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ineffable-endearments · 7 months ago

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Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell

Wow. There is...there is so much here.

First, a caution about the book itself: there is significant sexually violent narration, and lots of torture as well. This post is going to discuss these topics only in general terms - I don't think I need to go into detail to discuss what they mean for the story - but take care of yourself when you're deciding whether to read it. If you have any questions, always feel free to send an ask or message.

I am going to need to make multiple posts about this book. For this first one, I'll focus on summarizing the book and its main themes, especially the ones that I think relate to Good Omens. As always, I can't summarize it in a way that will give you a better understanding than simply reading the book, but summarizing it will help me put my own thoughts together and hopefully help you follow along as I try to articulate them.

Because it's impossible to miss, I think it is best to confront this issue at the outset: there is a lot of especially blatant misogyny on Winston's part in Nineteen Eighty-Four. This is not meant to be a good or sympathetic thing. It is a demonstration of how messed up he is, and how messed up everyone in that society is.

The Society

The plot of Nineteen Eighty-Four is tied up very much in the story's world. The characters are at the mercy of their society in this story, much more than in most. It will make sense to describe the world first. Indeed, a massive portion of the book is just information about Oceania itself.

In the world of Nineteen Eighty-Four, the entire planet is supposedly ruled by three perpetually warring authoritarian states: Oceania, Eurasia, and Eastasia, conglomerations of Earth's former independent nations. Through the novel, it is revealed that all three states have governments that are structured in largely the same way with approximately the same quality of life for their people, and the perpetual war is itself a way of controlling each population.

Technically, we don't know for sure that the war is really happening. In fact, we don't know that anything is true, because almost all the information the characters have comes from the Party, the government of Oceania, and the Party's operations revolve around reality control. The Party's "leader" is an enigmatic figure referred to only as Big Brother, who, of course, is watching.

Our protagonist, Winston, lives in Oceania. There are Inner Party members, who are the highest-ranking, with the highest responsibility and the highest quality of life. There are Outer Party members, who work for the Party, are heavily surveilled, and whose daily needs are all provided for with low-quality supplies; they have a highly regimented daily schedule. Inner and Outer Party members have telescreens, which broadcast Party propaganda but also have cameras to monitor all Party members. It is incredibly difficult to get away from telescreens, since there's at least one in every home and they're everywhere in public. Altogether, the telescreens form a panopticon that is hard to evade.

Then there are the proles, a shortened term for proletarians, who are the lower classes of Oceania and make up the majority of the population. The proles live in poor conditions and are constantly manipulated by State-generated propaganda. However, they have more freedom than Party members, in the sense that they are also largely ignored by the Party because they have no real power and are assumed to be incapable of engaging in revolutionary behavior. For this reason, proles get to have human relationships and enjoy pleasures, wherever they can find pleasures, in ways that Party members are not allowed. In reality, the Party's perpetual war is a way of grinding through resources in order to keep people, especially the proles, buried under work without improving their quality of life. This is because when people have free time, they can use it to learn and organize, and they might become a threat to the Party.

Winston is one of the Outer Party members. He works in the government department that rewrites history. See, every time a fact or anecdote in the media is inconvenient for the Party, the Party goes back and destroys all old copies of newspapers and books, all old video content, all paperwork, any scrap of evidence that anything was different. Newspapers are routinely reprinted with "updated" (falsified) information. For example, Oceania is always either at war with Eurasia and allied with Eastasia, or at war with Eastasia and allied with Eurasia, and as far as the Party is concerned, this has never changed. Every single time Oceania's alliance changes, the newspapers are updated so that the current alignment has always been true. Every time someone becomes a disgrace to the Party, their previous deeds are rewritten.

On the surface, this sounds difficult to implement, but over the story, one realizes the vast majority of the Party's operations revolve purely around the constant reshaping of history, control of people's memories, and control of people's emotions for the purpose of maintaining power eternally. Art produced by human beings is actively discouraged; instead, the Party mass-produces art, including novels, using machines, to control what kinds of ideas people are consuming.

The Party is essentially a machine that controls reality, or at least, what the people inside it consider to be reality. There are people who specialize in managing the thoughts of the public: the Thought Police. While they may technically not be able to literally see inside one's mind, they watch everyone carefully and are excellent at noticing everything: every facial expression, every eyebrow twitch, and every breath.

The Party rules through a series of four "ministries." These are the Ministry of Truth (like an educational ministry, responsible for producing propaganda), the Ministry of Peace (like a military, responsible for warfare), the Ministry of Love (like the correctional system, responsible for jailing and torturing dissidents), and the Ministry of Plenty (like the treasury, responsible for rationing).

When it suits the Party, anyone can be "vaporized." This means they are secretly murdered and all evidence of them - any existing record whatsoever, any news story, any list or database entry - is erased.

The Party has a new language they're developing as a method of thought control called Newspeak. The purpose of Newspeak is to make it impossible to articulate certain kinds of thoughts. The following is a character named Syme describing Newspeak:

"Don't you see that the whole aim of Newspeak is to narrow the range of thought? In the end we shall make thoughtcrime literally impossible, because there will be no words in which to express it. ... In fact there will be no thought, as we understand it now. Orthodoxy means not thinking - not needing to think. Orthodoxy is unconsciousness."

It's worth noting that Syme is later vaporized, presumably just for being too insightful out loud about Newspeak. In Newspeak, people who have been vaporized, if they must ever be referred to at all, are called "unpersons." In this way, no one has ever been killed by the Party, because those people have never existed in the first place.

There's a key Newspeak word that appears over and over: doublethink. It's the ability to believe two contradictory things simultaneously, and unlike the way we usually experience cognitive dissonance, there is no urge or attempt to reconcile what is really true. With doublethink, the existence of two contradictory ideas at once is itself exploited to help Party members serve the Party.

The Party (and its equivalents in Eurasia and Eastasia) uses perpetual war to control the population by squandering the resources produced by human labor and keep people in a perpetual combination of patriotic fervor and fear. The war is infinite and can never be won; the whole purpose of the war is to be at war.

Socially, the Party has destroyed family life. Winston was married years ago. He and his wife are so estranged that he is no longer sure if she is alive. They did not have a good relationship. The Party does not want close emotional relationships between its members, so while they are strict about who is allowed to marry (not for love, strictly for procreation), they don't care if people continue to live together. However, the Party does not want people forming new relationships, so divorce and extramarital sex are also illegal. The Party has also turned children against their parents by encouraging children to report their parents' potential thoughtcrimes. All in all, family members are generally afraid of each other.

We see, over and over again, how the Party does its best to frame human beings as both inherently untrustworthy and as objects to be used. Pitting people from individual family members to entire classes, sexes, and races against each other is one of the Party's many techniques for controlling people, and it has seeped into Winston's everyday thought processes. Only actual experiences with other human beings even begin to break these ideas down.

Eventually, it becomes apparent that the Party's motivation is immortality through the denial of the individual. Human beings are denied their own personal thoughts, feelings, and bodies. Only their ability to be assimilated into the Party is permitted. Even thoughts and feelings about the greater good are unacceptable because these lead to regime changes and interfere with the raw totalitarian power of the Party. Every Party member in Oceania is meant to strive exclusively for the continued power of the Party. Dissidents are denied even the ability to be martyrs, because the Party does not kill people while they carry hatred for Big Brother; they simply change their thoughts until they are good Party members again, and then kill them later, when they are no longer dissidents and have no legacy of resistance to leave behind.

Winston's Plot

Winston has a secret desire to be free of the Party. He does get swept up in the Party's fervor when he's in the middle of it, but he also longs for the extremely basic pleasures and freedoms that have become taboo. For example, Winston secretly buys an old pen and journal to write in - a completely forbidden act that he has to conceal from the telescreen in his own apartment. He finds himself almost unconsciously writing things like "DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER" in that journal.

There is an Inner Party member named O'Brien who Winston admires greatly from a distance despite knowing only his appearance: "intelligent" with a "prizefighter's physique." Winston perceives that he and O'Brien "understand" each other somehow, and even believes O'Brien has spoken to him in a dream, saying they "shall meet where there is no darkness." Eventually, Winston imagines he is addressing his journal to the mysterious O'Brien, believing him to be an ally.

Winston has an acquaintance at work named Syme. Syme is very passionate about revising the Newspeak dictionary. However, he is a little too openly insightful about the true purpose of Newspeak for his own good. Even though Syme does not seem to have any intention of betraying the Party and in fact is extremely taken with Newspeak, Winston is convinced he will be vaporized, and sure enough, he is.

There is a woman Winston thinks he hates because she looks like the perfect Party member who would turn him in to the Thought Police. Actually, the narration outright states that he doesn't like women entirely, because he thinks they're too committed to the Party and enjoy betraying men. However, it turns out that this woman observes Winston by the shop where he bought his illegal notebook. By simply observing Winston in that shop, the Party would suspect he's committing thoughtcrimes, and Winston panics. However, the woman later bumps into Winston at work and passes him a note that says, "I love you." Winston then instantly decides he wants to be with her; the idea of not being with her never even occurs to him.

The woman's name is Julia. It turns out Julia is putting on an incredibly convincing act, but she hates the Party, too. Winston is technically married, so he can't legally marry Julia, and any kind of non-procreative sex is illegal anyway, so their relationship is entirely forbidden.

Winston and Julia meet up and have sex in secret. It's worth noting that during their first meeting, they enjoy listening to a thrush singing. During this first meeting, they go out to the countryside, where there are fewer telescreens and microphones; Winston comments that it's like the "Golden Country," his symbolic dream-place where people are free.

A man named Mr. Charrington owns the shop where Winston had bought his notebook, and he also owns a room for rent above the shop. It's an old-fashioned prole room without telescreens and with a great number of old-fashioned fixtures. Winston and Julia rent it to get away from Party life for a few hours every now and then. When they first start staying in the room, Julia observes a rat and throws her shoe at it. Winston is utterly terrified, showing that he has a serious phobia of rats; it is vaguely implied that he had a traumatic moment related to them as a child. Julia takes the rat in stride; they are everywhere. She promises to block up the hole so the rat does not return.

Julia and Winston spend time in their prole room knowing for sure that it will eventually lead to their capture, torture, and death, but they decide it will be worth it. Winston voices some interest in trying to work against the Party; Julia does not believe this is possible whatsoever, and is not interested in trying. She believes people are better off putting on a convincing act and getting away with as much as they can for as long as they can.

Meanwhile, during the workday, O'Brien speaks to Winston. He mentions Syme without using his name, which is incredibly unusual, since people who are vaporized are never ever acknowledged again; all their work is erased from history. But O'Brien mentions Syme's work on the Newspeak dictionary and gives Winston his home address so that Winston can borrow the dictionary. Party members also don't often give each other their addresses. Because of these unusual cues, Winston infers that O'Brien is inviting him over to conspire against the Party.

While Winston and Julia meet up and have sex, they also indulge in other pleasures of the world, like real coffee and chocolate, and proles singing outside their window, and art that hasn't been generated by the Party. Observing the proles and their richer emotional lives, Winston and Julia decide they are going to worry only about their feelings. The Party can coerce them to do anything, including to confess, but as long as the Party can't make them stop loving each other, they agree, they will never have betrayed each other. Julia says that for all the things the Party can do, they can't get inside their heads.

So seized are Winston and Julia by their conviction that they decide to go visit O'Brien together and confess to wanting to destroy the Party. O'Brien tells them they may join the Brotherhood, a mysterious group of dissidents working to bring down Big Brother, but they must be willing to sacrifice everything; they must be willing to not only suffer and die, but to murder civilians, to spread disease, to sow discord, to do anything the Brotherhood asks of them. They even, O'Brien says, must be willing to "separate and never see one another again." This is the only thing Julia and Winston are unwilling to agree to. O'Brien accepts them anyway and, many days later, gives Winston a book through a secret messenger.

This book contains the writings of Goldstein, the supposed leader of the Brotherhood, outlining the Party's core philosophy. Winston reads this to Julia, who is hinted to not be all that interested, but she does listen a little.

While they look out the window and contemplate that the proles are alive and the Party members are already dead, Winston and Julia are captured. It turns out Mr. Charrington was a member of the Thought Police and the room had surveillance in it. Winston and Julia are separated and dragged to the Ministry of Love.

While at the Ministry of Love, Winston spends a lot of time waiting, watching other prisoners pass through. Some of them are proles, and some of them are people he knows. The waiting room is enormous and brightly lit with telescreens on all walls. There are essentially no shadows.

Another familiar face appears at the Ministry of Love. It's O'Brien. Winston first thinks O'Brien has been captured, but it soon becomes apparent that O'Brien was masterminding this whole operation and is in charge of Winston's torture. They have, indeed, met "where there is no darkness" - because of all the telescreens and artificial lighting. O'Brien and other Party members even wrote Goldstein's book as yet another propaganda piece. O'Brien states the description of the Party in the book is true, although the book's implication that the Party can be defeated through a prole uprising is false because a prole uprising will never happen. (Note that Winston did not actually read the part of the book where "Goldstein" outlined how the Party should be defeated.)

Winston is tortured for an undetermined amount of time. He discovers that he is a prisoner of his body; his torturers can get him to say pretty much anything through punishment and reward. In fact, they can force him to feel certain ways, too. O'Brien and the Party aren't only trying to get Winston to give away information; they want him to really internalize sincere belief in the Party doctrine, like doublethink, symbolized by the concept that 2+2 equals 5.

Winston starts out promising to himself there are certain things he will never agree to or say out loud, but torture proves an effective method at getting him to say whatever O'Brien wants. Winston vows that he will recite the Party lines, but will not actually believe them. If he lies to get the torture to stop but still retains his ability to reason for himself, Winston believes, then he can beat the Party.

However, O'Brien and the torturers are slowly able to break that down, too, as they are good at reading Winston's emotions, and they torture him every time he recites their desired lines without the sincere belief they're looking for. Winston is highly resistant to the 2+2=5 idea, but as he is tortured over and over, he does come to believe that because the Party can define his reality through brute force, then 2+2=5 could very well be true. They can force it to be true. He has no choice but to believe it, because only believing it might possibly end his torture, and the torture must end.

In other words, Winston and Julia were wrong. The Party can, in fact, get inside your head.

When Winston starts to believe 2+2=5, O'Brien does indeed start to improve his treatment of Winston, providing him with food and comfort, allowing Winston to become much healthier over time. This bonds Winston to O'Brien and makes him feel attached. However, Winston has not forgotten Julia, and in an unguarded moment, he cries out for her. This prompts O'Brien to ask Winston his feelings, again, about Big Brother. Winston states that he hates Big Brother.

It is at this moment when O'Brien sends Winston to the notorious Room 101.

In Room 101, prisoners face their worst fears - which, of course, the Party knows, because they know everything about everyone. Winston, who we know has a phobia of rats, is shown a pair of cages with starving rats in them. He is told that the rats are, as everyone in this world knows, flesh-eaters, despite being rodents. Winston is restrained, his head held in place, and O'Brien informs him that the rats will be released to eat his face.

Winston realizes what O'Brien wants to hear: he realizes his torturers will probably not allow the rats to eat him if he is willing to inflict the torture on Julia instead. They want Winston's betrayal of Julia to be complete. They want him to stop caring for her, the one thing he and Julia had once agreed they would never, ever do. And Winston has reached his limit: he cannot tolerate the idea of being eaten alive specifically by rats. So Winston says, "Do it to Julia! Not me! Julia!"

And then he is finally let go.

We continue with Winston once again living on the outside. He has seen and spoken to Julia, who was also let go. But the bond between them is completely broken. Julia admits she also betrayed Winston when she was faced with Room 101.

"Sometimes," she said, "they threaten you with something---something you can't stand up to, can't even think about. And then you say, 'Don't do it to me, do it to somebody else, do it to so-and-so.' And perhaps you might pretend, afterwards, that it was only a trick and that you just said it to make them stop and didn't really mean it. But that isn't true. At the time when it happens you do mean it. You think there's no other way of saving yourself, and you're quite ready to save yourself that way. You want it to happen to the other person. You don't give a damn what they suffer. All you care about is yourself." "All you care about is yourself," he echoed. "And after that, you don't feel the same toward the other person any longer." "No," he said, "you don't feel the same."

In other words, by demonstrating to Winston and Julia that they ultimately cannot escape their own self-interest, O'Brien has caused them to reject each other.

At the tail end of the book, Winston is sitting in his usual spot at a place called the Chestnut Tree Café, pondering a happy moment from his childhood before pushing the memory away, believing it to be a false memory. When an enormous military victory is announced on the telescreen, Winston realizes that he finally, truly loves Big Brother.

Interpretation of the End

Although the events at the end of the book are pretty straightforwardly described, I found them slightly confusing on an emotional level. Winston and Julia aren't really angry at each other for their betrayals, it doesn't seem - in fact, they admit to each other that's what happened, and they agree on their mutual experience. But they don't love each other anymore, and Winston loves Big Brother instead.

So, here is my initial thought on what the characters went through:

For people to love each other, both need a sense of individuality. There needs to be a connection, but there also needs to be a specific You and a Somebody to love, to connect to.

Through torture, O'Brien has effectively torn away Winston's individual sense of self. I know that's a weird thing to suggest when the book repeats "all you care about is yourself" multiple times, but I think that by so completely obliterating Winston's ability to make anything resembling his own decision, O'Brien has essentially made "Big Brother" and "Winston ('yourself')" the same person. Big Brother's wishes are Winston's wishes. Winston has been assimilated into Big Brother. Winston and Julia's conversation at the end describes what it feels like to be liquidated as a person and assimilated into a collective.

Winston now knows that the one core impulse he can never escape is self-preservation, and the only one who can provide that, with infinite military might and an infinitely-deep torture repertoire, is Big Brother. Julia represents the ideal that caused Winston to estrange himself from the safety of embracing and trusting Big Brother. And because Big Brother is both eternal and almighty, giver of both life and death, he is the only one it is safe to trust.

By betraying Julia, Winston discovered that his own will inherently had limits; because he would always, eventually, revert to self-preservation, his will and therefore his identity became synonymous with the force that decided whether to preserve him. That's why the end of the novel involves Winston imagining that he has finally been shot in the head and killed; he has experienced the death of his sense of self. And this is exactly how "Goldstein's" book indicated the Party's operations work: eliminate individuals and assimilate them into a collective to achieve immortality.

Character and Faction Parallels Between Nineteen Eighty-Four and Good Omens

The Party and Heaven and Hell

They're both the one overarching power over everyone's existence. The inner workings of it are mysterious to the characters and even moreso to the audience. The main characters are agents working for these entities, and they are controlled through surveillance, punishment, and reward.

Although Heaven and Hell give the impression of being two large overarching powers, it seems apparent to me that the whole thing is really just one system that has intentionally split its workforce into factions. Ultimately I think we will see in the most explicit way possible that whoever is actively calling the shots in Heaven is also actively in charge of Hell.

Winston and Julia, Aziraphale and Crowley

Both pairs are agents who are in love with each other even though they're not supposed to be, who enjoy Earthly pleasures and experience the joys of humanity before getting arrested and dragged away by their authoritarian "employers."

It's tempting to try and figure out which character mirrors which - Aziraphale mirroring Winston, Crowley mirroring Julia? - but I think, sort of like with Nina and Maggie, the reflections work in every direction. The characters aren't literal stand-ins for each other, but they are exploring similar themes, including what happens to people when a society forbids intimacy.

O'Brien and the Metatron

"More even than of strength, he gave an impression of confidence and of an understanding tinged by irony." This line describes O'Brien from Nineteen Eighty-Four, but it sounds quite a lot like the Metatron's manner as he enters Aziraphale's bookshop. Confidence and an understanding tinged by irony indeed.

O'Brien seems to appeal to Winston's ideal in authority figures, appealing both intelligent and physically strong. The Metatron seems to have tailored himself to appeal to Aziraphale's ideal of an authority figure: someone who is calm and in control, but also has an exceptionally gentle manner (and this isn't really true of the Metatron, but he can make it look like it is).

There are more similarities. Winston thinks and hopes O'Brien will be a helpful figure, and O'Brien convinces Winston he's a helpful figure, but in the end, O'Brien is the mastermind behind Winston's capture and torture. Additionally, Winston assumes, during his torture, that the Party's drive for power is for the Greater Good. But O'Brien tells him this is stupid, and the Party's drive for power is just for the pure sake of having power, because that's the only thing that will guarantee the Party's immortality.

This reminds me a little bit of the Metatron telling Aziraphale the point of the war is to win it, not to avoid it. It also hits me as a potential motivation for Heaven - like, why do they do what they do instead of doing something else, since the universe seems perfectly capable of running itself? "Power" or "immortality" could be a reason, and it would also be a reason that would resonate with very human themes, since power and (symbolic) immortality are among the motivations that can drive real-life authoritarians.

The Proles and Humanity

The common people. The populations who are considered by the main characters' societies to be "beneath" them, but who the main characters become fascinated by, and whose lifestyles the main characters come to prefer.

Both Nineteen Eighty-Four and Good Omens contain in their narratives the notion that the prole or human way of life is where true meaning can be experienced. Winston and Julia go as far as to announce that proles are alive and Party members are dead. And at the end of Good Omens Season 1, Aziraphale outright tells Adam that being "human incarnate" is better than being Heaven or Hell incarnate.

This mirror is probably the one that brings up the richest speculation possibilities for me. I won't go in-depth here, but I see in both stories the main characters developing this love for the proles and humans while continuing to separate from them - even trying to turn around and exploit the very power structures that have oppressed them in an effort to fight against the oppression.

It's worth noting that in Nineteen Eighty-Four, Mr. Charrington, the man who Winston and Julia rented their secret love nest from, and whom they thought was a prole, was actually a member of the Thought Police who helped capture them, whereas in Good Omens, so far, the humans have just been humans, and while Adam Young started out as an incredibly powerful non-human, he later chose to be a human and used his power to reject authoritarianism.

The Themes

Authoritarianism and Power

Obviously, the whole overarching cautionary tale in Nineteen Eighty-Four is about authoritarianism and the insidious ways it affects populations. The Party's power is almost as absolute as it can possibly be. Big Brother really is almost always watching; there is almost always a telescreen somewhere nearby. Even when there isn't a telescreen, there are microphones. And unorthodox ideas and behavior are punished with annihilation - not just death, but the total annihilation of the self.

Doesn't this sound like a version of Heaven and Hell in Good Omens?

At first glance, it appears Oceania's Party is more aggressive about surveilling its Party members than Heaven and Hell are about surveilling Aziraphale and Crowley. One has to wonder if perhaps Heaven and Hell are just as aggressive with surveillance in the Upstairs and Downstairs themselves, but are less aggressive or maybe even less capable on Earth, just like the Party's surveillance is less in the countryside (although it is still a significant threat there).

But still, we see Michael pull out those photos of Crowley and Aziraphale through the ages, and we hear the Metatron refer to reviewing Aziraphale's "exploits," and we see Hell drag Crowley down in 1827, and we see both Crowley and Aziraphale anxiously glancing around throughout history with the assumption that someone might be listening, and we see how ready Heaven is to erase Gabriel's memories (his identity! his entire self!) from existence. We also watch Heaven and Hell try to make Aziraphale and Crowley disappear in a gout of hellfire and a tub of holy water after realizing that Aziraphale and Crowley do represent a threat to the current celestial order. Heaven and Hell's Nineteen Eighty-Four-esque insidious threat is clearly established in both seasons.

Vaporizing Dissidents

In fact, Heaven and Hell's arrest of Aziraphale and Crowley reminds me a bit of Winston and Julia's arrest, in the sense that the protagonists knew what was probably coming but not exactly when. And Heaven's attempted execution of Aziraphale in particular reminds me very much of the Party choosing to vaporize a dissident. They were going to try to disappear him. No angel or demon other than the ones who were involved would have known what happened to him. Hell's attempted execution of Crowley, meanwhile, reminds me of the Party's public executions of war prisoners.

Finally, the Party will attempt to erase people from existence by killing them and then erasing all records related to them, down to the very last detail. Meanwhile, the Archangel Michael threatens Aziraphale with being literally written out of existence in the Book of Life. There's lots of speculation about how possible this is. I wonder if maybe, it's a flawed process. Maybe erasing someone from the Book of Life can cut a hole shaped like them in the universe - but maybe it isn't that simple, and they don't actually get taken from anyone else's memories. Maybe, as people in Oceania haven't quite lost the ability to remember their dead, Heaven cannot actually erase the fact of anyone.

Social Disconnection

I see a lot of complaints online about the characters of Nineteen Eighty-Four being impossible to like. What tends to make characters likable? Their behaviors toward others, especially humor, compassion, individual quirks, and affection. Their moral strengths, like a sense of justice, might appeal to us, too. And what has the Party been systematically beating out of people for decades now? Anything that could possibly make fictional characters likable.

One of the Party's primary modes of social control is to keep people from having individual, intimate relationships outside of the Party. Each individual regards every other individual with distrust at all times, and only the Party is capable of providing safety. Winston mentions many instances in which he believes parents are afraid of their children, for example. There are also a number of people who he thinks would report him for thoughtcrimes.

This is getting into heavy speculation territory, but it hits me as a major motivation for the Fall in the first place. It's a great way to instantly divide Heaven itself in half, make everyone instantly suspicious of everyone else, and set up a whole bunch of rewards and punishments to hold over people's heads related to Falling.

One thing that's obvious, though, is the total lack of social connection in Heaven. Michael and Uriel are constantly treating each other with barely-suppressed contempt. Muriel wants approval so badly, but nobody has any patience for them. The "friendliest" any angels get are Gabriel and Sandalphon in Season 1, and that's still like, corporate-coworkers-style friendliness. Gabriel outright tells Beelzebub that no one has ever given him anything. Although it's...theoretically possible Gabriel is an outlier, I think his experience is probably representative of all the angels.

Bodily Experiences, Physicality, Gross Matter

There is a moment that made a big impression on me. Winston observes a prole woman outside singing a silly popular song at the top of her lungs as she works. This woman is not an attractive person by Winston's or Party standards; she is older, she is fat, she has a "lower-class" accent, her skin is weathered and reddened from working outside. But Winston, self-admitted misogynist who came of age on the Party's feminine ideal, thinks she is beautiful. He has a moment of realization that she's beautiful because the very things that theoretically would make her "unattractive" are evidence of a human life fully lived.

We also have Winston and Julia enjoying the world through their senses together in a way that they simply cannot in the grips of the Party. From listening to a thrush in the countryside to drinking real, delicious coffee, they experience pleasures that are denied to them and cause them to feel peaceful in a way that is denied to Outer Party members. As they experience life in a way that is much closer to the ways of the proles, they decide that only proles are alive; Party members are dead. It is at the moment when they speak this out loud that the Party chooses to capture them.

There's a darker side to the bodily experiences explored in Nineteen Eighty-Four, and that's experienced in the Ministry of Love. Here, Winston and Julia discover that their thoughts and feelings are indeed controlled by their bodies. There is only so much pain a human being can withstand before they will comply with their captors just to get the torture to stop. In fact, if the Party's psychological manipulation tactics haven't worked thus far to indoctrinate the population, then the body can be used to brute-force an attitude change.

The connection to Good Omens here is obvious. Aziraphale and Crowley are just like a couple of Outer Party members who haven't experienced real pleasure before, and then they discover wine and ox ribs and music and nice clothes and all those delightful human experiences that the other angels sneer at. It seems Heaven looks down on Earthly pleasure as a morally inferior, dirty pursuit, while Hell looks on Earthly pleasure as a kind of weakness, a pathetic softness. But Earth is where Aziraphale and Crowley have found meaning. Physical existence is where they've found themselves, where they've connected with each other, and where they've connected with the stuff of the universe itself.

Memory Manipulation and Thought Policing

In Nineteen Eighty-Four, there are massive governmental departments dedicated to revising all printed records, including reprinting newspapers as needed. Private writing is also not allowed. This means that even if a Party member has a memory, there is no physical evidence of it. Even if there were physical evidence, something a person had stuffed away in a safe place, there would be another, more "official" source to prove one's personal source wrong. Of course, anyone trying to make any kind of fuss about official sources being wrong would disappear, too, so no one will even try.

Winston mentions often in his narration that he has trouble remembering large portions of his life because of the way the Party has controlled the public narrative and obscured any fact that would once have been a point of reference for him. For example, Winston estimates that the date his journal starts would be April 4, 1984, but he actually isn't certain, not even about the year, because time isn't kept track of by those dates anymore. Historical facts, like events that led to the Party's ascent to power, have been rewritten so many times that Winston can no longer know what really happened. He can be sure there was chaos in the streets, followed by violence, and then proclamations from above about what was supposedly true, but one individual human being usually can't judge the big picture of what's going on in their entire society without a relatively objective source of information for major events.

Nineteen Eighty-Four also has literal thought police, Party members who study their fellow citizens for any sign of even the most remote disagreement with Party doctrine. If someone proves to be a problematic thinker, as Winston and Julia both did, they are dragged to the Ministry of Love to be violently re-educated. Using a series of punishments and rewards, prisoners are slowly broken down until they are unable to think for themselves at all.

Although it's unclear what Heaven is like in regards to spreading information, we've got the Metatron and the Archangels literally ready to erase Gabriel's memory. In Good Omens, since it's all dressed up in Heavenly attire and the characters have their unique attitudes, it comes across as less dystopian, more quirky and fantastical. But they are fundamentally threatening exactly what is done in Nineteen Eighty-Four. And based on Beelzebub's comment about how Gabriel's memory is "all your...you," the same identity issues would be at play. To erase Gabriel's memories would be to erase everything that makes Gabriel himself - an execution by another name.

Reality As A Construct (Or Not)

The Party's stance on reality is fairly simple: human beings perceive reality, so if human perception can be altered, reality can be changed and turned into whatever the Party wants it to be. This sounds wrong because it is wrong, but people who the Party has targeted for thought control don't get to think for themselves about it, because they can't withstand the torture.

This might be Heaven's approach to reality as well. Look at how questioning is discouraged, and how the angels choose to believe whatever is most convenient for Heaven, or whatever they believe should be true ("there are no back channels").

More importantly, though, we have characters in Good Omens who actually can change reality. In particular, this is what Adam Young does - and what he actively chooses not to do for the majority of the world, in the end. He only adjusts reality enough to be allowed to make his own decision: he's not the Antichrist anymore. Otherwise, he restores the world to its state from before he ascended to power (aside from a couple of tiny little eleven-year-old-boy-ish tweaks here and there; hey, you can't blame a kid for adding a few extras of his favorite books to the world).

Proles as the saviors of society

So this one is complicated because repeatedly through Nineteen Eighty-Four, we come across this feeling from WInston and Julia that the proles have some almost mystical connection to True Humanity which Party members have lost. However, there is also the repeated assumption that the proles are incapable of revolution on their own. And in a practical sense, this appears to be true. The intellectuals of their world look down on them for it, but the truth is that just as in real life, the proles are living in poverty and are far too desperate for their basic necessities to ever gain the class consciousness needed to overthrow the Party. This is, of course, by design.

Winston goes as far as to believe the proles might possibly rise up and overthrow the Party, but he never considers working with them. He goes straight into the jaws of the Inner Party instead! This seems to be for a couple of reasons, but primarily because Winston has formed this sort of attachment to O'Brien, his Inner Party member of choice.

In Good Omens, Season 1 and the book, humans do eventually save the world. Well, Adam - technically an Antichrist - saves the world by thinking like a human and accepting humanity as his true "side."

Free Will

"Free will" as a theme really ties into humanity as a theme in Good Omens, since Earth is neutral ground between Heaven and Hell and humans aren't born to a particular Side. In Nineteen Eighty-Four, of course, the Party's goal is to eliminate free will, while in Good Omens, Heaven and Hell are looking to eliminate humanity.

Individualism Versus Collectivism

Oh there it is! There's my pet theme!

I've always argued that in Good Omens, the core of the dualism explored between Aziraphale and Crowley is individualism and collectivism, with Crowley the dedicated individualist who nonetheless would like to belong somewhere, and Aziraphale the nervous collectivist who is secretly desperate to have an identity and belongings to himself. Good Omens has already touched on the notion that working together as a collective is necessary to keep the world turning, but it's also important to preserve individuality, so we have people to keep us company and meaning to live for. I think this will come up again.

Meanwhile, Nineteen Eighty-Four explores an authoritarian and destructive form of collectivism in which human beings are not allowed to have individual interests or experiences; everything flows toward the power of the Party. Individual identity is viewed as a weakness. With that said, Nineteen Eighty-Four does consider the potential power of collectives to overcome authoritarianism.

Mortality, Immortality, and Change

In Nineteen Eighty-Four, O'Brien eventually reveals that the goal of the Party is to become immortal through collectivism. While the fate of an individual human being is always to die, the Party believes a collective that is single-minded enough about maintaining power can live forever. In that way, people who submit to the Party's power can live forever, too. One has to wonder about the real point of all this, of course. The Party regards change as its downfall. For the Party to succeed, it must keep everyone moving toward the exact same goal of maintaining power forever.

In Good Omens, many of the characters are naturally immortal, as angels or demons. They don't have to change, and Heaven and Hell don't have to change. However, existing as immortals in Heaven or Hell, not experiencing any of the things mortals do in the physical world, all seems pretty obviously pointless. Aziraphale and Crowley, and then Gabriel and Beelzebub, and then Muriel, all start to find meaning on Earth among mortals. And I think this is all yet to be expanded upon, especially with the looming Second Coming.

Where Good Omens is concerned, the notion of change as a type of death and/or death as a type of change may be important (and ties into The Crow Road by Iain Banks as well).

By coming to Earth, the immortal characters are essentially doing the reverse of assimilating with the Party or Heaven and Hell: they're discovering themselves. With self-discovery comes the risk of change - changing from who they used to be in Heaven or Hell - and the reward of meaning.

The Party of Oceania wants to assimilate everyone into the same goal of maintaining the Party's power in order to make the Party immortal. While "maintaining power" is a "purpose" of sorts for the collective, on an individual level for any specific human being, it is nihilistic, since there is no place for the individual other than ensuring the success of the Party's destruction of the individual.

Freedom in the Natural World

In both stories, we've got the notion of nature as a place of freedom. The countryside where Winston and Julia first meet up lacks telescreens, and there are fewer microphones as well, allowing them to act naturally in a way that isn't usually permitted in the city. The room that Winston and Julia rent from Mr. Charrington is also so old-fashioned that it doesn't have a telescreen; they believe themselves to be momentarily safe in their own little world there. Unfortunately, Mr. Charrington is not really an ordinary prole, but a member of the Thought Police, which allows the Party to invade Winston's and Julia's space.

Of course, in Good Omens, Earth is the ultimate place of freedom. Heaven and Hell are both awful in their ways, hyper-controlled and devoid of real meaning. It's on Earth that Aziraphale and Crowley can begin to truly live. Of course, the safe little place they create together, the bookshop, is eventually invaded by Heaven and Hell.

I'd like to leave you with a pair of quotations.

"If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face---forever. ... And remember that it is forever. The face will always be there to be stamped upon. The heretic, the enemy of society, will always be there, so that he can be defeated and humiliated over again. Everything that you have undergone since you have been in our hands---all that will continue, and worse. The espionage, the betrayals, the arrests, the tortures, the executions, the disappearances will never cease." O'Brien Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell Part Three, Chapter III

"If you want to imagine the future, imagine a boy and his dog and his friends. And a summer that never ends. If you want to imagine the future, imagine a boot . . . no, imagine a sneaker, laces trailing, kicking a pebble; imagine a stick, to poke at interesting things, and throw for a dog that may or may not decide to retrieve it; imagine a tuneless whistle, pounding some luckless popular song into insensibility; imagine a figure, half angel, half devil, all human . . . Slouching hopefully towards Tadfield. . . . . . . forever. Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett

#good omens #nineteen eighty four #good omens 2 #good omens 2 spoilers #1984 #good omens book club #long post #torture mention #sa mention

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porcelainseashore · 7 months ago

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Into the Ether (3)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire! Toreador! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary: At the all-night events cafe you run, you’ve become acquainted with an elusive patron, Leon, though you can never remember the last moments of your interactions together. After a harrowing encounter, a love-hate relationship develops between the two of you as you grapple with your newfound status in a world of darkness and investigate the reasons behind the untimely attacks.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Resident Evil x Vampire: The Masquerade crossover, horror, mystery, romance, slow burn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, swearing, smoking, alcohol, drug references, non consensual blood drinking, blood bond, vampire turning, violence, injury, mild gore, torture, religious themes, minor character death, RE ensemble, VtM concepts.

Author's Note: Suggestive themes, violence and mild gore ahead.

Taglist: @admirxation @angelstargel @miss-oranje-disco-dancer ❤️‍🔥

AO3 Link

Chapter 3: Fires of Rebellion

“So, talk,” you demanded, crossing your arms as you kept yourself at a suitable distance from Leon.

Both of you were currently walking up north along Good Street towards the City College. The plan had been to take a left at some point and head over to the park by Warren Street, where hopefully there would be some benches for you to relax on. It was still early enough in the night for your surroundings to be relatively bustling with people, so you weren’t too worried that the man beside you would try anything risky or stupid. In any case, you knew where you kept your pepper spray at hand if things went south.

“You’d already sensed it from the beginning,” he stated, swallowing thickly. How was it this hard to tell you who he really was? If he could sweat blood, he’d fill a whole bucket’s worth. Pig’s blood. A cop in pig’s blood. He knew plenty of people who’d pay to see him drenched in the vermillion fluid. “That I’m not exactly normal.” That was what he settled with.

“What, you mean like a serial killer or something?” you scoffed, shaking your head in mild vexation.

“No.” His voice was solemn but firm as he glanced at you briefly, making eye contact. “I didn’t… assault you, not in the way you think.” He pressed his lips together into a thin line. “I just— I do things… that aren’t exactly normal.”

Great, Leon. You just made yourself sound like a fucking magician. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and paused his footsteps. “This is going well.”

You almost felt sorry for the guy. He seemed to be having such a difficult time articulating what he wanted to say. Was it some sort of kink he was talking about? The logical part of your mind berated you, insisting that this could go down far worse than you imagined, but you pushed it aside.

“Like what?” you asked, your morbid curiosity getting the better of you.

His jaw tightened as he shifted his weight uncomfortably from side to side.

Before he could respond, you took the initiative, positioning yourself in front of him as a form of challenge. “Show me,” you requested.

His head darted in every direction, scanning the area with an animalistic instinctiveness and you thought you saw his eyes illuminate in a different color. However, when you blinked a second later, it had returned to its original pale shade of blue. “Too many people,” he muttered. “I’ll do as you ask, but we need to head somewhere quieter.”

You should’ve ran off after he said that, but your legs stayed rooted to the ground. Your lack of self-preservation was alarming. “The park, then?” you suggested.

He nodded in compromise. “I could work with that.”

The rest of the walk there took place in awkward silence, as you dwelled on what he would do and whether you were walking into one big, fat trap. Well, at least Patrick had his business card. And P.I.s, they had a registered license, didn’t they? It was too late to back out now, you’d gone this far and you wanted to see it through.

When you had found a secluded bench at one of the shaded corners of the park, he spoke up again. “Do you remember the first night we met? When—”

“You offered me cigarettes in exchange for coffee,” you finished the sentence for him.

“Yes,” he said with a wistful smile, as if reminiscing about a day he’d cherished but had long since passed. “You felt it, didn’t you? Compelled to stay, but with no reason why.”

Despite your reluctance, you had to agree with him. That moment between standing by his table and sitting with him to share in a smoke had been like entering the twilight zone. You were you, but yet, at the same time, weren’t.

“I can do it again here, if you want,” he murmured, his eyes burning with an intensity that seemed to bore right into you.

It wasn’t the first time you had leaped before looking. You’d always been known to be a little more reckless than your peers, but it seemed like you never really learnt your lesson well. “Be my guest,” you gestured melodramatically, as your hand swept across in one grand motion.

“Now, you’re just mocking me,” he chided, though a ghost of a smile still lingered on his lips.

This time, there was a tingling sensation in your body, like an invisible warm light gradually enveloping you, except it seemed to exude from him. You were entranced by his stature, the minute details of his face, everything about what he was, to the point where you couldn’t tear yourself away from his gaze.

“Sit,” he directed gently, placing his hand along the back of the wooden bench.

You felt nothing but desire. Desire to do anything he wanted you to. Without a word, you sank onto the bench like a doll, still giving him that doe-eyed expression one would normally reserve for a celebrity they were starstruck by.

Taking his seat beside you, he urged, “Come closer.”

Obediently, you shuffled up along the bench towards him, except it wasn’t out of fear of punishment, but a strange, radiant love that emanated from within you. When you were just inches away from his face, he slowly revealed the tips of his canine teeth, which were pointier than usual, and seemed to grow with each passing minute. As his features eased up, you could feel the uncanny warmth dissipate from your core, and though you were still captivated by him, his face seemed to lack the same lustrous sheen it held moments ago. Like a wandering spirit, you had arrived back into your own body. You were you again.

His eyes latched onto you, waiting, watching, biding his time, to see what you would do. Though he remained poised and composed, the unsteadiness of his breathing and the flicker of trepidation across his irises gave him away. He was afraid that you would leave him, for good. And after what he had given to have the right to Embrace you, he wouldn’t know how he would live with himself if he were rejected.

It felt like hours had gone by until one of you spoke up. “Do you hate what you see?”

“No,” you answered, almost too quickly, cupping his cold cheek in the palm of your hand. He closed his eyes and sighed blissfully into it, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. It felt moist and heated against your skin.

You surprised yourself with how well you were taking all of this in. This shouldn’t have been possible and nothing about what he had shown you made sense. You blamed your tolerance on the late, sleepless nights and hanging around with the offbeat characters who frequented your cafe.

What if monsters did exist? you humored. Maybe not in the literal sense of vampires, but someone who relished the flavor of blood, and who’d learnt a few tricks of hypnotism. You tried to rationalize it as much as you could, but there were still so many missing pieces you did not fully understand.

“How many times?” you asked. “Did you force me… each night?”

He lowered his gaze, marred by shame, while looking to his hands nestled in his lap. “It was just that once,” he whispered. “I wanted you to stay with me.”

He pursed his lips. “The rest, later on… was you.”

“Did you—”

“Yes.”

You didn’t even need to continue your sentence for him to know what you meant. Yes, he tasted your blood. Yes, he enjoyed it. Yes, he came back for more. And more.

“I’m sorry,” his voice cracked.

You didn’t acknowledge his apology, allowing even more time to slip through your fingers. A while later, you ran them along his cheek towards his lips, where his teeth which now looked more like fangs lurked. Right, how would you explain that away?

He didn’t stop you when you traced one of their edges, as if trying to figure out if they were real. He let you press the tip of your finger against its peak, purposely pricking yourself in some kind of deluded masochistic fantasy. The rush you felt from it was indescribable, like a spike of venom flowing into your veins, though it wasn’t as intense as the previous times to truly immobilize you. Grasping onto the back of the bench, you steadied yourself from the dizzying sensation.

A dark, ruby bead blossomed at the site of the puncture. His mouth lay open as he inhaled sharply, gripping the trousers on his thighs, and there was a wild look in his bloodshot eyes. However, he remained motionless, restraining himself somehow, as if awaiting your instruction.

“You like this?” A mixture of bewilderment and arousal seeped into your tone, as you brought your bleeding finger to rest just at the entrance of his mouth.

All at once, his veneer of calmness shattered. He swirled his tongue against your fingertip, causing you to gasp as it made hot laps around the miniscule droplet of blood you had to offer him. Dipping his head, he took the rest of your digit into his mouth, eventually sucking on it whole as he emitted a low groan in pleasure. When he finally let it go, a slick string of saliva connected to it from his lips, wet and hungry with need.

“I, um—” you shuddered, at a loss for words, as you retracted your finger, folding it into your hand.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he straightened up in his seat, adjusting his attire and hair, as if he had come back to his senses once again. “You don’t have to decide on this right now,” he assured you.

“Okay.” You nodded shakily, your mind spinning from all the events that had just transpired. “Could we take another short walk before I head home?”

It would probably help to cool off a little, you thought.

“Anything you need,” he asserted, getting up as he took another glance around the park, before extending his hand to you.

You stared at it, contemplating further. “Just don’t—” you hesitated, pausing to rephrase your words. “I want to trust you, Leon.”

“I’ll earn it back,” he promised. “However long it takes.”

That was all you needed to hear from him. Perhaps you were naive to a fault, but you took his hand anyway, allowing him to lead you out of the park, and to whatever else fate had in store for you that night.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Over the course of the evening, a thin fog had developed, shrouding the sky and enveloping the moon and stars in a blurry veil, casting a muted light over the city. You and Leon had taken a short detour towards the more touristy part of town, where the landmark Saint Michael Clock Tower overlooked the grand waterway.

The ornate, Gothic structure loomed intimidatingly ahead, its roof cloaked in a wispy gray mist, though you could still make out the time on its huge clock face. Ten minutes past midnight. It was getting late, and although you were accustomed to working until the wee hours of the morning, you preferred to get some sleep on your nights off when possible. However, right now, a part of you wished that the night would last longer.

There wasn’t such a wide distance between you and Leon as before. In fact, your fingers were nearly touching, but neither of you had taken it further to close the final gap. Even in complete silence, punctuated only by the sounds of the city’s buzzing nightlife, both of you had somehow agreed on which pathways to take, falling in sync with each other’s footsteps, pauses and turns, like an unspoken dance. It was nice like this, having no expectations of the other person, just walking and feeling the thread of connection that bound the two of you.

Every now and then, he peered at you inquisitively, and you wondered if he had something to say, but when you looked his way, he turned his gaze back to the street in front of him. Coming to the entrance of a tunnel arbor near the clocktower, you paused to admire the sight of the vines and flowers that were wound around the metallic arches, interspersed with marigold fairy lights. There were still a decent number of stragglers in the vicinity. Probably the remaining tourists for the day who didn’t quite want to wrap up yet, some of whom were posing for pictures near the picaresque arbors.

“Cat caught your tongue?” Always the instigator and taking the confrontational approach. That was what you were known for.

“Hm?” he deflected, yet smiled at you knowingly.

“Just looked like you had something to say.” You shrugged, placing your hands on your hips.

“Nothing escapes you, huh?”

He was teasing you again; you were certain of it. Though this appeared to be twofold, where the second part was meant as a misdirection to hide a secret from you.

“It should be obvious that I like you,” he stated plainly.

Obvious to the point where he couldn’t afford to have one of those obnoxious Anarchs stake their claim over you, just for a bit of territory. You were worth so much more to him than that. Surely, it would be the lesser of two evils for him to be the one to Embrace you? It was all he could think about when he made that deal with Ada. Always justifying and compromising. That was what he was known for.

You couldn't fathom the sheer astonishment and joy that overcame him when Ada returned with the news a few weeks later:

“The Prince granted your wish,” she mentioned with an indifferent wave of her hand.

“How?” he choked in disbelief. “It usually takes years!”

“You underestimate me,” she scoffed. “Have you forgotten that I’m the voice of society?”

“No, of course not.” He hung his head in disgrace, as if he had just been told off by a parent.

“Anyway, I don’t have to tell you twice that you should thank him in person.”

Lifting a bejeweled chalice to her lips, she tasted its contents, allowing it to linger on the palate before letting it wash down her throat. “And by ‘thank’, I mean ‘grovel’.”

“Yes, sire.” He bent down on his knee and kissed the back of her hand in respect.

A shadow of annoyance flickered across her face, morphing into a frown. “You do know this makes you look weak?” she questioned rhetorically. “Being unable to convince the Prince yourself?”

He knew better than to respond when Ada was in such a mood.

“Don’t embarrass me.”

Her warning rang loud and clear in his ears.

“Who is it obvious to?” you challenged, pulling him out of his reverie. Maybe you had an undeniable urge to see him lose control over you again.

At this, he drew closer towards you, his eyes ablaze like a blue flame, as he snaked his arms around your waist. That was it — the thrill, the feeling you missed. It rippled through your body, leaving goosebumps in its wake. But before he could go any further, a sudden force tore him from his hold on you, hauling him violently backwards. He was flung in the air across a couple of yards, landing against the wall of a building with a sickening crack.

In the background, you heard screams coming from all directions, alongside whooshing sounds, followed by loud thuds. One soon popped up behind you and in an instant you found yourself smacked to the ground. There was a shrill ringing in your ears, your eyes watered, and your vision blurred as you started seeing double in front of you. You felt the back of your head. Wet. Sticky. Flowing. Your fingers were red and the concussion you suffered induced a dizzying spell.

A grizzly face appeared before you, but you couldn’t quite make out any distinguishable features, except for the familiar shape of long fangs that glistened under the arbor lights. There was no time to put up a fight or even cry out for help, as you began to sink deeper and deeper into unconsciousness.

Leon had watched the entire scene unfurl before him like a twisted snuff film coming to life. The attack had taken him by surprise, but he quickly got up from his fall, resetting his bones and shaking it off like nothing had happened. The whole place was awash in scarlet. Blood streaked the city streets, trickling into every gap and crack, as the victims were messily drained of their lifesource. Whoever was behind this wanted the world to know. And that was when he witnessed the first of them turn.

A Mass Embrace? These Kindred definitely reeked of the Sabbat, and if not, they weren’t anyone who had been presented before the Prince; he would know. There wasn’t a second left to spare — he had to find you immediately. In his line of sight, he saw one of the culprits feeding on you greedily, and the primal rage he felt within him almost caused his Beast to take over. He hunched over and growled ferociously. His features transformed into something monstrous and his eyes were crazed as globs of saliva dribbled down his mouth.

It was fanning the flames of a Frenzy, one where he would slaughter every being in his path regardless of who they were, tearing them from limb to limb, and eviscerating their carcasses for what they had done to you. But his concern for your well-being won him over. Mustering up his willpower, he resisted the Beast as much as he could, and though he was still enraged, he needed to think straight and prioritize getting you to safety. That was all that mattered.

In the bat of an eye, he zipped across, yanking the other vampire away from your limp body, as they traded rapid blows. Another aggressor joined in the fight, as Leon dodged their swift counterattacks with deceptive ease, before connecting his right fist to one of their jaws and dealing a precise uppercut with his left to the other’s ribs, catching both of them off-guard.

Everything seemed to pass by in quicktime as he moved with an unnatural grace, spinning mid-air over one of their backs, only to grab the other from behind and slam him to the ground savagely. Gathering the rest of his strength, he took advantage of the momentum to stomp on the vampire’s head with the heel of his shoe. There was a nauseating crunch as his skull caved in from the blunt force trauma, splintering and sending blood splashing across the pavement, driving him straight into torpor. One down, one more to go.

The brutality of the violence he had displayed unnerved him, yet fuelled his excitement as adrenaline coursed through his veins. He attributed it to being partially influenced by the Beast the moment those bastards had put your life in danger. At least he had not fully succumbed to it. That was what he tried to tell himself while putting a lid on his unquenchable thirst for more. More violence. More bloodshed. They deserve it…

A cacophony of ghastly howls erupted from a distance, bringing him back to reality. Jill, it had to be, Leon realized. The Sheriff was coming to subdue this severe breach of the Masquerade. As the other vampire lunged at him, Leon’s reflexes took over, timing it such that he skirted the edge of the assault unscathed. Instead, he circled around, placing the attacker in an unyielding headlock. The vampire struggled vigorously, attempting to kick and claw his way out of Leon’s grip.

It was then that he heard Jill’s gruff yells in the vicinity, as the pack of dogs under her control barked and gnashed their teeth viciously at the remaining offenders, clamping down on their legs to prevent them from escaping. The Hound, a group of Kindred who reported to her, had arrived in tow, twirling wooden shafts in their hands, each sharpened at one end. Grinning menacingly, they struck at the assailants, staking them immobile before dragging them away.

“You need this one?” Leon called out. He might as well play by their rules where he got the chance, even if the Prince himself had decreed a perpetual Blood Hunt on the Sabbat. Anything to be in the former’s good graces. It was all for show, anyway.

Jill turned sharply, her mouth contorting into a wicked smirk, as she stalked towards him. “Leon… always at the right place, right time, huh?” Her voice was more akin to brutish snarl, but he knew when she meant her threats and when she didn’t. At this point, she was on his side.

“We have our hands full of the rebellious trash.” She jerked her thumb back to her crew, who were skulking around in the dark with their catch. “Kill this motherfucker.”

Without hesitation, Leon snapped the vampire’s neck clean, ripping his head off in the process as his lifeless body fell to the ground in a heap. Letting out a huff from the effort, he tossed the head aside, feeling nothing for the wretched being that lay at his feet. Or did he? He chose not to dwell on it any further, finding something else to distract himself with as he glanced down at his clothes, frowning when he noticed they were smeared with all sorts of fluids and innards. Dry cleaning was gonna be a bitch.

Jill signaled towards your body with her chin. “This one’s barely alive.”

“She’s mine.” A deep-seated possessiveness surged through him as he stepped between you and Jill, unwilling to let you be snatched away from his grasp again. Swooping down, he lifted you into his arms, ready to cart you off from this gruesome site. “Please, I don’t have much time.”

Narrowing her eyes, she tilted her head and a low rumble reverberated from her chest. “Alright, pretty boy. You’re answerable to the Prince though,” she warned.

“Understood,” he replied snippily, cringing at the nickname she often used to wind him up.

Directing her attention once again to her Hound, she commanded, “Torch the rest!”

The poor, newly created vampires never stood a chance, dealing with both the life-changing alterations to their bodies and the molotov cocktails now lobbed at them. They had no idea what was happening as they were set aflame in the towering bonfire, screeching and wailing until they were reduced to nothing but ashes. The smell of singed skin and flesh hung in the air.

Tightening his grip on you, Leon recoiled involuntarily in fear as he fled from the raging inferno. “Hang in there for me,” he whispered, praying to a long-forgotten god that he wouldn’t be too late this time.

Racing like his life depended on it, he kept to the shadows, using the cover of darkness to navigate through the maze of Raccoon City towards his haven.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil #vampire au #vampire the masquerade #vtm #crossover #fic: into the ether #porcelainscribbles

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atrophiedemotion · 3 months ago

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hey Cast! uh so this ask is about. alien stage. but imma send you another about some random shit because why not. anyways

the tags that you had on that previous post with me and plip (the one about ivan and till and how they show honesty differently and how we know about their characters a different amount because of how forthcoming or not they are) and my question for you is, how many of Ivan's actions do you think are representative of his true emotions? I don't think his body language, in general, is very forthcoming but I do agree that his actions can be pretty revealing (he strikes me as an acts of service person especially with trying to escape with Till) but uh yeah I'm wondering if there are any specific examples that you think of as being revealing of his actual thoughts or specific examples of him pretending to be someone else?

thanks for listening to me yap uh I hope you're doing well and that you have an awesome day!

rock... oh boy... this is gonna be a long one. wonderful question. thank you for the ask, i hope you have a great day as well!!

so, i didn't fully explain in the tags because i didn't want to write a full length essay on plip's post (ty plip for dealing w the rambling)(i was also very tired so i wasn't fully articulate lmao) but i meant that ivan shows his emotions through the outcomes/projected outcomes of his actions. he certainly isn't very forthcoming in the way he acts and portrays himself, but there is undeniable truth in the intent and meaning behind everything he does, even things that seem counterproductive.

i think that since ivan genuinely cannot fully be upfront and honest (due to trauma, his lack of self worth, and his decided survival strategy) his main truths show in the deeper meaning of the things he does for other people and himself. with ivan, it is all about intent. i've said before that the only way to understand ivan is to dig deeper and this is very much true here. he uses a lot of subterfuge to throw people off from his actual intentions, but they're there.

ivan often uses unconventional, roundabout ways to achieve his goals/get what he wants- especially when they mean something to him. he is a guy who is caked in layers upon layers of meaning only if you pull back the acres of curtains he's covered them with. he doesn't want people to know what goes on in his head, so he covers it up valiantly. this is due to his low self esteem of course, but also full on survival. in order for his plans to work, no one can be in on it. no one can know what he's thinking. all of his true feelings and thoughts need to be hidden in order to achieve success, but in the end it's fucking hard to not leave a trace of your true feelings.

with all that being said, examples!

the biggest and most obvious examples are mainly related to till (of course they are) and i also feel like they're the most telling. ivan's teachers specifically pointed out that he was only childish around till (they were relieved by it, too, because he was so damn serious the rest of the time and didn't behave like a child should). ivan has the hardest time hiding his true emotions around till, which makes sense, because till makes him feel the most emotion when his are always dulled. that doesn't stop him from going the 'i must hide my crush by pulling his pigtails' route but, y'know.

since most of these are talked about frequently and i dont want to keep beating a dead horse in an already long post, here's a (hopefully) brief list:

-the biggest one, the meteor shower. going through all of that to escape with till, specifically during a meteor shower that it seemed ivan was desperate to show till (to introduce his shooting stars to each other or smth im sure). ivan offered till freedom and denied himself of it when till turned around and he followed him back without question.

-his good behavior can arguably be considered to be due, in part, to the perks an obedient pet gets. this isn't just a till thing but ivan's obedience is very telling of his need and drive for survival, which considering his uhh,, track record is likely largely so he can protect till. gaining perks and learning insider information, like how to take collars off and gain access to isolation cells, assist him in assisting and caring for till.

-the sometimes silent companionship they share. the way ivan will poke at him to get his outright attention but is still at times satisfied with just existing in till's space and enjoying his presence says a lot about his genuine adoration and admiration of till

-his sacrifice. i don't think i need to say much about this as it's pretty self explanatory lmao but it is a Great example of what im trying to convey. ivan does honest things and has to cover them up at the same time. the 'violence' was to end the round of course, but it was also kind of like a familiar bandaid over the painfully honest feelings he conveyed with the kiss. even if he didn't really hurt him he couldn't just be honest

there are definitely more (most everything he does in regards to till tbh) but i wanted to talk about some others too

the comic conversation with sua about her sacrifice! such a big one. ivan's feelings about sua are very complicated, but to me i feel like he cares about her to an extent, almost pitying in a way. he's horribly jealous of her and the love she has, but he sees so much of himself in her that what he says in that conversation is probably at least half projection, even if he's not aware of it.

the way he looks at her without trying to hide his distaste feels like the way he would look down on himself. the whole thing shows not only his disgust with himself, but his anger towards someone who is so similar to him that she makes the same plans in her head even though she has something he believes he'll never have. it's envy, tried and true, and he doesn't even hide it at the time. he hides the self loathing behind it, but still. that might be the most honest we've seen ivan aside from the end of r6.

that conversation also does kind of show the fact that he cares for sua and mizi. sua in a way he acknowledges less to himself, but certainly mizi.

and speaking of mizi, my last example for right now is the way he watched round 5 like he was barely holding it together and sort of did his own recreation of it in round 6. the strangling was reminiscent of the way mizi lunged at luka and he almost certainly got the idea for his method of sacrifice from what she did. it kind of feels like an ode to her, in a way. an ode to mizi while offering himself up for till, which. is very sad but almost a little sweet, that he had a piece of mizi in what he was doing for till.

okay okay im sure i could keep talking about this but ive been writing for. a long time LMAO so i will stop here but! yeah. ivan shows his emotions inadvertently through his actions and about fifty levels of subterfuge. but it's all we get, so...

thank you for the ask again my dude, i really enjoyed answering it!

#i am Vibrating rn i hope you enjoy the essay rock sdajvd #alnst ivan #alien stage #alnst #cast's analyses #ask #rockwgooglyeyes #tHIS IS 1.1K WORDS?? HELLO???

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blondiest · 1 year ago

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About your headcanon of fem Near and Mello, why do you think that fem near would be more manipulative and sneaky? Why would Mello show her 'complicated' feelings for Near visibly?

(my original answer that you're referring to i'm gonna link here!!)

okay i am actually going to get slightly long-winded here so bear with me. it's also gonna be really disorganized and at least kind of poorly articulated lmao. but! thank you for the ask!! ❣️

a) fem!Near being manipulative / sneaky

a theme i like in general is (Wammy's era, mostly) Near attempting to learn how to navigate social situations better. i like the idea of Near doing research on and then taking an analytical & strategic approach towards things he finds difficult (in the situations where he feels the need or desire to get better at said things— i think much of the time it wouldn't be necessary for him, which is why i don't tend to imagine him learning to cook very well). when i refer to fem!Near being more sneaky / manipulative, i guess i'm mostly saying that i like to do a slightly more ‘dialed-up’ take on being strategic about navigating interactions with Mello better.

part of why i imagine fem!Near this way is literally just bc i think it's fun when teenage girls are weird. i found it very hard to fit in as a teen & tried very very hard to get people to like me, sometimes in calculated ways. ‘calculated’ here should not be mistaken for ‘successful’ or ‘smooth’ — i just mean that i put a large amount of thought into my behavior and interactions with others. also, i feel like teen girl friendships are sometimes fraught in very specific ways, so i imagine weird one-sided rivalries might be even more fraught in those specific ways. i can't really articulate this as well as i'd like to, but hopefully it's clear ishhhh what i mean?

(more under cut bc i'm going to refer to specifics of two different Near POV fics i've written)

in hot soup on a cold day, Near mentions having tried fairly standard, friendly methods to attempt to get closer to Mello, which didn't really work bc Mello was interpreting everything as insincere. so in this case, Near isn't trying to manipulate Mello, but Mello thinks he is. on the other hand, in what doesn't kill you makes me want you more, fem!Near takes a more underhanded approach and decides that she'll play into the image she surmises Mello wants to see & attempts to give Mello an artificial sense of power / superiority to incentivize further attention from Mello. this is actually an attempt to manipulate Mello, but because of the interaction that catalyzes the whole thing, it plays into what Mello wants to believe & will end up being more effective than the sincere efforts mentioned in hot soup on a cold day. tbh, this also just fits into my love of Mello misinterpreting Near with spectacular consistency.

b) fem!Mello being worse at hiding her hatecrush on Near

i have less insight for this one tbh, but i also tend to think of this as a specifically Wammy's era dynamic. i think it's delightful when Mello is a mess, and i like making fem!Mello slightly more of a mess 🥰

#mello #dn #near #asks

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glitchdollmemoria · 2 years ago

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relationship pda ramble thing

im coming up on the five month anniversary of dating my partner (not to mention the couple months we knew each other before dating), and im getting all excited about them possibly hopefully being able to visit this summer after they finish up with finals, and as im thinking about this im also realizing that i have so much more trust in them than ive had in anyone else. for about half our relationship, they havent been able to talk often because theyve been putting a lot of energy into studying. at first this made me anxious, but over time ive seen them repeatedly come check in with me when they can. especially when i think back to their behavior before they got caught up in studying for finals, the way they were able to show their trustworthiness esp compared to past partners, the affection theyve shown me, the fact that our life/relationship goals line up so well, and the fact that they keep messaging me when theyre able... theres a part of me that gets anxious and paranoid, but that part of me keeps shrinking.

the more i think about these things, the more i realize that im worrying less and less about the possibility of him being dishonest. which - its not that i have reason to think hes untrustworthy, i just have mega bpd. but things make sense in my brain for once. hes told me before that he struggles with school environments, so of course he needs to spend months focusing on studying. hes proud of the career hes pursuing, so of course hes going to work hard for it. he was the one to bring up the idea of me being a house spouse instead of working, so now that he knows i agree with that plan, i wonder if - and even kind of hope - pursuing that future together is part of his motivation.

plus, as far as ive gotten to know her, shes a very confident person who doesnt seem to keep people around out of pity. once, she made a joke about breaking up and i thought for a second she was serious, and she told me she loves me too much to break up with me, and that if she were to break things off it would be over a call. so, it makes more sense that she really is just busy rather than ignoring me, especially when like i said she does still reach out when she can and she wouldnt need to do that if she was trying to ghost me or something.

this is all just word soup. i have a lot of thoughts right now and not much brainpower to articulate them cleanly. mostly, im just excited that i have such a sense of security in this relationship, because i really do want to believe this will be a lifelong partnership and i dont have any real reason to suspect it wont be, as long as we both keep putting in the work. every time my girlfriend apologizes for being away so much, i want to just gently grab it by the shoulders and tell it how much i really truly adore its work ethic and that im willing to wait as long as it takes if it means we can someday reach the life weve talked about wanting to build together.

sometimes i think about the dream i had a while back, being escorted by angels to a beautiful towering library, and how thats sort of incorporated itself into my religious views even if im not sure what it all means. and the fact that once, during a call, she told me that even though she doesnt believe in any particular religion, her ideal afterlife would be a library full of truth. i think, if anything, its all at least a sign that this is whats right for us both right now. she doesnt know about that dream i had. its all coincidence. but it seems too coincidental to not mean anything. maybe we just have similar ideals. maybe its a sign that were meant to be together, at least for the time being. i dont know for sure. but everything feels right. and im so happy that i can look back on the way past partners have treated me, and i can look at the way my current partner treats me, and i can see such a difference in that treatment, and i can feel so much more secure than i have in the past. it makes me grateful in a way for the suffering ive experienced. if nothing else, it serves to make the difference in treatment obvious. im just glad about all of this, grateful to feel secure finally.

#my brain is utterly scrambled today but im full of gay thoughts #slaps my own ass. this bad boy can fit so much t4t joy in it #also didnt even touch on how fucking incredible it is to be in a relationship with another aspec person for fucking ONCE #i dont feel like theres any obligation to have specific feelings or label my feelings in a particular way #we call our feelings love and thats as specific as we really need to get in that department

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juliadelvecchio · 2 years ago

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Jan 23. Tompkins Ch 2 + 6

Julia Del Vecchio-- Readerly Exploration #1

Main Idea: Ch 2: Reading and writing are constructive, meaning making processes. Ch 6: The ability to read and write accurately, quickly, and with expression (known as fluency) can be developed through instruction, guided practice, and independent reading and writing.

Nuggets: While reading chapter 2, so many things stuck out to me. First, I remember reading The Giver and I absolutely loved that book! I liked the Mini Lesson to come up with literary opposites because all I could think about is how it would be such a great opportunity to learn from my students! Secondly, I remember a readers theatre performance that we did in 6th or 7th grade after reading the story of Esperanza Rising. The girls did their own play with costume changes and everything and the boys did their own; it was hilarious! Lastly, the point about using computers to write was interesting to me. I never used computers in middle school to write papers, it was always by hand. I think using a computer would be much easier, but I would also miss the traditional, old school sense of using a pencil and paper. Sadly, I do believe there are many downsides to technology for children these days. In chapter 6, i appreciated the section on prosody. It is no question that expression and phrasing play a huge part in understanding the meaning of the author. I would be interested in reading more about how to build students skills in this area.

Readerly exploration and habit: Reflect on the contributions of reading experiences to reader identity in an effort to better articulate who he or she is as a reader: Based on your successes and struggles reading this text, write down two or three goals for yourself as a reader for your next reading assignment.

As I was reading, I was reflecting on how I really struggle to read textbooks like this. I’m glad that this is an option for a readerly habit and I think it will be a good one to start with this semester because it will get me thinking about how I can get the most out of these readings. I have never been the best at reading comprehension and it is hard to focus or be engaged when the readings are pages and pages of information. I don’t find that I retain most of it unless I am taking copious notes which takes hours, and it feels like wasted time. Sometimes the big picture is hard for me to pick out and so I read and overthink every sentence to try to see where it might fit into a big picture theme or main idea when I should just read through the whole text.

For my next reading assignment in a textbook like this, my goals are to:

Begin to make a list of things from the textbook that I actually want to incorporate in my future classroom– I think this will give me a lot more motivation to read and I will take more practical content from the book

Weed out the things that aren’t as important– If I am struggling to read a section and I’m not attaching any meaning to the words while reading over them, then its time to move on to a section which I can actually grow from to make better use of my time and keep my engagement with the text (I can return to the section im struggling with later)

Either workout before reading, or read in the morning so that I can focus better/be more productive when I set out to read for long periods of time

I think this reflection was helpful in my understanding of this week's readings because it is (hopefully) a large step in becoming a better reader which is what this reading was all about. Just by setting reading goals for myself, I was able to connect more with the intent of the author of this literacy textbook. They obviously dedicated much time and effort to giving teachers more knowledge, and organized steps/systems to help make their students better readers (like explaining in detail the 5 steps of reading and writing in chapter 2, and supporting fluency development in chapter 6).

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planetdream · 15 days ago

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allow me to yap away (im a lil high so if this doesn't make sense, welp)

so yes, this technically does mean that you are capricorn+ because you have a capricorn stellium. a stellium is when 3 or more planets are stationed under a single sign or house. a lot of the time, stellium can be seen as the overall energy of the person/chart. you, might tend to exhibit a more capricorn energy (dominant, hardworking, etc) but often times, the stellium can invert its energy (which would mean you would exhibit cancer energy—nurturing, gentle)

I'm assuming this is a co-stars chart? if im looking correctly, you have;

a sagitarius rising. your venus is also 1H sagittarius.

capricorn mercury and moon also in the 1H

capricorn sun, jupiter and neptune in the 2H

(can't lie, the position of your sun is hard to read; can't tell if its in the 1H or 2H)

first and foremost, venus in the 1H? you're literally gorgeous! 1H (or, first house) represents impressions; often seen as a 'mask' one puts on. it also represents physical appearance so to have venus sitting comfy in the 1H means a pretty person ! not only are you pretty, you have an energy that people like (sag rising) people are often drawn to you.

that capricorn mercury and moon in the 1H...lets chat....so multiple things I am thinking of;

capricorn moons are a bit...suppressive of their emotions. whether that is just by nature or [the usual answer in which] they were taught to suppress their emotions. which tends to be difficult as you get older [there is a lot to say about capricorns and trauma] however;

moon in the 1H is typically a person that wears their emotions on their face, they're not necessarily good at hiding the fact that they feel, something. because they are a 1H moon and the moon changes signs every 2-3 days, they're likely to have a rollercoaster of emotions on the reg. how do you outwardly express built up emotions?

it is best not to let said emotions get the best of you and using that 1H mercury; hopefully you can better articulate. 1H mercury also chronic overthinker. now as a cap mercury, do you like arguing? or, an alt, do you like being right?

despite the whole wearing your emotion thing, a part of me is inclined to think [and I say this in the nicest way possible] you might have a case of resting bitch face?

1H/2H stelliums are both kinda about the inner self/outer self + how you're perceived. and a lot of the time, the opinions of others might get the best of you...it's best to channel that capricorn energy to not give a fuck lol

now the 2H (or, second house) is the house of resources/valuables—it rules over things like your self esteem/worth and values as well as your pocket money and jewelry (the 2H is ruled by taurus/venus). a 2H capricorn stellium—you're typically extremely careful with your money; not much of a big spender. however, I find that 2H jupiter people, are typically spenders because they are generally lucky when it comes to money[money will come just as easy as it goes]. sun and neptune in the 2H is a hilarious push-pull; knowing that you aren't you aren't your valuables, that you're not your money or your achievements....however... you're a chronic overachiever. not sure if this makes sense but it's not that these things define you, but they are small things that help to make up who you are.

there's something to be said about capricorn dominant people and their need to have total control over a situation. in your case, given the majority of your planets fall under the 1H and 2H and the sign of capricorn, being able to have control over how you are perceived/appeciated, the work you do, how you do said work—basically everything that pertains to you as a person, a human—is important to you. capricorn as a sign rules over social status; you enjoy aesthetics that fit your values.

this took a little bit but these are just a few thoughts based on what's easy to see hahah. lmk any questions / or if you need better explanations/depth <3<3

i dunno shit about shit but all the lil things being near capricorn probs means im capricon plus+ right

#thank you jade for posting ur chart <3<3

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cdroloisms · 3 years ago

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haha your snippit abt the dispenser got me thinking.

Dream gets let out of prison and he talks constantly, whatever is on his mind. And he's positive all the time. To a fault where people walk over him. And it doesn't make sense because he was tortured right???? But after an incident they find out it's because he hates the sound of silence and needs constant reminders that other people are there. Also he was punished for any negative emotions in the prison so his default is happy now,,,

hi anon !! this concept makes me SO goddamn sad ,, the idea that he Has to be happy bc anything else would mean punishment im so *punches the walls*

this ,, ficlet is honestly. pretty ooc, not really related to the ask at all, and mostly an excuse for me to cry abt c!dream and c!punz for an excessive amount of time (technically the vote on twitter was supposed to have this as c!sapnap pov, but i just wrote one for him so i went for c!punz instead. mostly bc i wanted to write him LMAO). hopefully someone enjoys it despite *gestures vaguely* all of that mess

tw: trauma, disordered eating, implied torture/abuse, blood, injuries, unhealthy coping mechanisms, emotional distress, thoughts of murder/mercy killing, mentioned animal death, dark content

In the end, it’s all rather anticlimactic, the complete opposite of Dream’s vault and the whole fiasco of adrenaline and theatrics that had made up that day. Quackity ended up having one too many drinks, bragged about the wrong thing to the wrong person - Punz doesn’t know the specifics, only knows that one thing has led to another and suddenly Sapnap was screaming at his ex-fiancé, sword pointed at his chest and tears streaming down his eyes in the middle of the Community House floor, everyone else stood around and watching. A look into Quackity’s office said everything he didn’t - the chests and chests of used and new tools, shiny and sharpened and completely rusted over with blood and everything in between. There’s been a balled up shirt in the wastebasket, completely unsalvageable from how saturated it was with blood, more red than white, and perhaps most chilling of all the calendar, marked with X after X in red pen, going back months and speaking to their utter failure to see what had been happening all but right in front of them.

With Quackity down, Sam caved not too long after, and with his input getting into the prison was no challenge at all. The only thing holding them back were bad memories and the tense, worried edge to Sam’s jaw as he led the small group of them - himself and Sapnap, actually entering the facility, Bad and Puffy waiting outside - carrying them through winding corridor after winding corridor and lava pit after lava pit, until they’d come to stand before a chasm filled with flowing lava, slowly draining before the main cell.

“I- I have to warn you,” Sam had muttered, uncharacteristically hesitant, “it looks…pretty bad,” and Punz would’ve questioned him further, but the lava had fallen far enough to reveal the topmost edge of the cell, so they let Sapnap hound the Warden for information as they directed their full attention on the cell itself and holy shit.

Nothing Sam said could’ve possibly have prepared them for the sight - it was a complete fucking bloodbath, crimson painting the walls and smeared over the floor and splattered over every visible surface like some abstract art experiment gone wrong. The stench of iron and burning flesh and viscera was awful, even over the gap marked by the still-draining lava. Punz strained his eyes; at the very back of the cell, huddled, unmoving, was a similarly bloodstained shape that must’ve been Dream. They remember the crack of Sapnap’s knuckles meeting Sam’s face and breaking his nose, remember themselves chucking a pearl and feeling along Dream’s neck desperately for a pulse - everything beyond that became a swirl of voices and panic and crying that makes their head hurt to think about, so they don’t.

Recovery is…messy. The physical side had been bad enough - pulling Dream out of the cell, barely breathing, limp in his arms and far too light, all Punz could think about was a sheep he’d found a year ago, frail and struggling to breathe, one he’d ended up killing - quick and painless - with a sword through the skull because it seemed kinder than letting it suffer. Watching Dream struggle on the bed, laid up in Bad’s mansion because none of them knew if he’d survive going any further, body resisting the potions they’d slowly forced down his throat after being so over-saturated on them, temperature spiking and heat baking into his skin like the lava from the prison had been imprinted onto his body, Punz feels the same strange mixture of pity and unease, wonders if it’d be a hell of a lot kinder if they just put him out of his fucking misery.

Still, because Dream is a stubborn bastard, against all odds, he ends up surviving - his fever breaks, the potions begin taking effect, and a few tireless, aching days later his eyes flutter open, lucid for the first time in a week. Punz isn’t even in the room when he wakes, only knows that it happens because the too-quiet room suddenly erupts in noise and activity, muffled thumps and sounds of a struggle undercutting Bad’s frantic calls for someone to help, anyone, and they run into the room to find Dream thrashing on the bed, wounds reopened and blood dripping onto the sheets, eyes wild and wide as his head whips from side to side so hard Punz is half-afraid that he’ll straight up break his neck. Somehow, worst of all, not a single scream falls from his lips, nothing but muffled whines squeezing past his mouth, clenched shut, and for a singular, awful second they wonder how long it took before he realized that screaming was useless.

Fortunately enough for them, or unfortunately, it’s not like he can tell the fucking difference anymore, the panic and strain end up with Dream passing out altogether, and they trade uneasy glances with Bad before going to clean off the worst of his wounds. If everything they’re doing feels hopeless, dressing up wounds that’ll be torn open hours later when Dream is awake enough to feel fear but not much else because he’s forgotten what it’s like to not be afraid - well, that’s for them to think and everyone else to pretend not to agree with.

Weeks pass along the same vein - Dream wakes up, panics; they try to calm him down, fails; he falls back into unconsciousness, and they move on and pretend that they’re cleaning up wounds from battle and not from someone that’s literally been tortured for months on end. People stop by, occasionally; Puffy spends more time than not inside the mansion, but hardly ever enters the door into Dream’s room, Sapnap and George drop by occasionally with potion brewing supplies that the rest of them can’t go out to get; once, he’d gone out to the front door to find a chest with an enchanted golden apple, sender nowhere in sight. He knows that the server is busy; Quackity’s admission had brought more than a few secrets to light, and from what they understand, the political fallout has been pretty damn messy. Still, he stays in the mansion, and watches.

He doesn’t exactly know why he stays. They’re not a stellar healer, not beyond what they know to dress their own wounds, and spend most of their time doing odd-and-ends tasks for Bad, who looks more tired than ever. Maybe it’s because he’s seen Dream at his worst more than the rest of them, had been there through his entire fall from grace, watched as his eyes became clouded with anger and madness and a single, desperate hope that he’d chased at the cost of his world and himself. Maybe it’s because they have no ties to the rest of the server - not to Las Nevadas, falling apart under the scrutiny of the eyes that now fall upon it, not Snowchester, caught up in the chaos, not the Badlands, half-dissolved after the fiasco of the Egg and with Sam’s actions having just come to light. Maybe it’s because above everything else, he feels guilty.

They’d thought the prison was the answer. It’d seemed too simple, back in that Vault - a perfect answer, because everyone else was perfectly happy to watch Dream die another time and some part of them had clenched painfully at the thought even thought they knew it was for the best. The prison meant that he’d be alive, if angry, and at some point when he had the time or the nerve or the guts he could go and visit, and they would talk, and Dream would be angry but with time maybe he could even understand.

They hadn’t wanted this. He can’t imagine anyone wanting this.

“Punz?” They don’t jump at the voice at their back, they don’t, but Bad still has a tiny, tight-lipped smile when they turn around anyway, eyes creased in the corners and still not as bright as they’d been before the Egg. Bad looks at him knowingly, setting a bowl of soup into his hands. “For Dream, if you can get him to eat.” He shifts a pointed gaze towards the door. “Maybe you two could talk.”

“About what?” The words come out harsher than they intend, and they take a moment to bite back the mostly self-directed anger that Bad doesn’t deserve to receive the brunt of. “I just-” he waves his hand in the air, trying to articulate the mess that is his relationship with Dream without the words to explain it. “I don’t know, man.”

“You don’t have to talk about everything,” Bad says, calm as always, eyes flicking down to the bowl of soup in his hands. “Just start with the soup.”

Punz sighs. “I’ll try.”

He enters the room in a single, fluid motion, mostly because he knows that if he were to stop at the door then he’d never actually make his way in. Dream flinches back when they enter, eyes going wide and stance going rigid, and the familiarity doesn’t make the sight any easier to bear as they wait, as always, for Dream’s eyes to clear enough for him to realize he’s in the mansion and not stuck in that same obsidian hellhole.

“I brought soup,” they say, finally, when Dream looks up. Dream’s lips twitch up in what he probably means as a smile; between the still-healing gashes on his face and the fear that flashes over his expression, still, it comes out as more of a grimace.

“Thanks.” Dream looks away. “I’ll eat it later.”

Liar, Punz thinks tiredly, moving closer to set the bowl down on the nightstand by the bed. They frown as Dream’s expression goes slack and distanced, again, eyes fixed to stare blankly at the wall once again.

“You should have some now,” he tries, careful to keep his words even. “You need the calories.”

“I’m good,” Dream says, automatic, just shy of sincere. “Thank you.”

“Dream,” they don’t quite succeed at keeping a displeased sigh from falling from their lungs, and bite back a curse at themselves when Dream pulls back with a silent flinch. It’s so goddamn hard, to talk to this version of Dream, both of them feeling around the edges of their relationship like walking on goddamn eggshells. A few months ago, he would’ve straight up called Dream out on his bullshit, get it through his thick skull that the whole ‘I’m fine and don’t need anyone’ act was stupid and completely failing to convince him. Here, they bite back another sigh, look forlornly at the bowl of the soup on the nightstand, sure to go uneaten once again, and force themselves to sound completely neutral when they speak again. “Alright. You’ll have to eat at some point, though.”

“Mmhm,” Dream hums noncommittally, once again staring at the wall. Punz stares at his hands. This is so fucking pointless.

“So,” they say after a few seconds, Bad’s words echoing in their head - they can try to make an effort to talk, sure. It’s just that Dream’s not going to cooperate. “How are you, man?”

The words come out stilted, awkward. He looks up to watch Dream’s expression, as the other man begins to gnaw on the inside of his cheek.

“I’m good,” he says, words deliberately light. “You?”

“Dream…”

“I’m fine.” Dream’s voice sharpens suddenly, breath hitching, before he shakes his head and turns his head away. “I’m fine.”

Punz looks at him incredulously. “Are you serious? Do we need to get into exactly how not-fine you are?” They wave a hand in his direction, jaw clenching when he rears back. “Do ‘fine’ people lose their minds from someone waving at them, now?”

“I-” For a second, Dream glares at him, eyes burning with a familiar, irritated fire that Punz knows all-too-well from having it directed at him a few too many times, before it suddenly dies and Dream is swinging his head back to the bedsheets, hands tightening on the cloth as he stammers. “I- What do you want?”

Punz breathes a soft sigh, regret blooming in the center of their chest. “Sorry,” he mumbles, careful to keep their gestures overly-telegraphed and away from the other man’s face. “I’m just- you’re not okay, man. No one’s expecting you to be okay after...all of that.”

“But why?”

Dream’s voice is small, nearly a sob, and Punz directs wide, alarmed eyes to where he’s hunched in over himself, knees pulled to his chest, hands staring at the sheets pulled over them. “Why?” he says, again, quieter, lip trembling slightly.

“Because you were tortured,” Punz begins, words slow as they watch Dream’s expression, trying to pull out the thoughts behind his averted eyes, “Because the cell was inhumane, and nobody deserves to be treated like that. Because you were hurt very, very badly because of what we did, and none of us are expecting you to be fine right after going through months of trauma.” He pauses. “You know that, right?”

“But I’m out,” Dream says, quiet, disbelieving, instead of answering their question. “I’m out of there. It’s over. It’s- everything’s good,” he whispers, more to himself than to them, hands curling into fists and then uncurling. “I’m- they said I would never get out. And I’m outside, and it’s not- not the cell, and I get real food, and Quackity doesn’t visit anymore,” he shakes his head, eyes squeezing shut as his breath catches in his throat. “I’m happy- I should be happy. Right?”

“Oh Dream,” the other man flinches back, breath quickening, and Punz’s hand stops short from where he’d almost let it fall onto the other’s shoulder. “You don’t have to be happy, man. Not- not after all of that. Not if you’re not ready yet.” Dream’s eyes, wide and wet, rise to look at their own, and they feel more than hear the soft, wounded noise that leaves their lips. “It’s ok to be hurt. It’s ok to be scared. No one’s blaming you, alright? No one’s gonna hurt you anymore.”

This, more than anything, seems to be the breaking point, because Dream collapses forward, hands flying up to pull at his tangled hair before Punz manages to ease them away and into his own hands, watching as he grips onto them until his knuckles go white. His breathing shudders, quiet, even his sobs muffled as to make as little noise as possible, and they murmur meaningless croons and hums as he cries into their chest.

“I wanna- I wanna be okay,” he hiccups, and Punz smooths his hair back behind their hand.

“I know,” he swallows around the lump that has risen in his own throat. “I’m sorry.”

#tw trauma #tw disordered eating #tw torture #tw abuse #tw blood #tw injuries #tw unhealthy coping mechanism #tw emotional distress #tw murder #tw animal death #tw dark content #tw unhealthy eating habits #-> my writing #my writing :D #my asks !!#-> my asks

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persephoneflouwers · 3 years ago

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Soooooo

I was watching Louis’ Live from London, as one should, when I had my “wait a damn minute” moment. I strongly suggest to read this before going on with the absolute mess I came up with ten minutes ago. But in my head it makes so much sense and I felt like sharing i mean sharing is caring?! So Yeah, whatever.

ANYGAYS—

Here Louis is performing Don’t let it break your heart of course it’s DLIBYH OF FUCKING COURSE

Ehm…

Cause you know, the background reminded me of this…

The way DLIBYH is intertwined with Ever since New York makes it very easy for me to understand what this song is about. ESNY is deeply sad.

No, I’m not talking about the sadness coming from the loss of a family member nor the news of a very severe disease, I’m sorry…

You can perceive how lost, how desperate and empty H feels. If you don’t like this pov that’s fine, it’s a hard pill to swallow because everything gets darker and personally becoming aware of how consuming all this is… makes me cry every time I think about it. This goes beyond things we are allowed to see.

Are those mirrors? Doors? Closets? I don’t know, but it looks like an endless tunnel and in fact we can see only the front, only the things there are shown us.

If those are mirrors, then it’s a copy of a copy of a copy. Fair, I guess.

If those are doors, there’s definitely something beyond them we can’t see. A door shouts you out of some other space and that makes me also think about a wall. A wall is a wall my ass, Louis. A wall can be so many things: it can be something you lean on, something that’s around you and kinda makes you feel safe, but also something that traps you in and that makes you feel left out.

But if that’s a closet… I can’t even start to articulate my thoughts on this. Let’s just hope they are gonna find their way through the dark. Thank you very much, Louis, interesting choice for your online show. I’ll give you that.

The live from london holds a very special place in my heart because Louis was trying to give us all the little hints to make us believe that everything is gonna be all right somehow. A tunnel is a tunnel cause by definition there’s a way in and a way out (idk if this is a concept I just invented but let’s move on lol). This show is optimistic and comforting like DLIBYH.

His choice to put this specific design for DLIBYH and for his new merch suggests that maybe the new era is gonna be a shitstorm on the industry for what they have been going through for years now, very very very angry too, but with kindness cause he is the fluffing sun and brings the light, sees the light and is the light.

Louis tomlinson’s superpower is being fearlessly positive and the human representation of the motto “if life gives you lemon, make a lemonade”.

By the way, I don’t know if this makes sense in general and in English. Hopefully yes, but if not… I’m sorry 🤧

NB: I watched a tiktok that I can’t find anymore about how monumental the age of 27 is for artists, not only for their coming out moments but also for being finally and completelly self aware and being able to understand deeply, accept or not the choinces they made or have been making. Club 27 hello, I don’t want to go there cause that’s not the point anyway. This comes from a scientific statement because neurological development ends around 25 years old and specifically the decisional maker part of the brain is the last one to fully develop.

But I was wondering why the fuck DLIBYH starts with “on our way to 27”.

Edit: i found the tiktok. Im gonna leave the link here if you are interested 🥲

#louis tomlinson #dlibyh #live from london #lt2andsomesunshine #369 #maybe I am on drugs please forgive me or ignore me #louis tomlinson walls #closeting #larry stylinson #end it now

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imekitty · 4 years ago

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Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10

The idea for this part came from @dp-marvel94. Thanks!

—

Jack watched the newest clone sleep. The boy’s chest rose and fell, rhythmically, deeply, gently.

Besides the number 14 tattooed on his upper arm, he looked exactly like Danny in his human form.

Jack rested his arms on the examination table, watching the clone’s face for any change or stirring consciousness. He had been instructed to stay by the clone’s side and mark the exact time he woke while Maddie was upstairs waiting to see when Danny would leave for his patrol.

Jack hoped the clone wouldn’t wake at all this time.

He glanced over the notes Maddie had made for their research and experimentation with this clone, who had been here several days now. Not the longest they had kept a clone. There was the tenth clone they starved who didn’t die for a few weeks.

Jack wasn’t sure which he hated more: the experiments that killed the clones quickly or the ones that required keeping the clones alive for an extended amount of time.

Either way, the clones screamed and screamed but were unheard outside the soundproofed lab.

And Maddie ignored them all.

The clone’s body twitched against the belts strapping him to the table. Jack watched the clone’s eyes slit open before looking at the clock and jotting down a time on his notepad.

“Oh, God,” the clone moaned. “Oh, God, no.”

Jack noted the clone’s watery eyes and thick articulation. “How are you feeling? Headache? Nausea? Do you know where you are right now?”

“Where is she?” The clone’s face paled. “Mom?”

“She doesn’t like you calling her that,” said Jack. “And she’s not here yet. Please just tell me how you’re feeling. You know what happens when you make things hard for us.”

The clone swallowed. “My neck and throat hurt. I’m really thirsty.”

Jack recorded the clone’s words. “I’ll see if Maddie will let you have some water before we start tonight.”

The clone sniffled. “I keep hoping I’ll wake up in my bed.”

Jack lowered his eyes.

“What are you going to do to me this time?” whispered the clone.

“More drug trials,” said Jack.

The clone shut his eyes, tears trickling from the corners. “No. Please. I don’t want to do any more. Not again.”

“I know,” said Jack. “Hopefully one of them will knock you out again so you can sleep through most of the day until tomorrow night.”

“No. No, I don’t want that, I just want to leave, I just—”

The clone’s chest convulsed, his body writhing against the restraints. Jack clenched his teeth and clasped his hands on the table.

“It hurts so much,” wept the clone. “Dad, please, I can’t do this anymore.”

“I’m not your dad,” said Jack. This was how Maddie was able to do this guilt free, convince herself that the clone was not her son.

So why wasn’t this working for him too?

“You’re not Danny,” he said more quietly.

The clone choked on a sob. “You keep telling me that. You keep telling me that I’m not real, that I’m a clone.”

The clone looked at the far wall, his eyes glassing over.

“But this feels real.” His words were barely audible, hardly voiced. “I feel real. And I don’t know why you and Mom are keeping me here like this.”

Jack pressed his hands to his forehead. “Maddie is so much better at this,” he muttered.

“Why are you keeping me here?” asked the clone.

“It’s just for research,” said Jack, lowering his hands with a tired sigh. “You’re not the first clone we’ve had here in this lab. You’re not going to be the first we kill here.” He paused. “And you won’t be the last.”

The clone’s breathing became erratic, shallow. “I don’t want to die,” he gasped. “I don’t—not here—not like this—”

Jack looked away from the clone’s face. Too pitiful, too sad, too much like Danny.

“You can’t,” the clone blubbered. “Don’t. Please. Don’t do this, Dad.”

Jack looked toward the lab door. Maddie still wasn’t here.

He looked at the clone again. The clone blinked wet eyes.

He imagined the clone’s unmoving body. He imagined zipping it up in another bag and carrying it to Vlad’s lab because Maddie always made him carry the body.

He knew exactly what the clone would look like when he died. Jack had seen it thirteen times now.

He did not want to see it a fourteenth.

Jack moved quickly, undoing the belts around the clone’s ankles, wrists, and abdomen.

“Go,” he said once the last belt was undone. “Leave.”

The clone sat up on the table and stared at Jack with his mouth hanging open.

“Go. Before Maddie gets here,” said Jack quietly but firmly. “Get far away from here and don’t come back.”

The clone clutched the fabric of his hospital gown against his chest.

“Go,” said Jack more forcefully, “or you will die.”

The clone pulled his knees up under him. Jack gave him a final warning glare. The clone transformed into his ghost form and shot up through the ceiling, vanishing beyond it.

Jack hunched over the now vacant examination table.

The lab door opened. Jack listened to the sound of Maddie’s boots clicking on the stairs.

“Sorry I took so long,” said Maddie. “I kept waiting to see when Danny was going to leave for his nightly patrol. But he decided to do his homework instead and then went to bed, no patrol. It’s interesting how he sometimes chooses being a good student over a hero.”

Jack straightened but did not say anything. Maddie stopped a short distance away from the table.

“Where’s the clone?” she asked.

Jack didn’t look at her.

“Where’s the clone?” she asked again, her tone sharpening.

“He’s gone,” said Jack.

“Gone? What do you mean, gone?”

“I let him go.”

Maddie froze.

“Why?” she asked with a dark thickness.

“I couldn’t do it again, Maddie.”

Her nostrils flared. Her upper lip curled in a snarl.

“I told him to get away from here,” said Jack. “Far away so you can’t hurt him anymore. So you can’t kill him.”

Maddie stared at him. Jack waited for her to snap, to scream.

But instead, she turned on her heel and stomped up the stairs out of the lab. Jack released a sigh as the lab door slammed shut.

He set to cleaning and organizing the lab. He wasn’t about to go up to bed right now, not when Maddie was this angry with him.

Hours later, Jack rubbed his eyes and checked the clock. Nearly four in the morning. Should he go upstairs to bed, or should he sleep on the couch? Or even down here in the lab?

The lab door opened. Jack furrowed his brow and turned toward the stairs. Maddie’s boots clicked on each step as usual, but something else thumped along beside her, something that sounded heavy.

Maddie appeared at the base of the stairs, her orange goggles set over her eyes and aimed right at Jack, her lips curved in a stern frown.

Beside her, she held the fourteenth clone by the wrist, now in his human form and wearing the hospital gown Vlad had originally dressed him in. He was slumped on the floor, covered in gashes and scrapes, his left eye bloodied.

“Maddie.” Jack gaped. “Maddie, what did you—”

Maddie gripped the clone’s wrist tighter and lifted him off the floor. “He has the same ecto-signature Danny does. All the clones do. It was easy to track him down.”

The clone hung his head.

“You really tracked him down just to bring him back here?” asked Jack.

“Of course I did,” snapped Maddie. “You know we can’t just let these clones free. We can’t risk Danny running into them. Or God forbid, the Guys in White capturing them.”

Jack watched a trickle of blood fall from past the clone’s hairline down his forehead.

“So what do you want to do now?” asked Jack quietly, calmly. “Proceed with your plans for this clone?”

“No. He’s useless now,” said Maddie. “He’s not in proper condition for further experimentation. Everything we’ve done with him is pointless data now.”

Maddie threw the clone forward onto the floor. The clone crumpled and did not get up. His sleeve hiked just above the number 14 tattooed on his arm.

“Waste of our money,” she muttered.

Jack sighed and rubbed the back of his head. “Then what do you want to do with him?”

“Just quick lethal injection,” said Maddie. “Let’s just do it now and go to bed.”

“Quick lethal injection. Glad you’re being humane about this,” said Jack.

Maddie jabbed a finger in his direction. “Don’t start with me. We’ll talk about this in the morning. Right now, I am exhausted.”

“Right. Beating up a teenage boy takes a lot out of you,” said Jack.

Maddie glared at him before moving to the counters to prepare the injection. Jack bent and scooped the clone into his arms. Up close, Jack could now see the red splotches in his eyes, the break in his nose, the split in his bottom lip.

He didn’t beg for anything this time.

—

The next morning, Danny met Sam and Tucker outside on the school steps.

“Hey, I thought you said you weren’t going on patrol last night,” said Tucker.

“Yeah, you said you actually wanted to get some sleep for once,” said Sam with a wry smile.

“You should’ve told us you changed your mind!” said Tucker. “We would’ve joined you. Or did your ghost sense go off?”

Danny frowned. “I didn’t go out last night. What are you talking about?”

“I saw you flying last night,” said Tucker. “I was looking out my window and saw you.”

“What? You saw me?”

“Did you decide to go for just a night flight?” asked Sam.

“No, I didn’t go out at all. You couldn’t have seen me.”

“It looked just like you,” said Tucker. “Are you sure you weren’t out last night?”

The first bell rang. Students began shuffling past them into the building.

“I wasn’t out last night,” said Danny. “I actually finished my homework for once and then went to bed.”

“Huh.” Tucker shrugged. “I guess it was a different ghost with white hair in a black suit.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time you were seeing things,” teased Sam. “Your eyes were probably bugging out from staying up too late playing video games.”

“They were not!”

“Were you even wearing your glasses?”

“Yes, of course I was!”

Sam and Tucker led the way inside the school. Danny followed, but not before glancing up at the sky.

Part 12

#danny phantom #planned au #imekitty writes #angst #jack fenton #maddie fenton #danny fenton

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baphomets-hairy-bonkhonagahoogs · 4 years ago

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Okay instead of Portal 2’s humor I’m going to talk about Wheatley next instead. Because I have more fully formed thoughts about this than I do the large, nebulous, and intimidating topic that is “Portal 2’s comedy”.

So, Wheatley. An incredible voice performance, a likeable enough character who (to me at least) has a pretty logical progression from Friend to Foe. But, the more I think about him the more he irks me. Not just from a “I don’t care for him as a person/character” perspective, but from a meta writing perspective as well.

It is a major part of the story that Wheatley was literaly designed to be a moron. To be stupid. To fill GLaDOS’ head with time wasting thoughts and ideas. He is described as a tumor. However, Wheatley isn’t really that stupid at all.

Wheatley is often unobservant, takes a long time to think, and accidentally bumbles into trouble, sure. When GLaDOS calls him out by pointing out that Chell did all the work to install Wheatley into the big powerful position over Aperture, I largely agree with her. But while Chell did do all the heavy lifting and many times came up with better solutions to achieving their shared goals, Wheatley did do a good amount of guiding and planning. He made it a goal to take out GLaDOS’ turrets and neurotoxin and then he executed that plan with Chell’s help. Chell very likely would have come to the same idea herself of course but it was Wheatley who ended up proposing it. Wheatley also helped to direct Chell around Aperture. Again, Chell would have been able to find her way around by herself but Wheatley did bring that knowledge set to the table. I believe that it would have been extraordinarily more difficult for Chell if Wheatley wasn’t around to help out in the first half of the game.

He isn’t uselessly stupid. In fact he proves himself to be resourceful and clever sometimes as well! He plants the explosive trap at the stalemate button because he saw it bite GLaDOS in the ass, he got rid of (almost) everything that could have hosted a portal on it, he gave himself multiple blast sheilds because that also bit GLaDOS in the ass.

Wheatley doesn’t feel stupid to me. Often his downfall is his insecurities or luck being against him (such as the moon becoming visible for Chell to shoot at) rather than being too stupid. Which brings me to my main point. Wheatley isn’t a stupidity core but rather an ADHD core that comes free with the insecurities that often follow ADHD people around.

I myself have ADHD, and ADHD is different for everyone. I want to make that clear. I can only speak from my own perspective on the matter. But, I find myself often relating to Wheatley.

We both have hyperactive minds that spew out thoughts before we can process if they make much sense or not. We both get easily distracted and ramble in a train of consciousness style. For an example of this look towards Wheatley telling Chell about the robot myths and stories about Aperture and its history while they both navigate behind the scenes in the first half of the story. We both think up obtuse, unconventional (yet creative) solutions to problems that are at times unnecessarily and often inefficient. For an example, see Wheatley’s frankenturrets or all the ways he tries to chase the high of the euphoria of testing. I often feel stupid or like “a moron” myself when I’m forced to work within a structure built for neurotypicals and inevitably fall behind. Remember earlier when I said that Wheatley is more often defeated by his insecurities than his supposed lack of intelligence? Well that insecurity stems from his own frustration at himself or ridicule from others when he can’t succeed at what is expected of him by himself or others (GLaDOS mainly). This is painfully relatable. His rejection sensitivity is delt with my lashing out and trying to maintain a level of control over the facility (not a very healthy way to deal with it, but it’s definitely more interesting for the story’s sake). When his intelligence is insulted he takes it very hard, I’d guess seeing it as a form of rejection, and overcompensates with classical music and “reading” Machiavelli. I’m sure there’s more I’m forgetting as I write this, but I hope I’ve got my point across.

Wheatley isn’t stupid, he just has ADHD symptoms. And often times people with ADHD are read as stupid, and ADHD traits are assigned to characters who are supposed to be stupid. I’d hope that it is obvious why this is problematic. And the issue isn’t exclusive to Portal 2 by any means. For example, Andy Dwyer from Parks and Rec probably just has ADHD with a big does of impulsivity.

Does all this make me hate Wheatley as a character? No actually. This is a systemic problem that I feel as though many creatives don’t even realize what they’re doing as they do it. I believe it’s ignorance in good faith over malice in bad faith. Is it okay if this makes you hate the way Wheatley is written and ruins him for you? Of course! It’s a personal thing. I simply wanted to share because if I can help other people notice it then hopefully it should stop happening.

While I don’t believe it’s intentional, I think it ends up saying a lot about how an ADHD person ends up getting treated in an environment literally not made for them. And power corrupts, of course, so I have a hard time seeing it as a “neurodivergent people are evil or bad people” narrative. Anyone who is given so much power is gonna turn fuckin’ evil, see GLaDOS or the disgustingly capitalist Cave Johnson (Though he was pretty evil from the get go. I’ll talk about Cave more when I talk about Portal 2’s comedy). Wheatley’s only flaws aren’t his symptoms either. He’s just kinda sexist as well, this shines through in little ways like his assumption that the human who beat GLaDOS was a man. Wheatley is complicated.

In conclusion, I hope that made even a lick of sense. I’ll admit that it was difficult trying to articulate all my thoughts of this in a easy to read way, so I hope I did a good job!

#portal 2 #wheatley #wheatly portal 2 #chell portal #Chell #glados #ADHD

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whentherewerebicycles · 3 years ago

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hello anon!! okay, this is going to be a very long post, so buckle up. standard caveat: since i don’t know the specifics of your topic or discipline or situation, some of this will hopefully be relevant and some of it might not, so just grab what works for you and leave the rest! and if you have more specific questions that this general overview doesn’t touch on, feel free to send those in.

it sounds like you have a few different questions here:

How do I find and articulate my research question?

How do I effectively take notes on my background reading in the early stages, when I’m not sure yet what my argument is going to be?

How do I organize a long research project/paper? How do I conceptualize something that has so many moving parts & happens to be a genre (a thesis) that I’ve never written before?

How do I write something that long?

also I am not sure if by “diss” you mean a senior thesis, master’s thesis, or a doctoral dissertation, as I know US and non-US universities use different terminology! so I will kinda just respond to this as A Very Lengthy Research Paper.

my response here will focus mostly on that first question (how to find/articulate a research question), with some thoughts at the end about notetaking in the early stages of a big research project. I’m going to lay out a method I just used with my own students to help them articulate questions & generate possible lines of inquiry to follow. I have been calling it the ‘research tier’ activity/system but it’s a pretty basic way of mapping out possible directions for a project. I use some version of this for every big project I undertake - whether it’s academic work, planning a course syllabus, or writing fic.

I want to emphasize, before I start, that the “tier” map you construct is a LIVING document, not a set-in-stone plan that has to be finished before you begin. the goal is to get past the anxiety of the blank page by generating tons and tons of ideas and questions related to your central topic -- so that if you hit a dead end, you can trace your way back and follow a different line of inquiry. when i am working on a research project, i am continually updating this planning document (i’ll say more about that at the end, once you have a sense of what the tiers look like).

Those questions are geared towards my students, who are working more in social science-y disciplines and/or on projects that have clear connections to specific communities. If you are writing a more traditional humanities discipline, here are some other examples:

I’m interested in...

the romance novel as a genre

Virginia Woolf’s writings on nature/the environment

the cultural reception and impact of the TV show Will & Grace

what queer social life looked like in 1920s New York

play and playfulness in the college classroom (my current research project, which I’ll use as an example)

once you have some idea of your focus, you can begin generating questions related to that focus. “Tier 2″ begins to get slightly more specific, though you are still very much in “big picture” mode. here’s some sentence stems I give my students to help them generate tier 2 questions:

my students are doing research projects that are ideally supposed to develop out of their preexisting community involvements or commitments, so i give them this additional advice:

[note: if your thesis topic is in a social science-y discipline (or a humanities discipline that leans closer to the social sciences), you can probably use some of those ideas or prompts. if your thesis topic is more of a purely academic humanities-type topic (for instance, a literary studies thesis about a specific novel), not all of those will apply perfectly, but some will hopefully be useful still!]

here’s an example, again using my playfulness project. I’ll list the question and then below it, in italics, I’ll explain what ‘stirred up’ that question for me.

T2: What are some core preoccupations or big-picture questions I want to explore? What are some things I’ve noticed that I want to understand?

Core Question 1: Why are college classrooms so serious? Why is there so little playfulness in most college teaching? Why so little laughter, movement, fun?

Observing my friend’s kindergarten classes made me realize how much elementary educators rely on bright colors, movement, singing, playing imaginative games together, etc. to engage young learners’ imaginations, minds, and bodies. Why do we value that so much in elementary education, but stop considering it important in college classes? Do learners “age out” of a need for highly interactive, engaging learning? I suspect no... so that’s a hunch I can begin to follow.

Observing other college courses (and drawing on my own experience as an undergrad and grad student) made me realize how much educators rely on the same standard methods of teaching (lecturing with a discussion section; a version of Socratic seminar discussion that is primarily led by the professor). To me, these methods are antithetical to playfulness and tend to quash people’s ability or desire to playfully experiment, try things out, risk failure, etc. I wonder if the actual methods we use to teach content or to structure our classes are producing ‘serious’ classes, whether or not we personally as instructors want that to happen. That’s another hunch I could follow...

I’m thinking of a possible connection here to my past research on the origins of English literature as a discipline (in 1920s-30s England). One of the things that scholars often emphasize is how hard faculty had to work to transform English into a serious, rigorous, ‘legitimate’ discipline, akin to the hard sciences. That’s something that I think we still see today in the way people anxiously defend the value of a humanities education. I’m curious about whether the need to justify our existence as a discipline/field of study influences our methods of teaching college students. Do we banish playfulness from the classroom because it threatens that image of the humanities as a serious, rigorous discipline? That’s yet another hunch I could follow...

Core Question 2: I have a hunch that people learn better in playful environments. Is that true -- and if so, why? What is it about playfulness that enhances learning?

I’m a lifelong fangirl, and fandoms are creative environments where people are continually engaged in acts of imaginative play. I’ve observed and have experienced firsthand how these playful environments seem to encourage people to try new things, take creative risks, learn new skills even if they’re afraid they’ll be ‘bad’ at them, and commit huge amounts of time, energy, and passion to long-term creative projects that don’t make any money or ‘earn’ them a grade. I’m curious about how we might adapt the playful, passionate energy of fan spaces to college teaching.

In my own classrooms, I’ve noticed that students get so much more into the activity (and seem to internalize the content more deeply) when I frame it as an imaginative exercise, a roleplaying activity, or a game of some kind. Teaching the same content in a way that encourages playfulness seems to produce deeper engagement (and deeper learning?) than using the traditional methods of ‘serious’ teaching.

Core Question 3: Playfulness and shared laughter/fun seem to build social bonds (again, drawing on my experiences in fandom). Could shared imaginative play help students develop better social skills? Could it help build a sense of community in the classroom and strengthen students’ sense of belonging? This question feels especially urgent to me given the epidemic of self-reported loneliness, anxiety, and depression on college campuses.

You can have lots more than 3 core questions/preoccupations! In fact, the more ideas you can generate at this stage the better. The idea isn’t to hone in on your research question (yet) but to generate as many possible paths you could take, so that you can begin evaluating which interest you most, or which seem like the most fruitful questions to explore/answer. Doing the idea-generating for Tier 2 should already begin to set you up for Tier 3 -- which involves articulating specific sub-questions you’ll need to answer to better understand or answer those core questions/preoccupations.

and then we’ll go ahead and fold in T4, as I tend to move back and forth between T3/T4 as I brainstorm.

I’ll just take one of my Tier 2 questions as an example, but again, you can/should do this for all of yours (or at least the ones that interest you most).

Core question: Playfulness and shared laughter/fun seem to build social bonds (again, drawing on my experiences in fandom). Could shared imaginative play help students develop better social skills? etc etc

T3 subquestions (with T4 “directions for inquiry” folded into the first one, so you can see an example):

-- SubQ1 Does play actually strengthen social bonds? If so, how? Are specific kinds of play better for this than others (ie, collaborative or cooperative play compared to competitive play)? With Tier 4 folded in:

Do a library database search to try to figure out where “play” research typically happens -- is it in psychology research? Neuroscience? Early childhood education?

Then begin searching for different keyword strings that might help me gather up initial sources. Some initial ideas: play + social bonding, play + social skills, play + social development, play + cooperation, play + friendship, play + mental health. (Typically finding a couple useful/relevant articles will help you generate better keywords -- as you can begin to see the kinds of terminology that researchers use to describe your topic.)

I could also maybe interview college students themselves, or design a survey - but that would depend on the type of research I want to do. Do I want to conduct my own original research study, or is my focus more on synthesizing existing research from different fields to construct an argument?

Could I find faculty or researchers who work on these topics, who might be able to direct me to specific resources or help me understand what kind of work has already been done on this topic? Maybe I can’t find someone who specifically researches playfulness, but an educational researcher whose work focuses on social-emotional learning would probably have a pretty good understanding of what features or pedagogical choices help create positive, affirming learning environments.

-- SQ2: Are college students lonely?

Are they reporting (or do they experience) higher rates of mental illness? What are the numbers on this?

What are some of the prevalent theories or hypotheses about why this is? Could social isolation or difficulty forming friendships be a possible contributing factor?

-- SQ3: Why are social bonds good for us - physically, mentally, emotionally?

-- SQ4: Do social bonds enhance learning? If so, how?

What if I looked to other non-academic learning environments (such as fandoms, team sports or group activities, etc where people are learning new skills in highly social settings) to make a case for playfulness in the college classroom? This isn’t direct 1:1 proof that “more playfulness in college classrooms = happier, more socially well-connected students,” but offering detailed descriptions of how those learning environments are structured might spark ideas for my audience (university instructors and administrators) or persuade them that playfulness has an important social-emotional role to play in college learning.

Typically what ends up happening is I produce a huge, messy document (or fill a giant paper or whiteboard if I’m doing it by hand) that has tons and tons of different directions I might follow. usually, the initial process of creating this giant brainstorming document sparks lots of ideas for where to begin researching. then, as i go off and begin reading articles, those articles typically help flesh out my understanding of the core questions or concepts i’m interested in, or my understanding of what kind of research on this topic already exists vs. where the gaps are that my own work might be able to fill. that initial source-gathering phase of research will also usually spark new questions and sub-questions, which get added to my tier map.

having some kind of messy brainstorming map/plan also helps me read in a more focused way. instead of just opening a random article and skimming it without any clear sense of what i’m looking for, i’m now opening articles and reading them with a purpose -- i’m looking for answers to the specific questions i’ve articulated. so i can skim in a more focused way, looking for specific keywords that seem relevant, and i can also take notes in a more focused way, noting down key ideas that

having a question in mind can also help me figure out more quickly if the article is relevant to my research questions or not. for instance, let’s say i open an article about how playing competitive games in high school PE classes improve students’ self-reported moods. if i didn’t know what i was reading for, i might spend a lot of time on this article, trying to figure out if it was relevant to my research (it has the keywords, right? so maybe it’s relevant?). but if i am reading with a specific question in mind (“Do collaborative learning games help strengthen students’ sense of social connection?”) I can tell pretty quickly that this article is not going to be that useful, since it focuses on competitive physical games (probably not something I’ll integrate into an English class). so I can say with some confidence, “I probably don’t need to read this whole thing, but maybe I’ll check out their lit review section or their bibliography to see if the authors cite any other work on play/playfulness that might be more relevant to my specific questions.”

i think i’ve kinda started to answer your second question about notetaking here, too, so i will also say that in the early stages of a big research project, i am absolutely NOT taking detailed notes on any of the sources i find. my focus is much more on amassing a large pool of highly relevant sources that i know i’m going to want to go back to and read more deeply as my research questions come into sharper focus. this is because deep reading burns through a lot of time and energy, so i want to make sure i’m saving that deep reading energy for sources that are quite likely to be relevant to my project.

to figure out if a source is relevant, I often skim the abstract and introduction to figure out the core questions the article or chapter is seeking to answer. then I ask myself three questions:

Are the core questions of this article the same as (or very similar to) my core questions or subquestions? If so, mark this citation as HIGHLY relevant - I’m going to want to come back and read this source carefully, to see if it’s already suggested answers to the questions I’m asking.

Do the core questions of this article seem to resonate with my core questions, even if we’re not asking them in exactly the same way, or the author of this paper is applying them to a different field? If so, mark this citation as LIKELY relevant - it may not be a perfect 1:1 with my own questions, but that can sometimes spark exciting new ideas or ways of reframing my original questions. If not, toss it.

Do the questions this article is asking suggest new questions or lines of inquiry that I am interested in exploring? Sometimes an article will introduce me to a whole new area of research or a new array of questions I hadn’t even originally thought to explore. If that’s the case, I typically pencil those sub-questions into my brainstorming tier document and mark the source as LIKELY or HIGHLY relevant, depending on how excited i am about it.

OK I WILL CLOSE HERE FOR NOW as I have to get back to work, but I will say that when I taught my students this method, they were very confused by the initial explanation of it, but then when they went back and used the models to work through the tier brainstorming activity for themselves, they seemed to find it really useful. so if you are scratching your head, try doing a quick TIER 1 - TIER 2 - TIER 3 - TIER 4 map for your own research question to see if doing it yourself helps clarify. also: if you can’t get further than tier 2, it’s usually a sign that you need to do some more reading and freewriting about the questions that you’re curious about, or the gaps you’ve noticed in the scholarship, or the threads you’d like to follow. but you can do some of that background reading in a more focused way now, using your initial big questions to help guide your selection of background readings & give you a sense of purpose as you read.

#this research 'system' would be CHILLING to some of my hyper-organized academic friends #who are all about using highly structured systems for tagging sources and managing citations and so on #but it works well for my brain & for the way i think #which tends to be very associative and focused on generating connections #i cannot tell if this is helpful or not aha i feel like students often want me to give them a highly structured method #and my answer is usually just like #research is a creative process #and like any creative process there are probably some 'best practices' or helpful methods people can teach you #but you figure out your own way of doing it based on how your brain processes and organizes information & makes connections #i was going to add 'things get less messy in the later stages for me' to reassure you & my horrified hyperorganized friends aha #but that is just a lie #usually i am cutting up drafts and moving pieces around and mindmapping and doing visual representations of sections #right up until the polished final draft #research #mw

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samanthadalton · 4 years ago

Text

The Bodyguard (AU) PART 1

pairings: Poppy x Bea

Wanted to write a fic based on this post, thank you @alexlabhont for showing us that tik tok. Going to be a series so i don’t know how many parts. Also this is a slow burn and I’ll add more context as the story progresses so it makes sense (i may steal some names of counties from PB 😅👀)

warnings: mentions of blood, violence and death in this chapter

taglist: @cloud9in @somewillwin @alleycat97 @baexpoppy @save-me-the-last-dance @helpconfusedpersonhere @dopeyouth @alexlabhont @thedaft1 @veenast @cloakanddaggerthings (added people from my usual poppy taglist if you wanna be added or taken off just let me know ☺️☺️)

word count: 5.1k (wasn’t expecting it to be this long)

also i was using my phone to copy and paste from google docs so i apologise if the layout of the fic is weird, it kept cutting off sentences and paragraphs so hopefully they’re actually here and the story makes sense 😅😅

2 weeks earlier

Poppy stands, paralysed with fear, as she watches her assailant point the gun at her. The tears threaten to free fall as her eyes move towards her father’s dying body, blood sprouting from his mouth. He clutches at his chest, his hands and chest painted red as his breaths come out short and harrowing. Poppy balls her hands up into fists, her lip slightly trembling as she watches the aggressor yell, her mind too overwhelmed to articulate the words coming out of his mouth. She watches the evil glint in his eyes as he watches the life drain of her father’s body; how his lips twist into a viscous scowl as he screams at her, the gun in his hand wildly flying around. A deafening gunshot pulls Poppy out of her reverie, her hands moving to grab her body, looking for the wound, but when she hears the assailant’s body hit the floor, seeing the blood oozing out of his mouth, she turns back to see the royal guards pouring into the room. A sigh of relief comes out of her, before realisation hits her and she slides her body over to her father, her hands uselessly hovering over him and the dam of tears break through.

Present

Poppy gasps heavily, her sleep immediately breaking as her body jerks upwards. She brings her hand up to wipe the slick cold sweat that breaks out on her forehead, steadying her excessive pants. Another night where her sleep is broken by the same nightmare, she shudders at the thought of the man who killed her father invading her thoughts, recollecting the way he broke into a malicious grin as she lamented for her father’s life. She lets out a shaky breath as her hands subconsciously grip the blanket, her brain going haywire as she squeezes her eyes shut.

“It’s just a dream,” she whispers to herself, “it’s just a dream.”

Unsure of how much time has passed, she sharply inhales, opening one of her eyes to glance at the window, the sunlight barely peeking through the curtains as she groans throwing her head back onto her pillow, a groan escaping her lips. Just as she feels the sleep about to consume her, her bedroom door flies open, immediately alerting her.

“Why are you still in bed?” Her mother raises an eyebrow, her tone stern, yet lacking any emotion.

Poppy sighs rubbing at the temples of her forehead, agitated “I was hoping to have a few more minutes to myself.”

Her mother dismissively waves her hand at her, “get up. We have business to deal with.” She turns and walks out of the room, leaving Poppy on her own.

After a while Poppy makes her way to the Great Hall, her lady in waiting greets her with a warm smile, “good morning your Royal Highness,” she slightly tilts her head as she bows, her brows slightly creased with worry as she gazes at the eyebags under Poppy’s eyes.

“Goodmorning Taylor,” Poppy scans the room, “where is my mother?”

“Her Majesty requested that you have breakfast in the garden today.”

Poppy hums, “she hasn’t been in the garden since father passed.” Taylor gives Poppy a sorrowful smile, struggling to respond to Poppy’s blunt admission. Poppy waves her hand, “I’ll meet her now.” She walks through the palace until she reaches the garden, she closes her eyes, feeling at peace for a few fleeting moments until it’s broken by her mother’s voice, calling out to her.

“Poppy quit dilly dallying, take a seat we have much to discuss.”

Poppy obediently follows her mother’s orders, carefully sliding into her seat, keeping her posture upright as one of the servants pours her out some tea while she glances expectedly at her mother, “so why all the urgency today?”

“There’s going to be some changes at the castle.”

Poppy raises an eyebrow, “oh? Do tell.”

“There will be an increase in security, we won’t have a breach like last time.” As Poppy gazes at her mother, she sees her face fall for a few moments, grief swimming in her eyes before she quickly masks it, her usual stoic demeanour taking over, making Poppy question whether she actually saw her mother show some emotion. “The Royal Guard are putting in some more extreme measures to ensure our safety here. Speaking of which, I have someone I would like to introduce you to.” She lifts her hands, beckoning someone and when the figure comes into appearance, Poppy can’t help but stare a little.

The woman is young, she looks slightly rough around the edges, but still quite beautiful. Poppy’s gaze darts down to her arms, they’re heavily toned, meaning she’s very strong. She assesses her uniform, her suit looking more polished than her usual guards, and when their eyes meet, her gaze pierces into Poppy’s, momentarily taking her breath away at the sheer intensity.

“This is your new bodyguard.”

Poppy’s face twists into a scowl, “a bodyguard? What am I twelve?” Her eyes dart back to the woman’s, anger boiling inside of her, “and she’s a woman.”

“With all due respect Miss Min Sinclair,” the woman speaks up, her voice smooth as velvet and her tone welcoming, a stark contrast to Poppy’s hostile demeanor. “I’ve had a lot of training. I graduated top of my class and I’m more than qualified to look after you.”

“Look after me? What are you, my babysitter?”

“Poppy!” Her mother calls out, admonishingly, “I apologise for my daughter’s enmity, she’s yet to learn the poise of a princess.”

The woman bows her head, “no need to apologize your Majesty. I understand the situation is overwhelming.”

Her Majesty speaks out, “as for Miss Hughes being a woman,” Poppy feels her heart beating in her chest a little faster, Hughes, it rolls off the tongue easily, “she will be able to guard you at all times, even in situations where you may be compromised. I think it’s only fitting that your bodyguard can keep a close eye on you.”

Poppy opens her mouth to retort but the bodyguard beats her to the punch, “Your Highness if I may?” Poppy gives her a small nod indicating her to continue, “I’m not here to intrude on your life, I’m here to ensure your safety. These people are ruthless, I know you’ve seen first hand what they are capable of. I’m here to make sure you don’t share the same fate as your father.” As she speaks, her voice is steady, strong, lacking in compassion but filled with promise. Poppy watches her with a careful gaze, unsure of what to make of her new companion.

“I don’t have a choice, consequences of being the royal heir I guess.”

Poppy stands and turns her back to walk into the palace but her mother calls out to her, “darling do me a favor and show Miss Hughes her chambers.”

“Am I her maid now?” Poppy retorts through gritted teeth.

“Seeing as she’ll be taking up accommodation in the room adjacent to yours, it's only fitting you show her where to stay. I’m sure she needs to do some preliminary security sweeps.” Her Majesty gives Poppy an authoritarian glare and Poppy sighs before walking off, her bodyguard trailing after her.

Poppy leads her bodyguard into her room, gesturing to the room, “well this is your room, but that’s already obvious. I’ll have one of the maids make up your bed for you.” She turns to the woman, assessing her, “so, do you have a name or do I call you Hughes?”

“Bea. But if you feel comfortable calling me Hughes, I won’t stop you.”

“I’ll feel more comfortable if my mother stopped treating me like a child and keeping me at bay from the rest of the world.”

“Well that’s why I’m here. So you can resume your usual activities but having someone watch over you while you do.” Bea walks out of the room, and goes into Poppy’s room, her eyes darting all over the room, as she begins sweeping the room.

“Excuse you? What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Poppy says, her voice filled with agitation.

“A security sweep. I have to make sure your room isn’t compromised.” Bea continues looking through her room, as she begins opening and closing drawers, her slender fingers feeling around the outside and inside making sure there is nothing suspicious.

“Well unless you’re secretly a pervert, there’s nothing there except my underwear.” Poppy rushes to close the drawer, a blush creeping up on her cheeks. Bea’s eyebrows shoot up but she steps away, her expression blank as she does. “Well. My friends are coming over, try not to get in the way.”

Poppy begins lumbering toward one of her living rooms, and squeals as two girls begin running up to her. Bea protectively stands in front of Poppy, signalling to the girls to stop. Poppy rolls her eyes, pushing Bea slightly to the side, “at ease soldier, they’re not going to kill me.”

“Can’t be too careful.”

Poppy responds with a scowl before turning to her friends, her scowl immediately diminishing. “Ladies, it’s been a while.”

A girl with ombre coloured hair wraps Poppy into a right hug, a solemn expression on her face, “I’m so sorry Poppy, I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for you.”

Poppy’s lip quivers for a few seconds before she bites down on it, slightly sniffling, “thanks Veronica.” Bea watches the interaction with careful eyes, observing the fall in Poppy’s expression as she pulls apart from the hug before being tackled into another one by a blonde girl. “Jesus Chloe, maybe my bodyguard should step in.” Bea steps forward, but Poppy smirks, “chill Hughes, I was kidding.”

“Right.” Bea’s expression remains serious as she watches the girls, but Poppy expectantly glares at her.

“Can we get some privacy?”

Bea nods, walking to the corner of the room, her eyes not leaving Poppy as she crosses her arms, standing guard. Veronica gazes at Bea, her eyes filled with admiration as her roams Bea. “She’s hot.”

Poppy scoffs, “don’t tell me your standards have dropped so low,” Poppy reprimands, taking a seat on one of the chairs.

“Not all of us are surrounded by gorgeous princes and aristocrats,” Veronica teases, “let me thirst in peace.”

“But she’s a bodyguard,” Chloe adds, a tinge of disgust in her tone.

“Classist much Chlo?” Veronica huffs, as her eyes return to gawking at Bea. Poppy sighs, but indulges in polite conversation until her obligations as a princess arise and she says goodbye to her friends before indulging in her chores.

Over the next few weeks, Poppy is still hostile towards Bea, still not fully comfortable with the idea of having a bodyguard. Tensions around the palace are at an all time high, as the number of guards have increased and are always at alert.

“Good morning your Highness.”

Poppy gasps, clutching at her chest, “jesus!” When she glances at Bea she swears she can see a hint of a smile of her face but it’s gone just as quick.

“Your mother is asking for you.”

“Of course she is. Well we shouldn’t let her Majesty wait.” Poppy climbs out of bed, her body still slightly sleep deprived as she stumbles towards the bathroom, Bea watches her with a frown before following her. “Excuse me? Haven’t you ever heard of privacy?”

“How long have you been struggling to sleep for?” Bea’s tone is monotone but her facial expression is worrisome.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Bea sighs, letting her usual icy demeanour drop slightly, “do you remember the old head of security, Marc?”

Poppy nods, “he was always so nice to me.”

“That was my father.” Poppy’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Yeah.” Bea gives Poppy a half smile, “before I took this job, I kinda resented my father, I used to think, how does a man who talks a big deal about the importance of family barely be in our lives? What job was so important that he could barely be at home with us? But I understand it now. I know I haven’t been working at this post long, but I get it.” Bea’s eyes pierce intensely into Poppy’s, forcing the strawberry blonde to let out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding. “My job is to protect you, Miss Min Sinclair, I won’t let anything get in the way of that.”

Poppy’s eyes search Bea’s looking for… something she can’t quite put her finger on, “that’s…. reassuring. Thank you Hughes. And you can call me Poppy, if you’re supposed to be always around me, we can drop the formalities.”

Bea gives Poppy a nod of appreciation, “of course, Poppy.” She gives her a small smile, “well I should let you shower.” Bea turns to leave but Poppy calls out to her.

“Hughes.” Bea stops in her tracks, turning to face her, “why did you take this job?”

Bea looks off into the distance, a pensive look on her face, “curiosity. I wanted to follow my father’s footsteps in terms of training but when your mother offered me the job, I felt compelled to say yes. Just to see how demanding it would be and now I see my father in a whole new light.” Poppy gives Bea a sad smile, “I can’t imagine what it feels like watching your father die in front of you, but give yourself time to grieve. Don’t be like your mom and lock away your feelings, because it will eat you up until it’s too late.” Bea pointedly glances away, training her gaze to the ground, “I’ll wait in the hallway, you should hurry, your mother was adamant about you meeting her as soon as possible.” Before Poppy can thank Bea, she’s already out of the bathroom. Once Poppy has finished getting ready, Bea greets her with a small nod, and Poppy can already feel the shift in their relationship, as she begins to feel more at ease with Bea being around her.

Once they enter the Great Hall, Poppy takes a seat at the table, and her mother greets her with a frown. “I thought that when I urged the significance of this meeting you would come faster.”

Before Poppy can reply, Bea intercepts, “that was my fault Your Majesty, I was going over the security guidelines for the dress store.”

Poppy’s mother turns to face Bea, a glimmer of humor in her eyes, “thank you Miss Hughes, and I told you call me Ana, you’re practically family.” Bea bows her head in gratification, as Ana gestures towards one of the chairs, “why don’t you take a seat and eat some breakfast and I won’t take no for an answer.”

Bea smiles and takes a seat opposite Poppy, before reaching out for some croissants, placing them on her plate before pouring herself some tea, not letting one of the house servants do it. “Thank you.. Ana.”

“Of course, also I’m giving you the day off for the gala next week.”

Bea furrows her brows in confusion, her eyes shooting to look at Poppy, “what about..” she clears her throat as her eyes meet Poppy’s, “security?”

Ana dismissively waves her hand, “I’ve hired the best security and I’ve personally gone over the plans with the Head of security, we’re safe. Bea hesitantly nods, as she pointedly glances away, looking down at her plate.

“Thank you.”

“As for you my dear,” Ana turns to Poppy, her expression emotionless, “this will be our first public appearance since,” she cuts herself off, “it’s imperative we make our guests feel at ease, so make sure you do your rounds and introduce yourself to all of our allies.”

“Yes mother,” Poppy says obediently. “May I be excused, I have an appointment at the dress store.”

“If you must, we will continue this conversation later. Also tell Miss Lombardi that the dress I received was beautiful.”

“Of course Your Majesty.”

Once Poppy reaches the dress store, Bea protectively goes in first and begins looking at the store, earning a confused glance from the owner. “Bodyguard.” Poppy retorts, earning a nod of understanding from the woman. Bea gives Poppy a nod of satisfaction earning an eye roll from the strawberry blonde who makes her way into the back of the store to greet her friends, Veronica and Chloe who look like they’ve been waiting a while based on how comfortably they’re sitting on the couch. Bea does a quick security sweep on the insides of the dressing rooms as the girls indulge in some small talk. Once she’s done, she gives Poppy a satisfied nod.

Veronica says as she pushes herself off the couch to stand, Chloe follows suit a few seconds later. “My mom left your dress in the dressing room.” Poppy smiles and makes her way inside while Bea stands in the corner of the room, patiently waiting as Poppy tries on her dress. The woman from earlier enters, holding some measuring tape and a box of needles, pins and thread in one hand while a few dresses are draped across the other, just as Poppy exits the room, wearing her dress. Bea casts a glance, unable to tear her eyes away from the strawberry blonde.

“Your Highness.” The woman says as she bows, earning a small but unnoticeable eye roll from Veronica. “If you just stand up on this, I can make the final adjustments. Veronica sweetie, take these dresses and you girls try it on while I do the final measurements for Miss Min Sinclair. Veronica grabs the dresses beckoning Chloe to follow her into the dressing room, Poppy stands on the platform, staring at herself in the mirror but she catches Bea’s eyes on her through the mirror, tilting her head with curiosity glistening in her eyes.

“Hughes, what do you think?”

Bea breaks her stoic demeanour as she gives Poppy a panicked look, breaking eye contact, “I don’t think it would be appropriate.”

Poppy sighs, “no need to be such a prude, I’m only asking for your opinion.”

Bea clears her throat, “you look..beautiful.”

Poppy breaks out into a wide grin, her eyes roaming herself, “hmm I do. You did an amazing job Ms Lombardi.”

“Thank you so much Your Highness.” Veronica’s mother replies, a smile on her face.

Veronica’s voice rings out, “I need some help zipping up.”

Veronica’s mother turns back to look at Bea, “if you won’t mind dear, I have my hands full.” She makes a show of displaying the needles and pins in her hands and Bea gives a polite nod before making her way to the dressing room.

“Someone needs help with a zip?”

“Yes.” Veronica opens the door of her dressing room, a small smile on her lips, “hi.” She turns, presenting her back as Bea steps forward to zip her up, placing her hand on the small of Veronica’s back as she begins pulling up the zip. “Poppy told me you’re not working the gala.”

“Yes I’ve gotten the day off,” Bea responds, her tone flat.

“Well do you have any plans for the day?”

“Considering I just found out I have the day off I haven’t made any sudden plans.” Bea steps back, finished with pulling up the zip and Veronica runs her hands down the sides of her dress before turning to face Bea.

“Thank you.” Bea gives Veronica a polite smile, “Be my date to the gala.”

Bea lets out a small laugh, “well aren’t you blunt?” She responds, a hint of a smile of her face.

“Well I didn’t grow up with everything being handed to me, so bluntness is kinda my thing. So will you?” She stares at Bea expectedly.

Bea sighs, slightly scrunching her lips, “I don’t think that would be appropriate. You’re one of Poppy’s closest friends and it wouldn’t be professional of me.”

Veronica raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, “so? Screw unprofessionalism. People like you and me are like at the bottom of the food chain. I love Poppy but at the end of the day, she’s still royalty and will always look down on people like me or my mom. So if you wanna enjoy a party, do it! Don’t let them dictate you like that.”

“Are you done?” Bea replies with a smile. All the while, Poppy steps into the dressing room but steps out of view, watching the interaction, only seeing Bea from the angle she’s standing at, but she feels a small pang in her chest as she watches Bea smile at Veronica, wondering why she’s never seen Bea smile like that at her. “If I say yes will you stop ranting?”

“Maybe,” Veronica retorts, suppressing a smile by pressing her lips together in a thin line.

Bea nods, “okay, I’ll be your date.” Veronica cheers, pulling Bea into a small hug before planting a kiss on her cheek. Bea slightly blushes before pulling away, her icy demeanour returning, “I should get back.”

“Oh of course. To be continued?”

“Yes.” Bea places a chaste kiss on Veronica’s cheek before walking out of the dressing room. Poppy panics as she sees Bea about to turn in her direction and runs back out to the room, pretending as if nothing has happened.

The rest of the day goes by and it’s as if the heart to heart between Poppy and Bea in the morning hasn’t happened as Poppy’s hostile personality returns and she begins pushing Bea away again, infuriating the bodyguard as the strawberry blonde makes her job harder.

….

The day of the gala arrives and Poppy is like a spawn of satan, rushing the servants around, screaming her head off as she barks orders at them. “Your queen has insisted that tonight goes perfectly, do not disappoint otherwise it will be all of our heads on a spike.” She glances around, fixing the decor, or making someone else fix it for her, before getting ready, slipping into her dress. She places a crown on her head, the jewels sparkling under the chandelier lights, as Poppy smooths down her dress, appraising herself in the mirror.

“Guess who?” A pair of hands cover her eyes, as the voice speaks low and playfully into her ear.

Poppy squeals, pulling the hands away from her eyes before turning, “Bradley! You came.” She greets him with a long kiss, before pulling away, wiping her forefinger across his lips, “sorry gif some lipstick on you.”

“That’s okay,” he laughs, as he pulls on the hem of his suit jacket, straightening it. “Shall we?” He holds out his arm as Poppy wraps hers around it, smiling up at him, “you look gorgeous by the way.”

“Thank you, you look dashing.” The couple make their way to the ballroom where the party is already in full swing, “we just need to make some quick introductions.” Poppy gazes around the room, noticing the increase in royal guards standing at their posts, and feels a tinge of satisfaction, no ones dying today, she thinks to herself as her and Bradley, introduce and mingle with the important people.

Simultaneously, Bea opens the door of the limo, before taking out her hand which Veronica gratefully slides her hand into as Bea pulls her out of the car. “You look radiant by the way.”

Veronica blushes, “thank you, and you clean up spectacularly well.”

“Thank you,” Bea says as she runs her hands across her dress. “Shall we?”

“We shall.”

When they enter the ballroom, Veronica offers to grab some drinks as Bea stands, scanning the room looking for anything suspicious. As she does she catches Poppy with her arm wrapped around an unfamiliar man, a wide smile on her face.

“Come in you’re off duty.”

“Sorry,” Bea replies, flushing with embarrassment, “habit.”

“That’s okay,” Veronica hands over one of the glasses to Bea, before taking a careful sip of her drink.

“Who is that with Poppy, I don’t think I’ve been debriefed on him yet.”

Veronica scans the room until her eyes fall on Poppy, “that’s her boyfriend Bradley.”

Bea raises her eyebrows in confusion, “boyfriend? I wasn’t told about this.”

“Well that’s probably because he hasn’t been here for the last few months. He was off building homes in a poor country or something.”

“Huh that’s charitable of him,” Bea replies flatly.

Veronica drains the contents of her glass before intertwining her fingers with Bea’s, “enough about them let’s dance.” Veronica pulls Bea onto the dance floor, and begins grinding on her, while Bea awkwardly stands, unable to apprehend what Veronica is doing. They’re interrupted by a familiar voice.

“So you two are here together?” Poppy’s eyes dart between Bea and Veronica, her tone nonchalant.

“Yes we are,” Veronica wraps her arms around Bea’s neck, pulling her closer. Poppy gives Veronica a weird look. Sensing the tension, Bea slightly pulls out of Veronica’s grasp turning to look at Bradley.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” she holds out a hand which Bradley shakes, his expression warm and inviting.

“Bradley, and you are?”

“My bodyguard,” Poppy interrupts, her tone slightly mocking.

“Bea Hughes.” Bea brings her hand back to her side, a smile on her face, “it was nice meeting you.”

“Same to you,” Bradley gives the girls a small nod before pulling Poppy away, whispering into her ear, “I think we should get out of here, there’s something I wanted to show you.”

“How? This place is heavily guarded.”

“Follow me.” Bradley takes her hand as they slip away from the party, unsuspectingly.

Bea looks over at Veronica, a frown on her face, “is everything okay?”

“Yep. Did you hear the judgement in Poppy’s voice? God she can be so infuriating sometimes. I need a drink.” Veronica storms off, leaving Bea in the middle of the dance floor. Her eyes begin scanning the room and she feels alarmed when she notices Poppy not in the room anymore. She begins looking all around the room before Veronica joins her, confused. “Is everything okay?”

“Where’s Poppy?”

Veronica surveys the room, huffing, “she’s probably gone to hook up with Bradley.”

Bea frowns, “something doesn’t feel right, I’m going to go look for them, stay here.” Before Veronica can respond Bea is already gone, making her way through the crowd as she slips out. Bea begins looking around the palace until she sees the end of Poppy’s dress just as she goes into a room, hesitantly Bea follows. Just as she reaches the room, she twists the handle, opening the door and goes into a defensive stance as Bradley swings around, pulling Poppy against him, holding a knife to her throat.

“Hughes,” Poppy whimpers as Bradley harshly shushes her.

“Let’s all just calm down here,” Bea raises her hands, her voice low and soft, “let’s not do anything abrupt.”

“Let us leave and nothing will have to happen.”

“I can’t let you do that,” Bea takes a step closer promoting Bradley to push the knife against Poppy’s neck, making a small cut.

“Can’t do that I’m afraid,” the previous warm glint that shone in Bradley’s eyes are gone, replaced with a more hysterical one, insanity glimmering beneath the surface. “This is for the Sons of Veronica.” Just before he can do anything, Bea leaps forward pulling Poppy out of his grasp, stepping in front of her, just as Bradley’s knife wildly swings, slicing her, just under her chest. Bea groans slightly before grabbing his wrist, pulling it backwards, evoking a scream from Bradley as she snaps his wrist.

“Poppy run!” Poppy hyperventalies as she reaches the door but when she throws it open, she gasps.

“Hughes.”

Bea turns to see a wide, built man, standing in the doorway, anger written in his face. She throws Bradley to the side before, pushing Poppy away, throwing a series of precise punches at the man. Unfazed, he grabs Bea by the throat, throwing her against the wall, his grip tightening. Bea gasps as she clutches at her throat, feeling the air leave her lungs as she tries to muster up the strength to claw and punch her way out. Instead she feels dizzy, her eyes slowly closing as she feels herself losing consciousness. Out of nowhere, Poppy smashes a vase over the man’s head, causing him to loosen his grip around Bea’s throat. He angrily huffs, backhanding Poppy, as she hits her head against the corner of a desk. Bea calls out of her, anger filling up her entire body as she lets out a primal battle cry and swipes her leg under the man’s, resulting in him losing his balance. She then flips his body around, pressing the front of him to ground as her knee digs into his neck. A few moments later his body goes limp and Bea moves away, running towards Poppy who lays on the ground unmoving.

“Poppy!” She calls out, worried but she sighs breath of relief when she sees Poppy’s eyelids fluttering open. “Are you okay?”

Poppy nods clutching at her head, “my head hurts,” Bea reaches out, placing her fingers on a small cut that has formed on Poppy’s head.

“You’re okay.” A series of groans snaps her out as she looks up to see Bradley trembling as he holds out a knife, his hand violently shaking. Bea stands, kicking him square in the chest, causing him to crash into some cupboards, knocking him out. Bea pulls out her phone, calling the guards to put the palace on lockdown in case there are any more surprises.

After being checked by a medical professional, Ana rushes pulling Poppy into a huge hug, tears falling down her face, “thank god you’re okay. I don’t think I could handle losing your father and you.” She gratefully kisses the crown of Poppy’s head before turning to look at Bea, a grateful smile on her face. “And you Miss Hughes,” she pulls away from Poppy, pulling Bea into a hug, “if it wasn’t for you I-“ she begins sobbing as Bea rubs comforting circles on her back.

“Just doing my job.”

“Thank you,” Ana says, as she holds both of Bea’s hands in hers, “even when you weren’t on duty you saved my daughter’s life, thank you.” Bea nods as Ana pulls her in for another hug. Poppy watches as the police put Bradley and the other man into handcuffs, a frown on her face.

She turns to her mother, “what is Sons of Victoria?”

Ana stammers, “where did you hear that?” She gazes around the room, her expression careful.

Bradley mentioned it before he attacked us, what are you not telling me?”

Ana awkwardly glances around the room before lowering her voice to a whisper, “we have a lot to discuss.”

#playchoices #queen b #poppy min sinclair #poppy x mc #bodyguard au #i hope you guys enjoy this #i’m sorry if it’s bad it’s like 4am rn #(basically 5am idk

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