutted, popping your lips out in a dissatisfied pout. it was cute but he needed to focus.

“- just hear me out. me and ethan have a plan that involves no contact, and if he does show up i don’t think you are underestimating the lengths we will go to, to make sure he doesn’t lay a finger on this beautiful body of yours. he doesn’t get to have you anymore, he abused that privilege, literally. he didn’t appreciate and cherish what he had so now it’s over. you won’t ever have to see him again. but it’s gonna take a little cooperation and for you to be that sneaky little detective i know that you are.” he waits for your reaction, confused that your eyes are still closed, your thumbs still rubbing at his forearms. it was peaceful. for the first time, you felt protected. and really understood. important. valued. loved. whole fuck you felt loved.

“i don’t know how much help i can be,” you choked, voice a lot weaker than you wanted it to sound. truth is, it was taking every bone in your body not to kiss him again, get that fire ignited again. but you had to focus. one battle at a time. beat the dragon, then you get the prince.

“how about this, you and i, we go back in the house, i’ll sit you down on the counter - yeah that’s right the counter - because i don’t give a fuck if ethan thinks it’s unsanitary. i’m gonna cook you you’re favorite meal, kiss those beautiful lips for as long as i want,” he pauses to dip his head down, pecking your lips slowly as an example, a butterfly flew through your core, wings licking at the buzzing nerves, “and explain every tiny detail until you understand just how serious we are about getting you away from that sick creep. i may be persistent but my brother is a determined mother fucker too and he cares about you, y/n. as much as he loves to tease you and throw his little tantrums when you eat the last piece of pizza - he cares so much. and he wants you to be safe. to be with us. be with me...if that’s what you want.”

“as in like...live with you? are you sure that’s a good idea? i mean i kind of have a crazy guy on my back you sure you guys want that baggage?” you’re tone is lighthearted and witty, but he knows that’s just you trying to hide how nervous you were.

“you know, when you love someone, their baggage becomes your baggage. you have that weight together and find the strength to carry it along the way. at least that’s what i’ve found out.”

when you love someone

when he loves someone

when grayson loves...

he loves you

“you love me?” the gleam in your eye is too obvious to miss, the excitement of a child, the joy of a rich man, the satisfaction of a sinner, the bliss of a saint.

“maybe a little,” he grins, lips dropping onto random areas of your face, making their way slowly down, down, down to your blush pink lips. the feeling of them puckering had him pulling you closer again.

“is it too much to ask that you say it again? just for good measure.” your request has him chuckling in your ear, hair tickling you when he bobs his head in a nod.

“i love you,” he sighs, finger hooked under your jaw to tilt your head to the side, sealing his lips down onto yours again. breathing in the sweet scent of your perfume. it drowned his every sense.

it felt so fucking good to say that.

it sounded like your favorite melody. and somehow, as cheesy as it sounded, it gave you strength. gave you that extra power you needed to know that this life did have a purpose beyond pain and misery. it had people like grayson. people like ethan. people that cared about you. people that protected you. people that were ready to do anything they had to do just to make sure you knew how loved you really were.

“i love you too.” it slipped out without you knowing. your hand itched to slap over your mouth, cover up the ultimate betrayal against the monster somewhere off in LA cheating on you again, planning his next attack against you. but no, you wouldn’t feel guilty about loving him. not when it’s the strongest emotion you’ve ever felt. not when it was the truth. and not when he’s cradling you in his arms promising a future beyond the pain and sadness you’ve been stuck in for so long. so for good measure, and just because it felt like a breath of fresh air, you say it again, “i love you.”

“oh fuck,” he breathes through a disbelieving grin, picking you up by the back of your thighs and spinning you around in circles. your legs hooked around his waist tightly, squealing laughter echoing throughout the backyard. this is the freest you’ve felt in so so long. he slows down to a sway once again, turning your head to kiss you slowly, pushing his tongue between your lips to dance with yours again.

“slow down, slow down, we still have something to do yeknow,” you breathe, a lazy smile aimed at his own delighted eyes. he looked so free and it shocked out for some reason that you were the cause of that look.

“no no you’re right i’m sorry, i’m just happy. feels good when you know the girl you love is safe for once. but i guess we do have to go talk to ethan about the insufferable douchebag you chose to date for whatever ungodly reason. must have had a magical dick or something cause the man is lacking in all other categories,” grayson mocks, setting you back into the flats on your feet and imtertwining your fingers together, leading you back toward the house where you presume ethan is waiting somewhere close by.

“actually no, he never really uh...finished the job in that department. was kind of selfish. but i managed,” you tut, rubbing your thumb over the skin on his hand, loving the feeling of him against you in any way you could get. you knew you were so touch starved, but didn’t care if it felt this good.

he stopped at the sliding glass door, face dully lit by the yellow of the light from the kitchen, pointing a defined eyebrow at you in a displeased scowl, the fucker didn’t even make you cum? with a shake of his head he’s sliding the glass door open, ready to talk to his brother and start the plan for your escape. hes ready to see you thrive again. he knows neither he, nor ethan will rest until you have shaken every form of contact with the spineless monster you’re controlled by daily. this plan will be his religion until it is completed. he turns his head to look at you, a smirk on his delicious soft lips, licking at them quickly.

“we will be changing that, make no mistake.”

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goldandbluesmiles · 5 years ago

Text

Protective

Summary: Bruce is protective Alpha, especially when it comes to his children.

Notes: Some discriminatory language.

Ao3

XXX

The gala was in full swing when Jason spotted the baby bat. He nudged Tim who was beside him, shoving a pastry in his mouth.

"Hey, Timmy," he said to the younger boy, "What do you think's happenin' over there?"

Tim followed his gaze, took in Damian's rigid posture, the cruel smirks on the two boys that looked his age, and the weirdly smug glee on a boy who looked about ten.

"Doesn't look too good," said Tim

"Nope," said Jason, "Should we...?"

"Any other time, I would have just let him deal with it but this is the Martha Wayne Foundation Gala,"

It was the one gala that they attended no matter what. All anger, fights and problems were put aside to come to help support their dad on his mother's birthday. There was also an unofficial rule among the bat kids that no one would cause any havoc during the gala and they would intervene if they saw something brewing.

And by the scowl on Damian's face, something was definitely brewing. The young Omega looked seconds away from punching someone.

"Yeah, let's go," said Jason

Both Alphas weaved their way through the crowd toward their younger brother. As they got closer, Jason started to hear what the other boys were saying and it made his blood boil in anger.

"Go back...'" "Your kind-" "Tainted,"

Jason was ready to march over and teach the little brats a lesson when he noticed another body moving toward the youngest Wayne.

Apparently Bruce Wayne had noticed his youngest son's plight because of course, he had. And it was good because this place did not need Jason to go around shaking little kids, no matter how much they deserved it. Bruce would handle this much better.

"Well, hello there young gentlemen," he said in a pleasant tone, the cold fury in his eyes only visible to people that really knew him.

From across the room, Jason saw Dick start to make his way to them. Cass and Steph had also detangled themselves from the dance floor. Duke was already standing at his left. Everyone else ignored their little gathering. If there was one thing the Waynes were good at, it was blending.

"Hello Mr. Wayne," said one of the older boys, looking just a little scared. Good.

"And your names," asked Bruce.

"I'm William," said the older redhead and then pointed to the younger boy, "This is my brother, Harris,"

"William and Harris," said Bruce, "The Livingston boys,"

"Yes, sir,"

"And you, son?" said Bruce, making Damian tense. He relaxed once Bruce moved his hand to his shoulder.

"Jared Lucky, Mr. Wayne,"

"Alright, Jared," said Bruce, tone still biting, "I'm guessing all your parents are here tonight?"

The boys nodded.

"Okay, here's what we're going to do," said Bruce, "Jared and Harris are going to stand right here. William, you are going to go get both your parents and bring them here,"

The little brat nodded and quickly took off.

"Father?" murmured Damian, looking up at him with a questioning look. Jason took a quick look at his siblings and saw that all of them, except Dick, looking varying degrees of confused. Even Cass.

Taking in their reactions, Jason realized that none of them had ever seen Bruce in his protective Alpha mode before. Sure they had all seen Batman but not Bruce.

Jason had been the target of many cruel taunts once when he had joined Gotham's 'high' society. And he knew from stories that while Dick had charmed everybody with his personality and smile, that had still been whispers of gypsy and uncivilized. Bruce had shut all of them down with a vicious look and cruel smile. The rest of them had probably never needed it. Tim was a born elite. No one would ever say anything about Cass. Stephanie held her head high and dared anyone to come close enough to speak. Duke was relatively new.

None of them had seen Papa Bruce protecting his pups, which meant that they were in a for a treat tonight.

Damian was still waiting for an answer when two couple showed up with a flustered looking William. The red-headed woman instantly took her boys in her arms, glaring at Bruce. The Luckys just looked really confused.

"Bruce," said Mr. Lucky, "What is going on here? Did the boys get into a scuffle or something?"

"Or something," said Bruce, "Boys, why don't you repeat for your parents what you were saying to Damian here,"

"But-"

"Repeat it," this time the words came out sharper, making a few heads turn their way. Jason sent them a few glares, making them turn right back around.

"Boys," said Mrs. Lucky, "Explain yourselves,"

William and Jared quietly repeated the things that had been said, making Jason tremble with anger. Around him, the rest of his family was in similar states.

Worst of all was Damian, head bowed with shame as if he was the one who had done something wrong.

God, these boys were lucky Jason had a little more control now. Otherwise, they would be getting good talking to at the least.

"God, Bruce," said Mr. Lucky, "I am so sorry. We will definitely be talking to Jared once we get home,"

"This is our fault," said Mrs. Lucky, "He said he wanted to experience boarding at Gotham Academy and we figured it wouldn't be a problem. I have to admit, since then we haven't really monitored the content he takes in,"

"Which will be fixed," said Mr. Lucky, "You have my word, Bruce,"

"I would hope so, Sean," said Bruce

That started a whole other round of apologies and promises. Jason looked at them carefully, looking for any indication that these people were insincere or were talking out of their ass to keep Bruce happy. He found nothing. Thye seemed to mean it.

The Livingstons were another story though. The guy was impassive, wearing his businessman's face while his wife was openly glaring at them.

Once the Luckys finally stopped, Bruce turned toward the other couple.

"And what about Mr. and Mrs. Livingston," said Bruce, "Anything to say about your boys' behaviour?"

The guys cleared his throat but the lady beat him to it.

"I don't see the problem with my boys expressing themselves," she said, tone haughty

God, what a bitch.

"Excuse me," said Bruce, "Expressing themselves? There is expressing yourself and then there is discriminatory language, not to mention verbal assault,"

"Now. Now, Bruce," said the man, "Don't you think you're overreacting a bit?"

The complete and utter fury on Bruce's face was a thing to behold. The Lucky family took a step back and the two brothers looked ready to piss themselves. Even Mr. Lviningston looked like he was regretting his decision to be here.

The only one still glaring was Mrs. Livingston or as Jason would call her from now, She-devil.

"Overreacting? Overreacting?" hissed Bruce, "Your sons used derogatory language to talk to mine and you think I'm overreacting,"

"Some terms fit," said the She-devil, "Especially for a...brood like yours,"

Bruce tightened his hold on Damian's shoulder and took a step forward, "Listen here, Susan,"

"Sasha," she muttered

"Susan, Sasha, fucking Sally," said Bruce, "I don't care! The only reason, the only reason I am not making a goddamn sacrificial spectacle of you in front of this whole room is that it has become obvious to me that these boys have some very poor role models, and given their age, should be given a chance to rectify their mistakes and humiliating them in front of a room full of people will not do that,"

"Because let's be honest here, with today's school curriculum and resources available it is obvious where these boys learned language like this. I would hate to think what you would say to my son -to my children- given the opportunity to be honest without consequences,"

Both boys were now looking at their parents with confused eyes.

"Now, do me a favour and leave this place,"

Sasha went to say something else but Harris tugged at her dress, "Mom let's go,"

"Don't talk out of line, Harris,"

The boy flinched. Beside him, Jason felt Tim tense. He as starting to hate this woman more by the second.

"We will take our leave," said Mr. Livingston

"Please do," said Bruce, tone rivalling the Arctic winds, "And consider yourselves disinvited from any event that has even a small part of the Waynes in it,"

That was basically 99.9% of Gotham City.

The family four left, quickly being swallowed up by the crowd.

"Well, no more sleepovers at their house," muttered Sean, and then turned toward Bruce, "You know some of us to send our boys to the dormitories despite living in the city. William and Jared roomed together and when Jared started having sleepovers with them, Carrie and I were happy. He gets lonely at home, you know. Obviously we didn't realize the differences in values, we'll definitely make sure to talk to Jared,"

"We're so sorry, Damian," said Carrie, lowering herself a little so she could look him in the eye, "You didn't deserve that,"

Damian nodded.

"I'm also going to look into the Livingstons a little more closely," said Sean, "There was something not right about the way Sasha spoke to her youngest,"

"Hmm," said Bruce, "I think we've all had enough excitement for the night,"

The Luckys obviously saw the dismissal and left without saying much more.

As soon as they were gone, Bruce led them to the back balcony, rarely used by anyone and completely deserted. Once they were there, he picked up Damian and held him close, gently cooing at him and scenting him.

It was proof of how emotionally taxing the whole thing had been that Damina didn't even fight it a little, just melted into his father's arms.

"Listen to me, Damian," said Bruce, gently stroking his hair, "Nobody gets to talk to you like that, nobody,"

Damian nodded against Bruce's shoulder.

"Nobody gets to talk to anyone of you like that," said Bruce, looking at each one of them in the eye. They all nodded too.

"Now I have to stay here for the speeches but you are all welcome to go back in," said Bruce, "Damian, do you want to go with Dick?"

"Yes, Father," mumbled Damian

Dick gently took their brother and held him close, similar to how Bruce had been holding him.

"Let's go, guys," said Dick

"I should be inside in an hour," said Bruce

They all nodded at him and quickly made their way to the exit. Jason thanked whatever deity was out there, that the Gala was always held in the manor. They all gathered just outside the door and for a second just looked at each other.

Stephanie was the first to crack, a few chuckles escaping her. Cass smiled next and Tim let out a giggle. Them suddenly they were all laughing, except for Damian who had a sleepy smile on his face.

"Holy shit," said Stephanie, "Holy shit. Forget Batman. Bruce Wayne is fucking terrifying,"

"Did you see the guy's face?" said Duke

"Susan can go die though," said Stephanie

"Sasha," said Tim, copying her haughty tone

"Susan, Sasha, fucking Sally," said Jason and they burst into laughter again.

"God, I've never seen him like that," said Tim as they started to make their way into the family room.

"He used to do it a lot when we were kids," said Dick, gesturing to Jason, "And it surprised people a lot more then. He's changed his public act a lot over the years but back then- imagine twenty-two years old Brucie Wayne, playboy extraordinaire instantly switching to Bruce Wayne, Protective Alpha dad. It was amazing to watch,"

"Yeah," said Jason, getting a little lost in his memories, "I remember this one time he told someone and, I quote, "this boy has more class in his pinky finger than you have in your whole body, Jennifer,"

"Jennifer?" asked Tim

"Her actual name was Jenna,"

Duke snorted, "Of course it was,"

"Guys shhh," said Dick out of nowhere

"What," whispered Stephanie

"I think he's asleep,"

Jason looked at Damian a little closely and sure enough, the little boy was curled up in Dick's lap, fast asleep.

"Aww," said Cass, "Poor little brother,"

"Yeah," said Steph, "All jokes aside, he really doesn't deserve that shit,"

"Good thing we got Bruce, right?" said Duke, looking at them

"Right," Jason found himself saying. His siblings gave him weird looks but he just smiled. Just because Red Hood and Batman didn't agree on some things didn't mean Jason had forgotten what it had felt like to have Bruce's protection, to be held close like he was something precious.

It was really something.

Slowly they all started to make their way out of the room and upstairs to change. Jason went with Dick to help put Damian to bed without waking him up. Once they were done, Dick gave him a quick pat on the back and headed toward his room. Jason went to the room he stayed in when he was at the manor and changed quickly. Instead of going to bed, he headed down to the kitchen and waited. Half an hour later, Bruce walked in, already having changed into sweats and a t-shirt.

"Oh, hey Jason," said Bruce, "What are you still doing up?"

Jason started to think of a lie but then decided against it.

"Waiting for you,"

Bruce smiled, "Come on,"

Together they took out some leftover cake from the fridge and headed toward the sitting room. Bruce took a seat at the love seat and Jason joined him.

"Any particular reason you were waiting for me?"

"Feeling nostalgic, I guess," said Jason, "We used to sit here whenever we came back from a shitty gala or event,"

"I remember. You would wait for me in the kitchen and then we would get whatever we could find from the fridge and eat in here,"

"Yeah," said Jason, "It always felt great, you know. Having you in my corner. I'm glad that other kids get it too now,"

"Jason," said Bruce, putting his plate down, "You still have it. I know we're not the most conventional pack but I am this pack's Alpha and you are a part of it. As such you will always have me in your corner. Even if you don't like thinking of me as your father, I am you Alpha,"

Jason opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. Instead, he just lowered his gaze, a sudden pressure building behind his eyes.

Jesus, he would never get over how small Bruce could make him feel.

"Oh, Jaybird," murmured Bruce, taking away his plate and pulling him into his arms, "My little pup,"

"Not a pup," he sniffed, tucking his face close to Bruce's neck and breathing in his scent of burnt cinnamon mixed with sage.

"Still my pup," said Bruce, "And I'm sorry,"

"For what?"

"Forever letting you think you didn't have me in the same capacity as you used to. I should have made it clear as soon as we agreed to clear the air. You always had me, Jaylad,"

Jason smiled and curled closer, "Love you, Dad,"

He felt Bruce's smile at his temple.

"I love you too, Jay,"

#batfamilyaobweek #batfamily #bruce wayne #dick grayson #tim drake #damian wayne #Jason Todd #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #batdad

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bookwormwolf · 6 years ago

Text

Locked Away

Arthur x Atlantean reader

Summary: An AU in which it isn't Orm who tries to destroy the surface, but his father who is still alive. Orvax wins the battle between him and Arthur, and orders Arthur's secret lover to be executed as punishment. However, Arthur along with Mera, Orm, Vulko and Atlanna overthrow Orvax.

Rating: SFW but descriptions of violence and kind of derogatory terms. Also the f bomb.

Requested: No

After the execution of Queen Atlanna, young Prince Orm grew distant from his father, finding a new paternal figure in Nuidis Vulko, his mother's old friend. The King and former War General Orvax in a desperate attempt to keep his son loyal to him, brought (Name), daughter of the King's distant cousin and Princess Mera of Xebel to the court of Atlantis. Mera and Orm were quickly betrothed whilst (Name) was trained to be the perfect spy, a weapon that most Atlanteans wouldn't suspect due to her relation to royalty and the fact she was a woman.

Little did Orvax know, the girl that he pushed and trained for over ten years to be his perfect weapon would be the very one help to bring him down.

...

Mera and (Name) became close friends as they grew up, and (Name) supported the plan that Mera had to bring Orm's half brother back to Atlantis. So, Mera left Atlantis to fetch the man, but (Name) could not leave, in fear the King would suspect something. Instead, she distracted Prince Orm and fed him false information about where Mera had gone. It wasn't long before Mera returned with Arthur, and (Name) got to meet the man that they had all risked everything for - and he was gorgeous. His hair was dark, which was so unlike the current royal family and if Mera had not told her that he was Atlanna's son, she would have never of guessed that this man was a prince of Atlantis. They all continued to meet in secret for a while and (Name) slowly fell for Arthur, the hero she and the rest of Atlantis needed. She got more and more daring, caring less for the favour that the King had for her and one night, months after they had first met, (Name) travelled with Arthur to the surface. She couldn't stay long because she had told the King that she was sweeping the surface ready for the takeover that she was desperately trying to prevent. On that night, standing at the dock where Arthur told her he had seen his mother for the last time, they kissed. (Name) clung to him, the tears that the sea would usually wash away lingered on her cheeks as she sobbed. She sobbed for the love that they could never have before plunging back into the depths, just as Atlanna had with Thomas.

But, all was well until one day somehow Orm figured out what was going on. And he was furious, so angry that he had all of them arrested and taken to his father straight away. And here they all were, Mera with a guard holding her hands behind her back, Vulko with two guards pointing their weapons at him and Arthur, god, poor Arthur had been chained up and forced to his knees. But (Name) had taken the most damage out of anyone, the King's own flesh and blood (no matter how distant) had betrayed him and he was determined she was going to pay for it.

Arthur hated the view in front of him, but he could not move away due to the chains holding him. The woman who had been so clever and selfless for the good of her home was being mostly blamed for all their actions. Somewhere in the background, he could hear Vulko and Mera being dragged to the dungeons whilst the King stepped towards (Name), trident raised.

"You have betrayed the throne of Atlantis, girl, your own family. For what? A half breed bastard?" Orvax yelled at her, but (Name) hardly seemed phased.

"Arthur is a good man. He will be a good king." She stood there, defiant but secretly terrified.

Orvax tensed, and (Name) knew she wasn't going to get off easily. There was no hope for her now, no way for her to talk and lie her way out of this situation. She readied herself for pain, and closed her eyes, feeling the water rippling around her. The familiar crackle of the King's trident moving through the water came towards her and she dodged, her knife dropping from the holder up her sleeve. She in turn lunged, slicing through Orvax's armour easily.

"You traitor! You shall die for this, I made you what you are, you foolish girl and I will take it all away. I will take him away."

And he hits her. He hits her across the face, hard but she doesn't cry out. She staggers and turns back, throwing the knife in her hand right where the gap in the armour she had made was but the King caught it before it reached him. He laughed in her face, before gesturing the guards to grab her.

"You are not quite a queen so no merciful trench execution, girl. Put her in the holding cell and we'll do it publicly with him-" Orvax pauses and points at Arthur, a cruel grin on his face, "watching as she begs for death."

Arthur roars. He roared like a beast and struggled in his chains, helpless as (Name) is dragged away, equally screaming and kicking until she gets hit in the head and cries his name as she goes as limp as the water allows her. He turns to Orvax, and his eyes darken. Oh this isn't just about his mother now - this man has taken two things from him that he loved.

"You lay a fucking finger on her..." He snarls before he too is knocked out and carried to a cell.

...

When (Name) awakes, the first thing that she realises is that she's cold. And then that there was blood stuck to her hair and she's pretty sure that somebody had beaten her whilst she was sleeping because her ribs feel bruised. She looked around desperately for Arthur and almost called for him, but with a surge of panic that sets deep in her stomach she's realises that Orvax could exploit that and instead punches the wall hard enough the skin breaks and she can hear a crack that tells her that something is now most likely broken. (Name) let out a word that Arthur would be proud of, and when she noticed Orvax watching her, she repeated it.

"Are you ready to die?"

Of course she isn't, big oaf.

"Are you ready to kill me?"

Oh yes, Arthur would be proud.

"I'm ready to hear you scream. Don't forget, girl, I taught you how to handle torture, but not this kind. The sooner you submit to me and pledge your allegiance, the quicker I will stop."

"Do your worst." (Name) snapped and the King chuckles darkly.

"Oh I will."

And he does, because she was placed in the arena used for fighting. The fire pit, or some name that she never cared to know but her eyes hone in on Arthur, bloody and battered and looking like he is about to die. It all clicked into place at once, and she knew that these tears will be washed away by the ocean. It isn't her to be tortured here - it's him. Arthur is going to die because of her. (Name) spins wildly, but is met with laughter from the spectators.

"Orvax!" She shouted, and Arthur seems to be concious enough to notice her now. "Please do not harm him."

"Cage him." The King ordered, ignoring (Name) completely.

The guards throw Artbur into a small cage, and she swims to him, fingers grasping his through the tiny gaps and she presses her lips to his desperately. It is heaven, and she looses herself in him before hands snatch her backwards and Arthur is hoisted up so he cannot reach her.

"He submitted girl. Will you?"

"Lies. He would never. And neither will I."

And she won't. No matter how many times he shocks her, or throws her into the wall. She gets back up when he kicks her down and spits in his face when he punches her. She struggles when he plunges the trident into her stomach and refuses to scream as he twists it. But now she's aware that she is blacking out, and a panicked sob betrays her as it bubbled from her throat. The last thing that she heard makes her feel ashamed and angry, but sleep is too strong to deny. She just prays to Poseidon if he's listening to make sure Mera and Vulko are okay and Arthur survived.

"Pity. She betrayed her family for the chance to procreate with a half breed."

...

Not even Atlantean technology could save her, but Arthur and the others carried on as best they could, eventually recruiting Orm and within the year, Atlanna had been discovered alive on the Hidden Kingdom. On his coronation day, Arthur is almost happy - they had finally overthrown Orvax but one face was missing in the crowd.

(Name).

#aquaman imagine #arthur curry imagine #arthur curry x reader #arthur curry #aquaman #aquaman x reader #aquaman x you #nuidis vulko #princess mera #mera of xebel

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grapefruitguan-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Serendipity At Sea (OSW)

“All passengers, thank you for boarding the S.S Ferry!” the intercom boomed, “We hope you enjoyed the ride. Please have a safe trip, and come again!”

You stepped out of the creaky boat onto the harbor, where the salty scent of the ocean hit you like a tidal wave. The seagulls flew across the cloudless blue sky, and the hot, bright sun was in its full glory.

You almost forgot what this felt like; this was home.

Your hometown was a sleepy seaside port with a measly population of 500. Right next to the coast line, many cruise ships and tourists would stop by to admire the clear waters and varied species of sea life. Everybody knew each other, and remained as one happy family.

That is, until the storm hit.

You were only ten years old when your father, a fisherman, never returned from his journey. That day, the other men and him were determined to catch lobsters, in which could only be found during the stormy seasons. Because of the difficulty to catch them, the prices for the red crustacean were high. Gearing up in raincoats and hauling nets into their ships, you still remember your dad’s last words to you.

“(Y/N), I’ll be back, okay? Dad is strong. I’ll always be back for you,” he chuckled, ruffling your hair.

He never did. That night, you received the devastating news that your father had drowned along with several others during the storm, as the waves became too rough and the lightning struck their ships. You and your mother had left town to migrate to the city to live with her family.

Now, at the age of eighteen, you decided to come back.

As you stayed in the city, you fell in love with Kwon Hyunbin, an upperclassmen that went to the same school as you. For months, it was everything you had wished for, until you discovered who he really was.

It started with his overprotectiveness. You used to think he cared about you just a little extra, but it changed when he refused to let you have any male friends, and not letting any male get close to you.

“(Y/N),” Hyunbin snarled, “You aren’t allowed to talk to Kenta anymore.”

“What, why? Kenta’s like my best friend, we have science togeth-”

“I said, you can’t talk to him! You’re MY girlfriend, not his.”

He started calling you derogatory names instead of your own, beating you whenever you did something he didn’t like. You’d cake your skin with makeup, desperate to hide all the purple and green marks that stained your skin. As the days continued, you were starting to feel hopeless.

That was when Ong Seongwoo helped you.

Ong was your best friend from your hometown, where the two of you would run to build sandcastles together after school. Like you, his father was a fisherman, and the two of you first met when you were four and were arguing over who had the prettier seashell. He remained in your classes for the rest of your years, but all the other kids thought he was weird.

“Ong is so weird! His teeth are so weird!”

“Gross is Ong! Ong is gross!”

“Hey! Stop talking like that about my friend! The rest of you aren’t any better!”

When you were six, you stood up for him in your kindergarten class, soon getting into an argument with the other girls, and eventually getting in trouble for pulling their hair. Ong, when finding out, insisted to stay with you during your time-out.

“Ong, you don’t have to stay with me!”

“No, (Y/N), I have to! You stood up for me to those jerks.”

Ong had called you, full of worry that something bad had happened. The two of you had been pen pals since you left, but Hyunbin didn’t allow you to write anymore. When you told Ong, he firmly spoke into the phone.

“(Y/N), you need to come back home.”

“Ong, I can’t, I’m scared that Hyunbin will literally kill me.”

“He’ll have to get through me first. Just come back home.”

You took Ong’s words to heart, slowly creating a plan to leave. Wordlessly, as Hyunbin went out one night with his friends, you snuck out with nothing but a backpack, and took your route to escape. Ong had promised to be there waiting for you at the harbor where the ferry would drop you off.

He was.

As soon as you stepped out, someone hugged you from behind, making you jump in surprise.

“Wow, you still hate me that much?”

“Ong?!”

“Hey there, (Y/N), it’s been a while.”

He was no longer the awkward little boy in your elementary school class, growing into an extremely handsome man. He now towered over you, his black hair tousled in the wind, flashing a smile so bright you swore you saw a lightbulb.

“You hungry after that ride? It’s on me.”

Ong and you went towards the street vendors, recognizing a familiar face.

“Oh my gosh, Kang Daniel? Holy crap, I could barely recognize you!”

The blonde boy working the stand looked up, his face lighting up.

“(Y/N)?! It’s been years since I last saw you!”

As he was making you and Ong’s food that he insisted was on the house, he let you in on what was currently going on in the town.

“Everyone’s all crazy over that urban legend again,” Daniel said, rolling his eyes as he flipped the takoyaki, “Ong’s been a target for all the girls in our school.”

Your town had a famous myth that your ancestors had sacrificed a whole kraken octopus to the goddess of the sea. To thank them for their work, she blessed the town and its people that whenever the girls would turn the age of 18, they would find true love. You never believed it, but you secretly always wished that it was true.

“Ong’s popular with the girls now? Man, I used to get into fights with them to make them stop teasing him.”

“He is,” Daniel nodded, sliding you your food, “but he doesn’t ever shut up about you, and how amazing you are.”

Ong punched Daniel, turning red.

“Don’t listen to him!”

You continued laughing and stayed with Daniel for another hour until you parted ways. The two boys bid you farewell, and you were on your own again. As the sun quickly started to set and be replaced by the stars, you decided to walk around the harbor, stopping exactly where your father last stood.

“Dad, are you still watching over me?”

You sighed, knowing it was hopeless to even ask. You sat down on the boardwalk, dangling your legs above the water.

“(Y/N)? What’re you still doing here? It’s almost 10 PM.”

You turned to see Ong, wearing a grey pullover and black sweatpants. A pair of glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, curious as to why you were still out, and not at your friend’s house.

“Oh, hey, I’m just thinking about some stuff,” you said, looking up, “care to join me?”

He sat down next to you, as the two of you talked for hours about eachothers’ lives, the stars, and it finally got to your relationship with Hyunbin.

“He’s going to come after me, Ong, I just know it,” you said, shakily, “he knows I’m gone. I think he’s waiting for me to either come back, or to grab me himself.”

“He’s not going to get far. Remember, he has to get through me first,” he reassured, patting your back, “I promise I won’t let him get close to you.”

“Why do you even care so much? You were the only person I kept in contact with when I left, and why are you so quick to helping me all the time?”

He sighed.

“Do you really want to know the truth?”

You nodded.

“You did the same for me, didn’t you? When all those kids in our class would make fun of me, you even got yourself in trouble by sticking up for me. (Y/N), it’s the least I can do.”

“Don’t they all like you now?”

“Yeah, because of how I look. Not for who I am, they just think I’m good looking. It almost sickens me,” he scoffs, “it’s all kind of fake.”

He picked up a pebble, before chucking it into the vast blue.

“(Y/N), have you ever seen a rock before it’s in the ocean?”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” he continued, “it’s bumpy and rough, and it hurts when you step on them. But rocks that’ve been in the ocean are smooth.”

“Is this a science lesson? You always sucked at it,” you teased.

“No, it isn’t, it’s a deep metaphor,” he laughed.

“The waves in the ocean gradually wear away at the rock, smoothing it out over time to get rid of all its rough edges.”

After chucking another pebble, he faced you.

“I promise, (Y/N), I’ll be your ocean. Hyunbin hurt you so many times that I can’t even count anymore, and I promise I’ll wear all of it away. I don’t care how long it talks for you to heal, because if it’s the last thing I do, I promise to glue all your broken pieces back together.”

“Ong, I’m speechless, this is just so sudden-”

“(Y/N), I’ve liked you since the day our dads introduced us to each other at the harbor. But, for twelve years, I’ve always been terrified of telling you. I told myself that I had to tell you when you came back,” he said, instantly turning red.

“I’m not expecting an answer, I just needed to get it out.”

You shook your head.

“I have something to say as well.”

“Even when I was with Hyunbin, the only reason why I didn’t become depressed was because of you. You decided to stick with me throughout all those years, and all the days where I felt like giving up, you were the reason I didn’t. For a while, I felt guilty for liking you even though I was with someone else.”

You took a deep breath.

“I don’t believe in superstitions, and I honestly found the legend with the ocean goddess super silly. But if I’m going to find true love in anyone, it has to be you.”

“Please don’t be lying to me,” Ong whispered, “I’ve literally dreamt about this day for so long, that you honestly have no idea.”

You gave him a hug, burying your face into his pullover.

“I’m not asking to be something right away, (Y/N), and I really don’t mind taking it slow. I’d honestly wait for you until the end of time.”

He held you tight, almost as if he let you go, you’d disappear too.

“I wonder how our dads would react to this.”

“Honestly? They’re probably laughing together up in Heaven,” you laughed.

“Well, it all just happened by chance,” Ong chuckled, “Who would ever have thought that the girl I’ve been in love with for twelve years actually likes me back?”

“Ong, I’m trying to enjoy the moment right now.”

“Oh, got it.”

The two of you remained next to eachother until the sun rose up the next day. Hyunbin indeed try to call you and demand for you to come home, but as Ong stated, he’d have to get through him first.

It turns out that Ong had already reported Hyunbin to the police, and you all received word a week later, about how Hyunbin was put under house arrest. You haven’t heard a single word about him since.

After confessing to each other on the night at the harbor, you and Ong were closer than ever. All of the girls were extremely jealous of you, but couldn’t deny that you and Ong just suited one another perfectly. His fan club left you alone, knowing that Ong would never let them live if they hurt you.

The two of you would still go to the shore the same way you did when you were kids. He’d give you countless piggyback rides, always insist on you to wear his jacket, and always made sure that you should never be treated anything less than perfect.

When the time had come to decide on career paths, Ong decided to become a fisherman just like his dad was, and you decided to help Daniel’s family run their shop. Each morning, Ong left at the crack of dawn, but never forgot to kiss you on his way out.

“I love you.”

“Mhm, me too.”

Life was treating you well. Like Ong had stated, he did “wear away all your hard edges.” Your skin that once had green and purple patches all over it was now fully healed, and they weren’t going to come back any time soon.

One sunny day, Daniel was working his family’s food stand as a two tourist came to order, talking about a couple they saw earlier.

“Do you happen to know that couple who’s by the shore right now? They’re so precious; it reminds me of my days in young love,” gushed the woman.

Daniel smiled, sliding the food towards the tourists.

“Yeah, I do. They were childhood best friends.”

“Hmm, that’s serendipity at its finest,” her husband mused.

“Serendipity?” Daniel asked, “What does that mean?”

“It’s the occurrence of events by chance in a happy or lucky way,” the woman smiled, “I blessed this island eons ago with it with the blessing of true love!”

Daniel stared at the lady, convinced that she was just crazy, but bid her farewell.

As the “tourists” walked away, they spotted you and Ong together by the shore, still laughing together while holding hands. The two of you ran across in the vain attempt of catching a seagull, grinning like you had won the lottery.

“Serendipity, huh?” the woman smiled, “It’s a beautiful thing.”

“Not as beautiful as you, my dear.”

The couple descended into the ocean, transforming back into their godly forms, only leaving behind traces of seafoam.

Ong and you now fell into the water, surrounded by countless sea turtles and bright coral. He grabbed your hand, pulling you closer towards him. A crowd of seahorses and starfish watched you two share an underwater kiss before darting away quickly. Giggling, you both rose back up to the surface.

“So,” Ong started, “was that our first kiss?”

You grinned and kissed him, tasting the saltiness from the sea on his lips once more.

“That doesn’t mean it has to be the last.”

#wannaone #fanfic #drabble #laiguanlin #ongseongwu #kangdaniel #baejinyoung #parkjihoon #parkwoojin #leedaehwi #hasungwoon #hwang minhyun #kimjaehwan #yoonjisung

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bluephoenixdruidicprincess · 7 years ago

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Shadowhunters Season 2 Episode 14 -- The Fair Folk -- Review/Discussion

I am so sorry that this review is so late. I had a majority of this review written right after 2x14 came out but there was one part of the review I was really struggling to write. I wasn’t very happy with it and I still don’t really like how it came out but I hope everyone understands where I’m coming from on that part. If you don’t and think I’m a bitch, fine you’re allowed to have your opinion and I’ll respect it. Bitch though I may be, I still ask that you respect my opinions.

Here we are again with another Shadowhunters review. This time it’s Shadowhunters Season 2 Episode 14, The Fair Folk. This episode pretty much marks everything I’ve come to expect with a Shadowhunters episode. I didn’t hate it but I didn’t particularly love it either. You know, I used to enjoy re-watching the episodes when I prepare for these reviews but these days, it’s starting to feel like actual work.

This is going to be an honest review of my thoughts and feelings regarding this episode. If you’re the kind of Shadowhunters fan where you only want to hear positive things about the show, this is not the place for you. If you decide to stick around and get offended by what is said, then that’s on you. I warned you. Just know that if you send me any rude comments or messages, I will 100% ignore you. I find that’s the best way to deal with bullies. I work 14 hour days. Do you really think I want to waste my incredibly valuable free time dealing with derogatory comments? Hell no. This review will consist of my honest opinions. Opinions are never right or wrong. I’m not telling you how to think and feel. I’m telling you what I think and feel. So please, let’s discuss with dignity and respect. If I’m critical about the show, it’s only because I want it to get better. There is, in fact, a difference between hating a show and being critical of it. I do not hate Shadowhunters; I am being critical and analyzing the flaws as I would with any other show. There are positives but there are also negatives. It’s great if you want to promote positivity with this show (and I encourage you to do so) but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t acknowledge the things that are legitimately wrong with it. Also, keep in mind that despite the fact that I do love the books, me being critical of this show has nothing to do with my love of the books. I don’t really care if the show deviates from the source material as long as it’s good and it makes sense. My problems with this show are problems that I would have with any show or book for that matter. I think it’s perfectly reasonable to take issue with a show that has plot holes, shoddy world-building, and inconsistent characters. There will be spoilers for the show and spoilers for the books and movie.

As I said earlier, this episode wasn’t terrible. I feel like that’s something that I can consistently say about every episode that airs now. It was fine. It didn’t completely suck. But on the flip side, I shouldn’t be thinking that. I should be saying, “This show is fucking awesome. Everyone should watch it.” Shadowhunters, when are you going to do that for me? When are you going to wow me in such a way that I literally cannot wait until the next episode? That I’m counting down the days until the next episode premieres. I made a promise to myself that I would stick with this show until it ended on its own or it got cancelled but geez is it getting harder and harder. Don’t get me wrong. Shadowhunters by no means is a bad show. It’s completely passable. But I think therein, lies the issue. The writing of this show does the bare minimum to just skate by. It’s just average and I want it to be more than average. It irritates me because I want to like this show so much and recommend it to everyone but as it stands now, I would never do that. The plot holes bother me, characters are dumb for plot convenience but toted around as if they’re actually smart, and the dialogue gets downright atrocious at times. But enough with my griping about the writing of the show. I’m trying to be optimistic so every week I go into this show hoping that Shadowhunters will surprise me. Maybe one day, they will. Let’s get into this.

Sebastian/Jonathon Manipulations

Will Tudor was busy being awesome again in this episode as Sebastian/Jonathon. He was all over the place playing mind game manipulation tricks on everyone and it seems to be working really well for him. He’s got nearly everyone under his spell. I think he’s still working on Alec, though. Which was great, by the way. All throughout this episode, we have Sebastian/Jonathon weaving his web of manipulations throughout everyone in the Institute. The only thing I wish would happen is that whatever diabolical plan Sebastian/Jonathon is working on, I wish that Alec would be included in it. Sebastian/Jonathon is hardcore manipulating everyone but Alec and it would be really nice to see him manipulate Alec as well or at least have Alec play some sort of role in his plans. It kind of feels like Alec is just going to be a spectator in this particular plot point.

We have the Jace scene which was awesome. Jace was playing the piano and Jace and Sebastian/Jonathon have this really interesting scene. They talk about Valentine abusing Jace while teaching him to play piano and you can see just the slightest twinge of jealousy in Will Tudor’s face. He’s jealous that Valentine didn’t give him the same upbringing that he gave Jace and hopefully that’s going to be developed more. I really enjoyed seeing that little bit of foreshadowing in regards to Sebastian/Jonathon’s feelings towards Jace and Valentine.They then move on to a Clary conversation. Sebastian/Jonathon is clearly trying to instigate drama in the love triangle. He needs Clary to not be with Simon so he needs Jace to act on his feelings with Clary.

Then we also have him getting close to Izzy again and trying to convince her to come clean to her mother about the drug addiction. That was also a great fight scene they had and I didn’t even mind the techno music they inserted into that scene. Probably because they turned down the volume a little.

Even though it’s not really stated, I’m pretty sure Luke was being manipulated by Sebastian/Jonathon as well. It’ll probably be revealed later. Which, by the way, Luke continues to be the dumbest detective I’ve ever seen portrayed as a serious detective. He gets a phone call in the back of the Jade Wolf. The voice on the phone is muffled so Luke can’t tell who it is. This random person Luke doesn’t even recognize tells him that he can be given the chance to kill Valentine and Luke just takes it. Doesn’t question at all that it’s probably a set up. It was so obvious right from the get-go. It really irks me when characters are dumb for plot convenience. If the plot is dumb, fine, I can deal with that. But if your characters are going to make dumb decisions for plot convenience, then stop toting them around as if they’re actual intelligent people. When you do this, it sends the message that you think your audience is stupid. In the last episode, I praised Luke for finally coming into his own and being the badass Luke that I’ve always wanted but now we’re back to weird Luke. First off, it was weird that Luke even wanted Valentine dead to begin with. We had gotten no inclination, whatsoever, that he was harboring these kinds of feelings in the last few episodes so that kind of came out of left field. Then, we had Luke not wanting to be a part of the Downworlder-Shadowhunter cabinet that Alec is setting up because, “It’s not enough.” And I’m just like, “Well, compared to what you had before with the shadowhunters – which was nothing – this is an excellent place to start.” You don’t win a revolution in one day. You have to take baby steps. Yes, the Clave is bigoted but this is also the first time that the head of an Institute is trying to set up negotiations with the downworlders to get their voice heard. This may be a small and inconsequential step but I feel like it’s going to be integral in getting the Clave to eventually change and it’s really single-minded and weird for Luke to be against it so much. I say weird because his book counterpart even in the beginning, was fighting for this exact thing to happen. To get downworlders and shadowhunters to work together. That’s how the Circle was defeated. Downworlders and shadowhunters put their differences aside and fought together to stop the Circle and Valentine. It was that moment that spawned Luke to believe that it is possible for shadowhunters and downworlders to live peacefully with each other. It’s just weird to me that Show Luke is so against working with Alec when Alec is implementing something that Luke should feel pretty strongly about and be all for.

And then, Sebastian/Jonathon attempts to manipulate Alec but Alec goes against the manipulation without even realizing he did. Sebastian/Jonathon set up Luke to be caught so Alec would have no choice but to arrest him and thus would put an end to a NYC Downworlder-Shadowhunter alliance. But Alec let’s Luke go to prove a point to the downworlders -- that he’s willing to work with them and that was really great. Just the look Sebastian/Jonathon gave Alec after Alec makes his decision was awesome. It was like, “WTF. What’s going on here? You didn’t do what I wanted you to do.”

Sebastian also has someone tied up in his closet which was weird. I’ve heard some people say that it’s Jocelyn but my money’s on it being the real Sebastian Verlac. When Jocelyn was first killed, I didn’t think she was actually dead because the sibling thing still needed to be revealed and Jocelyn was seemingly the only one who could do that. But now that Valentine spilled the beans on the sibling thing, there’s no real point to keeping Jocelyn alive. I can’t really think of anything that would spur the show to bring her back. There’s nothing she can really add to the plot anymore. It would also completely destroy the actual point of killing Jocelyn in the first place. They killed off Jocelyn because 1) she was kind of a useless character and 2) her death would propel Clary’s character arc (even though it didn’t really – that plot point was dropped pretty quickly). It seems counter-productive to make a plot that was meant to push Clary’s character forward only to undo it all at a later point in the same season, nonetheless. But who knows. Maybe they will bring her back just so Luke won’t be alone. I am sad that with Jocelyn dead, Luke doesn’t end up with her. Maybe they’ll create another love interest for him. But anyway, my money’s on the real Sebastian that’s locked up in the closet. After all, he probably needs the real Sebastian just in case he needs to find out about his life. In case someone questions who he really is. That being said, I still think it’s really weird that this show has everyone in the Institute just blindly accepting someone who admitted he’s a rogue shadowhunter. If someone’s gone rogue, then maybe someone should go investigate that. Find out the story. If you’ve gone rogue, you might not be the most trustworthy person. Again, characters just being dumb for plot convenience.

I know I’ve made a lot of complaints about idiot plots in this show and characters being dumb for plot convenience. But keep in mind, I really don’t have that big of an issue with idiot plots. There are certain scenarios that I can stomach characters being dumb for plot convenience and idiot plots. Well, really only one scenario. And that’s, “It makes sense for the characters.” I can let a character slide with making a dumb decision if they have a personality that supports them making that kind of decision. An example of this is the anime, Dragonball Z. Yeah, I’m about to get really nerdy on you non-anime fans but bear with me here. I promise there’s a point to this. There is an arc in Dragonball Z where the entire arc revolves around an idiot plot and characters being complete idiots and making really bad decisions. But I could let that slide because the decisions the characters were making made sense with their personalities. The arc I’m speaking of is the Cell Saga arc. It starts off with the group being warned that they are going to be killed in 3 years by androids. One of the characters comes up with the perfectly logical plan of, “Let’s go find the scientist who makes these androids and take care of him before he even has a chance to create them.” But the main protagonist, Goku, is all, “No, we’re not going to do that because I really want to fight these androids.” It’s a dumb decision but it makes sense with Goku’s character. Goku is always looking for the next big challenge. He needs the thrill of the fight. Another moment in the plot is the anti-hero, Vegeta, is about to defeat the big bad, Cell, but ultimately decides against defeating Cell because he wants to defeat Cell at Cell’s strongest. In order for Cell to reach his “perfect” form, he has to absorb Android 18. Vegeta allows this to happen and no surprise, Vegeta is now no longer strong enough to defeat Cell once Cell becomes “perfect”. Again, a dumb decision, but Vegeta is a very prideful person so it stands to reason he wouldn’t consider a win against Cell a real win unless he defeated Cell when Cell was at his peak. Then, Krillin/Kuririn (depends on what version you watch) has the chance to destroy Android 18 to stop Cell from achieving the perfect form he so craves but ultimately destroys the remote that would destroy 18. Dumb decision, again, but it also makes sense because Krillin/Kuririn is starting to fall in love with this android. He sees her as not this machine that everyone else is seeing but this innocent girl who ran into some bad luck and was turned into an android against her will. He can’t bring himself to kill someone who is, for all intents and purposes, human in his eyes and doesn’t deserve to die. It’s very much in line with his character. Then nearing the end of the arc, Goku sends out his 10-year-old son, Gohan (who is my all-time favorite character, BTW), to fight Cell which appalls everyone. Everyone else believes Gohan doesn’t stand a chance against Cell and that Goku has lost it completely but Goku is so adamant that Gohan can do it that before the fight begins, he gives Cell a sensu bean to restore Cell’s energy. It’s a dumb decision and it would appear Goku is setting Gohan up to die. But again, it makes sense for Goku’s character. Goku spent all of this time training with Gohan in a different dimension for an entire year. During that year, Goku saw the true extents of Gohan’s power and knew that if Cell pushed Gohan far enough, Gohan would eventually have no choice but to unleash that hidden power and when that happened, Cell wouldn’t stand a chance in hell of defeating Gohan. So his decision, albeit a bad decision, makes sense for his character. Of course, in this moment, Goku failed to take in account Gohan’s personality, as well. That being Gohan is a bit of a pacifist and doesn’t fight for the glory or the challenge. It wasn’t that easy for him to unlock that power because he really didn’t want to take part in a fight that he thought was meaningless and didn’t have to happen. He’s not a killer and he didn’t want to become one for a fight that he saw a way out of. He eventually does access his hidden power in all its bad-ass glory but as a consequence, he also falls into the idiot plot as well. He’s kicking Cell’s ass just like Goku predicted he would but when he has the chance to defeat Cell for good, he doesn’t take it. He doesn’t feel that Cell has suffered enough for all of the horrible things he’s done. Gohan wants to continue beating up on him a little more and making him suffer more. Bad decision and a little out of character for him. That’s the interesting thing about this moment, though. He’s out of character a little but still kind of in character at the same time. When he unleashed his hidden power, it was done in a fit of rage so it stands to reason that Gohan isn’t thinking logically at this point. He’s 100% being controlled by his emotions. I’ve often thought that the power drove him to slight insanity in these moments. Even earlier on in the series, every time Gohan’s hidden power came to peak out and say hi, it was because Gohan was in a fit of rage and every time it happened, he would black out. He couldn’t remember a whole lot about what he did. So yeah, it’s a dumb decision but it makes sense. It makes sense that a 10-year-old unleashing that kind of power in a fit of rage probably wouldn’t be able to think as he normally would. See where I’m getting at here. The entire Cell Saga is one big, huge idiot plot but I still feel like it works because the decisions that were made were still very much in line with the characters and their motivations. I can’t say the same thing about Shadowhunters. I don’t have a problem with idiot plots as long as they’re done well which is not what is happening with Shadowhunters. Luke’s character should not be trusting some voice on a burner phone. He should be trying to figure out who this person actually is before putting his freedom in this unknown person’s hands. Someone should be looking in to the London Insititute to find out some more information about this Sebastian. There was no reason for Azazel to go up to random shadowhunters asking for the Mortal Cup. All he did was alert the shadowhunters to his presence in the first place. If he had kept quiet, he wouldn’t have been sent back to hell. No one would’ve known he was in our dimension. The characters are dumb simply because the writers can’t find a way to write their idiot plots in a manner that makes sense for the characters and that’s the real problem I have with the plots in this show. It’s the problem with the show not always writing the plot to fit the characters. They keep on trying to make the characters fit the plot and as a result, it kind of comes off condescending. It’s like the show is saying, “The audience won’t pay attention to this. We can totally get away with it.” It comes off like they think we’re dumb. The Cell Saga was an idiot plot in its entirety but I never felt like Akira Toriyama or Toei Animation was treating the audience as if they were dumb. Shadowhunters writes their plots and their dialogue as if they think the characters are smarter than the audience when they’re really not. It can be very tiring watching a Shadowhunters plot when every single scene I’m asking, “Why?”

Shadowhunter-Downworlder Cabinet

We get introduced in this episode to this Shadowhunter-Downworlder idea that Alec has where representatives from the NYC Institute and the different factions of the downworlder community get together and talk about issues. And this idea got me right in the Alec feels because Alec from the books actually does something similar to this in Tales From the Shadowhunter Academy and it’s kind of awesome for his character. He’s not the head of the NYC Institute but this is a position that he created and takes very seriously. I actually really liked the parts of the episode that dealt with this aspect. It wasn’t perfect. There were a couple of odd ends. I’ve already mentioned the Luke thing. And then there was the Malec phone call where Magnus tells Alec he’ll be there by his side and Alec tells asks him not to be. That during this meeting, they need to be professional and keep their distance which makes sense. Alec needs to put up a stance that he is professional and that he won’t have any sort of bias towards one faction of the downworlder community. Of course, Magnus doesn’t see it this way. He gets all insecure and takes it to mean that Alec might be ashamed of him, I guess. Just a weird character moment for him. Their relationship is already out in the open. Alec kissed him in front of the entire Clave leadership. They haven’t exactly been low-profile with their relationship. Everyone knows about it. It’s kind of pointless to have Magnus being all insecure about this because I don’t believe he would be. Alec has already shown he doesn’t care what the Clave thinks of him anymore. It’s perfectly reasonable that two people in this situation should put some distance between each other in a business setting. Office romances are a perfectly common and natural thing that happens and depending on where you work, it’s not really treated as something bad unless the couple in question proves that they can’t stay professional. Leave the home stuff at home and all that jazz. Same logic can be applied in this scenario. When they’re working together, it needs to be kept professional. For me, it was perfectly reasonable that Alec would ask this of Magnus and it was weird that Magnus was taking it as an affront to their relationship. Professionalism is key into making an idea like this work. I get that Magnus is still hurting from the switch but I really feel like the show might be over-reaching just a little with the Malec drama. I’m not saying there shouldn’t be Malec drama based on what happened. I totally get it. Magnus is definitely still hurting from what happened and he should be. But I just don’t like the way the show is writing it. AGAIN, I’M NOT SAYING MAGNUS ISN’T JUSTIFIED IN BEING UPSET ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM OR THAT THERE SHOULDN’T BE MALEC DRAMA ABOUT IT; I JUST DON’T LIKE THE WAY THE WRITERS ARE APPROACHING IT. The Magnus insecurities are coming out in a way that I just don’t feel is genuine and consistent with his character. I didn’t like that Magnus didn’t even try to understand Alec’s position in the last episode. That Magnus accused Alec of not following his heart and following the Institute blindly. Which is all well and good but it does beg the question – What should Alec have done? If he had decided to not pursue the DNA test, it wouldn’t have stopped the Clave from potentially suspecting Magnus anyway. Magnus isn’t giving any other ideas on how to get them out of this situation. It’s really easy to complain about something but you’ll be taken much more seriously if you give an alternative when you complain. Remember, step up or step aside. You don’t get to complain unless you’re willing to do something about it. I’m not saying Magnus shouldn’t have gotten angry but he also wasn’t really trying to understand the position Alec was in. Then in this episode, I don’t feel like Magnus would’ve gotten so weird about Alec wanting to maintain professionalism. The show tries so hard to put in Malec drama and it always falls flat and it never feels genuine. The fights, to a certain extent, always feel kind of petty, I guess. But I’m not ragging on them completely. I did enjoy that little scene where they’re greeting each other and attempting the professionalism. I could tell Matt and Harry had a lot of fun with that scene.

Another underlying issue I had and it’s just something I wish the show had written a little more differently. This antagonism the downworlders and the shadowhunters have is just very black and white. I’ve been noticing it for a few episodes now and I’ve decided I want to bring it up. The downworlders are playing up this whole “wronged party” angle where the shadowhunters are being played as the enemies. Now, the downworlders are perfectly justified in being the victims. I’m not disputing that. Valentine massacred them and then the Clave crossed the line with that whole tracker thing. I understand the downworlders’ angle here. However, I kind of wish the show wasn’t portraying that downworlders are the good guys and shadowhunters are the bad guys. The Shadowhunter world has always lived in a “shades of grey” type of existence. There are good shadowhunters and there are bad shadowhunters. There are shadowhunters that do care about the downworlder community and don’t want a war and there are shadowhunters who believe downworlders are beneath them and are no better than the demons they’re related to. On the flipside, there are good downworlders and there are bad downworlders. There are downworlders who just want to live peacefully side by side with the mundanes and shadowhunters and there are downworlders that have no qualms about killing mundanes or shadowhunters. See where I’m getting at here? Just like the world we live in, there are shades of grey to this world and I don’t like how the show is portraying this world as something so black and white. Right now, it’s made like only the Lightwoods and Clary care about the downworlders. As if they’re the only “good” shadowhunters around and everyone else is evil and I’m not really a fan of all that. And we have the downworlders depicted as these beings who never do anything wrong and are having this great injustice done to them. Which I admit, what was done to them was terrible. I’m not disputing that but it feels like the show is kind of ignoring the idea that not all downworlders are good people. I don’t typically agree with a lot of things the Season 1 writers were doing but I did like one idea they were starting to implement before the showrunner change. That there are downworlders who don’t follow the law and they do attack humans and they do kill shadowhunters. I thought the scene was really interesting when Valentine was trying to convince Jace that downworlders are evil because it is a shades of grey scenario. There are downworlders who do horrible things as we saw in that first episode when Jace found that vampire den that was feeding on humans and killing them. It really kind of made you look at Valentine’s side of things and think, “Hey, I don’t really agree with you but you make a fair point. I could definitely see why people might want to follow you.” Unfortunately, the show dropped that angle but ultimately, it was something I wanted them to implement more into the world-building. It’s pretty much been dropped completely, sadly. Maybe they’ll bring it back at some point. I would like the show to have less of a cookie-cutter outlook to the world. Again, I’M NOT SAYING THE DOWNWORLDERS DON’T HAVE A RIGHT TO BE ANGRY WITH THE SHADOWHUNTERS. I’M JUST SAYING IT WOULD BE NICE IF THE SHOW TOOK A MORE REALISTIC APPROACH AND WROTE THESE DIFFERENT FACTIONS OF THE SHADOW WORLD IN A WAY THAT THEY DON’T ALWAYS FIT SO CLEANLY IN ONE PILE. There are good people and there are bad people and it would be nice if the show explored this aspect of the shadow world more.

Maryse Mending Fences

Another thing I enjoyed in this episode was pretty much any scene with Maryse in it. I loved her so much in this episode. She’s slowly going through everyone trying to mend fences and fix the problems she created with her family and friends. She goes to Alec in the beginning of the episode and tells him how proud she is that he finally became the head of the Institute. She used a cute little anecdote about Alec, as a kid, sitting at the desk and pretending to be the head. Come on, Shadowhunters, where’s that flashback scene? That’s one I wouldn’t mind seeing. Alec also tells Maryse that she shouldn’t still be with Robert since he cheated on her. Alec wants her to leave Robert. He also urges Maryse to tell Izzy about the affair. That it’ll be even worse if Izzy hears about the affair from the Clave gossiping about it. It was a really nice scene.

She attempts to mend fences with Luke as well but Luke is still very much on his “kill Valentine” vendetta so he doesn’t really want to listen to Maryse. But I like that Maryse brings up Jocelyn and laments how bad she feels about what happened.

Later on, we probably had my favorite Maryse scene where Izzy confesses to Maryse that she has a vampire venom addiction. Nope, I’m still not calling her addiction a yin fen addiction – no matter how many times the show uses the term “yin fen addiction.” I am no longer humoring the show in that regard. But it was a really powerful moment. Izzy comes clean and for a second I didn’t know which way Maryse was going to go on the reaction spectrum. She could’ve rejected Izzy or she could’ve been supportive. And it was really nice to see her supportive when in the first season she treated Izzy as if Izzy was a massive disappointment. It was nice to see that under Maryse’s political bravado, she really does love her children more than anything. Maryse then chooses to come clean and tell Izzy about the affair in which Izzy responds that she already knew about it. She had eavesdropped on a phone call about it. My big question is when did she find out? All throughout Season 1, she worshipped her father and if she knew back then, I find it hard to believe that she would be as receptive to Robert as she was. Particularly since her book counterpart turns very cynical and skeptical about her father and love as a result of finding out about the affair. But she doesn’t seem to harbor those same kinds of feelings in the show which isn’t really a bad thing. I’m not opposed to the show devbiating from the books. I just find it weird that there isn’t a change in her personality from not knowing about the affair to knowing about the affair. If I found out that my father had cheated on my mother, there would definitely be a noticeable change in my attitude. Particularly considering how much I love and look up to my father much in the same way it was implied that Izzy did. I’m thinking this is an attempt by the new showrunners to retcon the first season’s idea of not having Izzy know about the affair which is good. I’m glad they did it and didn’t turn it into this big, huge dramatic reveal, I just think it could’ve been implemented and fore-shadowed a little bit better. I also really liked what Maryse said. “I want you to fight for love like your brother.” Which was really nice. She just wants her children to be happy and it was great. Their entire interaction was so nice. I actually started tearing up a little when they were hugging each other. Shadowhunters isn’t really a show that moves me to tears. The only other time I got teary-eyed with Shadowhunters was in Parabatai Lost but I really want more scenes like this one and the one in Parabatai Lost. I want a show that does move me. Shadowhunters has the story to be able to do it, the writing just needs to get up there.

The Middle School Plot

So now that I’ve finished talking about the adult parts of the episode, I guess now I have to talk about the childish bits of this episode. I refer to this section of the episode as The Middle School Plot. And not only because they made the “middle school” joke in every other scene but also because this side of the episode really was like middle school. We have the adults at the Institute dealing with real adult problems and then we have the kids dealing with their love triangle BS. The seelie court scene is not my favorite scene in the books but I do allow it because it works for the characters and the story…at least in the book format. A lot of fans choose to see the seelie court scene as this great ultimate Clace scene where Clary finally acknowledges her feelings for Jace. And while that is true, it is not the only purpose of the scene. I always felt that the purpose of the scene wasn’t necessarily meant to showcase Clace as much as it was meant to showcase that Climon just cannot work. And I feel like the show kind of missed its mark in this scene. In the book, this scene highlighted that Clary doesn’t feel the same way about Simon that she does for Jace. However, in the show, the scene came off highly cliché and melodramatic – all I have to say is that context is everything. The writers changed the dynamic of Jace/Clary/Simon so much that I don’t think this scene could ever have really worked anymore without it becoming a teenage melodrama that I feel compelled to make fun of. I could not take this plot point seriously, at all. I was honestly worried I may have caused siginificant damage to the nerves in my eyeballs because I was rolling my eyes so much. What I originally found bearable about the Jace/Clary/Simon love triangle in the books is that it wasn’t really a love triangle. It was always fairly obvious that Clary did not have any kind of romantic inclination towards Simon. When she kissed him, she felt nothing. It was nice but it didn’t give her the “fireworks in the background” feeling like kissig Jace did. She continued on with the relationship because she desperately wanted to get over Jace and hoped that if she gave it some time, she might develop romantic feelings towards Simon – thus losing the aforementioned feelings for Jace. Up until at that point in the seelie court, Clary was refusing to acknowledge her very real feelings for Jace because she knew it was wrong. But unfortunately, she was pushed into a situation so desperate, that those repressed feelings were brought to the front all at once. Simon also knew Clary didn’t love him. He knew she still harbored feelings for Jace. He just loved Clary so much he was willing to overlook what he knew to be true. That if he clung to her as tightly as he could, maybe she would come to love him. In the seelie court, it backfired and Simon was forced to acknowledge the truth in the most horrible way imagineable. The scene in the books was written with very specific emotions in mind and I don’t think the show managed to pull scene off on an emotional level. Yes, the scene exists and the Clace kiss happened but that’s about it. I didn’t feel anything from it. The show just changed so much with the trios’ dynamic that the seelie court scene does not work in the way it was originally meant to. Now, that on it’s own is not the issue. I understand the tv show and the books are different and that Freeform is going to do it’s own thing. The problem is that they changed they dynamic of the trio without changing the scene to match the new dynamic. The scene from City of Ashes reaked of desperation and emotion while the scene in this episode just felt childish and unnecessary. The show had turned Climon into this epic love situation where it was implied that Clary seemed to genuinely like Simon in a romantic fashion and it never felt like she was dealing with any residual feelings towards Jace. The show, very obviously and understandably, wanted to stay away from the incest intonations. Which is fine. I didn’t really care if they went for the incest plot or not. But Clace did take a hit as a result. The show so desperately wanted to steer clear of the incest plot and wanted to get the incest plot over and done with as quickly as possible. Which meant they had to steer clear of Clace during that period. The problem is that in doing so, the Clace romantic tension was never really established. It didn’t make sense that Jace’s kiss was the kiss Clary most desired when they spent the last season pretty much ignoring each other. And not in an angsty way. It straight up felt as if they didn’t really care that they both were once interested in being romantically involved. I felt nothing when they kissed in this scene and I certainly didn’t feel like Clary had anything resembling repressed feelings towards Jace. Because there was no prior romantic tension for them to call upon. This also kind of makes Clary look like she was stringing two guys along. You can interpret that in the books as well but it’s so much worse and so much more pronounced in the show. I don’t say, “Poor Clary” in this scene, I say, “Poor Simon.” I feel really bad for Simon here because he was all in and genuinely thought Clary was all in, too. Based on her actions in the previous episodes, there was nothing to support that she wasn’t. The show does try desperately to make me feel for Clary when she runs after Simon and begs him to let her in. That she wants to be with him and I’m all, “Oh, please.” Clary, this isn’t about what you want anymore. You gave Simon a chaste peck on the lips while giving Jace this huge makeout session. This is now about Simon realizing he’s not going to be able to get past what he just witnessed. It doesn’t matter anymore if Clary really wants to be with Simon. He will always have this in the back of his head. Would you be comfortable with dating someone who you knew had romantic feelings for someone else? Clary couldn’t even manage a passionate-ish kiss with Simon to save Simon’s life. Just a peck on the lips. Which when you think about it, also doesn’t really make sense. With Climon being built up to be this epic love and it’s highly implied that they’ve had sex, I find it really hard to believe that she would just gave Simon a peck on the lips. Were they taking a Goku/Chi Chi approach to the Climon sex life – in Dragonball Super, it was heavily implied that despite being married to Chi Chi for over 20 years and having two kids with her, Goku has never once kissed her. I really don’t think Simon would be okay with that kind of relationship. In the book, Clary’s kiss made sense because kissing Simon felt unnatural to her and she was being forced to do it in front of everyone but that’s not implied in the show. I don’t know. Maybe in the show, Clary did feel self-conscious about kissing Simon. But since it’s never stated that’s why it happened, I’m just making excuses for lazy writing. Another thing I noticed with the seelie court scene was that it lost its sense of consequence. In the books, after this scene occurs, it spurs Simon to give in to the compulsion he had been feeling to go back to the Hotel Dumort – where he was subsequently killed by the vampires and then transitioned into a vampire himself. Clary feels an insane amount of guilt about this. She believes that what happened to Simon as a result of the kiss she had with Jace is her punishment. Obviously, that can’t happen here because they sped up his vampire transition in Season 1. I’m sure the show has some sort of plan to spur some sort of consequence from this plot but whether those consequences are actually going to be impactful or melodramatic remains to be seen. But with all of that said, I am interested to see where this is going to take Simon as a character. Simon’s storylines have always centered around Clary thus far and I’m hoping that with this episode, we get some Simon-centric stories that don’t revolve around Clary.

The seelie queen was also portrayed as a young child in this episode as well. It was an interesting move, I’ll give the show that. I didn’t completely hate the idea behind it. In fact, I kind of liked it. But I do question it from a production standpoint. The problem I have with the seelie queen being portrayed by a young child is the acting quality of the said character. Here’s the thing. When you make the decision to cast a child in any role, really, you run the risk of the child not being able to carry the scene. A lot of times, child actors aren’t nearly as impactful in their productions because they lack experience. Which makes sense because they haven’t had time to hone their craft yet. Now don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of fantastic child actors. I’ve seen some really good ones. But at the same time why would you take the risk if you don’t have to? I felt that the actress here definitely lacked experience. Her acting was very uneven. There were moments when I was like, “Yes, that’s the seelie queen” and then there were other moments when it felt like I was listening to a child recite lines because some adults told her to. There are a lot of facets to the seelie queen. Lots of manipulations. Every word the seelie queen says is an intricate manipulation. You think you’re 2 steps ahead of her, she’s 6 steps ahead of you in actuality. She would be a very difficult role for someone who doesn’t have a whole lot of experience. Now, this child may fall into the role later and I would be very interested in seeing her progress as an actress. But I also think the seelie queen is going to come back as an adult. I feel like the idea behind her is that she can appear how she wishes to appear.

The dialogue in this plot was downright atrocious at times. We have a moment where Simon, Jace, and Clary are walking to the seelie court and Simon touches the kill tree. Jace tells him to stop and says that the tree will “wrap it’s vines around you and tear you limb from limb” in which Clary responds, “Jace, what are you talking about?” Clary, he just told you what was going to happen. Why do you need hear it again? What exactly was he unclear about? Why does Clary say dumb shit like this but yet is still continuously toted around as if she’s an actual intelligent being? How dumb do the writers think their audience is? I’m serious. It is incredibly condescending when writers write lines like these. That 1) they don’t think we’re smart enough to infer what a “kill tree” does and they have to have Jace explain it to us and 2) that they still don’t think we’re intelligent enough to understand it so they need to have Jace explain it to us A SECOND TIME. Whenever I watch this show, I can’t help but face-palm half a dozen times.

That’s about all I have to say. I would give this episode a B-. I found this episode a little uneven. There were ideas that I really liked but executed as per usual with the same kind of illogical finesse I’ve become accustomed to. I can deal with plots being dumb but I cannot handle characters being dumb when it doesn’t make sense with their personality. I will admit that the writers do seem to be getting back into the groove. These past couple of episodes, although illogical, are actually kind of good. They’re right on the border. If the writers could just spend more time working on their execution, I could really find myself loving this show. Right now, I’m only at an enjoyment level but I genuinely want to love these episodes. The show is so close. They just need to hone their focus a little more and they’ll have it.

Again, I am so sorry this was so late. I had a bitch of a time writing the seelie plot part of the review. I would love to hear your opinions on the episode. Did you love it? Did you hate it? Do you agree? Do you disagree? I only ask that you be respectful of not only my opinions but everyone else’s as well.

#shadowhunters #shadowhunters season 2 #shadowhunters 2b #shadowhunters review #shadowhunters 2b review #shadowhunters discussion #shadowhunters 2b discussion #shadowhunters 2x14 #shadowhunters 2x14 review #shadowhunters 2x14 discussion #shadowhunters the fair folk #shadowhunters the fair folk review #shadowhunters the fair folk discussion #clace #malec

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Turning Point USA Enlists Milo’s Alt-Right Understudy

Anonymous Contributor | IT'S GOING DOWN | March 15th 2017

The post Turning Point USA Enlists Milo’s Alt-Right Understudy appeared first on IT'S GOING DOWN.

Turning Point USA, the malformed brain child of neoliberal bootlicker Charlie Kirk, have publicly declared that the organization has no ties to the Alt-Right. T...

his has been refuted more than once; including Kirk’s involvement with both Breitbart and the Trump campaign, he has also provided a platform for Reddit darlings like Milo Yiannopoulos on multiple college campuses. Now that Milo has lost his marketability, TPUSA has supplanted him with an equally repulsive understudy; Ivan Throne, of “Dark Triad” fame. He will be speaking at TPU’s regional conference in Denver.

Ivan is a psychopath; this means, generally speaking, psychologists and philosophers agree that he is incapable of being held morally responsible for the detrimental effects of his actions. He has explained it as being “emotionally deaf” — he doesn’t experience empathy. However, this makes him a uniquely valuable tool for the directors of TPUSA; Ivan’s cold, detached calculation can validate the worst behaviors of those who choose to suppress their empathy as part of a political ideology. And just as one person’s blindness doesn’t erase the existence of color to the sighted, Ivan’s inability to value the human consequences of his behavior doesn’t justify or neutralize the pain of the emboldened oppression it causes. Turning Point is to blame for knowingly contributing to that oppression.

This was Step 1. We still need something more permanent.

/pol/ is still discussing solutions. pic.twitter.com/hpjHGq5Gh7

— /pol/ News Network (@polNewsNetwork1) March 13, 2017

If TPUSA is not affiliated with the alt-right, and doesn’t support hate speech, they could have fooled us. Let’s tick off the boxes for Ivan:

TOXIC MASCULINITY

Ivan has expressed concerns over his personal safety while visiting the Grand Hyatt, apparently convinced of an Antifa plot to physically attack him. Unsurprisingly, he had no such pearl-clutching reaction to violence when he was employing thinly-veiled death threats against the protesters at Milo’s CU Boulder visit. Ivan has no real anxieties about this matter; just like at CU Boulder, he’ll be nowhere near the Antifa frontline. He’ll be preening in safety behind the riot cops.

Throne gained his online reputation pushing the ideology of the “dark triad,” a mixture of narcissistic, sociopathic behaviors that Red Pill types believe are the ultimate secret to financial success, public recognition, and of course, sexual conquest. As part of this exaltation of psychopathic symptoms, he tries to typify the “warrior cult” persona that so many MRAs, Gaters, Freepers, and other “dark enlightenment” poseurs use as a substitute for a backbone and a personality. It is the cornerstone of toxic masculinity to equate physical conflict and psychological manipulation to legitimate male identity, while downplaying the value of sympathy and cooperation.

But Ivan takes it an extra step, proposing a laughable, Bushido-esque lifestyle:

“Gold and glory don’t care if you publicly bedded a stunning blonde and left her sticky and exhausted and sore in front of a crowd. Gold and glory are not about image or publicity or fashionable displays. Gold and glory are about death, power and the dark world.” ~ 3 Steps to Gladiator Power

“Your entire life is preparation for any fight for survival. Do not leave that survival to chance… There are no referees in your fight for survival… You must accept without outrage or indignation that another man plans to take your life and destroy your existence. There cannot be hope of pity or expectation of gentleness or wish for his forbearance. You must accept the dark world as it is.” ~ How to Fight Like a Psychopath

“As long as your adversary breathes he is capable of rising and ensuring your death. When killing, certainty is demanded of you in the pursuit of your own survival. Do not guess.”

This is the heart and soul of the buffoonish “dark triad” rubric. It’s a delusional view of one’s self as a masculine, warlike hero in a world of helpless thralls. It’s a storybook journey through a gritty movie universe of harsh amorality, where only the strong survive — a schoolboy’s daydream taken to a revolting conclusion. With this Social Darwinist, knockoff Patrick Bateman identity comes one of the foundational fascist tenets: the equating of compassion with weakness, and weakness with unworthiness of inclusion in the national identity. Umberto Eco categorized this as a fundamental column of the fascist power structure:

For Ur-Fascism there is no struggle for life but, rather, life is lived for struggle. Thus pacifism is trafficking with the enemy. It is bad because life is permanent warfare… In fact, the Leader, knowing that his power was not delegated to him democratically but was conquered by force, also knows that his force is based upon the weakness of the masses; they are so weak as to need and deserve a ruler. Since the group is hierarchically organized (according to a military model), every subordinate leader despises his own underlings, and each of them despises his inferiors. This reinforces the sense of mass elitism.”

And this delusion of conquest, of course, brings us right back to Trump’s popularity in the alt-right. He’s their “strong man” leader, despite being a paunchy septuagenarian. He “tells it like it is” and stands up to political correctness, by lying endlessly and shrinking from conflict immediately. He’s a successful, ruthless businessman who’s bankrupted four casinos and couldn’t follow through with his promise to remain totally self-funded. In short, he’s an overgrown child masking his insecurity through name calling and generic misogyny– a model student of the manosphere if ever there was one.

MISOGYNY AND STRICT GENDER ROLES

Like the rest of the alt-right, Ivan possesses an endless wellspring of hatred, condescension, and insecurity surrounding women. Unlike MRM and Red Pill devotees, he is usually careful to fine-tune the tone of his written pieces so as to maintain a smidgen of plausible deniability. But his writing quickly wears this veneer thin whenever he speaks on the subject of women and sex:

“The principle of hypergamy often drives, to the dissolution of the female, an unattractive carousel process of bedding male after male while in her attractive young adulthood and her sexual glow is at its prime. This does wonders for her self-esteem and sexual experience but detracts from her market worth and severely degrades the calculation of her wife value.” ~ 10 Ways to Calculate Her Wife Value

“Committed feminists are nearly universally unhappy, bitter and complaining whiners who refuse to accept the reality of the dark world and insist on subservient behavioral and intellectual conformity with their silly and obnoxious ideology.” ~ 10 Ways to Calculate Her Wife Value

“Bit by bit, the damaged and deranged woman will assuage her abandonment fears by insidiously infecting your life and your time with her control.” ~ 3 Red Flags of the Damaged Woman

For those not in the know, “hypergamy” is a term the MRM adopted to shame women for having “too much sex,” a statement which bases itself off of an arbitrary male threshold of tolerance for how sexually active a woman should be.

Notice the stale, telltale pattern of patriarchal thinking: women are to be valued based on their usefulness and acceptability in a man’s eyes, and held to a lower standard because of a presumed inferiority. This is the point of unification between Ivan and the rest of the alt-right, an agreement around male supremacy based on the misguided belief that males of the species are meant to be dominant, and that a “feminization” of modern men is bringing about the destruction of civilization. Nevermind that genuine human evolution improved our adaptability by moving away from this unnecessary gender dichotomy which is more pronounced in our less-evolved sister species.

The natural, intrinsic counterpart of male fanaticism is female repression; it’s as simple as that. To keep one elevated, the other must be devalued. This belief has been demonstrated by every significant figure in the alt-right, including Milo’s derogatory remarks towards women, trans identity, and feminism:

“Everyone knows that becoming a feminist makes a woman less marriageable, more crass and generally just unpleasant to be around. But does it also make them uglier?… This may explain why so many angry, lesbianic placard-wavers look like they’ve been hit by a bus.”

“Men on the other hand dominate high paying STEM majors like Electrical Engineering. Women are free to study engineering, and often make fine engineers. But why on earth would feminism feel the need to shoehorn women into studying a subject they don’t want to?”

“Feminism is like the Netherlands: it owes its existence to a network of dykes fighting the forces of nature.”

This rhetoric has caused real damage over time; Ivan’s own suspicion that every woman is, at heart, a conniving succubus is echoed in the manifesto of Elliot Rodger.

TPUSA is, unquestionably, taking part in a continuation of the behaviors exhibited during Gamergate and the surge of Reddit-based male supremacist movements during 2014. Before the alt-right gained legitimacy in mainstream politics, they were propped up by the hatemongering and abusive tactics deployed against critics of pop culture’s rampant disregard for the female, the non-cishet, and the non-white. This component of the alt-right was, and remains, a reactionary movement dedicated to preserving a dominant gender by intimidating the opposition, nothing more or less than a contemporary rebirth of the He-Man Woman Haters Club.

Turning Point will furnish as evidence of their gender-neutrality their Women’s Leadership event, and their numerous female members. This omits the fact that as adherents of Donald Trump, they support the agenda of an admitted sexual predator and open misogynist, irrespective of the gender of this or that supporter specifically — that’s to say nothing of their ties to Milo, or to Steve Bannon, who once said that leftist women only oppose female conservatives because they are “a bunch of dykes that came from the Seven Sisters schools.” Tokenism is not a satisfactory defense against such deafening inhumanity.

THE PATRIOT-WARRIOR CULT

As part of his worship of Trump – to whom Ivan insipidly refers as the “God Emperor” – Throne is equal parts jingoist and capitalist, forming that rich soil of nationalistic chauvinism and neoliberalism from which fascism inevitably sprouts:

“$54 billion is expensive. It is far less expensive than no longer being the dominant military hyperpower in the new age.” ~ Responding to a question on 45’s budget adjustments

“The leftist bastions across the nation are reeling with shock and fear at the overwhelming victory of Trump at the polls on Tuesday. It is a phenomenal outcome, well predicted by those who face reality unblinded – and the source of savage opportunity for men of the West to both push forward the advance of civilization, and their own natural ferocity.” ~ Your Future Under the God Emperor

“In Trump’s popular rise to ultimate power we see the lessons of his ferocious talent and a secure future for an American nation faced with the fall of Western civilization into a pit of multicultural collapse.” ~ Donald Trump the Dark Triad Man

This nationalistic, ego-driven mentality is mirrored by TPUSA’s patriotic zealotry, heightening American society to an Olympian ideal of self-sufficiency, militaristic dominance, embodiment of justice, and entitlement based on superiority. But their claim that this country is “the best in the world” is not just a childish tautology, it’s also visibly untrue.

Remember, the Western culture that alt-right goons and Trump disciples fetishize is demonstrably NOT a culture of prosperity or valor. “Real America” is a place where the military budget can be increased obscenely at the expense of HUD and SNAP, where high infant mortality, poisoned water supplies, police state violence, childhood homelessness, and mass incarceration are routine. America supplies itself not through “self-sufficiency,” but by robbing weaker countries of resource and autonomy. It is a nation which allows a codified privilege of the white, heterosexual male to reign supreme. Those in power — just as in the days of race, gender, and property restrictions for voters — have access to a code of law which overwhelmingly benefits them, and thereby enables them to mold those very same laws to their personal gain. This is not the failing of the system, but its very function; to extract resource from the many, at whatever cost, for the benefit of the few. Donald Trump is the most openly corrupt politician in recent years, certainly, but that openness is his only truly unique trait. American presidents have variously been murderers, white supremacists, war criminals, and outright crooks.

This is not a culture to be applauded. It is an appalling slaughter, one which robs life from the innocent, robs time from the sick and the imprisoned, and has contributed to misery on every continent for the benefit of a scant few aristocrats. This is based largely on two recurring dynamics in human civilization; white male privilege, and fascism born from global neoliberalism. Both are dear to the alt-right, and Ivan is no exception.

WEAPONIZED IGNORANCE

What lies at the core of TPUSA, Ivan Throne’s fame, and the assorted organs of the alt-right, is a fundamental lack of awareness. It is from this aquifer of willful ignorance and arrogance that Western chauvinism is dredged:

“Be a man of the West and stand hard and proud in defense of your civilization against the invader, the murderer, the degrading monster of appeasement…” ~ Men of the West

“It is the responsibility of every man of the Western world to stand and take personal responsibility for the preservation of his family, his community, his country, his culture, and his very civilization itself.” ~ Uncuck Your Bloody Country

“Men are masters of their own fate. Most human beings are common. To rise above this strata you must deserve such rise.” ~ Quora question

Yet again, Ivan is a useful prism of alt-right dogma: he believes that certain folk are unworthy of success because they are “common,” and lack the willpower to succeed. Similarly, Charlie Kirk scowls at any effort or legal measure which protects, elevates, or relieves the poor because he erroneously considers them to be the authors of their own poverty. These beliefs are founded on personal experience; neither of these men has experienced a lack of status or means, so they assume their “success” must be due to their own greatness.

Ivan believes males are superior, because he lives in a culture which punishes women for pursuing leadership, and makes him see patriarchy as natural, reasonable, and beneficial — all untrue, but psychologically satisfying to him. This is the behavior we call “bigotry;” a pleasurable, gratifying, deliberate ignorance of material reality. Charlie Kirk, for his part, believes in the “American Dream.” He claims his organization is advancing meritocracy, not realizing that using outside funds to influence college elections negates that very belief, and actually demonstrates the inherently unjust and coercive nature of capitalism.

Ivan, like Charlie, applauds nationalistic, hypermilitaristic tendencies throughout history, because he has never confronted their ill effects, and never will. It’s no wonder his orations are so emptily grandiose and hyperbolic; without recognizing (or acknowledging) oppression, a legitimate and useful analysis of America is impossible. The image of the “conquering empire” becomes a romantic ideal, rather than a daily-administered cudgel in the hands of a self-appointed aristocracy, with which the elite have extinguished countless lives in the name of preserving their own artificial superiority. But willfully ignoring or flippantly justifying these imperialistic trends is mentally pleasing, and allows a person to consider themselves part of a grand tradition of idealistic civilization — ironically, seeking validation through a conforming identity, the antithesis of the “lone wolf” ideal that Ivan and his fans drool over.

This destructive behavior exceeds by leagues and miles the singular voices of the alt-right. It informs the mentality of Steve Bannon, of ICE and DHS agents, of the NSA and the military and the police. The battle against this ongoing territorial occupation called “America” goes far beyond lone individuals.

THIS HAS NEVER BEEN ABOUT JUST ONE MAN

Ivan Throne, like Milo, is a sloppily-painted mockery of an intellectual. His hollow writing combines the forced edginess of our cringe-inducing high school days with a knack for hocking commodified anti-PC pornography to Red Pill dopes. He’ll wave around his bestseller as proof of his genius, forgetting he shares that honor with the Twilight Saga, The Secret, 50 Shades, and the Da Vinci Code — all highly marketable, self-indulgent, pseudo-spiritual masturbatory aids for the paranoid, the immature, or the terminally affectatious.

If not for their milking of the anxieties of wannabe “dark” intelligentsia, and their preexisting societal exemption from consequences for such bigoted posturing, Milo and Ivan would be fetching coffee for the bosses in an unpaid San Fransisco tech intership. They are neither worthwhile authors, nor meaningful political figures, nor lofty philosophers. They prey financially upon that toxic pairing of boyish insecurity masked by juvenile malice which calls itself the Men’s Rights Movement. It’s the easiest racket since the diet pill pyramid.

Ivan Throne is, in the grand scheme, inconsequential as a individual, just like his predecessor. But the problem for we antifascists is that the recent spike in hate crimes, the undisguised manipulation of public narrative, the despotic behavior of the elite, and this newfound exuberance for misogyny, transphobia, and white supremacist terrorism are inflicting real harm, on real people, who aren’t being protected by their “elected” officials. A maggot among maggots is individually impotent and craven — nobody will ever sing the victory hymns of Paul Elam, Richard Spencer, or Davis Aurini, either. But like the rest of the alt-right menagerie, Ivan’s rhetoric can, and does, contribute to the rising tide of fascism in America.

Some of the white supremacist and Alt-Right accounts that Ivan follows on twitter

It is utter fantasy that Ivan considers himself a potential target for assassination; he’s not a Cuban diplomat, he’s Jordan Owen in a tuxedo. What matters to Denver’s antifascists is having a self-governing community where the immigrant and refugee are protected, where Muslims and Jews are not terrorized by racists, where the trans and asexual identity are included in commonplace sexual education, where women and men are equal on paper and off, and where The People are empowered by their shared sense of humanity, a bulwark against their common oppressors. That is why we fight.

We root our struggles in material circumstances, not egotistical visions of a make-believe world. We deal in the realities of American imperialism and colonialism. That is why we do not “debate” fascists; the have no debatable positions. Their paranoia and prejudice are rooted in self-delusion, and to debate the question, “should the black population be eliminated” or “should women be allowed to vote” would suppose that the question has merit enough to deserve debate at all. Fascism is only ended through swift, exponential action by the laboring class, not though cowering centrism and polite discussion with blackshirts. It must be repeatedly demonstrated that TPUSA’s membership and allies are NOT excused from the consequences of proudly declaring one’s opposition to basic human rights, irrespective of their “free speech” bullshitting.

Denver is not for the taking. Charlie Kirk continues to deny his connection to the alt-right, but also continues to supply a platform for their dreggish figureheads, and extend thereby the influence of his avaricious mentors. So long as TPUSA invites alt-right personalities to spread ignorance and destruction in our city, we will be fighting them not because they are uniquely threatening, but because the bramble of imperialism must be hacked apart in order of the closest branches. It’s their own fault that happens to be them.

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