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a-realclassact · 2 months

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"What happens when a genocide falls out of the news cycle?

For those of us in the West? …Relief. Don’t shy away from these thoughts. It’s my job, as an artist, to force us to be honest. We silently feel relieved. We feel exhausted by the weight of having to care about people we ultimately feel we can do nothing for. True radicalization, the kind of change of thought that translates into changed action, only happens for a precious few. The vast majority of onlookers never really wanted to move from their position as spectator; they just fervently wished for a happier ending. So when there is less to look at (because the news cycle needs fresh blood; because the people providing live, on the ground coverage have been killed; when there’s less to look at because we have seen so many clips and photographs and accounts of visceral deaths that looking only makes us numb anyhow), we turn our eyes to the easiest narrative of hope that our screens can provide. We accept a manufactured happy ending.

And now, I am watching a happy ending be manufactured. Because the empire has allowed us our small, Western tantrums at the genocides necessary to keep the machines of imperialism going. It is now time to move on and be placated with a victory story— something we feel we have a sense of control over! Never mind the fact that we don’t live in a direct democracy! Vote! Vote out the fascism! The bombs will still drop and the children will still starve to death (if they survive the Israeli snipers aiming for their heads) and the famines will still be manufactured and the raw resources stripped from the colonies but we did it! We managed to keep ourselves comfortable.

This is the part where everyone boos me. There’s usually one section in essays like these that get under people’s skin, so just to set the tone: I’m not saying this because I want to make you angry, I am saying it because I think it’s a useful truth to consider.

We, the “reasosnable” US masses, only dislike Trump because he embarrasses us.

He has a flagrant disregard of the rules of presidential diplomacy that disgraces our reputation. Policy-wise, his era was really not distinct from the current Biden administration or presidents beforehand. He’s someone who says the quiet parts of running an imperialist ethno-state out loud, which emboldens the radicalized right, and it’s overtly racist, and those people were already organizing for a hostile takeover! We need someone to blame for the radical left’s lack of concrete, sustained mobility and so we love to hate him. We hate him because he embarrasses us, not because he’s worse! Harris is only the better choice because she’s prettier, and more relatable, and has the right sort of gravitas. She doesn’t embarrass us. We are willing to trade liberation for spectacle, but it must be a spectacle that makes us feel good at the end of the day.

Do you know how I know?

We should be outraged that the Vice President of an administration aiding an abetting the most documented genocide in human history can peacefully run for office. That is a sham. That is embarrassing. Especially when that person has stated they do not plan on enforcing any sort of concession from the murderous Israeli regime. There has been absolutely no mention of the other human rights crises and violations happening elsewhere amongst the colonized world— the ongoing conflicts in across Black and Indigenous nations that we tend to tack onto Free Palestine to show we absolutely do care about Black people outside of Western imperial cores. haha. We have made no demands because we, the masses, have no demands outside of feeling like everything will be okay again. We don’t actually care about these people as people. We care about them as symbols of liberation and as litmus tests to prove we, in the hard times, would “do the right thing.” If we cared about them as people, submitting to someone still pleased to orchestrate their deaths, which VP Harris is doing right now, would be unthinkable. We would be using this time of mass disillusionment to destabilize the empire’s business as usual. We want spectacle more than we want actual liberation for ourselves or for the people that we say we are in solidarity with. It doesn’t make any sense.

The only thing guaranteed to be worse under Trump is the spectacle. And we care more about spectacle more than we care about tangible, material change. Another Trump presidency is not a happy ending that will allow us to take our minds of the incessant dying of the third world. And we want something to distract us. We want something comfortable. We want something that we can look to and say, “We did it!! And we already went to all these marches. We're so tired.”

We are supposed to, we are primed to want to accept whatever happy ending the empire orchestrates, because most of us believe in the ability to be comfortable as a divine right. If we're powerless except for the vote, and we usher in somebody that does the spectacle better, that brings us back to a state of psychological comfort: even if we know that everything's not all right, we can feel like everything's all right. IImagining ourselves as powerless is uncomfortable in a way that a new, smiling, voted-in happy ending can solve. Imagining ourselves as powerful enough to stop the machine is excruciating— that means we would have to forgo comfort altogether. And consistent comfort is the only thing that we have. It's consistent running water and no power outages and subsidized corn and subsidized fuel, okay?

I think a lot of us have given up the desire to imagine ourselves as temporarily embarrassed millionaires. Soaring homelessness, economic depravity, the rising cost of food essentials makes it difficult to delude ourselves we’re this close to being rich. It’s become commonplace in pop culture to disparage the ultra-wealthy; most of us don’t imagine we will make it there in our lifetime. Most of us do imagine ourselves just a few steps from comfort. “I don’t want to be rich! I just want to be comfortable.” Conveniently forgetting the price of US comfort is depravity in the colonies. We want to forget what that comfort costs. We want to laugh. We want that head empty Kamala laugh! Girl, we want to laugh. We as a whole never wanted liberation because it's uncomfortable. And I would actually respect everybody cheering for Kamala Harris a whole hell of a lot more if you were just willing to admit that outright instead of pretending like we're actually doing something good.

The foolish concede to corruption.

I am reading Mama Ellen’s memoir at the moment and it is rivoting. Most definitely a text I will read twice. If you are not new to Threadings., I have spoken on more than one occasion on how we in the US are slowly gearing up for civil war. Right now, war is enacted in courts and in policymaking in various attacks on healthcare, reproductive rights, rights to education, the gutting of public school systems, the systematic underpaying of teachers, and actually of all care workers. Thinking about the chronic nurse strikes that have cropped up and been left mostly ignored since COVID has continued to decimate our healthcare infrastructure. More and more of our taxes are going to making sure that we keep the US armed to the teeth and not to making sure that life in the US for the working class is bearable in any way. We're watching the slow deterioration of society and (as Dr. CBS pointed out), the increased militarization of everyday happenings.

Conceding to corruption does not keep the peace. It allows for said corruption to continue its abuses.

I am not usually so cynical.

But truly, what the fuck. What the fuck. Remember when I said that every American is addicted to something?

The only perk of being working class in the Western world is our unlimited access to comfort? The comfort of denial continues her reign as the sweetest drug of all. We choose to cast our eyes towards the fiction of a happy ending rather than disrupting the machines that cause all this misery in the first place. It’s been a good couple months of us looking in the eye the costs of imperialism, the price of all this endless comfort, and instead of looking towards the growing rebellions across the colonies— something that should actually bring us comfort and joy, the knowledge that others bite back their regimes— we cast our gaze to these ludicrous what if scenarios. What if we can just push Harris left? What if we call her a war-mongering arbritor of the police state after she’s elected? Won’t she be better than Trump?

I don’t care who the hell is wielding all the blood money. What I want is a child. I want children in this life. And I am not, I simply refuse to tell my kid, “Yes, I did voluntarily cheer on this woman who I knew would happily continue to suck the bone marrow from the colonized world, even while knowing she would do that very thing! The other option embarrassed me.” Because that’s all this is. The other option embarrasses us.

There is no popular president that would create the revolutionary policy and world-making that guarantees our collective safety. Does not exist. The job of the president of the United States is quite literally antithetical to that idea, and any progessively minded one would be working to make the position obsolete. There is no such thing as a good president. I am watching the youth of Kenya rise over and over again to force their federal bodies into caring for them. And they are dying at these protests, literally under live ammunition, going missing, bodies turning up in slums. And here we are raising money for Kamala. Trump doesn’t embarrass me! Y’all do! Those of Myanmar have been fighting a revolutionary war for years that much of the professional class has decided to take active part in rather than fleeing. And our professional class is raising money for Kamala.

EMBARRASSING!

We (in the West, as a whole) do not actually care about freedom, really because most of us cannot imagine what it would be like to be uncomfortable for the rest of our lives. It humbles me that we offer ourselves— we offer our minds— to be sold like this. I have so much revolutionary optimism until I open fuckin twitter."

-Ismatu Gwendolyn on Substack from Harris, Palestine, and the Spectacle of Liberation

#kamala harris #us politics #trump #election 2024 #us elections #us empire #vote blue #vote blue no matter who #vote democrat #us imperialism #spectacle

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theoreticallysensible · 7 months

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I cannot help but compare Aaron Bushnell’s poignant protest of the genocide in Gaza to the ideas presented in the book Catch-22, especially given the mainstream media’s craven instinct to frame his self immolation as insane, rather than a sane protest against an insane society, and especially given his role as a US airman, the same as the characters in the novel - a role he chose to highlight in his protest.

(This is not to say that we should all self immolate - sane reason can demand many different things of us depending on our position, skills, and character. Such self destructive tactics are never categorically necessary, and in a major sense Bushnell’s death is inescapably tragic and horrifying, but the conviction and symbolic power of his soberly deliberate death can be respected, even revered, nevertheless.)

Catch-22 contains several references to sanity and “craziness”. Its central concept, which entered into popular consciousness, is the eponymous Catch-22 described in the following passage.

There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one's own safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind. Orr was crazy and could be grounded. All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions. Orr would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn't, but if he was sane he had to fly them. If he flew them he was crazy and didn't have to; but if he didn't want to he was sane and had to.

Catch-22 is a study of how one can become overwhelmed by one’s own sanity when faced with a world and other people who have all seemingly gone mad. This is the experience of seeing so many of our authority figures, in particular the supposed reporters of truth in the media, deny the fact that Israel is carrying out a genocide in Gaza, a genocide that is - and has always clearly been - a direct and necessary consequence of the process of Zionism as conceived as the establishment of a Jewish state through colonisation.

Throughout the novel, the main character, Yossarian, is appalled and disoriented by the fact that his valuing of his own life and freedom is considered insane by his comrades, but when he tries to claim that since he is insane he is unfit for combat, he is told (rightly) that this is fear of dying is actually sane, and so he is perfectly fit for combat.

Life in the military is one where you are expected to be willing to lay down your life for a cause, usually “the good of your country”. This is never, in the mainstream, considered to be insane, but rather noble - except, as Shaun pointed out in the video he released today on the Palestinian crisis, in retrospect, such as when Wilfred Owen’s poems lamenting the brutality and pointlessness of WW1 are taught and venerated in schools.

But what about when someone decides to lay down their life for a cause not endorsed by US hegemony? Is that, like that of the military hero, considered “sweet and fitting”? No. As we have seen, the voice of hegemonic values, the mainstream media, cannot conceive of a logic outside of its own framework. Anything that is outside of it, especially that opposes it, is “insane”, “disturbed”, probably dangerous.

Throughout most of Catch-22, Yossarian’s rebellions against the military machine threatening his life are ineffective. He never changes his circumstances or anyone else’s. Aaron Bushnell, unlike Yossarian, did not spend most of his time fearing for how his military career could endanger his own life; instead, he was outraged that his career made him complicit in the killing of others. His abnegation of that, his total rejection of it to the point of ending his life, was supremely selfless. As we now know, it was a result of serious deliberation borne out of a selfless commitment to emancipatory politics also reflected in his engagement with mutual aid and other anarchist actions in his local community.

It is notable that at the end of Catch-22, when Yossarian finally decides to desert and at last we have a glimpse of hope as he is able to convince others of the rationality and nobility of his rejection of the military, it is because he is now acting for the benefit of others. He turns his reasoned analysis outwards. He refuses to be complicit, in this case with the US military forcing Italian citizens out of their homes.

It is only through selflessness and solidarity that we can turn our private analyses of personal injustices into social analyses that people can rally behind and collectively act on.

The last scene of the novel contains this exchange between Yossarian and another character:

'I can't do a thing to stop them but embarrass them by running away. I've got responsibilities of my own now, Danby. I've got to get to Sweden.'

'You'll never make it. It's impossible. It's almost a geographical impossibility to get there from here.'

'Hell, Danby, I know that. But at least I'll be trying. There's a young kid in Rome whose life I'd like to save if I can find her. I'll take her to Sweden with me if I can find her, so it isn't all selfish, is it?'

'It's absolutely insane. Your conscience will never let you rest.'

'God bless it.' Yossarian laughed. 'I wouldn't want to live without strong misgivings.’

Yossarian is still called insane, but Danby supports him both morally and financially, finally recognising the sanity of his insanity. But rather than linger on this book too much I’ll end on the words of the present, of the final statement made by Aaron Bushnell:

"My name is Aaron Bushnell, I am an active-duty member of the United States Air Force and I will no longer be complicit in genocide. I am about to engage in an extreme act of protest, but compared to what people have been experiencing in Palestine at the hands of their colonizers, it's not extreme at all. This is what our ruling class has decided will be normal."

He died shouting “Free Palestine!” until his body was no longer capable.

#aaron bushnell #palestine #genocide #gaza #free gaza #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #israel #catch 22

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batmanisagatewaydrug · 2 years

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What's your opinion on parasocial relationships

From: "I don't think we should be able to see fictional characters have sex because they haven't consented"

To: "Blatantly and overtly objectifies -insert celebrity here-"

There seems to be wild swinging from one end to the other 🤔🤔🤔

okay so this is uuuh a Large question and I need to start by saying flat out that "parasocial relationship" is a pretty value neutral term that's only very recently taken on a distinctly negative connotation. the term was invented in the 1950s in response to increasing television viewership in America, to describe the one-sided attachments that viewers formed with fictional characters and media personalities. while Horton and Wolh, who coined the term, did express concerns that some people might be prone to substituting parasocial relationships for real, reciprocal human connections, it wasn't intended to be a condemnation of the practice. parasociality in small amounts is essentially necessary to have any sort of stake in fictional characters or celebrities who can't love us back, and its worth noting that parasocial relationships significantly predate the terminology - humans have felt strongly about rulers who don't know them and characters from myths and stories for centuries. this sort of connection-making is fueled by the same extremely social nature that let us bond with dogs and other domesticated animals.

so the tl;dr there is that my feeling on parasocial relationships is that it largely depends on whether we're talking about, like, people having harmless crushes on attractive and charismatic actors or, like, twitter stans sending each other death threats over musicians who don't know they exist. like most things, it's harmless in moderations and is mostly down to individuals to use their grown-up brains to not make it weird and harmful.

now, onto the example you gave of people objecting to depictions of fictional characters having sex because they can't consent. I don't know that parasociality is the main issue at play here, although as we've noted a degree of it is certainly necessary to care that much about a fictional character in the first place. that particular ideological clusterfuck is a result of several things colliding, I think namely:

a.) an increasingly prevalent and normalized streak of extreme sexual conservatism amongst people who broadly consider themselves progressive. if you've spent much of the last decade online and especially in fandom spaces, you've probably seen this mindset becoming more and more pronounced via a bunch of horse-assed debates about the morality of depicting #problematic things in fiction and fanworks. sincere arguments that sex scenes are bad because made up people who don't exist can't consent to being featured in them is pretty much always where that particular line of thinking was heading.

b.) an absolutely tragic conflation of media consumption with activism and political beliefs. this overlaps heavily with point a (with a lot of assumption that if you're a Good person you must take great pains not only to not consume Bad fiction but also to call it out at every opportunity for being Bad, lest you be accused of having Wrong opinions) and also generates a lot of very stupid takes like treating Captain Marvel as a #girlboss #feminism movie despite being sponsored by the US Air Force and holding creators from historically oppressed identities to impossibly high standards of Good Representation, a thing that doesn't exist and no one agrees on. (read Elaine Castillo's excellent essay collection How to Read Now for way more eloquent thoughts on that.) the point being that people's so-called hot takes about popular media are almost conflated with their politics, whichever way they may lean. this also related to point c, which is"

c.) the internet and its many insufferable algorithms encourage outrage and conflict at every opportunity, so nobody can just say some normal shit like "I don't like seeing sex scenes on tv, it feels uncomfortable :/," because people will start crawling down their throat screaming about how it's actually very sex negative and queerphobic and problematic to dislike watching sex scenes and that the person who posted that is somehow personally oppressing people with sexual trauma who are reclaiming their relationship with their sexuality and were greatly helped by [insert sex scene here]. so you have to pre-empt those replies by acting like you're teeing up a fucking tedtalk and also are ready to throw down in defense of your lukewarm opinion, and that's a lot easier to do if you've figured out how to use language affiliated with social justice to bolster your point.

anyway. that's my opinion on that.

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sublimeobservationarcade · 2 years

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Tunnel Vision On The Presidential Aspect

The midterm elections in America shine a light on the political system there and the focus of the media upon it. The tunnel vision on the presidential aspect in the US by the press and, therefore, the voting public, distorts any understanding of democracy in the nation as a whole. The narrative perpetuated by the media is always in tight focus on the president because it is an easier story to tell. This is relevant for us in Australia, as we chew the fat about becoming a republic in the wake of Queen Elizabeth II’s death. The truth is that we have not been governed by a ruling monarch for a very long time. Similarly, America is not ruled by one man (or woman) but by a Congress of elected representatives. The media, however, bangs on about Biden this and Trump that because they love to tell a simplified story to their viewers.

Photo by Carlos Herrero on Pexels.com

Sole Leader Story Bears No Substance In Fact

The danger within this stratagem is that it turns a complex situation into a Punch and Judy show. The American presidential system places all the attention on a contest between two candidates and then, upon the sole leader who wins the vote. In reality, if Joe Biden loses the midterm elections, as is usual, he will become a lame duck president. This means he will be unable to get legislation passed into law and most likely will be bogged down by Republican Party enquiries designed to stall any progress. Thus, the supreme power of the president is shown to be a furphy and without any meat on the bone. All political systems contain checks and balances to prevent unrestrained dictatorial activity. The house of representatives and the senate house of review are in place to prevent abuses of power by an autocratic leader.

Photo by Element5 Digital on Pexels.com Electing The Top Dog & All Its Perils The failure of the Australian republican movement constitutional vote in 1999 was in part because many people wanted a popular vote for an Australian president like that in the US. Whereas the politicians wanted the nation’s titular leader to be appointed, like the current position of governor general. This did not inspire the necessary numbers to make a change from the existing constitutional monarchy, despite the figure head remaining in another country – Britain. Australians are traditionally conservative by nature – if it aint broke don’t fix it! I suspect this desire for a popular vote to elect a president will rear its head once more when we come to consider an Australian republic in the near future. Heaven help us if we end up with a similar system to the yanks. We got rid of kings and queens with real power a long time ago but, it seems, that ordinary folk cannot get enough of simplified stories about the top job. Americans love the hoopla of POTUS and their tunnel vision on the presidential aspect. The Donald Trump saga, which continues to this day, reveals the many holes in the American democratic system. Trump tried to cause a coup by refusing to accept his electoral defeat and inciting a riot in the capital. Despite plenty of evidence of this Trump remains out of gaol and his status as a former POTUS seems to inoculate him from prosecution. No wonder so many Americans want to become rich and famous because they see how it affords the wealthy a different kind of justice. The impotence revealed at the heart of the American political system is a disgrace. No Hollywood movie is going to be able to turn this story into a sentimental tour de force. The fact that an elected politician can go to the polls threatening not to abide by the will of the people is an outrage in itself. If you are not going to play by the rules you should not be able to play in the first place.

Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com It is very easy to just say that Americans are very stupid people. Indeed, it is not much of a stretch to include the whole human race in that judgement. People talk about the stupidity of whales beaching themselves but we exhibit similarly dumb behaviours all the time. Leadership and how we view and engage with our leaders says a lot about us. Those of us at the bottom of the food chain, often, ignore those at the top as much as we can for as long as we can. The whole idea of their power over us is unpalatable and best not thought about too often. In Australia, we are forced to vote for our political leaders at every level of government. For many this is the only time they bother thinking about their leaders and the whole political system. These elections become popularity contests rather than policy contests. Uneducated voters cast their minds upon a small group of strangers who are vying to represent their interests within the parliamentary system. Hip pocket concerns marry with superficial engagement of various narratives espoused by candidates on behalf of their political parties. Faces flash up on screens and signs across the nation for some 6 weeks or thereabouts. The most cynical among us tell us that the whole thing is rigged in favour of the rich and powerful and crude though that assessment might be – it is probably right.

Photo by Nothing Ahead on Pexels.com Still, it is a contest which is sometimes hard fought, as we see at the midterms in America right at the moment. Will Americans remember the lies and unnecessary deaths from Covid at the hands of the MAGA Republicans or will they focus their razor sharp short term attention span on their economic woes and look for someone to blame? Voting in America is optional and not mandatory; therefore, engagement is less than universal. Will the US Supreme Court’s reversal of federal abortion rights via Roe vs Wade bear fruit for the Democrats in public outrage by women at the ballot box in these midterms? Will the nearly 80 year old Biden and his gaff prone public performance undo the positive effect of these issues? High inflation and rising interest rates. Gas prices pushing up costs across the board. A recession looming over the United States. The democratic system offers a process for voters to blame and punish the party holding office by electing the other mob. The fact that many of their representatives are much worse than the one’s currently carrying the can is neither here nor there for the marginally engaged looking for someone to blame. The media is the Greek chorus amplifying every trend and endlessly repeating the news which is mostly dire. The press sell newspapers on the back of drama like foul murders and wars. The public are informed by media barons like Murdoch who see themselves as king makers. The reach of these titans of the fourth estate wraps around nations in the digital age. Their minions churn out opinion pieces like ripe turds on a summer’s day. Beating drums of war or inciting domestic furore via racism or some other socially divisive agenda. The wave of public opinion is easily manipulated around polling time. Nobody is interested in things as boring as policy but crave salacious conspiracy. America used to be a land of puritans who would turn on anyone caught in the act doing improper stuff. Lately, however, Trump has ‘tefloned’ himself from public condemnation by accusing the media of fake news. Casting aspersions over the very instruments that seek to fillet him and his ambitions. Nobody believes what the other side has to say anymore. Will this be the thing that brings down the American empire. Will civil war soon tear this superpower apart? Trump may not be making America great again but consigning it to the dustbin of history. ©House Therapy Read the full article

#America #Australia #Biden #Democracy #Midterms #Trump #Trumpism

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cinebration · 3 years

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None Like You (Geralt x Reader) [Request]

hi! can you do a geralt one shot with fem reader where she's a princess and they start falling for each other? tysm! — Request by anon

Warnings: blood

Gif Source: frodo-sam

Your mother had raised you to believe you were someone of importance, but life on the farm had said otherwise. You toiled just like everyone else, bleeding and sweating. You were soiled, not spoiled. Yet your mother insisted you were a princess and told you outrageous bedtime stories to lull you to sleep in your youth.

You should have paid better attention.

When King Henselt’s only son died, leaving only a marriage and no heirs, you woke one morning to the pounding of a mailed fist on the door. Your mother answered and then hurried into your room, fluttering about like a mad woman.

“It’s time,” she cried, shoving you into your best dress and raking her fingers through your hair.

“For what?”

“To be someone.”

Then she bundled you out the door into the arms of a military escort carrying the Kaedwan sigil on their shields and tunics: a red-horned unicorn on a yellow field.

It took you the whole day to finally coax information out of your escort regarding the whole ordeal. When they told you what you were, you nearly fell out of your saddle in disbelief.

The king must be desperate, you thought as you tried to fall asleep beside the campfire.

Then the night turned bloody.

Something crunched underfoot to your right. You huddled deeper in the hollowed tree, clutching the steel in your hands. The edges had sliced open your palms, but you didn’t care. It afforded you some protection, even if the creature had snapped the blade it came from like a twig.

Tensing, you waited for the sound to draw nearer, coiling to spring. It was just like killing chickens, you told yourself. One neat slice to the throat.

You leapt out of the hollow, slashing up and across.

The witcher caught your wrist easily, flinging the steel out of your hand. Stifling a cry, you cradled the injured hand to your chest, backed away from him. His eerie yellow eyes tracked you as you pressed yourself against the tree trunk, searching for an escape.

“What happened?” His voice rasped like feet dragged over gravel.

“Death,” you whispered, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the massacre. “Some…thing.”

“It’s dead now.”

You fixed him with a wary glance. “Truly?”

He grunted.

You nearly sank to your knees in relief. Pressing a hand to your mouth, you felt the cuts in your hand spasm. Fresh blood wept from the slashes, trickling down your arms. The witcher swept his gaze over you, eyeing the wounds. You fumbled with the hem of your dress, trying to rip the dirty fabric into strips.

“Did you fight it?” The surprise in the witcher’s voice drew your ear.

You wheezed. “I slashed it, yes, but fight? No.”

Rummaging around in the leaves on the forest floor, the witcher retrieved the broken steel, examined it. He swore.

Unease coiled within you. “What is it?”

“Come here.”

You hesitated. The witcher rolled his eyes and strode over to you, grabbing you by the wrist. His touch was firm but not tight, much to your surprise. You followed after him, feeling a little dizzy as he led you over to the road. A horse stood idly there, kind eyes inquisitive. It didn’t shy away as you drew near despite the smell of blood.

“Good horse,” you murmured, appraising it.

The witcher fumbled through a saddlebag, searching for something. At last he pulled out a vial and took your hands, tearing off the strips to get to your wounds. He poured the grey contents of the vial out before you could protest.

You nearly screamed, the pain in your hands was so excruciating. Lighting shot up your arms as the vial’s contents fizzed on your palms and in your wounds.

“To prevent the venom from killing you,” the witcher explained.

“If the pain doesn’t kill me first,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

A smirk tugged on the witcher’s lips, followed quickly by a frown. “What were you doing traveling with those soldiers?”

You hesitated again. What had you heard about witchers? That they fought for coin and hunted monsters. You had no coin, but neither did you know where you were or how to get home.

“King Henselt sent them,” you confided slowly. “They believe I am his bastard daughter.”

“A princess.”

You elected to ignore the mild groan in the man’s voice. “Can you take me home? The farm, not Aed Carraigh.”

His yellow eyes fixed on you again, white eyebrows beetling together. “You don’t want to go to the castle?”

“Is it safe? As safe as home?”

His lips pressed into a thin line.

“Then take me home,” you insisted. “I’m no princess.”

The witcher smelled. You couldn’t ignore it, not with your face pressed into his back. He wasn’t made for traveling with someone sitting behind him. You could feel it in the tension of his shoulders and back, as though he couldn’t relax beneath the touch of your arms. You did your best to relax your own tense grasp.

You had run nigh over a mile before collapsing in the hollowed tree trunk. The horse covered the distance easily, passing by the smoldering, bloody encampment you had settled down in the night before. You watched it pass, glimpsing the heaps of bodies scattered about.

It took several hours to draw near home. Joy fluttered in your chest as you approached.

You crested the ridge overlooking home and went still, horror rolling through you. The farm house was ash and rubble, still smoking. The animals had been let from their pens, taken for livestock by whatever had rolled through the farm.

“Bandits,” the witcher noted.

Fighting nausea, you wandered down to the burnt house, searching in the ruins. The ash burned your hands and legs, but you sifted through it, yanking aside a crumbling beam.

Beneath lay your mother. What was left of her.

You retched off to the side, stumbling through the ash. You stood bent at the waist for an eternity before you felt the witcher watching you. Turning to face him, you wiped the sick from your chin. “I can’t stay here.”

He frowned.

Your mother had raised a practical woman, fantastic fantasies about your lineage aside. It was all you could think to do as you stood in the ashes of your dead life. One foot in front of the other.

“I have no money,” you confessed, “but if King Henselt sent for me, he can pay you to ensure my arrival.”

The witcher considered it. At last he growled and nodded.

It would take four days to reach Aed Carraigh. The horse—named Roach, you learned—could only manage that distance in a shorter time if not burdened with two riders.

You sat close to the campfire, warming yourself in the flames, shaking not from cold but from fear as the night closed in around you. The night held terrors untold, but until the night before, you had never seen them in the flesh. Knowing they lingered out in the dark set your teeth on edge.

“I’m sorry to burden you,” you told the witcher, the silence too much to bear. You watched the horse warily for signs of attack, knowing the animal was likely to hear or sense it before you.

“Why don’t you want to be a princess?”

Taken aback by the unexpected question, you shrugged. “Why would I want to be one?”

“Riches. A comfortable life.”

“I had a comfortable life with riches untold. They just weren’t gold.”

“Gold is necessary.”

“Gold means nothing if your life is miserable.”

The words hung heavy in the air. The witcher averted his gaze, surprising you. Frowning, you rubbed at your arms, trying to make the hair on your arms stand down. His averted face gave you the opportunity to study his features. They were rough and worn, his brow creased from excessive glowering. He was all hard edges, a larger man than even the largest farmer you had seen. He appeared both comfortable and uncomfortable in his own skin, or perhaps your presence was upsetting him.

“Am I keeping you from work?”

“Are you always so concerned for witchers?”

You shook your head. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Yet there you sit.”

You bit your tongue, surprised by the sting of his barb. Something flickered across his stern features as you ducked your head. “Then tell me where to go and I will get there myself.”

“The road is dangerous.”

“Being a woman is dangerous.”

He almost smiled in surprise. You could see it dancing on his lips.

“So tell me where to go,” you insisted. “Then I can leave your remarkable hair.”

His eyebrows twitched. The silence stretched between you both for a minute, the fire crackling in the quiet. At last, he said, “I will take you.”

You almost gave away your relief with a sharp exhale.

Though the witcher was a man of few words, you found you were able to read more from his face and the set of his shoulders than from anything he said. His silences were full of information, though you couldn’t be sure of what exactly. You merely knew that he radiated safety as much as he did danger.

“Do you know many princesses?” you asked him.

He grunted.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“I know one or two,” he said. “But none like you.”

You frowned, glancing down at your soiled dress. “Yes, I suppose I’m nothing like one. The people will be overjoyed with a farmer’s daughter.” You snorted.

“I think they could use one.”

Frowning, you glanced up at him. He didn’t quite smile, but the glower on his face had shifted into something softer.

“Well, when I am princess,” you said, “I will remember at least one person believes me suited for the job. That’s all that matters.”

A faint smile touched the witcher’s lips. You matched it with a slow smile of your own.

#Geralt x Reader #Geralt #Geralt imagine #Geralt of Rivia x Reader #Geralt of Rivia #Geralt of Rivia imagine #Henry Cavill x Reader #Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill imagine #The Witcher #requests

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thefibrodiaries · 4 years

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I didn’t think the world we live in could get anymore ableist than it already was, I mean the UK has been investigated TWICE by the UN who came to the conclusion that there were serious human rights violations against disabled people which has forced us into poverty at a disproportionate rate and they also concluded that disabled people have been dying as a direct result of austerity. That sounds like it’s the worst case scenario right? I figured it couldn't get any worse for us and the only way was up but then the covid pandemic happened and everyone, both the public and the government, reached terrifying new levels of ableism.

Disabled people in the UK have been dying from the coronavirus at a disproportionate rate (60% of covid deaths have been disabled people), you’ve got the public casually expressing hatred towards the vulnerable and calling for us to be locked up so they can continue life as normal - and some are expressing outrage and hatred towards the vulnerable instead of the government. They are preaching about how the pandemic is impacting their mental health but then they say that the vulnerable should be the only people having to take precautions and go on lockdown for the foreseeable future because it isn't like we have family living with us who would be affected, it isn't like we need a social life or to go to work and earn a living right? There isn't any thought to our mental health. disabled people have nothing to live for in their minds.

Covid is also being used as an excuse to take away accessibility. in the summer, entire pavements were blocked off so businesses could run outdoors (a wheelchair user in my hometown could not leave his home because of this and the council responded by saying taking pavements away was necessary for surviving the pandemic) and measures were not put in place to make essential tasks like shopping accessible for us - which is summed up (x). Our deaths are being justified because according to many we were going to die anyway - people lack the understanding that people with preexisting conditions can live perfectly normal lives (like someone who is asthmatic) and you might not even know they have a health condition, we are not all at deaths door and even if our quality of life is impacted. Disabled people, mainly people with learning/developmental disabilities, are being forced to sign DNRs or being given them without consent as a blanket approach, this was an issue at the start of the pandemic but the government claimed it was an ‘error’. Social care and benefits are continuing to be cut and after this, we can expect even bigger cuts. It’s been proven that measures for distanced learning and working can be done after not allowing this for disabled people for years, which isn’t anywhere near as bad as the other examples I’ve listed but still disheartening for people who had to give up their jobs and education because we were told this wasn't possible.

I’m honestly so tired of this, I’m sick of being an afterthought, I’m sick of being made to feel like my life doesn't matter and I’m sick of life as a disabled person continuously getting worse even after you think you’ve hit rock bottom. Nobody is fighting for us, we have to fight for ourselves. I feel uncomfortable after seeing the true colours of many of the general public, including some people I know, who are boldly expressing their ableism and are more than happy to throw us under the bus. I’m sick of feeling like our lives have no value and would be considered an acceptable loss just because we are disabled.

please check on your disabled friends, we are not okay.

#my own social care was almost cut to save money bc of covid #well covid was the excuse but like most things the government are purposely making cuts and unfair policies #ableism #chronic illness #disability #ps I won't post the article about the wheelchair user in my town because I don't wantput my location on the internet #eugenics tw #covid tw

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littlemisspascal · 4 years

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Death and an Angel part 3

Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary: You and Din have an unexpected heart-to-heart about what it means to be Death and a Cupid on route to a planet where Din’s potential soulmate lives.

Rating: G

Word Count: 1,500

Warnings: Pining, smidge of angst, more plot development, Razor Crest (RIP I miss you darling!), a made-up home world for the reader (yes, yes, there’s like a million I could have picked but my brain said NOPE)

Author Note: Ahhhh, the comments are so amazing from you all! Thank you everyone out there sparing time to check out my little universe, it makes me sooo happy you have no idea! As always, I hope you enjoy this new segment as I try to plot this story out and get these two idiots to acknowledge there just might be something between them.

Also special thanks to @codenamewitcher for including the first two parts on Weekly Fanfic Recs. Be sure to go check out the list for a whole bunch of fantastic stories!

Links to Part 1, Part 2 and Part 4

Photo Inspiration: (What I imagine is beneath the armor in this scene...*dreamy sigh*)

There is a distinct silence that can only be found in hyperspace when the stars outside resemble sparkling streaks of silver tinsel and your breath is trapped within your lungs as you’re awestruck by the sheer beauty of it all. You experience this silence aboard the Razor Crest, sitting in the cockpit behind Din as he pilots his beloved gunship. It isn’t the first time you’ve been a passenger, having traveled with Din on two previous ventures where your Cupid services were required on planets far away from your home on Umbriel.

Off-world assignments for you were generally rare since your bosses were more inclined to choose Cupids of higher ranking to handle those clients, but sometimes you were the only available option left. Which, come to think of it, is exactly how you became the one roped into meeting with Death every full moon. Your bosses decided someone needed to check up on him to make sure he wasn’t reaping anyone before their fated time and thus messing with the natural order of things. You privately have reached the conclusion it was a decision made during a fit of paranoia as you had yet to find any evidence suggesting Din ever broke a single one of the universe’s rules, let alone even considered the mere possibility.

When you did travel for assignments, you never stopped feeling like a goldfish being dumped out of your familiar little bowl and into a massive ocean full of strange oddities. You would often find yourself wasting time trying to successfully navigate the unknown world when you should have been focused on tracking down your client’s soulmate.

That’s why Din had offered to start traveling with you. Actually, in his own words it was because, “You think about love so much you don’t see trouble until it’s an inch in front of you. Someone’s got to be there to look after you.”

You’d tried to argue, told him you had never experienced trouble and that if you did then you could handle it with your bow. All Cupid’s were required to master archery for self-defense purposes, though Din’s responding snort of derision made you suspect he wasn’t convinced of your skills. You wondered if he thought, just as humans incorrectly did, a Cupid only used their bow to spread love and lust. Or maybe he just thought you weren’t capable of such finesse. It was an insulting assumption, fueling you with the burning desire to prove him wrong. One day, you keep telling yourself, a repetitive chant. One day you’ll show him just how capable you are with your weapon and you imagine his look of shock, whether worn openly on his face or hidden beneath the visor of his helmet, will be utterly priceless.

But in the meantime, you’re in no hurry to encounter trouble. Finding enjoyment in taking these trips with him on his ship instead.

The Razor Crest had actually been a complete surprise to you when Din first welcomed you on it; primarily because the notion of him using such a primitive form of transportation despite the powers he possessed as Death was too outrageous to wrap your head around. However, it took less than ten minutes soaring through space for you to discover just how many details of the universe you were missing by relying on your Cupid abilities to teleport yourself between locations. Never would you have imagined Death to be the one to teach you to love the slowness of travel, to let your eyes linger on all the beautiful wonders along the way. But that’s exactly what happened.

You turn your head away from the window to look at Din. From your angle, all you glimpse is the back of his helmet, reflecting the passing starlight. Soon you’ll be introducing Din to the first immortal on your list of potential soulmates.

Death, you quickly correct yourself. He’s only Din when he’s around you.

You initially thought he elected to wear his armor because you told him he could to ease his comfort, but now you think it’s because this is him meeting his potential soulmate as himself. It is easy to forget sometimes this is the image of Death—a warrior enshrouded in beskar, cunning and ruthless—that is recognized throughout the universe. And feared.

If the handsome face he concealed was known instead, you wonder if mortals would readily choose to embrace the ending of their lifetime, rather than foolishly seek to run from its inevitability.

“What is it?” Din’s baritone voice startles you as it shatters the quietness. The modulator within his helmet gives his tone a low raspiness that never fails to send a chill down your spine when you hear it.

“Huh?” You respond ineloquently.

“You’ve been staring at the back of my head for the last five minutes, angel. I figured you had something worth saying.”

“Oh, no. I was just thinking about you.”

Immediately you wish a meteor would collide with the ship, providing you with the necessary distraction to escape and find somewhere you can hide until the end of time.

“...What about me were you thinking?” Din wonders after a solid thirty seconds of pure silence, voice somehow conveying an equally blended mixture of intrigue and wariness. He flips on the ship’s autopilot and turns in his seat to pin you with his gaze, apparently unwilling to let you try and weasel yourself out of the conversation.

You roll the question around in your mind, wanting to give an answer that satisfies him without it also embarrassing yourself further.

“I was thinking how much of an enigma you are,” you murmur at last, leaning back in the chair with your arms crossing over your stomach. “You wield such incredible powers and yet you choose to wear a human face, to call this man-made ship your home and to also spend your spare time living amongst those you will eventually reap. Why are these your choices?”

He tilts his head, and you just know there is a little crease of bewilderment appearing between his eyebrows right now even if you can’t see it. For as much as he is a puzzle you can’t put together, he is also at times an open book that you will never tire of reading.

“I would think you, more than most beings, would understand the discomfort that stems from loneliness and the lengths one will go to ease it,” he says, not unkindly. He mirrors your position, maneuvering himself until he’s comfortable in his seat and totally oblivious to the dilating of your pupils as you observe every subtle shift of his armor-clad body. “Isn’t that the true purpose of Cupids? To spare individuals the ache of living a life of solitude by introducing them to someone to love so they no longer feel it.”

“That’s a poetic way of putting it,” you answer, smiling softly and shrugging your shoulders. “My superiors would just quote our mantra back at me when I used to ask. Amor vincit omnia.”

“Love conquers all.”

You shouldn’t be surprised he’s able to translate such an ancient and obscure language, but your eyes widen regardless. “That’s right.”

His voice is unusually soft when he asks, “Do you like being a Cupid?”

You stare at him, caught off guard by how easily he’s changed the topic of the conversation from himself to you. You’re used to taking orders and being thanked for your services, but no one has ever asked you if you liked doing any of it.

“I’m good at it,” you finally say, even though it’s not really an answer.

He nods his head still, as if he understands. A part of you thinks he actually does.

You lick your lips, eyeing him hesitantly. “Do you...like being Death?”

“I’m good at it,” he echoes, but your words sound somber coming from his lips.

The cockpit fills with hushed silence again, but there’s a unique tenderness unlike ever before. Minutes seem to stretch on for entire seasons as you watch one another, content to simply coexist and revel in each other’s presences.

It would be so easy to slip off his helmet and kiss him right now.

You stiffen, stunned at your own thought, but you aren’t given the chance to analyze it further as an alarm on the ship’s control panel announces with a resounding beep you’ve reached your destination.

Din spins in his seat, reclaiming control of the steering to begin the ship’s landing process. You look out the front window at the large green-blue planet drawing nearer with every anxious tick of your heartbeat.

“We’re here,” you say needlessly, forcing excitement into your voice. Fake it till you make it, isn’t that the human expression?

“Who is it we’re meeting on this backwater skug hole?” Din asks, pressing a series of buttons above his head.

You kick the back of his seat. “Be nice,” you scold when he shoots you a look. He mutters something unintelligible under his breath as he turns back around, prompting you to roll your eyes. “She’s a goddess of springtime and motherhood. The locals call her Omera.”

Tag List: @leilei-draws, @theocatkov, @becauseican2, @vintagesaph, @stardust-and-starlight, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @adrieunor, @remmyswritings, @gallowsjoker, @rhiannon-russo, @randomness501, @eleine-t1d, @nicotinebirds, @sylphene, @softly-sad, @maytheglitter, @melobee

#the mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #Din Djarin #Mandalorian #soulmate au #my fic #my writing #death and an angel #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #din x you #din x reader

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gofancyninjaworld · 3 years

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Garou and the futility of heroism

.With much thanks to @the-nysh for the conversation. I thought of making this longer and more detailed, but I know myself: it’ll turn into one of those drafts that hangs around for years.

I've recently been reading the Epic of Gilgamesh as a part of reducing my terrible ignorance of the foundations of Western literature. Cracking good yarn, highly recommended, but I’m not here to talk literature. The latter half of the story is dominated by Gilgamesh’s struggle against the idea that he was inevitably going to die.

Where this relates to Garou is not that he’s railing against the inevitability of death and the reality that everything built up over a life will crumble to dust. What Garou is struggling against is the seeming futility of heroism.

His specific approach is all sorts of bad, but the reality he's struggling against is something brought up repeatedly in One-Punch Man. One of the *big* themes in One-Punch Man is critically examining what a hero is actually good *for*. No matter how diligent a hero is, no matter how strong they are, the world's evils do not disappear.

It's very outrageous and painful to acknowledge how small and fleeting one's efforts are in the grand scheme of things.

The moment we get a look into Saitama’s thoughts, it’s the very first thing he leads with. Literally the very first sentence of his thinking.

Saitama might be the strongest hero ever, able to defeat anything in one punch. Not only has the world not become a better place as a result of his actions, but the very neighbourhood he lives in has become depopulated as it’s become too dangerous to live there. In its own way, having birdsong be the loudest sound in the morning is its own rebuke to Saitama’s ambitions of helping people.

Watchdogman is the most diligent hero ever, with a perfect monster elimination record. And yet, City Q is as monster-infested as ever. Should anything happen to him, it will be as if he never existed for all the good his previous efforts will have done its inhabitants.

however diligently he sits, the pedestal he’s on will crumble the moment he cannot do his job any longer.

And that’s just talking about monsters. There are a lot of very bad people in OPM world and not just of the cackling mad scientist variety, although it’s got plenty of those too.

The world of One-Punch Man also has evils driven by factors that are far too big for any hero by their action to stop. Problems best addressed at the political or economic level aren’t going to be solved with a punch.

Even when the evil appears to be tied up with a single person, like the Ninja Village was established by That Man, getting rid of them doesn’t necessarily change affairs. The Village stole the freedoms and lives of boys for a good fifteen years after Blast defeated That Man. It was still too profitable to *not* do.

when you think about it, crime must really pay in One-Punch Man!

Even when you say you’re going to do something simple and heroic, like save a single child from the clutches of a monster... what do you mean by ‘saved’, exactly? How brutally difficult it is to save even a single person, how easily it is that your best efforts to be turned to naught by an adverse event, like springing a rabbit from a trap only to have it swooped up by a hawk, is fully on display this arc.

so many heroes’ efforts and yet Waganma went almost nowhere...truly like fetching water out of a river with a basket!

Other than Saitama, we see so many other heroes struggle with the reality of how little they can change things in the long term. Very notable is the conversation that Snek has with Suiryu, where Suiryu challenges Snek to justify why he bothers being a hero at all? “No matter how hard you try, it’s just drops of water on burning rocks,” Suiryu says, something done for self-satisfaction rather than because it actually creates meaningful change. Snek’s thoughts mirror Suiryu’s as he considers whether heroes are actually necessary at all.

Let’s bring it back to Garou. Garou’s Very Bad No Good Plan to Avoid Heroic Heartbreak he laid out in chapter 41. Quite simply, heroes always have to wait for bad things to happen and then react to punish the evildoers and/or save people.

I love how long this guy is...um, sorry I was supposed to be typing something insightful here

But what if it was possible to take the initiative instead, like a monster does? What if people could stop wanting to be bad and monsters could stop wanting to attack people? That’s where the Human Monster was born, the quest to create a persona so strong that no one could oppose it, and so senselessly evil that no one dared to do anything that attracted its attention.

punishing the good and evil alike, don’t make him come your way if you know what’s good for you.

I see a lot of readers read superficially, misunderstand and think Garou is punishing heroes in some way. That heroes are bad in some way. Nothing like that: he attacks heroes because they’re good and devote their lives to protecting people. After all, only a total monster would do that. Also, if even the strongest heroes aren’t safe, what hope have the regular people of this world?

All throughout the arc, that Garou doesn’t actually want to be a monster at heart is clear to every actual monster. It’s clear to us as we see his interactions with Tareo. It’s clear to him himself as he tries to steel himself to take a life just to prove to himself that he can (thankfully it’s Saitama he tries to kill).

It’s what makes Saitama’s bullshit-cutting words as cutting as they are. Ultimately, his trying to scare the world into being good is his way of running away from the tough, heart-breaking work of being a hero.

there is a crazy confidence a hero needs to embody in order to step up, as if by doing so they can do something

The pathos that we can empathise with is that it’s hard to look on a world as messed up as theirs is and not feel that surely, surely there’s something more that one can do. Garou’s struggle is absolutely legitimate. However... I’m going to let the however hang a moment...

It’s childish thinking to frame heroism in terms of strength and it’s not much better to frame it in terms of being of exceptional virtuousness. What a hero is, according to ONE, is someone who can look honestly at the cruelty and randomness of the world, who can acknowledge frankly the fleeting nature of any good they can do, feel the pain of this reality fully. And then choose to reach a hand out to help anyway.

In a world where feeling helpless in the face of impossibly large and complex problems feels inevitable, cynicism is too ready a refuge, and just looking out for yourself is common sense, the mere act of reaching that hand out is an act of courage.

not with illusions of good triumphing over evil, but the dogged determination to do the right thing even if the world burns down. That’s what being a hero is about.

However...

...the way Garou worked out his inner conflict was not legitimate. He picked the worst possible way at the worst possible time to wrestle with it. Which I think goes to a second theme: that your feelings may be valid. But that does not mean that every action that follows from those feelings is valid. Garou hurt a lot of good people and impeded their vital work at a time the world could ill-afford it.

One of the joys of fiction is that not only do characters act for reasons that make sense, but we get to hear and understand *why*. And at the same time, the external actions they take on the world persist. I’m very happy too that ONE isn’t glossing over the consequences of Garou’s actions. Too many readers pick one or the other and lose half the joy.

Thankfully, ONE isn’t a half-ass.

It doesn’t become okay for the heroes that Garou attacked that they were assaulted. It doesn’t become okay for the world that so many people were needlessly deprived of heroes when they needed them most. And it isn’t okay for Garou that he’s made an outlaw of himself as a result of his actions. The ramifications on both personal and societal are going to be explored for the individuals involved. I bless ONE for his conscientiousness and for creating so many excellent characters that make the enterprise worth the candle.

What kind of hero Garou will decide to be and how he’ll make it work in practice, ah that we’re waiting to see.

Coda:

Of course, that’s not the whole story. There’s one other part. Occasionally, by being the right person willing and able to step up in the right way at the right time, a hero can change *everything*.

#OPM #meta #Garou #heroes #for a story that is a parody the thoroughness with which it unpicks heroism is very serious #long #yes I said I wasn't going to run long but I have so much more I want to say #which I guess will put people who came for the luls off but there you go #making peace with what one can do as an individual is a very real problem that's both topical and timeless #making peace that nothing lasts forever not even one's achievements is another #finding meaning and a way forward in this impermanent life is a little triumph

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battendownthewhatsit · 2 years

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Continuation of this post

Picking up in S3! Cut for ..well , discussion of everything in Black Sails from S3 on.

I say Flint starts his war because despite what Vane may think, S3 is very much Flint’s War. He is , at least, not trying to just replace England with himself --there’s no “I am your king” thinking this time, IMO. He is just trying to hurt England, as badly as possible (and almost certainly to get himself killed/hurt as badly as possible, but that is slightly less explicit).

And--despite having the cooperation of the other pirates in Nassau--Flint is very obviously thinking of the situation as Flint vs England. His crew is a necessary tool, but the war is not For Them; it’s Against England. Flint is not really thinking of making a better world for other exiles of England’s “civilization”--he is thinking of revenge for personal slights.

There’s no talk of ending the slavery-dependent plantations back on Nassau; no apparent increase in efforts to appeal to pressganged and underpaid Navy sailors; no outrage on behalf of anyone that England has hurt beyond Flint and his partners. This phase of the war, for Flint, is centered solely on his own personal fight with England.

(It’s interesting that Jack, Max, and Vane are having much more Big Picture motivations at this point--but also I am NOT talking about them here, whoof, I’d be here all weekend.) Silver--who is at his own peak, character-wise,here, but more on that in a moment-- is the one who gets Flint to move past that, literally getting him moving again in the doldrums. Silver , unlike former Navy officer Flint,or Lord and Lady Hamilton, isn’t particularly beholden to English Society for his view of the world. And so he’s more inventive than Flint in many key ways; among them, his ability to see everyone as a potential person to use in his own goals.

REALLY everyone.

It’s a weirdass manipulative sort of equality, but I think it really is complete: Silver studies everyone for the advantage, he’s ready to consider anybody as his next mark. No one is invisible to him; everyone is evaluated, as a full person with needs and motives, in case Silver needs to play on those. Silver was taking advantage of Max’s schemer skills before anyone else even noticed she had them. And Silver is the one who fully realizes Madi is the key person to work with--and crucially, gets Flint to realize Madi and the Queen can be worked with.

For Flint to walk through the door that Silver is pointing out, Flint has to realize that there are other, larger wrongs than his own. He has to reframe everything--England, himself, the meaning of his war--just to make that conversation with the Queen successful.

And he does! Once he’s pushed to it , he starts broadening his horizons amazingly. I really think this is the point where he starts decentering both himself and England from his own worldview, and really considering just how different a Different World could be.

The proof of this, I think, is when Silver is believed dead. Flint has, historically, not dealt with the deaths of his partners Real Well. I don’t think there can be any doubt that he loves Silver at this point, in a profound way; as the finale shows, he would much rather die than see Silver die, rather risk the war than fight it without Silver fighting alongside. But Flint DOES see Silver die, and he DOES apparently have to go and fight without him, and ... he just does it.

Flint fighting a war after losing a partner is no great change in character--but Flint taking care not to harm his allies, Flint listening to criticism from someone who wasn’t his chosen partner, Flint thinking ahead about how the way he fights and who he fights for will shape what the victory might be? Thinking about the future he wants to see, even without his partner? That is new. Silver’s gotten him to consider a broad enough view of things that Flint isn’t fighting Flint’s War any more; he’s fighting The Pirate War For Nassau...

and then Madi and Flint get talking. And Madi, who truly has NO investment in English society or worldviews, pushes him even farther, brings out his real idealism, and gets him fighting for , truly, an end to the Empire; an end to colonialism and imperialism--at least in the Bahamas ,and-- you can see them both thinking it!-- maybe the whole world. This change is subtle--but IMO it’s clear, from the time they start having actual conversations. Flint starts running on hope, maybe not for himself, but for something better. In simple terms: I think Madi inspires Flint to go from being a rebel to a revolutionary. The difference is hard to define; but it is there.

By the time Silver is found again, Flint has actually become the threat to the very nature of England that he talked about being, because he’s no longer carrying the English idea of the world in everything he does--he’s carrying Madi’s idea of the world, a braver place than he’s ever been before. And of course it’s a place he thinks Silver will belong--Silver , who helped Flint to really see his opportunities.

...and unfortunately, then Flint, Madi, and the entire revolution slam into what Silver has become. But that is definitely another post.

#good NIGHT this is long and rambling and I should be ASLEEP #long post #coherency questionable #I wish Flint and Madi had more time together to talk about I love their interaction #Silver is so fscking weird #but that's for another post #maybe after I have slept #man I wish I could do the No Reblog thing on this #alas that update has not found me #Flint Talk #trust me I'm in control

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wisemysticconfusion · 4 years

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Personal takes: Raya and the last dragon.

(Major spoilers for the Raya and the last dragon)

Raya and the last dragon was an extraordinary pretty animated film, with it’s beautiful landscapes,lovely character design ( for the most part..), and phenomenal visual effects.And for an animated action film, it certainly delivered on the action. So this movie is surely a 10 out a 10 right?

Well... such is the case with certain well animated films,is that when the visual shines, the writing takes a hit and Raya is no different.As two huge issue is the pacing as there’s an issue of the movie shoving too many things and characters in such a short time frame and the questionable logic of character decisions and plot events.

Pacing

Raya isn’t very steady with it’s story telling as the only time the story takes it’s time is during the intro and beginning of the movie which sort of falls apart during the end of the first act. As the rising action feels too rushed to establish any of our main characters that it feels like that Raya has only know these characters for literal minutes which makes such as Sisu’s reveal of being a dragon feel exceptionally lackluster as there was little to no build up for it and the characters’ outrage feels unearned as they at this point felt like literal strangers to the audience and Raya, so informing them of Sisu’s secret wasn’t necessary. And even this plot point of Sisu’s secret is wrapped up in 20 minutes or so. Overall, the story felt like it making a checklist of it’s events and rather forced as it was too fast for it’s own good.

Characters

the other “main” characters are incredibly flat and one note and are easily forgettable with the exception of little Noi. These characters suffer from a significant lack of screen time which does a huge disservice to the central theme. As when these characters reveal their motivations and tragedies, I’m not invested in them and find these reveals rather excessive like it’s sad but I don’t know you like that. Such as when Boun reveal the loss of his family within 20 minutes of meeting him, it felt less like he was pouring his heart out then him just chatting about the weather. As I expected there would be a huge sense of distrust between these characters whose tribes had been fighting for 506 years, but considering how unnecessarily open these characters are with one another which significantly undermines the story’s theme of needing to trust others again. Poor Tong suffers from as his intro and tragedy is thrown within 20 minutes of each other which is sad but it doesn’t earn the emotionally charged scenes. Also Boun and Tong tend to be forgettable as the immediate character traits of their introduction are underplayed to much to make an impact. And these characters mostly sideline for the rest of the movie until the climax. And with the lack of investment isn’t only from the audience but from Raya as her relationship with the other characters are non-existent barring Namarri and Sisu. As these character are more or less drawn to her and become immediate friends. And her relationship with these character could have been interesting especially after her father’s death due to actions of their respective tribe leaders. Raya could have lean harder into her preconceptions and bias making her alliance with these character a begrudging one, but she unlearns this behavior and truly understands her father’s dream by trusting these characters and their tribes once again.

And in summary, these are my main gripes with this movie, but overall it was a good movie if you don’t think about it too much.

#raya spoilers #raya and the last dragon #personal takes

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deeva-arud · 3 years

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Vetureyík lore

This is an original species I created for my main oc, though I modified some details to fit it into Twisted Wonderland.

Homeland: Veturea (from the Icelandic word ‘vetur’ (winter))

Demonym: Vetureyík (singular) / vetureyík’shen (plural)

Population: around 90 inhabitants

Located in: ???

The first testimonies of the existence of the vetureyík'shen date from ancient times, although it is believed —due to the presence of these creatures in manuscripts and ancient rites— that they may have been coexisting with humans since the beginning of time. In these writings they are described as kind beings of hieratic expression, to the point of being considered divine. On numerous occasions, they warn of the consequences of provoking their wrath, since, in spite of lending their help, they can also bring death.

-History:

Veturea currently occupies a tiny territory at the top of the highest mountains. However, compared to its present state, it once covered a larger area.

Their relationship with humans had been generally good for centuries. At first they only observed them curiously from a distance, and when they felt it necessary, they would appear before them to offer help or protection. Eventually the relationship between the two species grew closer and the Vetureyík'shen became a sort of "knights" to humans. The Vetureyík'shen have always had a reputation as hunters, knowledgeable beings and, especially, as soldiers. Although they are generally peaceful creatures, for them it is essential to know how to defend what they consider important and that could lead to a greater good for all; so, in case of fighting, they will always choose to shed as little blood as possible. In moments of conflict, humans always fought to have the Vetureyík'shen on their side. However, fighting for them was pointless, since those who used to do so almost always only wanted power and the desire to rule over all the kingdoms, and the vetureyík'shen always ended up supporting those who fought for a just cause and matched their ideals more closely.

There was a period in which all sides that participated in a war had no other motivations than greed and thirst for power and the desire to expand their territory to places where humans had never gone before. The Vetureyík'shen, considering that supporting one of these sides would only bring misfortune to many species, disappeared from the battlefield for years. The humans reacted badly to this decision. Outraged at the thought that they had been abandoned to their fate, they invaded and destroyed the territory of Veturea, taking down a good part of its population with them. The Vetureyík'shen saved as many as they could and took refuge in the top of the mountains, where the humans could never reach them. Despite everything the humans took from them, they did not attack them back until the very last moment. Hurt by all that happened, the humans remained in their memory as selfish and destructive beings, and vowed to cut all ties with them.

Humans cut off the wings of those they captured during the invasion and for many years they were considered a war trophy. Some wings ended up as decoration in some castles and others were completely plucked to make expensive clothing or accessories.

As a result of this incident, the Vetureyík'shen secluded themselves in the mountains and only came down to obtain resources that would be impossible to obtain at the summit. As a security measure, some users of illusory magic enchanted the forest that surrounds Veturea so that any human being would be so disoriented that they would be unable to approach the mountain. Humans nowadays think that the vetureyík’shen are only a legend, since no one has seen them for centuries. Actually there are roughly 90 of them in total.

-Characteristics:

The vetureyík’shen are winged creatures, similar to angels to some extent, hence why at some point in history humans mixed both of them up and considered the vetureyík'shen as divine creatures.

The color of their wings usually matches the color of their hair. The pattern of their wings can vary. For example, they can have a solid color or be slightly spotted or two-colored like a hawk's. The vetureyík’shen can also change the size of their wings to keep them out of the way when they aren’t flying. Another characteristic feature of this species is their little pointed ears.

As for height, the vetureyík’shen are not particularly tall. The average height of males is approximately 160cm, while females are around 150cm. They are not heavy and do not have many curves, since that would make them less aerodynamic.

-Habitat:

Veturea (also called Veturia by older generations), due to historical events, has been confined to the top of the highest mountain. It is a very small territory, but it is not a problem now since it is not very populated. There is perpetual snow there and temperatures are quite cold almost all year round. On one side of the mountain there is a valley through which a river flows. The vetureyík’shen get most of their food from that river, since there is a lower chance of being seen by humans there.

The entire mountain is surrounded by a forest full of enchantments to keep away any unwanted visitors. The forest (called Erildiskog) is quite lush because humans tend to avoid it, and it also serves as a refuge for several creatures that want to protect themselves from humans. There is always a vetureyík (generally a magic user with fighting skills) in charge of checking the condition of the forest. The vetureyík’shen that enchanted the forest linked their magic to a crystal, so that the spells would not disappear even if they died. However, as time passed, fewer mages were born and even fewer illusionary mages to renew the forest's enchantments. The crystal still works, but they fear that because of the lack of mages, its power will weaken, leaving them more exposed to humans. That is why the person in charge of the forest (called Erildisvern) has the role of patrolling it in its entirety to check if there is anything strange in the environment, so that the rest of the population can act consequently in case the crystal starts malfunctioning.

-The village of the vetureyík’shen:

Most Vetureyík'shen live in the heart of the village. This area is characterized by the white stone columns and luminous flowers that frame the main streets. In the central square of the village there is a fountain that is frozen most of the time. At the back of the village are the market square and the Crystal Hall, which also serves as a meeting place for the council members. Behind this area are stone stairs leading up to the Mirror Chamber.

The Mirror Chamber is circular, surrounded by columns and has a large skylight. In the middle there is a mirror similar to Dark Mirror of NRC and, as expected, it is the only way to access Veturea from the outside world without passing through the forest. All Vetureyík'shen with magical powers come to this room once they reach the age of 15 and the Mirror judges whether they are qualified to study at NRC. This selection takes place at night.

Typical houses of Veturea are wooden and have 2 floors. Many vetureyík'shen have small businesses, so it is common to see a small extension of the house attached to the main building that functions as a store. There are also houses in the surroundings of the village. Some of them are embedded in the mountain.

The vetureyík’shen village is surrounded by an enchantment that blocks the wind, so that there is no danger of being swept down the mountain by a gust of wind. If it were not for this enchantment, the Vetureyík'shen would also be bothered by the constant whistling of the wind in their ears.

-Society:

In the past, the population was divided into guilds, but after the invasion a large part of these guilds were lost, resulting in the gradual disappearance of this system. The population then formed a single group where they learned a little bit of everything related to each guild. The former guilds were:

-Thaar --> The guild of scholars. They were mainly dedicated to the knowledge of subjects such as history, philosophy, the different forms of art and medicine. The vetureyík in charge of the politics of Veturea usually was a member of this guild.

-Wëdis --> The guild of artisans. Dedicated to the production of magical artifacts and other objects. They were the ones who helped in the creation of the Enchanted Crystal.

-Fin’nar --> The guild of farmers. It was one of the first guilds to disappear. When they lost their fertile lands, there were not many areas left where they could grow food. After the invasion, Fin'nar merged with the hunters' guild. Those who once belonged to Fin'nar were simply in charge of gathering the fruits they found near the mountain.

-Aesig --> The guild of warriors. They were instructed in fighting using any type of weapon, although warriors usually specialized in at least two kinds of weapons. Mages belonging to this guild were taught to use their powers at an advanced level, but they were also trained to master a weapon.

-Kanath --> The guild of hunters. It was divided into two groups: Wyn (air) and Anrid (land). The Wyn hunted from the air in open areas, while the Anrid hunted in areas where the vegetation was too thick and in rivers or lakes.

Each guild had an elected representative who reported to the highest representative on the activities of their own guild and helped them to govern jointly. Now that the guilds have disappeared, there are only four people (besides the highest representative) specialized in a specific area and whose task is to advise and support or reject the proposals discussed at the council meetings.

-Other facts:

The Vetureyík'shen stand out especially in terms of speed and agility, mainly due to their strong wings and light body. They have more developed senses than humans, especially sight and hearing, and are also more sensitive to perceive magic traces.

Those who have magical powers begin to manifest them at around 3 years of age. It is impossible to predict what kind of magic a vetureyík will have when they grow up, but there is a way to identify normal vetureyík'shen from magical ones: the latter are born with marks on their bodies that, as babies, are usually of a slightly lighter color than when their powers are first activated.

Compared to humans, albinism is more common among the vetureyík’shen.

Their life expectancy is around 180 / 200 years.

Nowadays there are many things that still work with magic, but, unlike in the Valley of Thorns, they have been including new technologies in their daily lives for some years now.

In the past, payments were made by trading, but after Veturea's agreement with NRC they started using madols as a payment system.

-Beliefs: The Vetureyík'shen have no deities, they only believe in guardian spirits that represent different aspects of nature, but even so they do not have a devotion to them as if they were gods. An example of these guardian spirits would be Erildis: a white deer with green eyes and golden antlers that, as they say, protects the life of the forest. The vetureyík'shen, as a sign of gratitude to Erildis, take care of the fauna and flora, and only take what is necessary so as not to disturb the forest spirit. Other spirits: -Thaneva --> The water guardian. Its appearance is associated with a huge snake that sleeps at the bottom of the ocean. It is said to be so large that if it were stretched it could easily reach the top of the mountain where Veturea is located and that disturbances in the water are caused by its movement. -Ilbor --> The guardian of light. It is the only spirit that is represented by a flower. This flower actually exists and is called by the name of the spirit. They are white with bluish petal tips. During the day they are closed in a bud of a more bluish color, but when night comes, they turn white and bloom, shining with their own light. They are most commonly found deep in the forest, although the Vetureyík'shen also have them on the top of the mountain to illuminate the village at night. Moreover, this flower has been adopted as a symbol of hope, being a very recurrent iconography in decorations of all kinds and in armors. This symbolism has its origin in the saying that when someone gets lost at night in the depths of the forest, the Ilbor will shine to guide them to safety. However, it is believed that it only works with those with good intentions. -Rahelm --> The guardian of the wind. It is associated with a three-eyed eagle. It is said that the flapping of its wings causes storms wherever it goes and, when it opens its third eye, the wind is so strong that not even the powerful wings of the vetureyík'shen can take flight without being swept away. The vetureyík’shen also have different attributes with different symbolism. For example, wisdom is represented by a raven; the moose is associated with pride, strength and endurance; the weeping willow represents melancholy. These symbols can be seen as decorative elements on some pieces of clothing. -Veturea and Night Raven College: Shortly after the founding of Night Raven College, an agreement was signed with Veturea to train its magic users. Obviously, it would be impossible for every single mage in Veturea to have passed the Dark Mirror's approval, but the percentage of those who did was quite high. However, due to the gradual disappearance of magic users in Veturea, many years have passed since a Vetureyík has attended NRC. Although there have been vetureyík'shen in almost every dorm, they were mainly sorted into Diasomnia. They were known for being very focused and organized in all their classes.

#original species #oc lore #twst oc #twst #twisted wonderland

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something-tofightfor · 4 years

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T'ad nayc or'atu (Two No More)

Pairing: The Mandalorian and his thoughts

Word count: 2759

Rating: None, really. Just very angsty.

Summary: The Mandalorian’s got a lot of things on his mind. Some are things he’s known for years, and others ... well, they’re much more recent discoveries.

Author’s note: This is my first attempt at writing something for a fandom that doesn’t involve a Ben Barnes character. I’ve been unable to stop thinking about The Mandalorian’s season finale since it aired ... and this is the result. I kept myself to a limited word count because I didn’t want to drag it out, but I overshot that by 700 words, so...

I have something else in the works for him, too... and I’m not limiting my word count on that one.

This takes place immediately (within a few hours) after the finale - and it contains spoilers from both seasons of The Mandalorian - so if you’re not caught up, you don’t want to read this.

Many thanks to @irishskyeomalley for pointing out that Din’s original pulse rifle wouldn’t exist at this point in the story - I appreciate you bringing that to my attention, and it’s been corrected.

(Got the gif from a google search, but I *think* it originally came from @/bestintheparsec)

He has nothing now.

Nothing but the endless expanse of space, stretching out as far as he can see.

No ship. No purpose. No task to complete. No real reason to choose a specific destination, set the coordinates, and wait for whatever happens next, his eyes on the stars. But most of all, nothing means no quiet coos or sighs in the dark, no tiny hands grabbing for his cape or his helmet, no need to turn his head slightly to the right, one hand reaching out for the small sphere to slowly twist it back into place atop the threaded end of the Razor Crest’s shifter.

For the first time in years, The Mandalorian has nothing driving him forward and urging him into action - and it’s shaken him to his core.

His shoulders slump, though he isn’t wearing any of the armor he’s come to consider an extension of himself. His head hangs toward his chest, but it’s bare of the helmet that he’s kept on for the vast majority of his life. He can still feel those small fingers gently making contact with the skin against his jaw and cheek, though they’re replaced with his own now; bare and gloveless, as he cradles his own cheeks, as if keeping them there makes a difference.

It was the first time anyone - any thing had touched his face since he was a child, and the Mandalorian was barely able to keep it together while it happened on the light cruiser’s well-lit bridge.

Hours later? It’s impossible. He’s locked away in the cockpit of the small freighter he took from Moff Gideon’s light cruiser, hunched over in the pilot’s chair - and he is alone.

Cara won the argument over who got to take Gideon in; setting off toward Nevarro in the cruiser while Bo-Katan and Koska, Fennec and Fett went their separate ways. He doesn’t know - or care - who went where. The Mandalorian only concerned himself with replacing his helmet once the doors closed behind Grogu and the Jedi, the bridge as silent as could be as the man turned to face his allies - and Gideon.

From there, he set out to find a way off the ship, letting the others take care of the necessary arrangements. There was no reward to collect - Gideon’s capture, the destruction of the dark troopers, the seizure of a fully equipped light cruiser - all of those things should have been rewards in themselves, a bounty to turn in, credits and prestige to collect, a relief, but the Mandalorian felt nothing thinking of them, his thoughts consumed by feeling as though somehow, despite the fact that he was largely physically unharmed, he was on the losing end of the most important battle of his life.

For as long as he can remember, he’s always had a purpose; direction leading him to his next quarry, the next location - meaning to an otherwise disjointed and difficult existence. It’s one that he knows, and knows well.

In fact, it’s all he knows. The creation of structure from nothing. Foundling to full-fledged member of The Tribe. No one to a feared Guild bounty hunter. It is The Way, but it’s also his way - or at least it was.

He has nothing now, but that wasn’t always the case.

The Asset. The Child. The package. The Kid. Grogu. In such a short time, the Mandalorian’s entire worldview changed; expanding from the way of life he’d known and accepted to something different, something more.

Something meaningful.

It happened slowly at first; gratitude for the help with the Mudhorn. Frustration at the way his small, wide-eyed companion was so curious about everything, slowing him down - and at the same time, hurrying him; the prospect of such a large reward motivating the Mandalorian to return to Nevarro, turn in the quarry and continue on. Simple. Routine.

But unlike the hundreds of other assignments he was given, palm sized pucks passed over the smooth surface of the cantina tabletop, this quarry wasn’t simple.

He’ll never forgive himself for turning the tiny creature back over to The Client. Ever, even though he knows that he’s long been forgiven by the only person that matters. He’ll never understand how that’s possible - how, after nearly being responsible for a continued lifetime of torture and seclusion - and probably a slow and painful death - he had a chance to redeem himself in the eyes of the Child - and, maybe in his own mind at the same time.

At first, he didn’t understand why he even took the chance, why he pushed his entire belief system to the side for that specific bounty and no others before it.

Gratitude and frustration slowly changed into concern and contemplation, the Mandalorian thinking only about ensuring the large egg-shaped carrier stayed with him no matter what, or making allowances to keep the Child safe and close by at all times, even to his own detriment - and in a few cases, immense danger for the both of them.

Trust takes time, but when you don’t have time, what option is there? He survived for years on pure instinct - an ability to think and act exactly when necessary, to get things done, to guess what was coming and prepare for it. Self preservation was key, but at some point, that need for self preservation shifted - the Mandalorian wasn’t only concerned for himself and his own well-being; he had to consider the Kid’s, too.

Mandalorians don’t have friends or attachments - at least he didn’t, but the insertion of the Child into his life changed that, too. It made the impossible seem possible, caused the silence and solitude of deep space to feel much less isolated. He wouldn’t admit it, but having a constant companion was something that the Mandalorian grew used to in the months that he cared for the Kid.

He feels dampness on his cheeks beneath his fingers. Whether he’s currently crying or it’s remnants from earlier, he’s not sure. He knows the Armorer and the rest of the Tribe would be outraged to see him - a shell of himself, devoid of the armor and prestige that he’s earned throughout the years as a Child of the Watch and a member of the Tribe and then the Guild. In this moment, he’s nothing more than a man, one of trillions in the galaxy.

Has he shown anyone his face? Yes. Has anyone ever removed his helmet? Yes. Because the Mandalorian is someone - and he removed it twice himself. Once, out of necessity - the other time at the wordless request of the only thing in the galaxy he’d ever value more than his own code of honor.

Grogu. Not the Asset. Not the Child. Not the package. Not the Kid. Grogu. His kin.

Even thinking the name brings on a fresh pang in his battered chest. His skin is littered in bruises from the fight with the single dark trooper; it’s a miracle his helmet wasn’t crushed from the force of the repeated blows. His body aches from dueling Gideon, the sleepy little boy awaiting the final outcome from his perch on the bench in the other room, the Mandalorian doing everything in his power to keep him safe and secure while fighting for freedom - and for both of their lives.

But none of it matters; the wounds will heal, the bruising and scrapes will fade. They always do. But until they’re gone, they’ll remind the Mandalorian of what he had, what he fought for, and what he lost.

Aliit ori'shya tal'din. Family is more than blood.

He thought he understood what that meant - growing up the way he did, but the Mandalorian never truly knew what a connection with someone was before Grogu. It was more than wanting to look after him; it was the need to understand him, the desire to protect him, find him someone like him, someone that understood him and what he needed to take control of his power - at any cost. Following the Creed - his personal creed - but in a way that wasn’t only about justice or brute force.

Or so he thought.

He has nothing left, but it’s about more than having no current purpose, more than not having his ship. He can still hear the Armorer’s words, telling him that he is as the Child’s father, that their destinies are no longer separate.

A clan of two. He sees the signet on his pauldron now as it rests on the floor of the cockpit, glinting in the low light as he stares at it through his fingers. Each day, that declaration became more real to him. The bounties, the missions, the journeys - they were all leading somewhere, and even though the Mandalorian knew his given task, he’s willing to admit that part of him never really believed he’d find the other Mandalorians, let alone Jedi … or Grogu’s kind.

And, finally lifting his head slightly, the Mandalorian realizes that that same part of him didn’t want to. It goes against the Creed, it goes against his teachings, but it’s the truth - and if there’s one thing that he’s known for that has nothing to do with his reputation of never failing to bring in a bounty, it’s speaking the truth.

He told the truth to Greef and Cara. To Omera - even to Cobb and Peli, his voice always modulated but no less strong and certain. Only Grogu ever heard him waver, the Child teetering on the edge of sleep in the tiny compartment on the Crest as the Mandalorian prepared him for a new life with Ahsoka.

But the Jedi’s refusal to train him, her unwillingness to even try, despite Grogu’s obvious abilities gave the Mandalorian pause. What happened after is little more than a blur to him.

He remembers joking with Grogu about “Jedi things” as they climbed the Tython mountainside, remembers the fear he felt, deep in his chest at the initial glimpse of Fett’s ship, the anguish that began building with the appearance of the first assault ship and his inability to penetrate the force field that surrounded Grogu’s vulnerable body, no matter how many times he tried.

But none of it compared to the way it felt seeing his son clutched in the black arms of the dark troopers, speeding back up into the atmosphere. Throughout all of his years, the Mandalorian had never experienced that type of fear or devastation. By the time Mayfeld was on board with the plan, the Mandalorian was almost on autopilot; repeating that he wouldn’t be showing his face to save the boy, but knowing - deep down - that it would likely come to that. And he didn’t hesitate, lifting his helmet in the presence of other living things for the first time in decades, getting the necessary information and then enduring what came next, heart beating a thunderous rhythm behind his ribs the entire time he was exposed. Sending the message to Gideon had made him feel better, but it still wasn’t enough. Using the man’s words against him felt good to the Mandalorian - it felt right. But words aren’t actions - and so he’d done what was necessary again before setting out for the cruiser.

Even those thoughts weren’t as clear in his mind as things became the first time he’d seen Grogu again - handcuffed and sitting on the bench in the hold, sleepy eyed and visibly exhausted - but perking up at the sight of him.

The Mandalorian couldn’t ever remember feeling such relief, the emotion growing as he gently lifted him to his chest and turned toward the door. Taking Gideon down hadn’t been about winning, it was about making the man pay for the singular most important crime that he’d committed: tearing the Mandalorian’s clan apart, even for a short time.

The first time, their parting was the Mandalorian’s choice. The second? His fault for being too slow by just a few seconds. The third?

The Mandalorian’s cry of anguish fills the confined space, the man finally rising from the chair and lifting his right arm to strike the inside wall of the ship with his fist, bare knuckles instantly aching from contact with the metal. There’s no cushion from his gloves; no armor or padding on his arms to absorb any of the impact’s shock. The pain is there, adding to everything else, and it’s more than dull.

But he wants to feel it. He needs to feel it. Because the third separation is the one that hurts the most - and yet it’s the one that needed to happen.

He knows this. Knows that it was his destiny to reunite Grogu with his own kind, people that can understand him, train him, help him become stronger. They can keep him safe. That’s their way, the Jedi way. He knows this, but it doesn’t make things any easier, or cause the still-blooming ache he feels to subside.

The Mandalorian straightens up and inhales as deeply as he can; chest expanding without the weight and shape of the beskar restricting it. He closes his eyes and remembers the last glimpse of Grogu; huge brown eyes peeking over a black-caped shoulder as the hold doors slid shut. That’s who you belong with.

He said the words, staring into those eyes and willing the tiny, warm thing in his hands to understand - he wasn’t giving him up or abandoning him. He wasn’t trying to pawn off his responsibilities. He didn’t want to say goodbye. No, he was doing exactly what he’d spent many previous decades avoiding - putting the needs and interests of someone else before his own for the greater good. Doing what was best for someone he loves.

As the Mandalorian looks through the front viewport of his temporary vessel, he takes another deep breath, letting it out in a shaky exhale. His fingers curl around the edge of the console, gripping it so tightly that his joints creak, but he doesn’t care. This is the Way.

Space is silent and dark. It’s endless and full of possibility. The Mandalorian knows that he knows almost nothing about the true extent of it. His bounties have limited him to the Outer Rim territories for most of his life, and it will likely stay that way.

If he were to tell anyone that he had nothing, they would disagree.

He’s got his life. He’s got his armor and weapons - beskar forged in capable hands, meant to last generations, his trusty blaster, and his newly acquired spear. He’s got people he can count on - Cara and Greef, Cobb Vanth and Fennec and Boba Fett. Peli - ornery to her core but her loyalty as certain as each day’s double sunrise on Tatooine.

He’s got newfound and unwanted responsibility; the hilt of the Darksaber hanging heavy at his hip. With Gideon out of the way, there’s no more running - no need to planet hop, never staying out of hyperspace for too long. He has freedom. That’s new for him, and something he hasn’t yet had the time to consider fully.

He’s got his memories, the feelings he let bubble to the surface during his time with Grogu unable to be shut away. The Mandalorian spent so long alone that it took time - too much time - to open up to the small creature, but now that he has? He won’t ever close himself off so wholly again. The Creed says that once a Mandalorian’s helmet is removed and his identity is no longer a secret, there’s no going back - but for this Mandalorian, that won’t be the case.

He can’t lie about it - and he won’t, if asked. Because the Mandalorian also has his word, and his word is his bond. The Mandalorian says what he means, and means what he says, no matter the situation. Eyes widening and lips parting, his right hand releases the console and reaches into his pocket, fingers curling around the small metal ball he carries there - the only physical remnant of the Razor Crest he has left.

He has nothing now, but there was a time when he had everything without ever realizing it - and that time will come again. He’s sure of it.

It only takes a few seconds to twist off the ridged knob on the shifter in front of the co-pilot’s seat, replacing it with the smooth, curved piece of durasteel. Glancing down at it, the Mandalorian’s lips twitch into a quick smile before his eyes close, and he gives a single nod to the empty space surrounding him.

“I promised.”

----

Tagging: (a few people that I thought might be interested based on responses to earlier posts; If you want to be added to future Mando stuff, please ask!)

@the-blind-assassin-12 @malionnes @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @pheedraws @alraedesigns @gollyderek @lloveyouinsecret

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jake-marshall · 3 years

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TGAAC: Adventures thoughts

So I finished game 1 last Saturday, and took a brief break from continuing so I could write a fic centered around it (won’t mention what character because ~Spoilers~), and will now continue on to game 2 starting today (albeit, I did start a little of game 2 last week but was so burned out from having marathoned Case 5, I didn’t really vibe with it so I’ll probably just start over). Here are my, as well as my wife @morpheusdreamt ‘s (who watched parts with me) thoughts on the DGS/TGAAC 1, under the cut. LOTS OF SPOILERS INCLUDED! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

The Adventure of the Great Departure - discounting the fact that it’s the first case and therefore also a super-hand-holdy tutorial, I felt this was one of the stronger first cases in the whole series. I really enjoyed Jezaill and Hosonaga, and just Kazuma and Ryuunosuke’s dynamic as a whole, even though I knew what was coming. My complaint about this case was that it felt way too long for a first case - which, I mean, I get in hindsight because of needing to include the right amount of development between Kazuma and Ryuunosuke to make Kazuma’s death effective and to make it more believable that Ryuunosuke takes over as the main lawyer. But also, it wasn’t satisfying to out Jezaill as the murder (even though I know she has a role in the second game) and then come to find out she probably won’t be punished for it. This lack of satisfaction became a sort of prevailing theme for me throughout the game. The Adventure of the Unbreakable Speckled Band - again, another tutorial case that felt way too long. I’m pretty sure I was drinking the whole time I played this case, with Sholmes being the one to drive me to do it. As with the first case, the characters stood out for me way more than the case itself. My favorite part of this was watching the bond form between Ryuunosuke and Susato. As much as I also like Nikolina, I found this case overall to be fairly forgettable. The Adventure of the Runaway Room - first of all, I haven’t replayed this since completing the game (and therefor completing case 5) but I feel it’s almost necessary to do so to fully grasp this case? Which is, after having completed the game, something I really like about this case in particular. I thought McGilded was a fantastic character (and not just because of his resemblence to Handsome Jack :p), and I knew we’d meet Gina and Van Zieks in this case, but I was still thrilled to have it happen. Upon first playthrough, this case was like the others, extremely frustrating in the sense that I wasn’t really getting anywhere? That the plot wasn’t going anywhere? I mean, at least for me, I really had no clue as to how involved McGilded was in Mr. Mason’s death, so kudos to the writers in keeping me guessing. Overall, this felt like a filler case until you get to the end and realize, oh shit. It’s not, is it? And then I wished I would’ve paid more attention to some details, so it’s definitely worth a replay. The Adventure of the Clouded Kokoro - But no, this is the filler case! And I know some of the characters show up in the 2nd game, but oof. There was very little I enjoyed about this case on an individual level, and I’m not one to get super salty about ~this is problematic~ but the consistent inclusion of joking about domestic violence made me uncomfortable. Soseki was a fun character, but the Garridebs and Beates felt over-the-top, and, again, the fact that the attack was actually an accident just made this case feel like, ??? It made me wary of starting the 5th case. I felt, there’s nowhere I’m going to come away from the game liking it more than “just alright”. The Adventure of the Unspeakable Story - Let me start by just saying that this is one of my favorite cases in the entire series. So the only things I knew about this case going in was that Gina was the defendant and that Ashley was the killer, but I didn’t know anything regarding motive or his background, or Gina’s whole ordeal with McGilded. Both of their arcs spoke me to quite profoundly. I thought Gina’s development and her fears and insecurities surrounding trust were so relateable, her self-loathing and resignation to never having anything in life go her way just because of her class. Of her needing to look out for herself because no one else will, at least not without wanting anything in return. Like dude, I was crying when she finally accepted Ryuunosuke’s offer to defend her. I don’t really see it brought up (and maybe I just haven’t looked hard enough) about how heavily it contrasts with Ashley’s story, of them both coming from a poor background and both clearly suffering from abandonment issues and how it’s molded them and their perspective on the world and the people in it. I thought Ashley was so compelling, even though he starts off as a sort of caricature (which I gather was the intention). His absolute contempt towards McGilded (and clearly at himself, by the end) was so palpable for me, and left me thinking about him and the case for days after completing it. I liked too, that for as many AA cases where the killer will be like “I’m so much ~smarter than you~”, Ashley actually does a pretty good job of backing it up, that it’s more show than tell (his making the deal with Gregson and the fact that what broke most of his testimony was the Skulkins and not things he himself said) as it tends to be the other way around. I still want to know what went down in the bus between his dad and McGilded. I have this terrible feeling that Mason went there to tell McGilded to leave his son alone and that he wouldn’t sell the disk. Which would make it all worse, lol but I’m fine with that. Unless Gina undergoes some sort of terrible devolvement in the 2nd game, I can safely say that she and Ashley have become Top 10 all time AA characters for me, and that’s saying something considering how long and how deeply I’ve loved my faves from the original games. Anyway, getting back on point to the actual games and not just meta on the characters, I liked the pace that Case 5 progressed at, and how it had some expected twists and turns (like Sholmes’s appearance) that weren’t made any less enjoyable by being predictable. And I didn’t find it terribly difficult but it was still outrageously fun (minus the stereoscope mechanic which I know is just a fucky misfortune given the game was originally designed to incorporate 3DS functions, which are obsolete on the Switch). I just thought that Case 5 felt like everything that was right in the original series, both gameplay wise and story/character wise. Despite the fact that it hangs on a massive cliffhanger -__- But luckily i don’t have to wait two years to play the 2nd game, lol. Maybe my opinion of this game will change after I play the 2nd game, but overall my feelings are that it’s enjoyable enough and if you like Ace Attorney, and you’re more invested in the main characters/their development you’ll like it/probably even love it. For me, the fifth case and it tying together with the third case, specifically the affects it had Ryuu, Van Zieks, and Gina makes the rest of the game worth playing, but the rest of the cases are not as individually satisfying as many of the other cases in the AA series. I would still recommend this, however, based on how eager it’s made me to want to play the second game opposed to just feeling like I went through all that for nothing (which is sort of my experience when I replay AJ or DD now, not that I still don’t love them).

#the great ace attorney #tgaac spoilers #ace attorney #leanne plays aa

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