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cupofteaguk · 4 years

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i think i’m in love with you and i’m terrified

FROM THE PETALS COLLECTION

[pairing] :: jungkook x fem!reader

[genre] :: fake dating au + fluff

[word count] :: 1.9k

[note] :: previously “things you said too quietly” on my old blog

In retrospect, maybe inviting you over to his apartment with the excuse that he ‘needed a favor’ hadn’t been the brightest idea Jungkook has ever come up with. But when the basis of your relationship sprouts from that exact same line, it doesn’t really leave him with too much legroom on how to go about conversations with you, especially ones that involve these particular moments.

‘These particular moments’ pertaining to instances like these where he just really wants to see you and he can’t seem to get you out of his mind. Not because his mother had thought to call again to ask about your wellbeing, or to ask about grabbing another lunch with another family member; not because he needs you to spew up some lie about different milestones in a nonexistent relationship—but because he just really, really, kind of sort of maybe really enjoys your company. A lot more than he probably should, which is dangerous, considering that once his parents deemed his relationship with you ‘good enough’, you wouldn’t necessarily be… needed in his outside life anymore.

And that thought, that uncertainty of what will follow, frightens him deeply. It’s gotten to the point where he can no longer picture an evening without you by his side, a dinner party where you aren’t grumbling snarky remarks about the wine underneath your breath, or filling him with stories about your childhood that makes him double over the chair in laughter—can no longer picture a day without your hands which, although much smaller than his own, still manage to fit perfectly in his own, can no longer picture a moment in front of his family where he couldn’t kiss you, partly because he had to but mostly just because he wanted to.

However, his own hesitation, his own insecurities that you couldn’t return his feelings the way he wanted you to, keeps him from spilling the truth of his thoughts and emotions, keeps him hiding away in the dark, hiding behind poor ‘Hey, I need a favor’ text messages as an excuse to see you.

Somehow, in spite of his pathetic nature that makes friends such as Kim Taehyung and Min Yoongi roll their eyes at him, it makes everything worth it to see your frame lingering outside his door, suddenly all wide gazes and the concerned curl of your lips. “Hey, I saw your text,” You say, brushing past him to enter the apartment, whirling back around to face him. “Is everything okay? Is your mom asking for another dinner?”

“A-Ah, no, not today,” Jungkook manages, followed by an internal cursing because maybe he really should have thought this through just a little bit more. “I just needed some advice. Your opinion on something.”

You inhale, exhale, shift slightly on the balls of your feet, and he wants to know what you’re thinking, what immediate thoughts are plaguing that brilliant mind of yours.

And he’s nervous, although this isn’t necessarily the first time he’s called you over to ask of such a thing. He’s definitely engaged in a handful of these calls—but each invitation brings that choking anticipation of whether you were going to figure out his real intentions, the underlying fact that while yes, he really did require some advice over whatever predicament he’s caught himself into, that desire to see you overpowers his own independent responsibility.

So he stares at you, just as you stare at him. He thinks he sees a flicker in your eyes, and his heart might give out because you know, you know, oh man, you definitely know and you’re going to confront him and reject him and leave him alone—!

“Oh yeah, for sure. What do you need help with?”

The previous flicker is gone, no trace of it left behind in your eyes and he briefly wonders if he had imagined the whole thing just to give him some hope that maybe, just maybe, you returned his feelings and his internal, one-sided pinning wouldn’t be for nothing. But you are back to wide smiles and understanding eyes and he doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or not.

“W-Well, uh, just follow me.” He waits until you have discarded your coat and purse, resting it down atop the counter in his kitchen, before following his form down the hall and into his bedroom. You enter the space hesitantly, lingering by the door frame momentarily before he beckons you to sit on the bed next to him.

“Oh god, this seems serious,” You muse, clearly trying to keep the atmosphere light as you gingerly join him. Even though the pair of you have had to engage in similarity intimate moments within the company of his parents to keep up the facade, it’s different when no one is watching the pair of you, when there’s no expectation—and somehow that makes Jungkook more nervous than ever before.

“It is.” He elects to momentarily play along, distracting himself by opening his laptop and rummaging around for the file he’s looking for. “This is pretty life or death.”

Your eyes widen slightly, taking his banters under a serious context—as always, an endearing quality about you that makes the smile want to spread itself wildly across your lips. “Is it really?”

Without a warning, he pokes your cheek. “Of course not, you moron. Would I really be this casual if the situation was that serious?”

You furrow your eyebrows, lips pressing together, cheeks feeling as if it’s been set aflame. “I don’t know!” You retort. “You can be very calm under pressure sometimes!”

For a moment, Jungkook cannot say anything, too caught up in his small fit of laughter over your protest. “You’re so cute,” He says without thinking, immediately halting his light-hearted giggles as the smile diffuses quickly from his face as he tears his gaze from you to the computer screen once again.

Why did he have to be like this? Why did he have to speak such words without thought, even though he’s the one who put himself in this situation and knew more than anyone that it was important to separate emotions from objectivity. His mind is reeling, unable to think of anything other than the fact that he’s always been an open book, and if you were having doubts before about his feelings before then you would certainly know by now, there’s no way you couldn’t know at this point.

But you don’t say anything. Not at first, anyways. Then, you pout. “Since this isn’t a life or death situation, what’s going on?”

He doesn’t know how to feel about you brushing over the previous topic, but he decides, in this moment, to be thankful for it instead. He’s not sure he can handle you confronting him right now, especially when he has something important to ask of you.

Which reminds him…

“Oh, right,” He says, smiling softly to himself as he opens the file of his choosing, followed by making a grab for his headphones. “Well, remember when you encouraged me to get that composing software?”

Your pout and the tension from his previous observation fades away as you look at him, lips twisting as if you don’t know what to make of his statement quite yet. “Yeah, I do,” You reply. “Why?” The corners quirk up. “Did you get it?”

“I may have,” He answers, smile growing bashful when you grin and start clapping your hands together softly. “And I used it to record a cover.”

“Jungkook!” You exclaim. “That’s so awesome.”

He swallows thickly, looking down, looking over at you. “Would you like to listen to it?”

“Of course,” You reply, taking the headphones that Jungkook offers to you. You have to move closer to him to avoid stretching the cord out too far, which immediately allows him to feel your body heat. He barely manages to talk himself out of tensing at the gesture, but you don’t seem to notice as you seem too fixated on readjusting the headphones so they are snug against your ears. “I’m ready,” You say, a little louder than necessary, but that only makes Jungkook exhale quietly through his nose in the form of laughter before he’s hunching over and clicking the play button on the program.

At first, there is only silence, before some of the music from his cover start blasting out from beyond the headphones, meaning that you have turned the volume up incredibly high to hear every single detail he’s put into the track. Every breath, every curve and inclination of his voice, every key from the piano or every move of a string. He watches with bated breath as you listen with bated breath.

He takes in the furrow of eyebrows that you’ve developed to signal the level of concentration you’ve put into making sure that you could really listen to his song. He takes in the way your lips have curled up into the softest of smiles at the sound of his voice, and he can feel his previous nerves disappearing at the sight of you enjoying yourself so much.

He sees the fondness touching along your features, and can’t help but wonder how much different things would be in his life had you not decided to accept his plea for a fake girlfriend, had you not decided to indulge within your curious state of mind for him, had you not grown determined to dig through the realms of his past and his interests. Maybe he wouldn’t be feeling this way about you, but maybe certain passions would never have been uncovered, maybe his life would never have been the same.

You start lightly humming to the track of his song, your voice barely above a whisper, something you probably don’t even realize you’re doing, but he sees it, and he feels it—his heart swelling, his eyes fixated across your features. You care so much, you care so deeply and so powerfully and you genuinely want to help Jungkook out in any way that you possibly can. You’re his friend, but you’re more than that. On the days his parents drop by into the city, you’re the one by his side, you’re the one running your hands through his hair, the one gazing into his eyes, and even though nothing about your relationship is real—it feels real and hopeful and influential. There’s no real title, but real feelings that are like warmth rushing through his body, his mind, lighting all the nerves from the tip of his toes to the top of his head.

“I think I’m in love with you,” He says, barely above a whisper, watching the way you watch his work, his passion, his dreams come to live through the wire. He pauses. “And I’m terrified.”

You don’t hear him over the ringing of his own voice in your ears, but you see the movement of his mouth out of the corner of your eyes. You turn towards him, lifting one side of the headphones up to address him. “Did you say something?”

He straightens slightly, watching the same way you’re watching him, your eyes big and wide and curious and his own holding the truth neither of you were ready to face yet.

That fear keeps him grounded, keeps him from saying too much, keeps him from spilling the truth of his feelings down across the bed on this Thursday evening. You expected just a typical friendly favor, not a confession. It doesn’t feel right, it feels far from such, and he would never want to lay anything emotional upon you just for his sake.

So his lips remain shut, hoping that there will be a moment, and hoping that it will be alright.

“No, I didn’t.”

#jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenario #bts fluff #bts scenarios #bts x reader #bts imagines #traci writes #collection:petals

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bangtanfancamp · 4 years

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Into the Garden (JJK)

∴ masterlist

∴ series masterlist (part one of 2 )

∴ pairing: Jeon Jungkook x reader

∴ word count: 5k

∴ rating: pg-13

∴ genre: fluff, romance, strangers to lovers, dinner theater au? Lol

∴ warnings: none to speak of, eventual affection? sexual tension? Probable future make out sesh

∴ summary: It’s a Friday night out with your friends— a perfect opportunity to try out that mysterious new restaurant everybody’s talking about. Always game for new things and a good time, even you never expected to stumble upon the smart, incredibly handsome waiter you meet there who knows his flowers. Who knows where the night will take you now?

∴ vibey playlist that kept me company during writing

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“God, this place is gorgeous.” You gasped.

You felt yourself go still once you’d finally managed to push the heavy wooden doors open. Was it unreasonable to wish you lived in a restaurant if it looked like this? Because it was beautiful in here. Every corner was immaculately decorated- rich, emerald velvet in the waiting area, cognac wood floors, industrial light fixtures… each element carefully designed, but aged and warm, like maybe this place had been here forever, and you’d only just noticed it.

And the plants- there were plants everywhere, on every available surface. Shades of green wrapping and weaving around iron railing. Ivy crawling up the side of the exposed brick like nature was trying to take this luxurious place back for itself. You’d never seen anything quite like it.

This place was all anyone could talk about lately, but you’d never seen it first hand until tonight. It had been your coworker’s bright idea to get a bunch of the staff together and blow off some steam here this Friday night. She’d even wiggled her way into getting the company to pay for it by calling it a “team building experience,” a.k.a “let’s all get drunk together and moan about our problems on the boss’s dime.” You’d be skipping the alcohol tonight, but this place was a million years beyond your “guac at chipotle is a treat” personal budget and there was no way you were going to miss out on a free dinner here.

So far, no regrets as you wandered across the hardwood. You hadn’t even eaten any of the food yet, but it was already your new favorite place in the city on decor alone. And on top of that, you had something else to look forward to. Apparently, the hook here — not that it really needed one— was an upscale version of dinner and a mystery. You wondered how that was supposed to fit with this whole industrial utopia theme.

You hadn’t been to a restaurant that did a show with dinner since you saw Cinderella at a children’s dinner theater in eighth grade, but the shabby, primary colored castles of your memory clashed distinctly with the elegance of this place. The gaping imbalance made you chuckle. Sherlock dinner theater and artisanal hand glazed pottery seemed like an odd mix to you, but you were intrigued nonetheless, knowing you’d have fun whether the plot was brilliant or not.

After gawking an appropriate amount of time in the foyer, you realized you should probably check in for your group since you’d arrived first. Gliding through the Garden in search of the hostess booth, you found it hidden away beneath the shade of an almost prehistorically large fiddle leaf fig tree. You smiled up at the gargantuan plant, fingers tracing the edge of a leaf. If the millennial garden of Eden interior of the place hadn’t already been an indication, this alone reinforced what a miracle worker their main gardener must be.

Every fiddle leaf fig you’d ever owned had died many a gruesome death long before it ever even reached two feet, but this one almost brushed the exposed ceiling beams. You wished you could ask whoever was in charge here for some pointers, but they’d probably smell your plant mom failures on you from a mile away and decide not to waste their time. Plants just never seemed to like you back the way you loved them… oh well. That’s what plastic is for, you supposed.

Getting back to the task at hand, you leaned up on your toes to look for assistance, quickly noticing that the station was empty. Maybe they’re busy watering the crops, you chuckled to yourself wondering if this place really was pretentious enough to grow their own inventory-they certainly could- when you were suddenly greeted by the most stunningly handsome boy you’d ever seen.

“Hello, welcome to the Garden.” The living, breathing Adonis statue could speak apparently. You tried not to stare as he smiled back at you politely, his silky curls shagging about his face as he slid behind the hostess booth. Holy crap. Did they grow him in the back too?

He was beautiful- some undiscovered demigod with broad shoulders and a jawline so strong it could cut glass. He lifted his eyebrows pleasantly, waiting to assist. “I apologize for the wait—how may I be of service this evening?”

You couldn’t help the silly grin that spilled across your face when his wide chocolate eyes smiled your way.

“Um, Hi. I need a table for, lets see… 1,2,3,4...10 people I think?” You counted unashamedly on your fingers as the host’s lips quirked into a smile. “Oh! Actually, you know what? What am I doing—do you guys take reservations? My friend Beth might have called about us earlier?”

“Let me see…” The boy’s amused doe eyes drifted over a computer screen. You fiddled with the edges of a particularly plump succulent on the counter as you waited. “Here it is. Beth party of 10. Now usually when we have a group that big, we do offer the option of one of our private rooms. You guys would have your own separate narrative from whatever the main restaurant is doing….Would you be interested in that this evening?”

“Sure! Why not—that sounds amazing!” You answered, a bit too enthusiastically admittedly, but when his face lit up at your bubbliness, you found you couldn’t be bothered to feel embarrassed. Not when a boy who looked like that was looking at you that way, all soft around the edges. Will you be there? you wondered.

“Okay, then you’ll come right this way. Oh! And you’ll need this.” Dipping into a crystal bowl behind the counter, he fished out a crisp white piece of paper and slipped it into your hand, fingers brushing over yours as he did.

Something in your belly reacted sharply to the contact. Apparently, the electric crackle affected him too. His already round eyes widened, a nervous chuckle tumbling from his lips as your cheeks blossomed a warm, soft pink.

Suddenly, a ruckus erupted behind you, crashing into the tranquil silence. You turned over your shoulder to see your friends piling in the tall front door, laughing and smiling widely at you.

Tearing his eyes away from you with a self conscious gulp, the host cleared his throat before leading you all back past fountains, lush greenery and elaborate floral installations into yet another beautiful space. This room was just as intricate as the rest of the restaurant, with its warm terra cotta-colored walls dripping with ivy and orchids, lit with the dappled light of melting pillared candles piled atop the elaborate raw wood table spanning the length of the room.

As everyone happily clamored to find a seat along the banquet table, you noticed your friend, Erik, crashing along its opposite edge. Erik had been a football player in college, some defensive position you didn’t know the title of. He was a mammoth of a man, his blonde Nordic hair making him look like an off brand, out of shapeThor.

He paid little to no attention to where he threw his weight around like a puppy who didn’t yet know his size. So when he dropped himself onto the neatly slatted bench (gosh, every detail here was dripping in aesthetics) and promptly leaned against the wall, crushing the intricate orchid display, you couldn’t help but laugh. You heard the host’s strangled gasp and giggled at the beautiful boy's wide eyes as his horror-stricken face went pale across the room. Before he seemed to realize he was even doing it, his feet began to march across the floor to say something to your friend, until his politeness overtook him and he froze a few feet away. He grumbled to himself as your friend carelessly peeled himself off of the bench, annoyed complaining about something scratchy digging into his back. The host was positively fuming as irritation ticked in his jaw, but His big brown eyes betrayed his disappointment and downright bewilderment as the bedraggled orchids limped back into place.

“No.... They’re ruined. Now what am I supposed to display?” You heard him attempt to mutter under his breath, but his anger seemed to make his volume louder than intended. He was so flustered—it was oddly...kind of adorable. You couldn’t help but laugh. You knew your friend had meant no harm. He was a sweet guy, but generally oblivious, so things like this seemed to happen a lot. Chuckling under your breath, you couldn’t help but notice the strain in the host’s angular jawline, not to mention how good he looked with his eyebrows furrowed like that. Intense. It made you want to kiss the creases to relax him. Man, this guy was really getting to you...

Maybe it’s time to have some fun, you thought.

Leaning over the edge of the bench, you whispered surreptitiously, “Hey, maybe you should consider wheatgrass instead.” You sent a quick wink in the host’s direction, a thick cloud of giggles falling from your lips. Lashes fluttering , the poor guy seemed startled by your comment. He had been so wrapped up in blinders over his restaurant being ruined that he hadn’t realized anyone had been watching the entire interaction. For a quick second, embarrassment flashed over his features. The sudden chagrin on his face as he nervously ruffled his hair softened him. The Greek god of a man suddenly a soft, flustered boy. He looked so... sweet.

The whole scene gave you the oddest urge to pinch his cheeks and tell him how cute he was. But just as fast as it had appeared, the innocence in his wide eyes was gone, his composure swiftly resettling itself as his shoulders rolled down, his posture lifting him back up to full height. His confidence was back, and so was a lopsided smile that you decided you quite liked. “Might not be the worst idea.... certainly less overhead,” he sighed resignedly, hands hanging low on his hips as the tick in his jaw loosened, replaced instead by the beginning of a smirk.

“Much less upkeep. Less horizontal space. Equal level of pretension. I see no downsides,” you shrugged nonchalantly. You felt your own smile bloom wider the longer your gazes stayed fixed on each other. His eyes were dazzling- coffee brown and deep- as they glittered back at you. “I’ll look into it...might be a solid option. Have,” he hesitated. “Have you been here before? I don’t think I’ve seen you... I get the feeling I would have remembered you.” His face was so soft and unguarded, his pretty mouth just a bit too open as he searched his memory for a glimpse of you. You pulled your lip between your teeth as your smile threatened to grow.

“No,” you shook your head, hair bouncing around you. “It’s my first time here. First time for all of us actually. Hence, my friends lack of good graces with your horticultural displays.” you offered an apologetic shrug.

“May my orchids rest in peace,” he sighed with a shake of his head. “Not your fault though. You guys, uh, celebrating something?” He was suddenly too close for a stranger, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

“Oh, no. We just work in that massive upstart down the block. Kept hearing about the place, and Instagram kept hacking our feeds with ads for it so we finally caved. Figured we’d try it out. ” You waved across the table gesturing to everyone. There were all so deep in their own side conversations that no one seemed to pay any mind to you lingering oddly with the wait staff. “Glad to see the marketing is working out,” he chuckled. “Well...if it’s your first time, then you’ll need a proper guide through the story.” A glint of mischief sparkled deep in his chocolate eyes, and you felt something effervescent glitter up your spine in excitement. “I suppose we will.” With a bow from his hip and a nod, he turned on his heel with no explanation, leaving you to smile down at your menu like an idiot in his absence. Trying to read was pointless honestly. The letters might as well have been in Arabic as they swam across the page- you weren’t processing anything. Far too lost in a dreamy eyed splendor over the boy you’d just met until a bony elbow nudged its way between your ribs. “What was THAT all about?” Eileen’s eyebrows bounced with curiosity. “ I don’t know.” You answered honestly as your head shook. At this point, you were smiling so much your cheeks were beginning to hurt. “But my God, isn’t he CUTE?” You hid behind your hands. “Cute??” Eileen shoved you in the shoulder. “He’s not a corgi, y/n. He’s a grown man.” She bit her lip. “A GORGEOUS, full grown man....did you see him when he walked away? God, what a view.” You pressed your forehead into her shoulder and whimpered, “I knowww. His smile, those thighs, my god...and his butt. Did you see it? It’s better than mine.” You both fell into a fit of giggles.

“All I know is that if you don’t give him your number then he’s definitely getting mine tonight. Or anything else he’d like for that matter.” Your jaw fell open at her brazenness. “Hey! slow your roll. You can’t call dibs before I’ve even gotten his name!” you laughed.

“Then you better work fast, babe. Cuz butts like that don’t stay single for long.” She tipped her head to the side matter of factly.

“Oh my gosh, shut up! You don’t know when he’ll come back. He might hear you.” You breathed.

“Let him. It’ll make my job easier.” She bit down seductively on her red straw. Swatting at her, you both giggled before back into the table’s office gossip.

Apparently, Elliot had shown up to the office wasted again today- either from getting trashed the night before or from getting sloshed the morning of, no one was quite sure at this point. Either way, everyone was annoyed as hell that he’d never get more than a slap on the wrist for it since his dad managed their branch. Nepotism still alive and well. Clearly.

Popping an entire potsticker in your mouth, your belly ached with laughter as Sean told you all how his assistant had accidentally walked in on two higher ups making out in the supply closet this morning and how traumatized the poor intern had been. He described in detail how the poor slob had still tried to get around them to get the extra printer paper, and what a mess the whole ordeal had been. He owed you a clean fifty bucks now.

With your keen eyes, you’d been the first person to be suspicious of them- you’d called it a solid month ago- and had put your money where your mouth was. You’d started the office pool that they were in fact a secret couple- a bet you’d clearly just won if Sean bleak expression was anything to go by. Lunch on him all week. Potstickers til i burst? Don’t mind if I do.

It had been a great evening, full of unwinding and bonding. So great, that you’d completely forgotten about the mystery element of the dinner. That is, until a crystalline voice spoke above you, snapping you to attention.

“Pardon me, everybody. But it’s time for the mystery of the evening to begin.”

Surprised, your eyes darted up to see the cute guy from earlier. He was standing right behind you. Your pulse spiked as he sent a smirk your way. What were you supposed to do with that? He was so close now that you could hear the fabric of his dress shirt rustle every time he shifted or gestured above you. With every movement, a burst of his scent surrounded you. It was something citrus, something fresh. A dizzy smile tugged at your lips as it enveloped you like a cloud. God, you wanted to bury your nose in it. You were such a sucker for a good smelling boy...

And this one was so in your personal space. Which should have been off putting, honestly. Especially since you’d barely known him for half an evening. It was a bold choice on his part, to get so close to you. It should have been a turn off. Should have. But it wasn’t. Instead, you found yourself almost vibrating with excitement at the proximity of him. Whatever this gravitational pull was around him, you were perfectly content to get pulled straight into it.

If you’d had the nerve to, he truly was close enough that if you tipped your body back just a few degrees you could’ve rested your head against his lean stomach if you’d wanted to… which, of course you did want to do… but you’d only just met him. So instead, you bit down to stifle your smile, eyes flicking over to Eileen who was just as giddy on your behalf.

God he’s so cute, you thought. Wait- is he still talking? Crap-focus, you scolded yourself, tuning back into his monologue.

“As everyone knows, we all have the same five senses. But what happens when we lose one? How does it affect our instincts? Our gut? How does it change the way we listen to each other?” he paced around the edges of the table, hands clasped behind his tailbone. It made his dress shirt bunch deliciously in all the right places, and you bit back a smile. It was getting harder and harder to hide your little infatuation.

“When each of you arrived,” he continued, “you were each given a character and a backstory- No one should know it but you- but only one of you received the card that said killer. Someone at this table has committed a murder, but who? Often, our eyes can deceive us, so as part of tonight’s story, your sight will be taken from you as you try to decipher the truth. Can you rely on your other senses, your hearing, your intuition to solve this case?” A few other waiters approached the table with baskets in hand before the room went dark- completely.

Not the “the lights are off but we can all still see” kind of dark. It was the “it's so black in here that you can feel it” kind of dark. The kind of complete nothingness you never get with the ambient glow of street lights and screens everywhere. It was heavy and consuming, the absoluteness of the suddenly inky black room.

Swirling your own fingers in front of your face, you saw absolutely nothing. Not even the glint of your own jewelry, and something fantastic bubbled up in you. This is going to be so fun. Your heart began to race in anticipation- you didn’t even know what for yet. You felt your knuckles wrap around the bench beneath you, bracing, waiting, holding your breath, wondering when the night would finally be-

Only to have your thoughts stop. Completely.

Each individual one of them halted in their tracks by the sudden contact of warm fingertips against your skin. The gentle press of a large set of hands melted into the tops of your shoulders, thumbs bracing on the back of your neck. It was him again, wasn’t it?

He squeezed once, tense and hesitant despite his obvious strength, like he wasn't sure touching you was the best idea, but he couldn’t back out now that he’d started. The delicacy of it left you buzzing. In the silence, the pads of his fingers sunk deeply into your skin, and your breath caught. You’d never been this grateful for off the shoulder clothing in your life.

“May I?” he asked, tone honeyed and sweet.

You realized he meant the blindfold you’d heard so much about before you came and nodded your head just once, tension sticking in your throat as you tried to swallow it down. It was only then that you realized he probably couldn’t see you in the darkness. You’d have to gather your wits enough to verbally respond. You hoped he wouldn’t catch the way the “yes” that left your lips was embarrassingly breathless.

You heard him hum in response, holding whatever was left of your breath as his fingertips slowly fell from the tops of your shoulders, dragging across the edges your sleeves like he was in no rush to let you go. It was a strange intimacy from a stranger, but to be honest, you didn’t want him to let go either.

Until, quick as a whisper, his warmth was gone, leaving you alone in the dark. The shift so abrupt that part of you wondered if you’d imagined the last thirty seconds. His lingering hands had fallen away so abruptly at the end. Where had he gone?

It all felt like a fever dream you’d cooked up, like your own subconscious was mocking you for wanting him so bad. For a second, you wondered if you should be concerned by how obviously attracted you were to him. Should you be ashamed by how quickly you welcomed his touch? By the way your traitorous body showed no intention of pushing him away? Maybe you should, but he didn’t give you the time to overthink it before he was beside you again.

“Jungkook.” He whispered, only loud enough for you to hear.

“What?” You breathed, face turning toward his sound in the blackness.

“That’s my name. Jungkook.” He repeated, his voice airy and soft. You hadn’t realized how beautiful his voice was until it was the only thing you had to focus on. You could feel that he was bent low, his chest just brushing the tops of your shoulders. You felt dizzy at the sensation of his warm breath ghosting over the shell of your ear as a cool satin ribbon was draped over your eyes.

“In case you were wondering.” He whispered, pulling the edges of the fabric into a soft bow as he dipped to the other side of your shoulders. “But I’ll also answer to ‘guy with the butt that’s better than yours’ if you prefer.” His breathy laugh filled your ears, and you could practically hear him smiling. “Oh god, you heard that?” the back of your hand smothered your mouth, a smile emerging even as you cringed.

“Oh absolutely. Acoustics are insane in this place. It was kind of nice though... I mean, how often do I get to hear such a pretty girl compliment me ?” You could feel the rush of blood practically crashing into your cheeks. You knew the whole world would see you blushing if the lights were on. “I’m out of witty comments for that one.” “Don’t smile. You’ll mess up the blindfold,” he warned, the endearing softness in his voice undermining his words. “I’ll try. Don’t think I can help it though.” A satisfied hum left Jungkook’s lips as he pulled away and went back to the task at hand.

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And just like that, the mystery began with Jungkook as the narrator and weaver of your tale.

Your group had been given a story set in feudal Japan. Clashing samurai, feuding houses, forbidden love- Your friends all got surprisingly into it, losing their normal voices into the adopted lilts and pitches of their newfound characters.

It really was incredible the nuances you caught when you focused on your hearing. Jin’s voice, for example, was far more nasal than you realized. He had a tendency to react dramatically any time someone pressed him for details- clearly signaling how close they were to the truth the more he tried to hide it. Lina’s expressionless monotone was nearly impossible to read on voice alone, but it made her all the more fun to try to figure out. Despite focusing on the story, you couldn’t help but notice that while Jungkook had the entire table to canvas as he narrated, he still stayed suspiciously close to your side the entire time- like he couldn’t help himself. His fingertips would brush the fabric of your blouse when he’d pass. His taut arms would graze the swing of your ponytail as he walked by. He had no mercy on the fragile hummingbird flitting with wild abandon in your chest at each of his actions. In fact, you could hear the distinct note of something that sounded an awful lot like laughter in his voice anytime he gave instructions to your character specifically. Smug son of a gun. Soon, the story unraveled as it was revealed that Jin had, in fact, been the murderer. He was jealous of Lina’s love for samurai Hoseok and had killed him in a drunken rage but tried to frame Bobby for the dishonorable act.

With the crime solved, the lights were turned back on, a fuzzy halo emerging around the edges of your vision as a staff member came behind each guest to remove their blindfold. You were unsurprised when you were met with a gentle waft of clean citrus as Jungkook appeared once again to help you with yours. The warm pads of his fingers grazed your cheeks when he removed the satin ribbon. It was so quick- it was so hard to tell if it had been on purpose- before his touch was gone again far too quickly for your liking. “I must say, you were particularly clever.” He offered softly as he stood behind you. You dropped your neck back to look up at him, eyes wide. “Anyone paying attention would have known that wasn’t Bobby’s blade work.” “Still, most people don’t catch it on their first time through the story.” He tipped his head matter of factly. “Maybe I just had a good guide,” You winked, tucking your chin back to normal when you saw a faint pink color his cheekbones. He cleared his throat before addressing the table. “You’ll find your individual checks have been placed in front of you, along with a complimentary dessert. Thank you for dining with us this evening. It has been our pleasure.”

He bowed at the waist as he gave his farewell, making his last words spoken dangerously close to your ear. Adrenaline spiked in your veins at his proximity for the thousandth time tonight. As he returned to full height, another man approached the table, this one taller, leaner than jungkook, with a smile so innocent and wide it could have belonged to a child.

“Good evening everyone! How was your experience with us tonight?” His voice. It boomed like a clap of thunder. It was oddly deep for someone who looked so young. Everyone at the table chattered with random superlatives about how amazing the night had been as the man's smile glowed brighter.

“I’m so glad to hear it!! You had a real treat tonight- guided by our finest story teller.” Pride swelling in his eyes, the man clapped an embarrassed Jungkook on the shoulder. “Such a shame it might be the last story he tells here.” The baritone lamented. “What am I supposed to do without my partner?” The man used his other hand to clutch at his chest dramatically, face scrunched in distress, as you felt your heart free fall into your shoes.

Last story? “Calm down, Taehyung. You make it sound like I’m dying.” Jungkook rolled his eyes and swatted at the man. “You might as well be!” Taehyung huffed. “He’s leaving us tomorrow to start his new life! Off galavanting in the mountains somewhere with flowers and goats. Leaving all his old, true friends behind.” He wrapped an arm around jungkook’s shoulder, dragging him against his will into a side hug jungkook vehemently tried to escape. “Quiet down, bro. You’re making a scene.” Jungkook balked, face pale at the unwanted attention.

He’s…. leaving? Your stomach took a swan dive. No. But I just met him. How... where was he going? Your eyes fell back to the table as you steadied yourself.

You’d been so excited about where this all might go. It was hard enough to accept that you’d already gotten this attached to him. Let alone invested enough to be this disappointed…..but, you’d felt something so strong around him. The kind of glittering spark you hadn’t felt with another person in a long time, if ever.

Every time his eyes had lingered on you or his body had brushed against yours, a supernova had ignited in your chest. You’d spent the whole night going mad with the electric possibility of him- just to what? Feel like a fool for being infatuated with a stranger? Look like the naive girl you were, pining over a daydream?

This was ridiculous. You shook your head at yourself. This boy didn’t owe you anything. He was a stranger two hours ago, he’d stay a stranger when you left twenty minutes from now. But no matter how you tried to convince yourself, your poor heart still felt sick about it all. He’d just seemed so— you don’t know, special. So magnetic. And You’d thought he’d felt the same pull bringing him to you too.

Because why else would he have flirted with you half the night? He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to lead you on if he knew it was going nowhere. An assumption you realized was a heck of a leap. You didn’t actually know anything about him, but somehow, something about that narrative just didn’t sit right with you. The look he’d had in his eyes each time he smiled at you tonight had seemed too sincere to be a lie. But from the way his loud friend was still talking, he made it sound like Jungkook was moving to the Alps.

So even if his sweet eyes had genuinely meant every smile tonight, was it really all for nothing? You knew the night was ending, and it was a long shot, but you’d really been holding out hope it might go somewhere beyond this. Apparently not. In an instant, he reappeared by your side, having broken free from the grip of his affectionate friend’s grasp. Jungkook dipped beside you once again as you stumbled to rearrange your now troubled features into something resembling disinterest.

“Hey, Sorry about that. But, I um, really do hope you have a great night. So your uh, your check is on the table.” His poise seemed a bit more rattled than before, but you were too glum to give it much notice.

You sent an out of focus glance in the ticket’s direction and nodded. He’d already told everyone that. Most of the table already had their debit cards out for their tickets. You didn’t know why he was bothering to mention it again when all you wanted to know was where he was going and if it was far.

“I um...didn’t get to catch your name earlier,” the smile he offered you was gentle, hopeful, as his wide brown eyes looked down at you. You felt yourself sigh withought meaning to. You’d have found the sheepish look in his eyes hopelessly adorable just a few minutes earlier, but now all it did was make your chest hurt. “Not a detail you need if you’re moving away though right?” You asked, a sadness creeping in your attempted smile. God, you weren’t fooling anyone. This was pathetic. His brows dipped at your response, confused by the shift in your demeanor. “I’m... I mean, i told you mine.” His gentle eyes tried to salvage the situation. The confidence he’d exuded all night was slipping away, a boyish vulnerability taking its place. There was no harm, you supposed. “Fair enough. It’s y/n.” you conceded. “Y/n.” He repeated, like he was trying to make the shape a new habit for his mouth. “Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

The smile you gave him back was a limp, pitiful thing, but it was the best you could give. Half an hour ago, you definitely didn’t think him calling you pretty would have made you so sad. Compliments didn’t usually send you into a craving for solitude and halo top ice cream, but this one certainly did.

“Well, y/n, I may not be as far away as you think. Have a good night.” And with that he was gone.

Bummed, you looked over your shoulder as he disappeared into the kitchen. “Shoot. Well, that was a fast track to nowhere,” you sighed to Eileen, slouching in your seat. “I know. Bummer. Seemed like he liked you too.” Eileen commiserated. “Right? So it wasn’t just me? You could tell too?” “Oh, he was totally obvious about it! He also gave you more ice cream than me. Shameless. Boy has no subtly.” You chuckled at her accusation, but sure enough, you did in fact have one scoop more ice cream in your jadeite bowl than the rest of your friends. This boy already knew the way to your heart.

“Still. Why act interested if you’re disappearing the next day?” You pouted. “Why show interest when he’s just a server you’ve never met before?” She asked pointedly, eyebrow arched as your eyes fell away. “People react when they feel something- and clearly you two were feeling something the entire night. His eyes didn’t leave you for a second....We don’t get to pick the timing of when we’re attracted to people, y/n. Nobody’s working with that kind of control.” Flopping onto her shoulder, you heaved a heavy sigh. “Again... you’re right. I just, I don’t know. There was just—something about him. He felt... special.” “He looked special in that outfit. Those buttons were crying.” She mockingly bit her lip as you swatted your napkin at her. “Eileen! Unhelpful! I’m aware.... I guess you just don’t always get to know where things could have gone.” You shrugged, wilting into her warmth. “I know, babe. Sorry.” She patted your head comfortingly. You turned to your ice cream to heal the wound, accepting that beautiful Jungkook would just be a passing meeting and a quick deadend to nowhere. After polishing off your dessert, you pulled out your cash to at least leave him the memory of a good tip when your eyes caught on scribbled handwriting in the top corner of your receipt. Hey, I don’t normally do something like this, but there’s a place around the corner that stays open super late. Meet me for crappy coffee + good conversation at 11? -jungkook xxx-xxx-xxxx You choked on nothing as you processed what was going on.

“Eileen! Eileen!!” You grabbed at her sleeve. “What?? What is it?! Calm down.” She pried your clutching hands off her cropped leather jacket, brushing off any damage you’d done.

“He gave me his number!” You nearly shouted.

“What?” She almost spat out her cocktail.

“He gave me his number!!” You waved the receipt wildly in her face. “He invited me to coffee and gave me his number!!!” You squealed, shrieking at an octave usually reserved for wild piglets. “Shut up! No way!!!” “Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh!” You rambled ecstatically. “But wait!” your face fell,“ we’re supposed to go out for drinks with everybody after.” “And? Is that a joke??? You see us every day! What are you doing talking to me?? Text him! Go meet your man, honey. I’ll cover for you.” She winked as she swung her purse over her shoulder. “Really?? I love you! I owe you!” You yelled as she made her way to the door. “Um, You really don’t, but I’ll never turn down a favor. Let me know how it goes. See you on Monday.” She waved back at you, flipping the platinum ends of her ebony hair over her shoulder. “Hey! Where’s y/n? Isn’t she coming with us,” Jin seemed to be the only one alarmed by your absence. “Nothing to worry your pretty little head about, dear. I’ll fill you in later.” She grabbed him by his shoulders and nudged him out the door frame. “Ooo, bulking up are we, Kim? Feeling solid these days.”

“Yes actually!” His face glowed. “I have been! But you know, muscle tone is 80% genetics anyway. You cant just make yourself handsome, you know.You have to be born this good looking to start with and work from there.”

She knew there was no quicker, sure fire way to get Jin off topic than to ask him about himself. Once that train had left the station, there was little hope if any of ever turning back.

Eileen really took one for the team there. “Call me” she mouthed back at you as they slipped off into the night. You chuckled to yourself at the scene, finally realizing the turn your own evening was about to take. You plugged his number into your phone and shot him a quick message. [10:35pm] Hey, how did you know I was always down for quality conversation? Moments later, your phone began to buzz. Jungkook [10:36pm] Just went with my gut ;)

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meloncubedradpops · 4 years

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Repo! the Corona Opera: Part Two Fascist Boogaloo

Greetings fellow Repo! fans,

Here is my second installment of a series of three essays where I compare our contemporary times with the movie Repo! the Genetic Opera. My first piece detailed the similarities between the two worlds, and turns out, I have an awful lot to talk about still. I ended my last article by posing the question, "What went wrong in this dystopia to normalize the concept of death due to nonpayment?" No doubt, this movie is incredibly outrageous on many fronts, particularly within the dynamics of the Largo family. As mentioned in the previous piece, I highlighted the pervasiveness of GeneCo's power and influence towards the citizens in the city (is it called city of GeneCo? GeneCo-land? GenCity? An actual city in Italy??).

People who write stories often bend the rules to make their story compelling. Be it exaggerating social interactions, creating scientifically impossible scenarios, or even allowing the characters to use technology that does not exist yet. I admit the creators of Repo! applied all those tactics and more, which makes the parallels I draw that much more surreal. I want to acknowledge this before I dive deeper because yes, I truly think it would be impossible to have a company who can offer cheap and dirty surgeries with an absence of debilitating class action lawsuits resulting from botched procedures, infection, or their body rejecting the organ transplant. And while I admit Zydrate does not exist, yet, but we do have a long history with opioid abuse. If you asked me when I first watched the movie if I think the Largo family could be a mirror of an ultra wealthy family from real life, I would have politely disagreed with you. But times right now are freaking weird. A single day does not go by where something completely outlandish is blasted all over the news, particularly in the United States.

In my last essay I pointed out examples where the citizens in GenCity live a life after experiencing a mass extinction event. Besides the technological anachronisms, society and GeneCo have an uncomfortably close relationship with each other. GeneCo is not merely a corporation that offers healthcare and surgeries, it has an unyielding power politically too. I argue that GenCity is ran by a fascist government that is controlled and operated by GeneCo.

If you're not a person who is super familiar with fascism, basically it's an extremist right wing government philosophy. I find it interesting that in the song "21st Century Cure", Graverobber says: Industrialization has crippled the globe. Although plagues, war, and other hardships existed before industrialization, that paradigm of change accelerated the imbalances between man and nature. Fascism did not exist until after World War I, after all. Between the world war itself and the Spanish Flu of 1918, there was a lot of pain and suffering felt all over the world. Fascists took advantage of vulnerable populations and asserted that their political party is the only correct party, and those who oppose are considered an enemy. Historically fascist governments have blurred the lines between the spheres of what's considered "public" and "private", and often danced harmoniously with business allies in pursuit of profit. As an effect, fascist governments have required citizens to foot the bill of a private company's losses. With enough propaganda, fascist governments will have you believing that this is ultimately for the betterment of everyone. And if you give them enough time, they will normalize terrible acts against humanity that barely make a peep, if the truth even comes to light.

For the rest of this essay, I will be highlighting examples in the Repo! movie that correspond with characteristics of fascism, using political scientist Dr. Lawrence Britt's The 14 Characteristics Of Fascism, which was published in the spring 2003 issue of Free Inquiry magazine.

The 14 characteristics are:

1. Powerful and Continuing Nationalism: Fascist regimes tend to make constant use of patriotic mottos, slogans, symbols, songs, and other paraphernalia. Flags are seen everywhere, as are flag symbols on clothing and in public displays.

The world surrounding GeneCo occupies itself with the concept that this incorporated area derives a sense of nationalism, in the absence of much dissent. If you see below, there is an advertisement on the top right corner that says, "Your Birthplace for a new Heredity". GeneCo is not just a company that sells organs and surgeries. It is its own incorporated city. This ad, combined with GeneCo's relentless messaging that not only did this company save humanity, you must conform to the idea that only GeneCo can provide you the experience of feeling clean, safe, and perfect.

2. Disdain for the Recognition of Human Rights Because of fear of enemies and the need for security, the people in fascist regimes are persuaded that human rights can be ignored in certain cases because of "need." The people tend to look the other way or even approve of torture, summary executions, assassinations, long incarcerations of prisoners, etc.

Being able to legally repossess someone's organs because they didn't make their organ payments is about as disdainful as you can get. Nathan has a whole song called "Legal Assassin", and there doesn't appear to be many laws that would at least have the pretense that these repossessions are remotely humane. There are multiple instances in the movie where Nathan approaches a client who is already restrained, panicked, and powerless. From what I can gather from the media in Gencity, GeneCo proliferates the idea that the company would be dysfunctional if people could get financed surgeries and let those payments go to collections. When you're a mega corporation, they let you do it.

3. Identification of Enemies/Scapegoats as a Unifying Cause: The people are rallied into a unifying patriotic frenzy over the need to eliminate a perceived common threat or foe: racial , ethnic or religious minorities; liberals; communists; socialists, terrorists, etc.

While the career of a Graverobber is certainly creepy and macabre, the idea that they could be executed without a jury of their peers is especially strange. After I created my last essay, my friend Veronica pointed out, that per "A Needle Into A Bug", one of the deleted scenes from the movie, that street zydrate is not actually derived from the brains of dead people. He extracts zydrate from bugs that nest inside the craniums of dead people, which in my opinion is a huge distinction. So who is he really stealing from? Is it morally okay to dig up a corpse to get drug goo to sell to junkies? Absolutely not, and the idea is incredibly disrespectful for the dead. And while I am sure there are graverobbers in this world that likely steal things like jewelry from corpses, I still wouldn't justify being executed extrajudicially.

Further, Graverobber's relationship with the Largo family has me believing even more that GeneCo needs them more than their media campaign can justify. Rotti has access to incredible surveillance of the city, so you would think he would eliminate anyone who enabled Amber Sweet's addiction. My theory is GeneCo knows that street zydrate may result in more surgery sales. However they want to continue making money selling the lab-grown stuff. So the end justifies the means, if we can associate graverobbers and those who use street zydrate as criminals, we can continue believing that "they" are the enemies setting everyone else back.

4. Supremacy of the Military: Even when there are widespread domestic problems, the military is given a disproportionate amount of government funding, and the domestic agenda is neglected. Soldiers and military service are glamorized. AND 12. Obsession with Crime and Punishment: Under fascist regimes, the police are given almost limitless power to enforce laws. The people are often willing to overlook police abuses and even forego civil liberties in the name of patriotism. There is often a national police force with virtually unlimited power in fascist nations.

GeneCo employs a private police force to carry out law enforcement. They patrol around a graveyard, a quasi-public space carved out for those who mourn. And because there is pervasive video surveillance, Rotti can demand that they do his bidding at any time. An example is his order to murder the repo man. We aren't aware of any sort of involvement beyond the borders of GenCity, but even the concept of a graveyard being a warzone is a special kind of hell.

5. Rampant Sexism- The governments of fascist nations tend to be almost exclusively male-dominated. Under fascist regimes, traditional gender roles are made more rigid. Opposition to abortion is high, as is homophobia and anti-gay legislation and national policy.

Genterns! On the surface, it’s pretty cool that there is a large volume of female medical professionals who are skilled enough to carry out surgeries. However behind the sexy veneer is the reality that Genterns are not set up for success. They are not provided adequate PPE and work under non-sterile conditions. In the "Mark it Up" scene, one is killed by Luigi. Imagine going to medical school for years and years, only to be tasked with the job of organ warehouse worker. Then on one of your shifts you are stabbed to death because the CEO's son bumped into you while you were working. Not only that, but you are also expected to dress proactively for the purpose of selling the GeneCo product and experience.

6. Controlled Mass Media: Sometimes to media is directly controlled by the government, but in other cases, the media is indirectly controlled by government regulation, or sympathetic media spokespeople and executives. Censorship, especially in war time, is very common. GeneCo has a monopoly on the media of the city. Politics, entertainment, healthcare, you name it, they have a direct stake in, and control over, the media. We do see from time-to-time tabloid clippings of the Largo family. But generally speaking, GeneCo puts a lot of effort in upholding their image. The best evidence is Blind Mag's story. She is a singer who acquired the ability to see after a GeneCo cornea surgery. And while she clocked into work day in and day out, singing and advertising for GeneCo for 17+ years, her departure resulted in Rotti murdering her. But why? Was he afraid of the things she would say? Rotti knew he was terminally ill when she declared her resignation, and yet killing her on stage is somehow less of a scandal?

7. Obsession with National Security: Fear is used as a motivational tool by the government over the masses. Fascist countries use fear as a tactic to keep the masses scared and compliant. The universe of Repo! is one filled with tragedy. Millions of people have died. I would imagine that the series of events that would lead to the creation and success of GeneCo was contingent upon people being scared for their lives. While dealing with the coronavirus, I find myself constantly checking my temperature, keeping my distance from people, and wearing a mask out in public. The human spirit is resilient, which is how we have survived so long. However sociopaths smell our fear and use it against us. The city of GeneCo is surrounded by plots upon plots of graveyards, signifying the carnage left after their public health crisis. I have a strong feeling that GeneCo was able to harness the threat of whatever caused the massive organ failure epidemic and as an effect created a power vacuum.

8. Religion and Government are Intertwined: Governments in fascist nations tend to use the most common religion in the nation as a tool to manipulate public opinion. Religious rhetoric and terminology is common from government leaders, even when the major tenets of the religion are diametrically opposed to the government's policies or actions.

This one is going to be a reach, particularly because there is an absence of religion in this story. I don't think religion would be on the creator's of Repo!'s purview, and honestly I don't blame them. If you look at the imagery of the story, however, it is very gothic. We have no idea if religion survives, and if it does, to what extent. I would imagine that people still have spiritual needs, and I argue that the GeneCo Opera is an example of how they get that fulfilled.

"If you want it, baby, GeneCo's got it"

The GeneCo opera is not your typical opera experience. GeneCo specifically tells their customers to "testify". People are singing in unison, praising GeneCo. Clearly GeneCo has taken several human rituals and blended them together to create an over-the-top entertainment experience that seeks to advertise their company behind the testimonials of its patrons. The benefits of the opera for GeneCo, as a fascist entity, are two-fold: have people associate their most nirvana moments with an experience only GeneCo can offer (zydrate and surgery), and distract them with religious-like concerts so they won't question their neighbors being murdered on the streets by that very same company.

9. Corporate Power is Protected: The industrial and business aristocracy of a fascist nation often are the ones who put the government leaders into power, creating a mutually beneficial business/government relationship and power elite. AND 13. Rampant Cronyism and Corruption: Fascist regimes almost always are governed by groups of friends and associates who appoint each other to government positions and use governmental power and authority to protect their friends from accountability. It is not uncommon in fascist regimes for national resources and even treasures to be appropriated or even outright stolen by government leaders.

Throughout the entire movie, the Largo family is front and center. We know Rotti is terminally ill, and he utilizes his final moments to tie up loose ends in his life. His children feel entitled to his estate and the company of GeneCo. At no point do we see Rotti consult with a board of directors at GeneCo, a private fiduciary firm, or with any government entity. I would describe the company of GeneCo to be a weird combination of an aristocracy, government body, and corporation. His children commit crimes with no recourse or justice. Rotti kills the doctor who tells him he's dying. Luigi kills multiple people throughout the movie. In one of the opening scenes, we see a photograph showing Pavi is cutting off a woman's face. In the credits we see Amber's body guards lying dead on the floor during her press statement. What sort of corruption took place to make these occurrences so prevalent and normalized?

10. Labor Power is Suppressed: Because the organizing power of labor is the only real threat to a fascist government, labor unions are either eliminated entirely, or are severely suppressed.

We aren't super privy to the machinations that make this city functional. But there is a clear stratification that has sustained itself long enough that healthcare is not a right in this city, and those who can't pay for necessary healthcare can finance it. In a just society, if we have the means to save humanity, we can figure out a way to pay for it. Be it taxes on the most wealthy or other cost-saving measures, if there is a will, there is a way. However if you give a company enough power and money, it will do everything it can to stay on top. The best examples I can think of would be Nathan and Blind Mag's tenuous career at GeneCo. Neither really wanted the job they were given, but they were forced into those positions by Rotti. Had Bling Mag belonged to a entertainment union, would she have had more protections? Would a proper investigation into the murder of Marni result in justice being served, and the opportunity for Nathan to live a better adjusted life? Rotti masterfully manipulates situations that create powerless outcomes for his employees.

11. Disdain for Intellectuals: Fascist nations tend to promote and tolerate open hostility to higher education, and academia. It is not uncommon for professors and other academics to be censored or even arrested. Free expression in the arts is openly attacked, and governments often refuse to fund the arts We don't see any particular evidence that GeneCo is currently hostile to higher education or academia. What we do know is the technologies of this world are akin to something we'd see out of the 20th century. However GeneCo is advanced enough to synthesize usable organs. In my last essay, I drew parallels to today by highlighting that there may have been a "brain drain" of intellectualism as a result of academics dying from their public health crisis. Outside of the opera house, we don't see many examples of art in this world. Maybe this is what happens when a government stops funding programs it deems frivolous or challenges the status quo?

14. Fraudulent Elections: Sometimes elections in fascist nations are a complete sham. Other times elections are manipulated by smear campaigns against or even assassination of opposition candidates, use of legislation to control voting numbers or political district boundaries, and manipulation of the media. Fascist nations also typically use their judiciaries to manipulate or control elections.

Based off context clues in the movie, we know that there is a group of voting citizens who help determine whether or not a company can repossess financed organs that are passed due on their payments. We don't know who makes these votes, the election process, or anything like that. So it is hard to say if GeneCo goes beyond their media campaign convincing voters to keep repossessions legal. Despite this lack of knowledge, I would argue that GeneCo wields incredible power regarding the course of elections for laws that apply to them. Okay, you want to pass a law to make organ repossession illegal? Fine, we don't have to offer products on a payment plan. The very threat of being able to take away healthcare is something right wing governments loveeee doing.

Speaking of elections, the United States 2020 general election is approaching. Now that I argued the ways that GeneCo is fascist, I will tie together ideas from both of these essays into a final piece that I hope you will like. If you enjoyed this article, please send it to all your Repo! friends.

#repo! the genetic opera #repo #Fascism #halloween #election #geneco #politics #horror #2020 #coronavirus #zydrate #musicals

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back-and-totheleft · 3 years

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"Hollywood rabble rouser"

Late one night in the summer of 2008, I found what turned out to be a stockbroker’s iPhone in the back of a NYC taxi. Turning it on in order to contact the owner, I noticed that amongst the stock watch apps and currency converters was an icon of Gordon Gekko, the corrupt market raider immortalized by Michael Douglas in Wall Street, Oliver Stone’s 1987 tale of insider trading and corporate excess. Intrigued, I hit Gekko’s pixilated face (it felt good) and a website flashed up with an entire transcription of his infamous “Greed is good” speech — one of Hollywood’s most iconic parables to the pursuit of unrestrained greed. Whoever owned the phone found those words as important as checking Facebook or texting his girlfriend. Gekko was his hero, his daily inspiration.

Watching back Wall Street a few weeks later as news of the Lehman Brothers collapse and global recession spread, it struck me that a whole generation of financiers must have grown up, like Charlie Sheen’s character Bud Fox, yearning to be Gekko. He was the business equivalent of a rapper wanting to become Tony Montana, another Stone creation. And some of these brokers, as we’ve all since discovered, were willing to trade money that didn’t exist in pursuit of pin stripe suits, corner offices, penthouses, boats, women, and stacks of cash. Perhaps the perks made the 22-year prison stretch Gekko received at the end of the film seem like a viable risk. Or they deliberately chose to ignore his downfall.

Inspired by financial fiends like Bernie Madoff, Stone decided to spring Gekko out of prison for Wall Street 2: Money Never Sleeps. Set in 2008, he is a reformed character that tries, and fails, to warn business leaders of the impending credit crunch. Many fans are understandably nervous about Douglas reprising his Oscar winning role, especially since his hair gel and brick phone have long been put into storage. Stone, who only agreed to direct the film because he felt that current financial climate lent itself to a sequel, understandably feels that it’s time for bankers to grow up. As the director of Natural Born Killers, JFK and Platoon he’s used to Marmite reactions. But, after giving Dubya an easy ride in W, will Gordon 2.0 be one step too far? Is the world ready for goody Gekko two shoes? Or will traders across Wall Street be deleting their “Greed is good” iPhone bookmarks forever? As they say on the stock market floor, let the bull charge.

Tim Noakes: When you were 18 your father got you to work on a financial exchange in France. Was that your inspiration for Wall Street?

Oliver Stone: No, it was a great summer job actually, because it was very exotic. My father was always into the stock market, into numbers. He loved that world in New York and I grew up on the fringes of it but I wasn’t particularly attuned to it. So it was a chance to see it first hand but I didn’t do very well as a trader. In those days you’d run from the phone booth in the back to the floor. It was cocoa and sugar. It was violent and busy. They used to elbow each other to get into the inner circle, like matadors. It was a real crush. I elbowed my way through it and got up to be assistant buyer, which was very complicated because you had to make the orders for everything right. You couldn’t screw up. A lot of money’s involved. So then I thought I should be one of the cocoa buyers. I was a little too ambitious for my own good.

Your father died before you made Wall Street. What do you think he would have made of it?

I think he would have appreciated that I had done a business movie. We always talked about it. He loved movies and he took me to them. We discussed them afterwards, which was an invaluable experience, and he would say that there weren’t many business movies. And there weren’t. There was not a specific genre. Hollywood was not into the business movie concept. It’s hard. I can understand why. It’s all financial talk, it’s not interesting to most people and it lacks those human emotions. Money is an interesting subject, however, for America. That’s why I addressed it in 1987. I thought, ‘Americans love money’, and what lengths they will go to get it is what that movie is about. Especially coming off Platoon, which is a different kind of movie. I was trying to prove that I could do something domestic with ‘Wall Street’.

The original was very much of its era.

It was the era of “Greed is good” and Reagan. With Wall Street 2, I’m obviously more mature, I’ve done more films, I have more confidence, I hope. I’m trying something a little bit deeper in the relationship field. There’s no Darryl Hannah in the movie. There’s a real English girl this time (Carey Mulligan). She anchors strongly the emotions of the film, because she is damaged. She’s the daughter of Gordon Gekko, if you can imagine what that can be like.

Michael Douglas once said that your style of directing is like taking people into the trenches. What did he mean by that?

He makes it sound like I dress him up in uniform and have a military hierarchy. Every single actor that I’ve worked with, and there’s obviously dozens now, you’d have to talk to every single one of them to get their perception. I would say some would disagree. Maybe Michael, because he hasn’t been in the military, would regard it as a military experience. I didn’t think of it that way. I think of a movie as an organisation that has to work at a very fluid pace involving a large amount of people who have to move quickly over a landscape. Call that what you will. It could be an adventure party or a military organisation. It’s really a satellite business. You form, you group, you rehearse, you shoot, you separate. It’s very nomadic. In that chemistry you bring together so many conflicting types of people who have different kinds of egos. It’s quite a mix. At the end of the day, if you look back at the — what is it? 19, 20 films — that I’ve directed, it’s just a mix of styles. Sometimes it really works with people. It clicks. I think Michael did great work on both films, so I’m very pleased with his result. My style might not have been good for him, but it works for other people. Some people, like Shia LaBeouf and Josh Brolin, were digging it. They loved the way I worked because it was intense and to the point and relatively fast.

Do you see yourself as a hard taskmaster or a disciplinarian?

No, I’m not a disciplinarian. I’m disciplined with myself and I think I try to lead by example not by imposition of my will. I try to lead by example. That’s just to say that people know that I’m trying to get this thing done. My approach is that we’re all in this together. The idea is king. We all serve that king. It is not a democracy, it is a constitutional monarchy, so to speak, with strong legislative power in the House of Lords. No, but the idea is king. I repeat that. Not the director. The idea. I serve the idea.

How do you balance the logistics with trying to create a piece of art?

Oh boy, if I didn’t tell you I wasn’t humbled so many times, you would not believe it. It’s a very humbling experience to make a movie, because you’re at the mercy of the elements. Of the winds and the weather as well as conditions that can go wrong — disease, sickness, bad tempers. All sorts of stuff can happen. Given that nature, to pull off a movie is extremely difficult. The editing room is another humiliation. All your mistakes are thrown back in your face. No matter how many good choices you make, and making a movie involves thousands of choices, you’re constantly having to question yourself again. I find it a very difficult position. I don’t think I enjoy it. I think I’m more experienced at it but I don’t think I completely enjoy it. I think sometimes it’s so painful you want to scream bloody murder and run somewhere.

What’s the cut-off point? How do you stop?

How do you stop? A famous director once said that every film is abandoned, never finished.

So you just let it go?

Some people won’t but I do let it go. I’m not looking for perfection. I don’t believe in it. I believe that a film is many things to many people and it changes over time. I think you have to feel good about it and about what you did. It hangs together and it’s going to be a story that can move an audience. It’s so difficult to pull off quickly. It takes time.

The world’s moved on since Wall Street. Were you apprehensive about creating a sequel to such a well-loved film?

Apprehensions? No. I’d have had more apprehensions if I’d had to do it in 1990, I think. Twenty-three years is a long time to call it a sequel. I think of it more as a bookend.

Don’t you think that’s laying you open for even more criticism? Look at what George Lucas did with Star Wars..

We’re not going back into that period. The beauty of this thing is that there’s a new period upon us, which is quite different, technically. It’s a different kind of Wall Street. The landscape has changed. It’s no longer 1987. It’s really a computer game now. The money has accelerated at a square root that is beyond belief from millions to billions. Hedge funds invest 30–40 billion dollars. Even to have one billion dollars is an enormous amount of money. When you hear these guys say, “Oh, it’s just a billion dollar hedge fund” it’s unbelievable arrogance. The heights are dizzying, and the losses are dizzying. It’s just unbelievable what happened. By all accounts it was a near-fatal heart-attack.

Were you planning on revisiting Wall Street is the crisis hadn’t happened?

No, that was the catalyst for it. It wasn’t the only reason. It was a wonderful idea for a script, that Gekko would be a different type of person. That he would start from the outside. He didn’t have power or connections anymore. Time had passed. He was dated.

Is Michael Douglas in danger of becoming a pastiche of what made Gordon Gekko good?

I feared that. That’s why we approached it in a wholly different way. Michael is playing it twenty-two years older, he’s coming out of prison. Michael has changed in that interim. He was a charming rogue, certainly, in the Eighties. You saw a lot of that in his subsequent performances. You saw a lot of Gekko in later films, so I think it was smart to move away from that pastiche, as you call it, because it would have been boring after a while. There are flashes of the old Gekko, which I love, but it’s not like the charming reptile, so to speak. It’s a different man now. I’m not saying that he’s a wholly reformed figure looking for a martyrhood, but what’s interesting about him is what he’s going to do, and how he’s going to play the game to get back. He has suffered extensively in prison, his family has fallen apart, his oldest son has committed suicide. It’s very tough on him.

How did you persuade Michael to get back on board?

Frankly, I didn’t convince anybody. I passed on the script in 2006. It wasn’t important for me to make it. I felt, what was the need to make this movie if it was going to glorify the pigs on Wall Street? They were really making money and it was ugly. There was a spate of books too like The Wolf of Wall Street, which was a big hit and they are going to make a movie out of that. There was kind of a surfeit and there was sickliness to it all. I got turned off by it. I passed, and I moved on with my life, and I did W and World Trade Centre and stuff like that. Then there was this crash and the crash changed the equation I think, I hope.

Do you think the original message of Wall Street failed because young traders ended up idolising Gordon Gekko?

That’s a very good question. Frankly, I wondered at times. The original Wall Street came about because of my experiences on Scarface. I was living in New York and I was hanging out with the dealers and the mob. That whole scene in Miami was a very shocking thing in 1982–3. Wall Street, was like Scarface north. I was suddenly seeing people my age, in their twenties, making millions of dollars, so easily, so quickly. Moving inordinate amounts of money. Also, snorting and drinking. The partying scene had really kicked in big time in the 80s. It was all new to me, so that’s how that was born. Then it went to excess. But I was very clear that Gekko was the antagonist in the movie, but as you say a lot of young people caught on to him. I do think, and perhaps I’m retrograde, that although he was not feted at the time the anchor of the movie is Charlie Sheen.

But no-one wanted to be Bud Fox.

Well that’s the movies. They want to be heroes. They want to make money. I did meet a lot of people in their 40s that said, “When I saw your movie I was studying this-or-that at this-or-that school, I was going to do history or medicine or law but then I saw the movie and I moved to Wall Street for that reason.” The the kicker was that some of them were multi-millionaires, one of them was a billionaire, and they had moved to Wall Street because of the movie. I said, “Oh boy, I wish I had a royalty on that.” These guys are really rich.

I find that quite worrying.

I gave birth to some rich people. But some of them did good. Some of them created something. That was the whole point of the original. Not to shit on Wall Street but to basically say, ‘Look, this is an engine of capitalism’. This can work. My father always felt that Wall Street was a good thing. It creates companies, it finances new companies, creates research and development, and it does. It still does, by the way, it’s not forgotten but it’s been buried in the greater picture of making bigger profits and more greed, but it’s still there. Wall Street is a good thing. It was a good thing and it can be a good thing.

Throughout your career critics have said you shouldn’t glamourise the people you put on the big screen. Do you like to provoke that reaction?

No, I like to make bigger-than-life characters but ‘World Trade Centre’ is about two very ordinary men who were real heroes. On Bush I guess you could say I supped with the devil and brought out all the reasons I thought why people voted for the guy. There is this fundamental thing which Americans like in him, and I was trying to root that out and how he became President.

You were criticised for making Bush too likeable.

You can fault that, but he was re-elected. I didn’t like him. I was very clear — I empathised. Empathy means I walked in his shoes, or tried to. As opposed to sympathised. I don’t agree with anything he said. Anything. I think he was a disaster. It was a nightmare eight years.

Do you think you were too soft?

No. I wish I’d done it a year earlier and it would have been more timely. He was out of favour when it came out, because of the economy, but frankly the movie was about the national security state which concerned me more.

Why are you drawn to these anti-heroes?

They don’t do me any good. Nixon, too.

I see a lot of similarities between Tony Montana and Gordon Gekko. In Scarface, Tony says “You need people like me to point the finger at and say, ‘That’s the bad guy’”. Do you think film critics see you in that light?

I think you’re right. I think film critics have me as a punch ball. It’s an easy target, I guess. I’ve been misidentified with the characters, but I think over time you see that there’s a whole assortment of different characters. But I agree, I think that’s true and I think that’s hurt me. It’s hurt my career as well as some of the political statements I’ve made and positions I’ve taken in documentaries I’ve made. They’ve hurt me too and they’ve given me a profile that’s not necessarily me, it’s just a profile. Absolutely.

There’s been huge furor recently that you’re reported to be attempting to humanise Hitler, Stalin and Mao Zedong.

I think it’s out of context. I did use the word ‘scapegoat’ and I think that was an unfortunate word, but frankly it’s a very interesting history that we’re putting together. We’re using the facts that we have, that are known but have been forgotten. There’s no question that Hitler had a big hand up the ladder. He didn’t come out of nowhere. He is a Frankenstein, he is a monster and I have no sympathy for him, but he was created by a Dr Frankenstein. That Dr Frankenstein is a very interesting mixture and you have to study cause and effect to understand history, otherwise you don’t learn anything from it. It’s my fault because I’m interested in the world, and I’m willing to go out there. I’m not trying to provoke, I’m trying to look for the truth. I’m trying to shine a light. For Christ’s sake, I feel like we’ve become so politically correct that you can’t do shit anymore. You’re not supposed to turn around.

Do you feel like you sometimes exploit sensitive subjects too much? More than some people can take?

Well, that’s why I like the English. They’re much more out there and they’re willing to explore subjects that the Americans are not. Having been to war, having seen the devastation America visited onto Vietnam, I cannot just be another typical American and live in isolation. My taxes are going as we speak to blowing up people in Afghanistan. I don’t feel good about that.

Back to Wall Street. Gekko says “Every dream has its price”, what’s the biggest price you’ve paid to get to where you are?

I’d have to talk to my psychotherapist, who I haven’t seen in ages. I suppose the price is that you do have long absences from home and normal quotidian values, at times. Your children grow up and you have to readapt to the fact that you haven’t been the attentive father. That’s a big issue, but I have been as attentive as I can be in taking care of them. Still, there’s gaps there. Divorces have happened. Those things.

I see Wall Street as epitomising the ruthlessness of the Eighties. During that era did you find yourself being a slave to the success that you had earned?

Yeah, I suppose everybody can become a mental slave to the need to produce. Remember, I was on a roll in the sense that I had to get financing for very complicated movies. I felt like I had a mission. To get JFK made in that era was very tough, still. You need heat. To make that movie after The Doors you need to keep rolling. In a sense I worked very fast, and hard, but I knew that I could get things done. Nixon was sort of the end of the line. I was making movies all those years. Platoon was impossible to get made. So was Salvador. Every single fucking one. ‘The Doors’. They were always problems. There were always tremendous issues. You asked what the price is? The price was to keep going fast, before they change their mind. The idea was ‘Wrap it up, get another one done’. These are tough subject matters. With ‘Nixon’ I’d done eleven or ten, I was exhausted. Frankly, I needed to take a break.

What kept you moving on? Obviously the pressures that you’re talking about manifested in different ways. You had your drug problems earlier on, but how did it manifest when the financing started to crumble down? Did you resort to those kind of vices?

I think there’s other factors. There was a lot of living. A lot of pain. Children. Divorces. This and that. But I think I have been very successful. I got movies made that wouldn’t have been done in the normal radar. They were not on the scope.

In Wall Street 2 Shia LeBeouf says, “No matter how much money you make, you’ll never be rich”. With all your success, do you empathise with that sentiment?

Of course I do. I don’t think money is the solution to happiness. Life is complicated, but certainly money can have the opposite effect. It can make you unsatisfied with life, and make life harder for you. There are two effects of it. One is that it leaves you unsatisfied, you always want more, as we see from these billionaires. Two, it leaves you falsely content and over-satisfied.

And you’re not either?

I don’t feel that way, no. I feel like I’m one trade away from disaster.

The new film is called Wall Street 2: Money Never Sleeps. What gets you off to sleep?

What gets me off to sleep? Sonata. Medication. I’m just joking. The best solution for sleep is having lived a full day and tried hard to live life fully. That makes you feel the reward of sleep.

-Tim Noakes, "The Hollywood rabble rouser sets his sights on a new generation of Wall Street wolves," Medium, Mar 3 2010 [x]

#medium #tim noakes #w.#wall street #wall street: money never sleeps #oliver stone

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roseategales · 4 years

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SOLAS & ORPHEUS I: YOUR NAME IS LIKE A MELODY. (THE POWER OF EPITHETS, TITLES, & NAMES.)

EPITHETS & TITLES:

VGS: Where do you see a character like Solas ending up? Patrick Weekes: [Sighs] Musical theatre.

The above exchange is from an interview with Video Game Sophistry, where Patrick Weekes goes into detail about the creation of Solas and how we ended up with the character and romance we got. Although said in jest, I do believe Weekes honestly recognised that Solas is a character who could easily be adapted to the medium of the stage musical, due to how musicality is baked into the foundations of his story and the world of Dragon Age. In fact, Weekes compares the fantasy and romance of Solavellan to The Phantom of the Opera earlier in the interview, and anyone familiar with Phantom can see the parallels, as Solas and his arc share many tropes and archetypes in common, not just with the Phantom, but with other male characters in musicals. If I told you I was going to see a show about a Morally Conflicted Soldier, a Trickster in Disguise, a Rebel Leader, a Decadent Noble, a Mythic Legend, or a Monster Boyfriend, I’m sure several examples would jump to mind.

Solas is all of these. Layer upon layer, stitched together, and then taken apart, whenever he needs to be whatever he needs to be. And he is also, if we are borrowing the epithets from Hadestown, The King and The Poor Boy Working on a Song.

It has to be noted that Hadestown’s use of epithets is itself a nod to ancient oral poetry, particularly in the vein of Homer. In Homeric convention, important characters, settings, and objects weren’t described by adjectives, but with epithets that would change based on context. (e.g. Much-enduring Odysseus, who is another paradoxical Trickster figure in ancient myth.) The use of epithets is a signifier of the origins of Homer’s works, serving as a mnemonic device and a way to fit the scenes of the stories to dactylic hexameter, as they were first oral poems that were composed and sung in front of audiences before they were written down. However, because of our modern understanding of the English language and what the word epithet connotes to us, what Anaïs Mitchell has done by using this device in Hadestown, is turn it into something that’s closer to the definition and function of a title rather than an adjective. Hades is always “The King.” Orpheus is always “The Poor Boy Working on a Song,” or “The Poor Boy With a Gift to Give.”

Solas bears his names in a similar fashion. When introduced to us as merely Solas, he is the “Humble Apostate” (or “Unwashed Apostate Hobo,” if you have Vivienne and Dorian in your party), or the “Fade Expert”; he is nicknamed “Chuckles” by Varric and “Fade Walker” by Iron Bull. Descriptors that comment on his lowly, outsider status, beaten and betrayed in this strange new world, that endear us to him. When he again dons the badge of Fen’Harel/Dread Wolf, he is “He Who Hunts Alone,” “Lord of Tricksters,” “The Great Wolf,” “Roamer of the Beyond,” and “Bringer of Nightmares.” Bynames that, of course, evoke those given to deities in ancient cultures (e.g. Hades is also known as Plouton in Greek myth, “The Rich One.”), that make him out to be fearsome, malevolent, and unknowable beyond the legends.

When I separate Solas into these two personas and archetypes, of Solas and Fen’Harel, The King and The Poor Boy, I don’t want us to make the mistake of thinking he is someone who bifurcates himself so completely that one part of him is unrecognisable from the other. His is not a situation of one identity hiding another or two identities battling to control the fore. He is Solas and he is Fen’Harel; the way Lavellan is “The Dalish Elf” and “The Herald of Andraste.” He is simply someone who has some impressive compartmentalisation skills (displayed in a conversation he has with Sera on the tactics of the Red Jenny group), and who has a thorough experience of a line he says to Cole:

“We all have a face we want to show, and a face we do not.”

NAMES:

Perhaps the best way to convey Solas’ complexities coming together to form the whole of him, is by examining the construction of his name. How cyclical it is, beginning and ending with the letter S, as effortlessly smooth and slippery as he. The L in the middle like a delineation, a fork in the road of choices before him. O and A on either end like they’re mirrors or masks. How it’s composed of five letters, the way iambic pentameter is composed of five syllables that you must stress and unstress—like the two syllables in his name itself. And depending on which syllable you stress in your pronunciation, your voice will either rise and fall or fall and rise when you say it.

I may be giving Gaider and Weekes too much credit here, but Solas’ name is quite literally perfect for him. Change any single one of these components or his characteristics, and you will no longer have Solas but someone else in his stead.

There are layered meanings to the sound of his name, too. Solas is a homophone for Solace and Soulless in the English language. The former recalls all the times he might’ve provided solace to his friends or lover, or received it from them; and the latter recalls how he does seemingly soulless things to achieve his goals, or becomes someone who is soulless altogether if you don’t reach out to him with kindness. Angela D. Mitchell explores this wonderfully on her blog Dumped, Drunk and Dalish, along with homonyms in other languages. Among them are:

Latin: Solus Meanings: Solitary, alone, sole, only, uninhabited.

Irish: Solas Meanings: Light, Bright, Clear; Brightness; illumination; lucid, intelligible; light-giving, lamp flame; enlightenment, insight; revelation, disclosure; the light of existence; vision. Also: self-interest; limelight.

Old Irish: Solus Meaning: Light.

Scottish Gaelic (derived from the old Irish "Solus" or "light"): Solas Meaning: Light.

Old French: Solaz, Sollas, Soulas Meanings: Joy, pleasure, enjoyment.

She also explores the Latin root of ‘Sol’:

Lone, alone, solitary, lonely, desolate, dismal, gloomy The sun (also can refer to the Sun in a personified sense) A source of comfort, calmness, soothing "To be accustomed" (as found in such words as: insolent, obsolescent, sullen)

These are all such apt descriptors for various facets of his personality and story, it shows the amount of thought and care given to him in the writing process. And of course, there are the Elven meanings: ‘Pride’ or ‘to stand tall.’

Because of the level of thought involved, I wondered how far back Gaider chose his name and decided it would mean ‘Pride’ in Elven, and how that might’ve informed Weekes’ writing of his character. @maythedreadwolftakeyou, @felassan and @lesbianarcana (my heroes!) helped me out and did some top-notch digging.

The first instance we have of the word Solas was found in a codex acquired from Dragon Age II’s Black Emporium, which was released on March 8, 2011. After that, it appears with its Elven meaning and on a map in World of Thedas Volume 1, released on April 30, 2013.

Since we have an enormous amount of foreshadowing for him by way of Shartan in Dragon Age: Origins and Merrill in Dragon Age II, I think it’s safe to say the first concepts of what Solas would mean and who the character who would wear the name would become began as far back as DAO. (Note: I believe Gaider or another Bioware dev confirmed this on social media, but I couldn’t find the post anywhere. If it crops up and you see it, please let me know. I’ll amend the post and credit you.)

In any case, the power of names is yet another running theme that links the storytelling of the ancients, Hadestown, and DA:I. Orpheus pays attention to the composition of Eurydice’s name, and remarks on how it’s “like a melody,” and his arrival in Hadestown reminds her of it when she’s been stripped of it and has forgotten who she used to be. Solas tells Abelas he hopes that he finds a new name after he leaves the guard of the Vir Abelasan, because it means Sorrow. The Qunari in Tevinter Night’s Genitivi Dies in the End have a special interest in finding out what they believe to be Solas’ “true name,” so they can then “track [him] back through the best and worst of [himself]”; “find flaws”; “exploit weaknesses”; “know what [he] failed to be.”

To be named is to be given an identity, personality, and, in most cases, personhood. To be named yourself and to be able to name others is power. Whether that comes as the name you’re privately called, your title, or your epithet.

#da meta #dai meta #solas meta #dragon age meta #mine.#text post.#of a god & man: solas & hadestown meta series.#dragon age.#solas.#hadestown.#this was A Lot to write #spoilers for tevinter nights!!

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emeraldtawny · 4 years

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Dazai Osamu Character Analysis: How Human Is He?

Before I get into this, allow me to preface this with a disclaimer: I AM NO EXPERT IN ANY OF THE TOPICS I AM ABOUT TO DELVE INTO, THIS IS JUST WHAT I INTERPRET PERSONALLY. This is just a fan of the character rambling about him and his real-life counterpart for the sake of sharing the thoughts rattling around inside my brain. However, I will link all sources that I used at the end of this so you may wish to investigate further if what you read piques your interest.

Okay, so… Dazai Osamu. This man is as much of an enigma as he was in real life (which… makes sense). Whether Cybird did this on purpose for a gradual build-up to his route or because he just wasn’t as popular a character, who knows? (I like to believe the former just for hope’s sake gbsdukgdx). Because we know very little about him in-game, the majority of what I will be mentioning will relate back to IRL Dazai. If you know little or nothing of Dazai Osamu, please proceed with caution if discussions of substance abuse, depression and suicide upset or trigger you. Consider this your disclaimer. Now then, let’s dive in.

History of Dazai Osamu

Born in 1909 into a wealthy family as Tsushima Shūji, that didn’t ease his early life from burdens. His father was a politician and often spent long periods away from home. His mother was often sick so he was mostly cared for by his aunt and the family’s servants. His father died of lung cancer when Dazai was 13, but he seemed mostly unhindered by the death of his father and continued through schooling before being accepted into the literature department of Hirosaki University in 1927.

Things started taking a more outward effect on Dazai around this time, the linchpin likely being the death of his idol - author Ryūnosuke Akutagawa - who committed suicide. He started losing interest in his studies, investing more time into alcohol and prostitutes. He also experimented in Marxism, even joining the Japanese Communist Party. His first suicide attempt was in 1929 - right before his school exams - by an attempted sleeping pill overdose. This wasn’t enough to kill him so he subsequently survived. He graduated from Hirosaki the following year, then moved to Tokyo University in 1930. There, he met a prostitute that he ran away with, prompting him to be disowned by his family.

His second attempt at suicide came that year - an attempted double suicide with a young woman he barely knew. They threw themselves into the ocean. Sadly, she died, and Dazai was rescued by a passing fishing boat. He was suspected in the woman’s death, but his family’s influence saved him. He then married the prostitute he ran away with.

It was after this that Dazai began networking with established writers and started publishing his own works, his pseudonym of Dazai Osamu being established with his short story ‘Ressha’ in 1933. In 1935, he attempted suicide for the third time by hanging, failing once again. That same year, he suffered from appendicitis and was admitted to hospital where he developed an addiction to a morphine-based painkiller. He was admitted to a mental institution in 1936 and was forced off of his drug addiction. When he was getting treated, his wife had an affair with his best friend. With their marriage deteriorating, both Dazai and his wife attempted a double suicide - Dazai’s fourth attempt. They both consumed sleeping pills in an attempted overdose. Both survived and Dazai divorced his wife after this.

The 1930s and 1940s were Dazai’s golden years literature-wise. He wrote many novels and short stories. When World War II rolled around, he escaped being drafted due to tuberculosis. He continued writing through the war period and met and then married his second wife in 1941. They had three children together.

The last years of Dazai’s life produced his most infamous works - ‘The Setting Sun’ and ‘No Longer Human’ - in 1947 and 1948 respectively. Around this time, Dazai met a woman who he left his wife and children for to take as a mistress. On June 13, 1948, Dazai and his mistress committed suicide by drowning in the Tamagawa Reservoir in Tokyo. In a cruelly ironic twist, their corpses were discovered on what would have been Dazai’s 39th birthday - his fifth attempt was the one that succeeded. An unfinished novelette eerily titled ‘Goodbye’ was left behind, many believing this as his last will.

Dazai’s works became a cult classic after his death, his undertones of nihilism in a postwar society greatly appealing to the masses. ‘No Longer Human’ became his most famous piece, eventually being translated into many languages and is among the most popular books in Japanese literature. He inspired different movies and anime (and otome) with the story of his life and the works he crafted from his experiences.

(All info in this section is derived from Source 1)

No Longer Human’s Effect

When you think Dazai Osamu, it’s not uncommon to immediately think of his novel ‘No Longer Human’. Whether you’ve read the book or not, worry not, as I will not be discussing any plots in the book; I will instead address the overarching themes and (the lack of) conclusion and message the novel leaves you with.

Many consider ‘No Longer Human’ - and many other of Dazai’s works - as semi-autobiographical, as he took many of his story’s ideas from his own personal experiences. This is illustrated through the way in which he wrote his stories; focusing on first-person perspectives to an excruciatingly analytical degree. This was and still is known as the “I-Genre” in Japan and became a staple for Dazai, the viewpoints and mindsets he wrote his characters in portrayed very vividly in a way that made you question how much of it is the character, and how much of what he wrote was the author’s own words and feelings to the world.

‘No Longer Human’ is not a happy story. It follows the story of a man through childhood, university and finally adulthood - the story written in three parts as notebooks to show his progression of age. Without spoiling the contents of the novel in case you wish to read it for yourself, the story focuses on an overarching question: is being a human the solution, or the problem in and of itself? Throughout the novel, it’s clear of how questioning the main character is of this, almost to the point of obsession and compulsion. However, his language always shows how unconvinced he is; a “mundane and dream-like writing, incessantly miming the words “I think … ,” “I am … ,” “I could … ,” “I should … .” Dazai’s characters are never quite convinced.” (Source 2).

The character Dazai portrays is relentless in his self-examination, which leads to his estrangement - not just from those around him, but to the very species he is meant to be a part of. Estrangement is common throughout the story and “It is this fundamentally unhuman feeling that, paradoxically, reveals to Dazai’s characters exactly how human they are.” (Source 2). The inner monologues and conversations can be unsettling if you find yourself relating, alien if you don’t, but ultimately leave you walking away from it questioning even an inkling of what you thought was innate and normal.

‘No Longer Human’ is not a story designed to tie up all of the loose ends it produces. Dazai leaves it up to you - the reader - to interpret for yourself. The character is infuriatingly, yet ultimately in character, indecisive in how he wishes to perceive the world; “To be a nonentity strangely indifferent to all the accoutrements of human life and society, and yet strangely drawn to the unhuman world of sky, rain, sand, sea, this is where Dazai’s novel ultimately leads, and it’s at this point that it has to end.” (Source 2).

Depression and Nihilism

I mentioned earlier that Dazai was admitted to a mental institution. From the sources I found, I couldn’t find anything concrete about why he was admitted aside from battling his drug addiction. However, mental illness was prevalent in Dazai’s life and it’s widely believed depression was a large part of this. Few recounts of people who talked with Dazai recalled his dark, wry tone in his writings, yet found his humour witty and oftentimes exaggerated (hmmmm…). Since I found nothing credible for this discussion beyond this, I’m going to step away from psychology and instead have a look at philosophy, specifically Dazai’s philosophy on life.

Again, this is just assumptions. However, I find this more comfortable theorising about over sensitive topics like depression and mental health (plus, I find this incredibly interesting, personally). You could argue that Dazai believes in sophistry - the use of clever but false arguments, especially with the intention of deceiving - but I’m inclined to disagree simply because of how deep Dazai digs himself into his own deception; if he himself believes what he tells others, I think it’s a more deep-rooted philosophy than false arguments. I mentioned nihilism earlier and this is what I ultimately believe is the philosophy in how Dazai saw the world. What type of nihilism is the question.

Most people think nihilism and assume the whole “God is dead, I feel nothing” hypothetical; I know I used to always assume so. But, of course, it’s not as cut and dry as that (nothing is simple…). There are different types of nihilism, but I will only talk about the one I think applies to Dazai. Throughout his stories, despite the gloomy atmosphere, there’s usually a(n attempted) glimmer of hope - a snag in the character’s mindset that draws them back into their repeating thoughts of what they should and should not perceive and believe in. Because of this, cosmic nihilism (also called cosmic pessimism) can be eliminated - Dazai’s characters don’t renounce everything they feel and take meaning in as illusions to make existing easier, they’re slightly more lenient in believing what they perceive.

I offer the type of nihilism I believe Dazai’s mindset for writing - and subsequently his actual mindset - falls into: existential nihilism.

Existential nihilism operates on the premise that there is no inherent meaning or purpose; “existence itself–all action, suffering, and feeling–is ultimately senseless and empty.” (Source 3). While not denouncing beliefs like faith and love like cosmic nihilism, existential nihilism relies on values being created and sustained lest they risk falling into the mindset that there is no hope, the world is truly empty and there’s no point in existing in a world that doesn’t even try to give you a reason to hold on. Existential nihilists don’t believe that happiness doesn’t exist; they simply believe that “miseries vastly outnumber pleasures, happiness is impossible” (Source 3) and, therefore, are constantly at odds with themselves over striving for this impossible happiness or simply leaving it behind to find something else to root themselves to reality. Many of Dazai’s character’s internal conversations echo this philosophy; they either despair over being who they are, or they despair because they can’t be who they think they are. In a specific example, they feel estranged and uneasy about how they think - being what they deem “not human” - or they feel trapped and alone in believing that they can’t be who they think they are, so they’re forced to play a character - a facade - for their entire life so as not to be discovered.

Search up ‘Dazai Osamu quotes’ on Google and you’ll find a plethora to read that seem to portray this very idea. Constantly battling within himself over what he should believe, what he should feel and, ultimately, never voicing his pain to the world itself. These two screenshots from the game seem to mirror this sentiment.

Soo… what does this mean for Ikemen Vampire Dazai?

… Who knows? I don’t work for Cybird so I couldn’t possibly tell you sorry :3. The PV for his route had heavy implications of atonement and death being the only true salvation, so I’m intrigued on what angle they’re going to tackle that from, since Dazai’s reasoning for being revived was “well, death wasn’t what I thought it would be lol”. (Unless it’s a red herring… who knows with this eccentric man gbdukgdfx).

So… yeah. I just wanted to ramble and with his route dropping in Japan before April is done, I thought it was a good time to just ramble into the Tumblr void. Please feel free to broach further conversations about this, correct me if I slipped up anywhere or to just say you’re excited for his route (because I know I am huehuehue).

Sources can be found here (Source 1 | Source 2 | Source 3)

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevam #ikevam dazai #dazai character analysis #okay....I think I did okay gbeuidsgknds #I had to stop myself for the sake of my own sanity but wow this stuff is interesting to me #and hopefully it was interesting to you if you decided to read :3 #tawny rambles #tawny is sad over this man's life and needs to go think of happier things now gbudgkndsf

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imaginaryelle · 4 years

Text

Turnabout and Start Again part 4

(Thanks as always to @miyuki4s and @morphia-writes for beta help!) part one | part two | part three

Lan Wangji reaches the edge of the village at dusk on the third day. Three days of walking, of meditating while a small handful of rice cooks over a smoldering campfire and easing his body through unarmed, sword, and horse-whisk forms when twilight makes continued travel too treacherous. His horse-whisk forms are not as fluid as his sword forms but the flow of it is coming back to him with practice, even if this body is weaker than his own and sometimes stumbles through movements he’s accustomed to performing by instinct. His spiritual energy replenishes slowly; it’s clear that the cultivator who was born to this body had training, and practice, but perhaps in a limited and unfocused direction. Or perhaps the time in the cells had been more grueling and damaging than Lan Wangj first assumed. The curse mark has darkened around the edges, which does not bode well. Without a golden core to draw on he will need assistance soon.

The soul bond does not care about buildings, fences or propriety. He knows Wei Ying is nearby, close, but that is all.

“Wait!” He turns. A man wearing a merchant’s apron is running towards him, one arm raised to gesturing him closer. “Please come inside quickly, it’s not safe—” he startles to a halt and bows. “Ah, forgive me, Daozhang. Perhaps you already know of our problems.”

He frowns. “Problems?” Perhaps he should not be surprised to find trouble. Wei Ying must be here for a reason.

“It’s plagued us for three days now.” The merchant looks over his own shoulder. “The whole of the Wang family—The streets are not safe—”

There is a scream to the east, and the merchant pales.

“It’s started again.”

“Protect yourself and your family,” Lan Wangji instructs, looking beyond the man to the lantern-lit doorway of a pottery shop and the faces peering through it. He turns toward the sound of the scream and runs.

He is not fast enough. He arrives to find an elderly man dead on the ground and a pair of onlookers, both grieving. No. Not elderly. The dead man has been stripped of both life and spirit, his remains sunken and shriveled, making it impossible to tell his original age. He is also missing his left arm, as if it had been severed from the shoulder.

“What did this?” Lan Wangji asks.

“It was the ghost,” the younger woman says, “We were on our way home, and Gege started attacking that man—” she hiccups, “—I told him not to touch the cultivators’ things. He said it would protect us—” she stops, crying harder. The older woman has not looked up at all.

Lan Wangji has never been good at giving comfort. The best he can offer is a quick and just conclusion to this family’s troubles. He bends to search the corpse for the mentioned cultivator’s tool and finds a spirit lure tucked inside the cross of his yi. It seems the man drew trouble upon himself, however good his intentions.

“You should move indoors,” he says, folding the lure into his own sleeve. There are worse-prepared targets at risk. “Where is the other man now?” he asks. The young woman points wordlessly down an alley and he sets off again, more slowly this time, listening hard.

Not a ghost, he thinks. Not if it has killed for multiple nights in a row.

The alley opens onto the main market street; the street stalls are deserted, the lanterns snuffed out. Even the buildings are closed and shuttered, weak light bleeding around the edges of windows and doors. Spirit lures hang at intervals, most of them drafted by the same hand as the one he carries, but there are small differences. The first one he passes might reach twelve li, the second only ten li. By the time he reaches the third he realizes the change is deliberate; this cultivator is trading distance for attraction. The flags are a path, drawing spirits ever inward. The one he bears is stronger than the ones he passes. He picks up his pace.

Something lunges out of the shadows, a hand outstretched toward his face, and he whirls aside, sinking into a ready stance.

There is no life in his attacker’s bulging eyes. No human coordination to his movements. Whatever has possessed him does not restrict itself to the limits of skin and bone and muscle. Lan Wangji whirls again, readying the horsetail whisk in one hand and shaking out the spirit lure with the other.

Three passes with the whisk and a few steps deeper into the lure trap and the body shudders. The skin sucks inward, the legs stumble. It falls.

The left hand still moves, twisting out of the man’s pale sleeve and lunging towards Lan Wangji even faster than before, as if possessing a body had been holding it back.

Turn, strike, step back. Strike, step, turn.

This is no average fierce corpse, born from an average man resentful in death and dismemberment. Each strike takes more effort than the last. The whisk will not survive another.

Lan Wangji can feel his spiritual power fading. His arms are trembling, and his breath comes more quickly. He drops the strikes out of the pattern, whirling and turning, leading the arm back and further back down the path of lure flags in the hopes that whoever set them has more in mind than simply choosing their battlefield.

“Over here!” someone yells, but he cannot take his eyes off the arm. A moment later he is flanked by two cultivators, one in dark colors, one in pale shades, their swords already drawn. The high, piercing notes of a familiar dizi sing through the night air.

Chenqing. Wei Ying.

In the shadows beyond the arm, back up the path Lan Wangji has traveled, the corpse of the formerly possessed man lurches to its feet and rushes forward.

“There’s an array 3 zhang behind you,” the cultivator on his left says. “Throw the lure in the center!”

“We don’t need the lure,” scoffs the other one, but Lan Wangji can see how their swords shake under the arm’s attacks, even with another fierce corpse to act as distraction.

Lan Wangji backs up quickly and spins to find this new target. The array is a shadow, darker and more menacing than the simple absence of light, a peculiarity emphasized by the ring of lanterns placed around it. He throws the lure into its center.

A dismayed shout sounds behind him and something hits his shoulder hard. The arm. Long nails dig through the layers of his clothes, which are only cloth—there are no protective talismans stitched into the seams or collar.

He turns as swiftly as he can, shedding his outer layer and swiping with the whisk to flip the whole bundle—arm and yi together—into the array.

The arm struggles for a moment, then quiets.

Chenqing’s notes fade. A sharp whistle sounds out.

Wei Ying jumps to the edge of the array.

Wei Ying.

He looks … older than Lan Wangji remembers. And calmer, the riot of resentment that had churned within him no longer threatening to slip from his grasp due to a moment’s inattention.

He still does not carry a sword.

A lingering, scrabbling fear that Lan Wangji’s efforts had come to nothing or gone awry is soothed and swept away. Wei Ying lives. Wei Ying is whole.

Wei Ying kneels at the edge of the array and snaps his fingers. The shadowy edges rise like a cage and twist inward, bearing down until the arm is engulfed in it, and then the dark mass is swept neatly into a qiankun pouch. Lan Wangji’s dark outermost yi and the now-broken horsetail whisk sit alone on the cobblestone street.

“That was quick thinking,” Wei Ying says as he retrieves the _yi _and holds it out. “Sorry it came to that. Someone was supposed to be guarding that lure.”

There is no recognition in Wei Ying’s eyes. Lan Wangji is not certain why he thought there would be, when he still does not recognize the face he wears any time he catches a glimpse of it.

He reaches for the yi. Perhaps if they touch—perhaps the soul bond—

“Wei-zongzhu,” one of the cultivators says, the one who had stood on his left, who wears the same black and red as Wei Ying. Because, Lan Wangji realizes, Wei Ying is a sect leader now, with disciples, and not only refugees in his care. Zongzhu. He hadn’t thought Wei Ying was interested in the position.

Two more cultivators have joined the group, also in black and red. The fourth wears pale gold that glimmers in the lantern light. Lan Wangji takes the yi from a lower part, far from Wei Ying’s hand. This is not a revelation he feels like sharing indiscriminately.

Wei Ying follows his disciple’s gaze and looks over his shoulder. “Oh.” He sounds resigned. Lan Wangji turns to see what has caught his attention.

A party of cultivators is alighting in the street. A very familiar party of cultivators, wearing Gusu-Lan white and blue, pale ribbons drawing bright lines across their foreheads. Most of them are young, the cut and embroidery of their hanfu marking them as junior disciples. Lan Wangji doesn’t recognize any of them. None but the leader, who is so familiar Lan Wangji knows him by the glare of his sword before he lands, by the xiao at his side, by the line of his shoulders and the way he scans over his companions to make sure they’ve all arrived safely.

His brother’s face was more familiar than his own even before the past three days.

“Wei-zongzhu,” says Lan Xichen. He sheathes Shuoyue, then bows with cold grace. There is no smile for Wei Ying. Instead of a curious glance to ascertain the health of his companions, his gaze is wary.

“Lan-zongzhu.” Wei Ying’s smile as he bows is bitter. “I didn’t realize the Lan Clan had extended their territory. We were investigating reports of a beast in the next valley when news of this threat reached us.”

“Of course.” Lan Wangji has never seen his brother so stern. “And do you have conclusions to share?”

“A particularly angry victim of lingchi.” Wei Ying holds up his qiankun pouch. “Or rather, his left arm. The rest of him seems to be beyond my lures’ reach.”

Lan Xichen nods. “And is the Yiling-Wei Sect taking on the responsibility of reuniting the pieces?”

Wei Ying shrugs, then turns to Lan Wangji. “Unless you wish to claim it?” he asks.

Lan Wangji shakes his head. Speech is impossible, words locked in this throat.

“Liang Feihong-gongzi?”

The name is familiar, but still it takes him a moment to realize Lan Xichen is not looking among his own disciples, but at Lan Wangji. Recognizing the body, but not the soul occupying it. That too is a blow, different from Wei Ying’s ignorance. His brother has always known him best, but does not see him now.

Liang Feihong. That’s who this body belongs to. Born in Caiyi, Lan Wangji remembers. Son of a fisherman. Trained for several years but returned to his family after news of his father's death during the war. Lan Wangji is abruptly grateful he’d thought to wear the forehead ribbon only to tie up his hair before encountering another cultivator. He has no explanation for why Liang Feihong would still be wearing it as intended.

“I was sorry to hear about your circumstances,” Lan Xichen is saying, concern and warmth returning to his voice. “I hope you remember that you can always return to us, if you have need.”

Lan Wangji does not reveal himself, or ask why Liang Feihong might have a publicly known need for aid. The tension between his brother and Wei Ying is too alarming to risk further confusion.

“Thank you Lan-zongzhu.” He bows in acknowledgment, the familiar necessities of polite niceties loosening his tongue. “I am grateful for your offer. I will keep it in mind.”

His brother smiles. “Please,” he says, “allow us to at least escort you back to Gusu, and see to your injuries.”

Gusu. Homesickness crashes over Lan Wangji like a wave. He could return to Cloud Recesses. In Cloud Recesses, the world will make sense, the last three days shrunken down to something more manageable. Cloud Recesses holds familiar clothes, familiar food, familiar patterns and quiet. His brother's familiar smile and steadiness and supportive, listening ear.

Or at least. Cloud Recesses had held those things. A lifetime ago, before he stood with his blade between his clan and Wei Ying, and before he was pinned to the stone of the central courtyard and whipped until he could do nothing but lie on his stomach and ache. Before he was banished to seclusion for three years and a war party marched for the Mass Graves.

He has not served that sentence. He has no reason to think the clan’s stance has improved; if anything, his brother’s icy politeness could indicate a change for the worse. If he goes to Gusu, if he reveals himself to his brother, he may never find Wei Ying again.

“Thank you, Lan-zongzhu,” he says, bowing again, “but I would prefer to remain with Wei-zongzhu. I have some questions for him.”

Lan Xichen’s gaze returns to Wei Ying. To the young cultivators at his sides.

“I see you are making a collection,” he says.

The Jin boy rolls his eyes. One of the Wei cultivators stiffens, her hand moving to her sword. The tallest sneers. The third looks to Wei Ying, who only shrugs, twirling Chenqing between his fingers.

“I only met your Liang-gongzi a few moments ago. Am I expected to turn away guests now?”

Even the young Lan disciples look uncomfortable. Whatever is happening between Wei Ying and Lan Xichen, Lan Wangji has just somehow made it worse.

“I mean no disrespect,” he tries, but his brother shakes his head, dismissing the words.

“There is no need,” he says. “I am long familiar with Wei-zongzhu’s … popularity.”

And then he leaves, moving back up the main street with long, deliberate steps. Moments later the Lan party rises above the rooftops, flying south.

“Self-righteous jerks,” one of the Wei cultivators mutters. When Lan Wangji looks at them the tallest one is being prodded with the young woman’s sword pommel and soundly shushed. The third one is still watching Wei Ying.

“Zongzhu…”

“Later.” Wei Ying’s expression as he faces Lan Wangji is unreadable. “I will be happy to consider your questions later this evening, Liang-gongzi, but I have some errands to see to. For now, please accept the hospitality of the Yiling-Wei Sect.” he bows, and Lan Wangji hurries to bow back, somehow still surprised at being addressed with someone else’s name.

“Thank you, Wei-zongzhu,” he says, forcing the title over his teeth. Wei Ying doesn’t know him. A personal name is inappropriate in the circumstances. Still, his throat aches with unsaid words.

“A-Yuan, see to it that our guest gets a meal and a bed for the night,” Wei Ying instructs. “We’ll return in the morning.”

“Of course,” the young man says. “Just remember—”

But Wei Ying is gone, already returned to the rooftops and making his way toward the town’s main square.

The young man sighs.

“My apologies, Liang-gongzi. Wei-zongzhu has a lot on his mind at the moment. I am Wen Sizhui, and these are my sect siblings, Liu Weixin-shidi and Zhou Xiuying-shimei.”

“And I’m Jin Ling,” says the Jin cultivator, also bowing. “Jin Rulan, but no one calls me that except Dajiu when he’s annoyed.”

Lan Wangji stares; a fathomless abyss of things he doesn’t know is opening under his ribs. Wen Sizhui, and Jin Rulan. The two of them, mostly grown and standing before him with swords at their sides, when last he’d known Wen Yuan had still been young enough to be carried and the infant Jin Ling had barely passed 100 days.

How much time has he lost?

How long has Wei Ying been walking the world without him?

on to part 5

#wangxian #wangxian fic #mo dao zu shi #mo dao zu shi fic #mdzs #lan wangji #wei wuxian #role reversal au #soulmate au #turnabout verse #alex writes

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illogicalhusbands · 5 years

Text

The Game is Afoot - pt. 3

Bill Masters x Alec Hardy Masters of Sex / Broadchurch Crossover Link to Part 2

I apologize for taking a long while to update! Me and my co-mod have had our hands full the past week with work and other projects. But I’m hoping I can get back to regular scheduling soon! We’re nearing the end of this fic now. I project the next update will probably be the last. Thank you to everyone who’s still reading this! -

“A whisk, Hardy? Really? You’ve been pining over this man for a month and you give him a bloody whisk?”

“Sod off, Miller. It’s a housewarming party and he has plenty of stuff already.”

Miller frowned. “You should at least give something that’ll leave a bigger impression on him.”

“What do I get him, then? A Victorian sofa?”

He put down the whisk and perused the section of the shop dedicated to pots and pans. Both he and Miller had been invited to Masters’ housewarming party the coming weekend and Alec had no idea what gift to get him.

“Now, now, don’t overthink this. You can always go the old-fashioned route.”

“What route is that?”

Miller grinned. “Oh, y’know. Flowers… chocolates… some good wine…”

Alec was scandalised at being reminded of when he was first invited to Miller’s house several years ago and didn’t know what was polite to bring to your friends’ houses as he never had any. “Do not go there, Miller, I swear—”

“See? You’re already a natural at this!” Alec remained silent. “You could add balloons. Or an angel cake.”

“Don’t laugh at my misery.”

Miller gave a frustrated sigh. “I’m trying to help you! Jesus Christ, you two have been circling around each other for weeks! Can’t you move it along?”

Alec rolled his eyes. “Move what along? We’re not a canoe, Miller.”

“You are being purposely obtuse!” Ellie said, shoving a finger at his chest. “You like him—”

“I didn’t say that.”

“—and he obviously fancies you—”

“Now that’s debatable.”

“And Lord knows you are in need of a good shag which, if I’m hearing correctly from the rumours, Dr. Masters is perfectly capable of giving.”

Alec went through a series of multiple shades of deep red.

“Where did I put down that whisk?” said Alec, retreating down the steps he’d gone.

Miller grabbed his arm. Her face softened. “Look at you, you big ol’ softie. Don’t give me that grouchy look. Like you said, he has plenty of stuff. I’m sure he’ll love whatever it is you’ll get cause he’ll only care about who it was from.”

Alec hung his head, suddenly taken by a breeze of honesty. “But that’s not good enough.”

Since that day at the library, he and Masters had only grown closer. It was bordering on ridiculous, really, how much they hung out and had breakfast and texted each other on the phone. And it didn’t help at all that Dr. Masters had an amazing personality to match with his confident facade. He was witty and intelligent. He had a dry sense of humour that eased Alec’s constant worries of saying something that others deem inappropriate. Masters took his rude remarks and added to them a spark of somewhat greater morbidity. Perhaps it had to do with both of them being in morbid careers, but they understood one another at a level that Alec had never experienced with anyone else. Not even his investigative partner and best friend Miller.

He was comfortable around Masters but at the same time it was frustrating to be around him. How could this incredible man continue to carry out charming conversations with him when he was only spitting out dull, dry remarks like a seventy-six year old spinster? How Masters could be friendly with him was completely beyond his comprehension, let alone try to ponder on the possibility of the doctor having a romantic attachment towards him.

Still, Miller was partly correct. By this time he’s able to fully admit to being head over heels for the man. How could he not? Here was a remarkable person who shared his sense of humour and inquired after him as if he really cared. It was a little pathetic, to be honest, for Alec to latch on to one of the first human beings to ever treat him with a bit of kindness. Masters was only the unfortunate victim of his affections.

He was infuriating with his small bowties and neat hair and his “You need to eat more, Holmes” text messages as if what Alec did was of any consequence to him. It was getting more and more difficult to appear unaffected by him.

When Alec walked into the cafe one sunny Wednesday morning, he found Masters already seated at their usual table. It was rare that the doctor arrived earlier than he did. There was a tray of scones in front of the empty seat across from him. Alec, perplexed, occupied his seat.

“I know you usually drink your tea on an empty stomach, but you shouldn’t make a habit of it,” said Masters before digging into his own club sandwich.

Alec stared wordlessly at him. He didn’t know whether it was on purpose or not, but Masters had scored another point against him. The scones were Alec’s favourites from the menu. He’d only had them a handful of times around him. Had the doctor really been paying attention to him the whole time?

Masters looked captivating in his silver dress shirt and tartan blue bowtie, teasing smirk dancing constantly on his lips. He more found it interesting now rather than irritating as he did during their first meeting. Here was the man who already knew his favourite food whereas the only things he knew about Masters were whatever information that could be gleaned from the internet or, god forbid, a dossier. It made him feel dreadful.

They settled into light conversation for the rest of the half hour. Alec hoped the rest of the meeting would remain unremarkable. They got up and walked out of the shop.

Halfway out of the door, he heard a voice from behind him. “Alec? Is that you?”

He turned to see a familiar woman with strawberry blonde hair and a fringe that swept just below her brows. For a moment he struggled to recognize her, then it clicked.

“Katie?” Alec recalled the person he’d gone on a blind date with several months ago. It was at a momentary phase in his life wherein he tried his hand at rebuilding relationships. He went on a couple of blind dates but none had really worked out well. At most he’d had a nice dinner and some company, but no one was truly able to take his attention the way… well, the way the dapper doctor currently beside him did. “It’s good to see you,” he added politely.

“Yeah? You’re looking good nowadays. Been hearing a lot about you from the news.” She tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear.

“Wish there was nothing to hear about, actually. Hearing about me is a sign of terrible news in this town. S’why no one can stand me,” he said in half-jest.

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true. We’re very grateful for the work you’re doing.” Katie fidgeted on the strap of her bag and sighed. “Listen, I know you’re a busy man, but I had a lot of fun on our date and I was kinda hoping you’d call…”

Alec blanched. He did not fail to notice how silent Masters was throughout this entire ordeal. “Yeah, I’m… sorry about that. The um, cases just kept coming,” he finished flatly.

Katie seemed oblivious to his tone. She was a sweet girl, but truly dull. She laid a hand on his forearm. “Yes, I understand that completely.” She gnawed on her bottom lip. “But if you ever have some free time, I’d really look forward to hanging out with you again.”

Alec didn’t know what to reply to that. This was exactly why he didn’t do romance and dating anymore. There was so much energy required and he couldn’t be bothered with all these social niceties and he didn’t have the heart to shoot her down directly, especially with Masters around to see it as that would only be doubly embarrassing for Katie. Still, he had to say something.

“Katie, um… look. I’m actually… seeing someone now.” He winced as the words came out of his mouth. Katie looked crestfallen.

“Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t…” She dropped her hand. “I just didn’t expect you to… I mean, I didn’t think you…” She shook her head. “Anyway, she must be an exceptional girl and I hope you two’re happy. Do I know her?”

Alec resisted the overwhelming urge to groan out loud. Was there no way to escape this conversation? What was he even going to say?

He startled at Masters clearing his throat, momentarily having forgotten that he was still there. “Actually, he’s not dating a woman.” His hand shot out, fingers twining with Alec’s with a flourish that appeared practised, like they’d done so plenty of times before instead of being the first skin-on-skin contact Alec has had with the man he lo—greatly fancied. “But you are correct with us being very satisfied in this relationship,” Masters added in a friendly tone.

But when Alec turned to look at him, he was anything but polite. Eyes slanted and chin pushed down to his collar, regarding Katie as if she were nothing but a nuisance. Something about that look tickled Alec’s insides, a thrumming sensation pooling in his gut. Katie’s lips parted with shock before she shook herself out of it and turned back to Alec, wanting to say something more. Just when he started to revel in the warmth of Masters’ hand, he let go. Alec tried not to feel dismayed.

He was still incapable of speaking and thankfully, Masters seemed to realize this. He spoke again, “It was lovely running into you, but my little sleuth here has a lot of work to attend to. If you’ll excuse us.”

“Down, Watson,” Alec couldn’t resist teasing. This was also the first time Alec had called him that out loud.

This seemed to have done something to the man as in the next moment, Masters’ arm crept behind his back, sliding over the fabric of his cotton dress shirt, touch ghosting over the muscles of his lower back. Warmth radiated through his spine. Alec let himself bask in it, quivering in the heat. A hand fastened itself onto his waist and Masters pulled, securing him to his side. The movement was all very languid, Alec’s shoulder and ribs coming naturally to latch onto the planes of Masters’ sturdy frame. Alec was stunned—pliant against him.

He sneaked a glance up at Masters’ face. He was still staring down at Katie with a hint of amusement in his eye, a particular twinkle. The face of a winner, with Alec as the prize.

Alec was experiencing a torrent of emotions, but it was far from being unpleasant.

Finally, they walked out of the cafe and after a considerable distance was made between them and the establishment, Alec spoke.

“I am very sorry about what happened back there.”

“No, I should be the one to apologize.” Alec believed this was the first time he saw Masters looking, of all things, sheepish. “I didn’t mean to do all that but.. But it was the quickest way to get rid of her, and you were looking like you were in trouble—”

“Nononono—” Alec hurried to console him. “You did, um… help me, with that. I should thank you, I suppose.”

Masters avoided his gaze, all traces of his previous bravado vanished. “Probably shouldn’t have done it, though. Might make it hard for you to get another date. And the touching might have been too much—”

“Is that what you think?” Alec’s breaths were shallow. “Because I don’t. Want it. Another date, that is.” His cheeks radiated with sudden warmth.

“Oh. That’s… good.” A gentle smile graced Masters’ face, though he was still avoiding Alec’s gaze. But there was a flicker of something in his eyes… one that looked a lot like… Hope?

He muscled his way through the rings of nervousness forming in his throat. “And I don’t mind the um, touching.”

Masters laughed. “Good.” The cheekiness was back in his tone.

Alec could sigh at the sight of him. His eyes sparkling with amusement, thin lips curled up into a teasing smile, and the sun’s rays touching upon his hair and his skin, making Alec’s fingers tingle with the desire to touch. It was too much, but also not enough.

Still he’d be content just to have this. Masters, gleeful and teasing, beside him in the mornings challenging him and helping him out of sticky situations. Truly it was more than enough. More than he deserved.

“I’ll see you this weekend for the housewarming,” said Masters before walking in the opposite direction from where Alec was headed. Alec’s gaze trailed behind him for an eternity after.

Another day had passed. The breakfast with Masters went more or less normally and he was glad that things seemed to return to their ordinary ways. Alec arrived at the station. A burst of whispers rang through the moment he entered the room.

He glared at the other officers, drawing up to his full height to appear intimidating. But they mostly all glared back. They were also mostly coming from the women (and some men) in the room.

“What’re you all staring at? Bugger off! The safety of the town depends on it and you’re here babblin’ like children!” At this, the officers whipped their heads back down to their workstations. The sound of shuffling papers and pressed keyboards filled the room once more.

Miller greeted him at the door to his office. Alec crossed his arms. “What?”

She was beaming. “Finally! Took you long enough, sir.”

“What the deuce are you talkin’ about?”

“Please. Everyone knows about it already. No need to hide it from me.” She clapped her hands. “You and Dr. Masters are dating!”

Alec could’ve sworn his soul just left his body. “I-wh-mff!—”

Miller poked his arm. “Look at you all adorably flustered! Heard it from down the grapevine, but everyone says it comes from a very reliable source. Came straight from your mouth, they say!”

Alec could feel the mortification stretching through him. To hell with this stupid, bloody town! If the entire community heard—nay, god forbid Masters heard of this! He panicked. Masters would never speak to him again. “God, that wasn’t—! UGH. It’s not true. I was caught off guard!”

“Oh,” Miller’s face drooped down with dismay. “Well, that’s not what every body thinks.”

Alec remembered the most charming welcome he’d just received when he entered.

“What’re they all staring at me like that for? I haven’t done anything to them!”

“Not personally, no. But they’re bound to resent you in some way or another.”

“Yes, and I have no idea why.” Alec’s arms flew up and flailed.

“Surely you do,” said Miller, smirking. “Whether you like it or not, Alec Hardy, you just managed to reel in the most eligible bachelor in Broadchurch.”

#bill masters x alec hardy #bill masters #alec hardy #broadchurch #masters of sex #illogical husbands #crossover ship #ficlet #THIS TOOK OUT SO MUCH OF MY ENERGY I HOPE IT APPEASES YOU* MEURGH #leann writes #the game is afoot

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alternislatronemhq · 4 years

Photo

Congrats, BEE, you have been accepted to AL for the role of DOLORES UMBRIDGE (FC:Olivia Taylor Dudley). OH MY GOODNESS, BEE! Your portrayal of Dolores was just stunning. I found myself laughing in places and gasping in others. You’ve really gotten into the head of a character that is just awful and played that out in a way that’s captivating. I can’t wait to see what chaos she brings to the dash! Please send in your blog (no sideblogs for first characters, please) in the next 24 hours and be sure to take a look at our new player checklist. Welcome home (once again), we’re so excited to have you join the family!

OOC

name — Bee age — 29 pronouns — She/her timezone — MST activity level — I have quite a bit of free time at the moment! I can usually manage being on for at least a little while every day and I’ll average a handful of replies a week at a minimum. any questions? —No questions per se, just a small disclaimer to let anyone reading know that I am a tolerant and open-minded individual, so while I’m excited for the creative challenge and entertainment of potentially writing an absolutely loathsome person like Ms. Dolores Jane Umbridge, anything offensive that she says or thinks or does IC does not reflect my own personal views!

IC Overview

name — Dolores Jane Umbridge—but my friends call me Lo, at least they would if I had any FRIENDS. -hold for laughter- Yeah, eat your fucking hearts out all you moronic lowlife swine. Hem hem. faceclaim — Olivia Taylor Dudley, Jenna Coleman, Mae Whitman age — 32 gender — Cis-female, and uncomfortably cutesy girly-girl for a woman over thirty. Hyperfemme caricature with BDE. Never met a shade of pink she didn’t just love.

sexuality — Outwardly, all Dolores cares about is locating the picture-perfect partner for the type of life she wants to be seen as having and lock them down, and in her mind that person is a man. She wants a husband with money and looks and brains and power, but not so much of any one that it would outshine her; she craves to be in the power seat of a power couple, and to get the attention she feels she’s always been unjustly robbed of. She’s got no interest whatsoever in romance and finds the whole concept a laughable waste of time. But for all she projects to the world, Dolores in reality harbors a deep, deep, DEEPDEEPDEEP same-sex attraction. She has thoroughly locked herself in that closet and a Norwegian Ridgeback swallowed the key.

patronus —Persian cat. This animal has all the appearance of being sweet and cuddly, but rub her the wrong way and those barely-retracted claws are coming out in an instant. Vain, independent, calculating, haughty, and very, very well-groomed at all times.

boggart —Stemming from her Napoleon Complex, Dolores’ boggart takes the form of herself shrunken down like Alice in Wonderland after sipping the drink me potion; her voice squeaks higher and higher into an undetectable range no matter how loud she yells and she can just barely avoid getting squashed beneath someone else’s disgusting, dirty shoes. Dolores as a person demands attention to function and she simply will not tolerate being made to feel literally small.

IC In Depth

personality traits —

tidy - Dolores is obsessed with beauty and perfection and symmetry in all things and nothing makes her skin crawl more than disorder—to the extent that after her mother and father split and she lived full-time with her father, Dolores developed OCD (though it hasn’t been properly diagnosed as such, and Dolores would immediately write off anyone who attempted to call it that to her face). In her mind she is simply particular; she has very high standards and she expects the world to rise to them, or else she’ll root out the filth around her weed by weed. She cut off the heads of her stuffies who stepped out of line at her toddler-age tea parties you’d better believe she’d do the same to you and care less about it.

passive aggressive - Dolores is well-known for her disconcerting calm in face of disagreements, her calculated cute-sweet demeanor and high-pitched voice. But make no mistake; Dolores is sugar laced with arsenic. In all likelihood she hates your guts and has already cooked up an in-depth five-year plan to chip away at you piece by painstaking piece. It’s a mystery how she manages to keep all that highly-pressurized rage simmering beneath the surface the way she’s somehow perfected, because she’s wound up so tight that it’s a wonder her eyes don’t pop out of her damn head and she’s about twenty-five seconds away from a full-blown psychotic break on a good day.

jealous - Dolores wants what she feels she’s due, plain and simple. When she sees others gain the things she wants while she gets overlooked, it stokes that ever-burning vindictive flame inside of her. It started in early childhood when her father gave attention to anyone or anything that wasn’t her, and it’s only gotten worse every day since.

intolerant - At this point in her life, her infamous intolerance is still in its earliest seed stages, but the seed is planted. One of the most interesting things for me about writing a character like Dolores at this age is to see how and why this mentality grows out of experiences she encounters in these formative years.

character biography —

Born ten pounds of spunk in a four pound, five ounce package, Dolores Jane Umbridge came into this world pink and perfect.

Perfect. Perfect. Perfectperfectperfect.

Even from a young age it was all Dolores cared about. Her father Orford Umbridge would whisper to Dolores what a beautiful perfect princess she was and Dolores believed it with every fibre of her being. Beautiful. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.

Then her mother Ellen gave birth to a younger brother who showed not the faintest trace of magic, and that was not perfect. The rift between parents and siblings grew into a cavern as Orford’s whispering words turned against Ellen; her fault. Worthless. Vile. Mudblood. Filthy Squib. Repulsive. Disgraceful. Wrong.

It wasn’t long before the couple split up, with Ellen and her son being banished to the Muggle world, and then it was just Orford and Dolores, together in their once-more perfect world.

And would that it could have stayed that way forever. Orford had always had wandering eyes and Dolores, desperate always to be the only girl in her father’s life, grew jealous and suspicious and hateful (and nonononono NOT anything else nope) for the beautiful vapid creatures that drew his gaze, threatening to upend what was hers.

Knowing nothing beyond her childhood of constant praise and adoration, Dolores went to Hogwarts expecting the world to cater to her every whim. So when people didn’t immediately kiss the ground she walked on, it made her angry. When all the girls and boys didn’t fall all over themselves to try and woo her, it made her furious. When the professors and adults didn’t sing her vast praises on high, it made her outraged.

How was everyone on earth too fucking useless to see how perfect she was?!

Dolores was a bundle of dynamite wrapped up in a pretty pink bow, just waiting to blow.

She went to the Ministry with adjusted expectations on being outright offered what she knew she deserved, and was proven right when she was overlooked by grotesquely unqualified superiors in favor of the sniveling ingrates all around her. But Dolores was prepared to play the long game and bide her time, just waiting for that one weak crack in the system where she could dig in her knuckle and crumble an empire with a smile on her face.

And she thought she’d found that perfect crack when she went to the Dark Lord. Surely he would see Dolores for all she was worth, surely he would bestow upon her all that power, finally, finally, finally. He was only a silly man, after all.

But the foul, imperfect world let Dolores down again. The Dark Lord gave his preference to some other detestable twots just like Dolores always feared Orford would, and then he paid the price for his idiocy when he fell from power (serves him right the arrogant swine), and Dolores returned to her long game at the Ministry with a newfound fervor to crush all who dared try to overlook her beneath her pink kitten heels.

Waiting for the next perfect move to present itself. And when it does, she’ll be ready.

plot ideas —

Girlsgirlsgirls. I would love an opportunity to unpack some of Dolores’ deeply rooted internalized homophobia. Maybe it’s an openly gay and proud woman who drives Dolores up the wall, maybe it’s a beautiful lady who despite all of Dolores’ efforts starts to get beneath her skin, someone she can’t seem to shake… This could go in so many directions and I’m here for them all!

Ministry Spats. Anyone she might have dustups with on her Ministry stomping grounds—Arthur Weasley, Alastor Moody, etc. Also anyone with pro-creature leanings and/or sentiments at this stage could greatly inform her later mindset and I would love to have them interact.

extra —

Headcanon: Dolores hates children; she thinks they’re disgusting tiny wastes of breath and absolutely looks down on anyone who has chosen the family plan for their life.

#al:accepted #harry potter rp #hp rp #marauders rp #marauders era rp #dolores umbridge

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universal-kitty · 5 years

Text

.: Purrfect Anarchy: Birthday Surprise :.

It’s not unusual for Wrench to be unusual...but this is getting a little too suspicious.

The morning went off without a hitch, far as either party was concerned. Reg was cuddly and seeking kisses, I was practically a smarter log until my brain kicked into full gear... Breakfast was had and Wrench was clingy throughout.

However... Something was immediately off when plans changed on the ride to the garage. Clingy Wrench...my husband, notorious clinger and the type to be upset if he feels like he didn’t get enough cuddles...

“Are you coming or...?” I looked at him oddly, door to the truck open and peering at my masked husband with interest, a brow raised. This was...really unlike him. Usually, Wrench would hop out at the speed of sound, hurrying over to my side. Was sure like that last year, eager to get the party over with so we could get home sooner and cuddle...and other things.

He never could stop at just one thing.

“Yeah, yeah...but I have to get your gift,” he said calmly, wiggling back into the seat. There was a waver in his voice...but I decidedly allowed it, slipping out of the truck and onto the ground walking around until I was driver’s side. “So, I think Marcus is gonna take you home...or Sitara? I’m gonna be real with you, I don’t remember who I asked last night. Long as it isn’t Ray, we’re good.”

“Still bitter, huh?” I grinned when his mask when into angry down slashes. He wasn’t the only one bitter, but...

“Damn right,” he grumbled, looking around a moment before leaning out of the truck window. I went on tiptoes, arched up for the kiss he quickly put on my lips. “I’ll meet you at home.” Wait a minute-

“You’re not going to the party?”

“I can’t give away my secrets. You’ll see, promise.” He ruffled my hair, I scoffing in surprise and disgust, sticking my tongue out at him. He only laughed, slipping the mask fully back on as it recalibrated his face and the mask’s glitching settled itself. Hearts went onscreen, making my smile soften. “Ahh, there it is... Have fun, baby!! Just not too much fun.”

“I’ll try,” I joked, watching his mask flip to a wink, then back to default X’s, driving off. What a dork. Resigned to my fate with a sigh, I headed into the garage...and screeched at the sudden popping noises around me.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!”

“Holy SHIT, you guys,” I yelled, laughing as I kicked a rock T-Bone’s way. “Fuckers almost gave me a heart attack!” Once I got everything under control, I walked over and gave a hug to the closest asshole...that being Marcus. “Thanks, though. Now... What’s on the party docket?”

By the time Sitara called the craziest of the party to a chill so I could go home, there was definitely a light buzz going and so. Much. Laughter. If not for Josh and Sitara, who made sure I was balanced out with water, I probably would’ve been a mess. (Well, that and making sure I was fed. I needed a break? Quiet time with Josh.) It was definitely a party made to tailor to me down to the smallest detail.

“C’mere, you. Your husband’s done with your present,” she told me, kicking lightly at my foot.

“Ahh, hey...” I grumbled, focusing more on the fact she was wearing her sneakers and just kicked my poor, sock-clad foot. Then the message sunk in, perking up curiously. “Yeah?”

“Yeah! So let’s go!! I know he’s excited...and honestly, I am, too. He asked for my help.”

“So you know,” I pointed out, now infinitely more sober than I’d been before. What in the world did he...?

“Sure do, buuuuuuttt, I’m not telling you.” I pouted immediately, causing her to laugh, grinning back at me as she said, “Oh, c’mon, don’t make that face... Secrecy’s worth it.”

The drive back to the apartment was pretty quiet, aside from Sitara’s tunes (which...were damn good; wow) and us occasionally singing along. She dropped me off, I ditched the car fast enough to not notice it didn’t leave when I did, and hurried to the elevator, impatient to see what big gift Wrench had planned. Sitara got involved, it kinda sounded like a big deal...

The elevator couldn’t get to me fast enough, nor take me to my floor fast enough! Rushing through the doors the second they were wide enough for me to leave, bolting down the hall to our apartment, opening the door...

The first thing I saw- that caught my eye- was a cat tree in the corner of the room. It was painted over with (what I’d sure damn hope) was pet-safe paint, decorated to look like....well, DedSec’s whole aesthetic on a cat tree. My jaw had already dropped.........but it didn’t compare to the sight on the couch.

Wrench, awkward as ever without his mask, looking up at me....and holding a small kitten. They were meowing softly...and he was holding it.

Tears filled my eyes before I could even process all of this, Wrench standing up and gently handing me the kitten, letting me cradle them in my arms. This... This was huge. Wrench HATED animals. Hated them ever since I met him and probably beyond that. He never did fully elaborate, but I could guess; bad experiences with animals, time after time. Never did help that I could imagine him as that one “asshole” kid who probably bothered them too much, causing those angry reactions to his behavior...if not just the wrong animals at the wrong time for him.

He once said he’d kick a puppy and while I abhorred the thought, he at least made it known he wouldn’t....but sure as fuck wouldn’t stay anywhere near “the damn thing”. That was the best I’d ever gotten out of him previously. Again, he loathed animals.

....And here he was, handing me a kitten. That he was holding. I could only look up at him in bewilderment, tears in my eyes and slipping down my cheeks. He wiped them away quietly, before smiling a little. Soft and...nervous, but happy.

“Happy birthday, baby.”

“Reg...?”

“You always told me how much you loved cats...and I know how much they mean to you. Shit,” he laughed a little, “you based your whole damn identity after ‘em... So. While you’ve been with the group, when we went to the shelter... I was working on overcoming my fear of them. Maybe not dogs, but cats. So I can, uh... I can hold her. So we could have a cat together.” A pause. “...She’s a siamese, since...I know they’re your favorite.....”

“Reg...” I sniffled, body shaking. This....This was too much. He already gave me his damn world by marrying me and he just.... He really just worked at unlearning his fear and hatred of animals....for me? Of cats, so we could have one together...? “Th-Thank you....so much...”

“It’s no problem, kitten.” He laughed softly, stepping closer to kiss my forehead. Tilting my head up so he could kiss me proper. “I’m just glad you love your present. That it was all worth it.” (Oh.....fuck, there went my heart again.) “Got a name in mind?”

“Not yet,” I admitted, laughing. “You kinda sprung her on me, so.... This is a big ol’ surprise. I’ll figure it out before today ends, though. Promise.”

“Sounds good,” he agreed, grin growing on his face. “So... Wanna play with this pussy?” I gasped, shoving at his arm, making him laugh.

“REG!!!! Nooooo, don’t be like that!!!”

“It’s so funny, though!!” He retorted, rushing off with laughter following him, all the way to the kitchen...and brought out a bag of what seemed to be cat toys. “I, uh... Employed Josh’s help with this one. Group project. I got the kitten, everyone else pitched in a little.”

“Josh literally got me a whole new boombox. Are you telling me you swindled those poor shits into getting two gifts for me when you got one?”

“Hey, hey....” He raised a hand, walking back over and setting the bag on the ground. “I’m always your birthday present. And I unlearned some things, so you basically got THREE gifts from me.”

“Three? I counted four.”

“...Four?” Wrench’s brows furrowed, as I grinned, setting the kitten down and carefully walking over, grabbing him by the hoodie and tugging him down so I could kiss him. Didn’t take him another moment to hold onto me, smiling into the kiss... Laughing breathlessly when I pulled away. “...Alright. That’s fair. Four presents... I spoil you, huh?”

“I’ve been spoiling you since the day we met,” I teased, pressing my forehead to his. “It balances out.”

“Mmm, fair enough...” An odd, wiggly weight on my shoe reminded me of the kitten, who apparently was deadset on attacking my shoe. I looked at the sight and burst into giggles, shaking my head.

“Alright, more importantly...let’s get this kitty entertained. Shoes are not for playing!”

“Toys it is!” Wrench announced to nobody in particular, sitting down and digging into the bag, pulling out each toy as I carefully removed the baby from my shoe, and walked back to the doorway, toeing them off as I eyed Wrench and the kitten. He was pouting a little in thought, unsure of what to do...but when the kitten picked for him- pouncing on the feather toy- he laughed and went with it, picking it up and wiggling it around. Bells and feathers clanging, making the kitten go absolutely nuts with excitement.

...I’d missed this. Having a cat...but this? All of this, in all of it’s contextual glory? It could really bring me to tears all over again.

I went back to our growing family with a smile, ready to get into shenanigans...and teach Reg about catnip. (Oh, he was so going to get a kick out of “cat drugs.”)

Tagging: @supernatural-cats-nonsense and @robotarmjokes

#Aki Stories #self insert #self ship #self insert community #self ship community #otp; purrfect anarchy #Birthday Time #HERE'S A FIC #I ACTUALLY CRIED WHILE WRITING THIS THANK U #anyways!!!!#WE OFFICIALLY HAVE A FAMILY NOW #AIN'T THIS CRAZY???

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ask-de-writer · 4 years

Text

DARING DO and the ADVENTURE of the X'IBIAN VASE! : MLP Fan Fiction : Part 16 of 21

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

Daring Do

and the Adventure of the X'ibian Vase!

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

And

Carmen Pondiego

Cover Art by

Doctor Dimension

52630 words

Writing begun 08/26/15

//////////////

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions, provided that such things are done without charge. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fictions is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

The dromedaries of Sang He’s herd were amazed at Jeremy’s ability to keep up by maintaining a steady canter to their walking. They shifted the walking order to put the double colloquium at the center, where they could all hear. Most of what Sehang Shu was telling and responding to was material that was interesting but pretty well known to them.

What Jeremy was explaining about small unit military operations was both new and fascinating. Sehang Shu spoke for them all as she offered, “So that is how to advance against a superior force? I would not have expected that we would have any option but retreat.”

Nodding, Jeremy cantered alongside his friend and pointed out, “Retreat makes perfect sense sometimes. When you must, do not simply flee. A well done retreat in force makes it too costly for the enemy to follow. Another option often overlooked in active situations is harassment. That goes far beyond simply being irritating if properly done.”

The whole group nodded understanding.

The questions came thick and fast as they continued on toward Hong Wa. It was time for noon rice all too soon, as Jeremy counted it.

While they gathered about the stove, fixing the meal, Soree said softly, “You are an excellent teacher, Jeremy. The horses of Saddle Arabia could use your knowledge and skills.”

Daring Do acknowledged, “It is easy to see how you could be deserving of a Hurricane Fellowship, Jeremy. I have to say, though, that I am glad that you chose Antiquities instead.”

Sehang Shu nodded, “In only a few hours, I have learned more of these matters than in my whole life before this. I have lived in these deserts and faced these situations many times.” She shuddered a little, emotion getting the better of her as she went on, “I have lost too many friends to the ignorance of what you spoke of so clearly this morning.

“Jeremy, why are you crying?”

He looked up from his rice, vegetables and tea. “I am not used to this, Shu. My family never treated me with much respect at all. My older brother and sister both went to the Equestrian Military Academy. The family was proud of them, even if they did not qualify for the College.

“When I did, they tried to drive me unmercifully to be the best. No respect, though. Always called me dummy or stupid if I made any mistake at all. Never said anything of praise when I was right because if I was going to E.M. College, being right was expected. I hated it.”

To his surprise, Sehang Shu gave him a hug. “These are not bad tears, Jeremy. Let them out. Let the old venom flow out with them. We here, not only respect you, we are in your debit. You have saved lives yesterday and likely more this morning. Ignorance is the deadliest of enemies.”

Daring Do watched in thoughtful silence and then offered, “Jeremy, continue your colloquium of Ethnological Geography. I have been auditing your progress. If you continue to learn as well as what I have been hearing, I will correct your grade when we return to the Royal University.”

The party continued to work their way through the vast X'ibian Highlands toward the ancient and long abandoned Imperial Capital city of Hong Wa.

Cresting a low pass in a sharp sided defile of stone, they got their first view of their goal. Jeremy took one look and dived for cover. Without waiting to ask why, the whole party went for shelter.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

Some days previous, in Cantrot, the partners examined what their 385 gold cash had bought in the way of repairs.

Robber philosophically observed, “At least both trucks are now fully operational and all systems required by law are working correctly.”

Tyranny snarled, “Why didn’t they fix that door?”

Overthrow retorted, “You know why! Besides insulting the Shop Master, you got it hit by a water buffalo! They had no parts that would fit! At least it is secure and weather tight!”

“Drat it, Overthrow, all that I did was bribe the Shop Master to put our trucks ahead of those other vehicles! Mere farm working things!”

Robber shook his head sadly, “That is not how bribes here work, Tyranny. I have explained that to you before. They are to the person as a recognition of his importance to you. They are NEVER to get your work or things put ahead of other work. We had already taken care of the problem and had only to wait our turn until you breached all social etiquette here by trying to get him to rearrange his shop schedules for us.”

Overthrow, trying to get a developing argument derailed, inquired with real interest, “How are the ancient X'ibian translations going, Tyranny?”

Frustrated, he snapped, “I can find NOTHING about the Heart of Discord, no matter how old the manuscript! I have found some that date to the reign of Im Farst and the Dragon Queen, but NOTHING about the Heart of Discord!

“We have OLDER references to it in Old Middle Equestrian from shortly after the Nightmare Wars than any from here!”

While mulling that over, they got into the trucks. Overthrow grunted sourly, “I wish that our drivers had not abandoned us. At least the desert should not offer much difficulty to our travel!”

Robber, mounting the driver’s seat of his truck, replied, “All that we need is to take the cross river barge and we will be headed to Hong Wa.”

He shoved Tyranny into the back of the cab. “Just stay there and let us deal with the barge. The last thing that we need is you sticking a hoof up the rump of our passage!”

Sullen, Tyranny settled back and busied himself pretending to study old manuscripts.

Cantrot was covered by the dust raised by the trucks heading out into the desert. Tyranny watched from the passenger seat of the lead truck as they came to the end of the road that they had been following.

“I thought that you said that this was the way to Hong Wa, Robber! This is the end of the road. Where is Hong Wa?”

Robber shrugged, his frustration with Tyranny utterly expressive of total contempt. “Sometimes I wonder if you listen to anything but your own voice, Tyranny.

“I said that this road will take us closest to Hong Wa! From here on, we will be driving across the desert. I do have good maps.”

Robber got out and began to scout the best way for the trucks to leave the road’s end.

Overthrow joined him. “Tyranny has gone completely mad, Overthrow. He seems to think that there is a regular road going to a city abandoned a thousand years ago. After I got it into his head that there was no road, he spouted garbage about just driving across the desert at night, steering by the stars! He seems to think that the desert is FLAT!”

Overthrow nodded glumly. “Last meal break he told me to be watching out for the dust of Daring Do’s expedition. I tried to tell him that they are taking an ancient dromedary route, completely different from ours.

“I tried to cash a credit letter in Cantrot before we left. It was refused. The firm’s capital is gone. If this plan does not work, we do not have enough money to get home.”

Robber stopped, stunned. “Broke? What has happened to it?”

Overthrow aimed a hoof at the truck with Tyranny in it. “He did. Those new manuscripts that he has been studying? Over two million golden bits by themselves. Add in our expedition costs, which are simply enormous, and there is not enough capital left to even pay the staff at home.”

Robber accepted the news glumly. “Look, a vulture circling up there! Not an omen, I hope!”

Both chuckled at the feeble jest. After locating the best way to get the trucks off the road, they returned to the vehicles and backed down the road to the chosen spot. They bumped and bounced across the margin and set out, following landmarks shown on Robber’s map.

Tyranny was fretting, “We are going too slow! We need to be swift! We must get there first!”

Robber, as they hit a big bump, slamming Tyranny’s head to the ceiling, replied offhandedly, “Why? If Daring Do gets there first, we let her find the tomb and do the heavy digging for us.

“If we get there first, we can still use HER and her cohorts to do the digging for us. That tomb is not in any of the fourteen necropoli shown in the site map. Only she knows where it is, so we will let her find it for us.”

He waited, grinning that Tyranny had not fastened his safety harness, and deliberately hit another series of bumps, jouncing Tyranny about like a dried pea in a can. “Are you sure that we need to go faster? We are already making over four times the best walking pace of a dromedary. We are nearly certain to be there first, ready and waiting for Daring Do’s expedition to show itself.”

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

Jeremy signaled for them all to keep their heads down and retreat back into the pass. When they were all safely back, he recovered his hooves and led them further back yet. Satisfied, he told them all, “Wait here until I get back.”

He rummaged a pair of binoculars out of his saddle bag and sneaked back, going from cover to cover. Watching him go, Soree made a few swift sketches and many notes.

She observed, “I think that Jeremy believes that somepony is there before us.”

Daring Do nodded and offered, “Any bets about WHO it might be?” Silence greeted her offer. “I thought not.”

Jeremy returned silently. “ROT got here first, with two trucks. There seem to only be three of them, all Equestrians by the look of them. Our problem is simple.

“They have a pair of obsolete MT81 quick fire guns and what appears to be two ammo cases for them.

“Those guns nearly caused the overthrow the Empress of the Gryphon Empire back during their Civil War, years ago. Luckily for us, Doctor Do gave you those new semi automatic rifles. The 81s still have the range on us and may have either solid or explosive rounds.

“Doctor Do, how accurate is your map of this area?”

“Perhaps main features could be off by as much as two meters. Nothing worse. Is it good enough?”

Jeremy nodded and gestured them close to study the map, remarking, “A good map is more deadly than a cannon.

“See this tongue of rock going down into the valley of Hong Wa? If we can get behind it, they will not see our advance if we are careful. From here on, we will be in rifle range of the guns. Do not worry about the ponies. We need to stop those guns. Out in the open like that, their ammo cases are a weakness.”

Corba Jai suggested, “I have been from this pass to the blind canyon the leads to that ridge of stone. I scouted it for Doctor Do during the search for cave burials.”

Jeremy nodded acceptance at once. “That is good, Corba Jai. Would you please guide us all through to it?”

Nodding silently, Corba Jai led them further back up the defile. She pointed to a steep but climbable slope. “We need to go up here. Bear to the right of that rock needle. Getting down into the canyon will not be easy either but we can do it.”

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

<==Previous Next==>

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

#DARING DO AND THE ADVENTURE OF THE X'IBIAN VASE #Part 16 of 21 #MLP Fan Fiction #Written by De Writer and Carmen Pondiego

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missjosie27 · 5 years

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Year 2 Part 6- Bill Weasley

Hey, guys! Sorry about the late chapter. Being in self quarantine has actually caused a degree of 'apathy' so to speak and it's tough trying not to let that infest your creativity.

But in any case I am back with a new installment and I'd like to say a few words beforehand.

For the first three years of this series, Slytherin isn't going to look good. But there's a reason for that (not the least of which includes shipping my MC with Merula xD) and it will reveal itself in good time. To all my Slytherin readers, portraying your house as the 'bad guy' is not my endgame. Not even close.

Anyway on the with the story!

The party following the triumphant victory over Slytherin could only be described as pandemonium. In one fell swoop the Gryffindors had opened up a huge lead in the standings and were already being favored to win the entirety of the Quidditch season. Hufflepuff was no serious obstacle and only the Ravenclaws stood as the last major threat to their title chances. It was also the first time in three years the lions had beaten the snakes in a major match such as this and dancing on their misery tasted almost as sweet as the butterbeer.

David and company could hardly keep track of anything during the celebration, but they didn’t care. He had never seen such a spectacle and though listening to Quidditch was always a popular pastime, to actually witness it in person in addition to crushing your biggest rival went far beyond expectations. Though he didn’t say it openly, he privately imagined Merula and the rest of the Slytherins sulking in their cold, black dungeon.

Let them. It’s no less than they deserve

He made his way through the crowd in search of Charlie, seeing as he was the hero of the day (seekers usually were) and also a roommate in need of basic congratulations. Along the way he passed Adolphus Blishwick and Henry McLaggen who were engaged in a chugging contest of sorts though the substance did not look like butterbeer. In addition, he encountered the fearless chaser herself, Skye Parkin.

“Great game, Skye!” he yelled out to her.

Looking around, she spotted her admirer and gave a cool thumbs up before resuming conversation with a crowd of Gryffindor boys and girls who sought her attention.

She’s going to be the talk of the whole school for a week after this. Let her have the moment.

Resuming his search, it didn’t take long to spot Charlie. The second eldest Weasley brother was being hoisted up in the air by several older Gryffindors, broom still in hand, chanting his name repeatedly.

“CHARLIE! CHARLIE! CHARLIE!”

“Come on, mates! I’m going to get bloody sick!” he laughed, clutching his stomach.

David could only watch in amusement as the crowd finally let him down onto his feet, breathing heavily from the day’s excitement.

“Butterbeer for the rookie of the day?” he offered.

“Ha, no thanks, Dave. If I have another one of those things, I think I might actually vomit.”

“Mate, you didn’t just win today. You crushed Slytherin into the dirt. No one will let you buy another drink again.”

Charlie laughed good naturedly.

“Wasn’t just me, Dave. Team effort won the day. In case you haven’t noticed, we have a pretty good chaser over there,” he said, indicating Skye.

“She’s as confident as they come,” David observed. “Didn’t seem to know who I was, though or anyone else besides her Quidditch mates.”

“She has to be,” Charlie shrugged. “With the family she hails from nothing less than winning is acceptable. As for the second part, don��t take it personally, she keeps to her own crowd. Likes the attention but not really a people’s person if you catch my drift.”

A glance back and David saw Skye flick the blue colored braid back almost as if it were an act of God himself. Several of her ogling fans ate it up, whilst the Parkin girl gave a small smirk but no audible reply.

“Yeah, you don’t say.”

The second born Weasley chuckled before turning serious for a split second.

“Listen,” he said in a low voice which was just audible above the noise of the ongoing party. “I heard about what happened on Halloween.”

David’s eyebrows became sharp.

“What did you hear?”

“Relax, Dave,” Charlie reassured him. “No one told me anything, just rumors. But from what I gathered you and Rowan are still searching for that cursed vault? The one with the cursed ice that’s been entrapping people.”

“And if I were to say ‘yes’?”

“Mate, it’s not exactly a well-kept secret. There was no sign of you or Rowan at the feast. Many people around here still remember when your brother was chasing the vaults, they expect the same from you.”

Memories and headlines flooded David’s brain, ones he did not want to think about at the moment.

‘Aw, but Jacob why won’t you tell me?’

The older boy shuffled a vast assortment of papers into his drawer, his appearance slightly disheveled.

‘Pip, what I’m working on is top secret and cannot be revealed to anyone. You have to trust me on that.’

‘But-’

‘You’ll understand someday when you’re older.’

“I’m not my brother,” David responded quietly. He did not want to discuss the matter further as he pushed the guilt ridden feelings into the darkest recesses of his mind.

“I know you’re not, that’s why I want to help. Or make a suggestion rather,” Charlie responded, no malice or ulterior motive in his hazel eyes. It was then that David realized he may have spoken too harshly.

“Fire away,” he said, the light, jovial tone returning. “Better be good or I’ll have those blokes lift you up and down in the air again.”

“If you want some assistance in your search, talk to my brother.”

That gave David some pause.

“Bill? Why would he want anything to do with this?”

“Are you kidding? He’s almost as obsessed with breaking curses as I am with dragons…well maybe not quite that obsessed but it’s a goal of his and make no mistake,” Charlie explained.

“You’re sure? I can’t exactly go around telling everyone what I’m doing, lest I get expelled,” David spoke candidly.

“He’d never rat on you, that’s one thing I am certain of. I’ve known him my whole life. He’s caught me doing loads of things I shouldn’t have, and he’s always had my back. Believe me, there’s no one better.”

“Well I’ll consider it. Thanks, Charlie.”

“Anytime.”

The new star Gryffindor seeker was led back over to the center of the party leaving David to ponder in the middle of the celebration. He did not want to risk trying to bust down that door again at least not without help. Two second years weren’t strong enough but adding Bill to the team might prove to be the deciding factor.

He would have to ask Rowan what he thought of the idea.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Are you kidding? That’s a great idea!” Rowan exclaimed at lunch the following Monday. “Why didn’t I think of it?”

“A good question considering you talk about him more than you do about your tree farm.”

Rowan lightly swiped at him with his book (and missed) before continuing.

“In all seriousness, think of the possibilities. He’s older, he knows more spells than we do, not to mention he has an interest in what we’re doing according to Charlie. What’s there to lose?”

In truth, not much. But that didn’t mean it was a sure thing.

“I plan on asking him today,” David shrugged. “Just don’t get your hopes up, okay?”

“Why not? He likes you, already. He taught you a few spells last year.”

The twelve year old Gryffindor took a massive bite of shepherd’s pie.

“Dat was ifferent,” he said before swallowing. “Merula was terrorizing the entire first year class. This is ten times as risky.”

“Since when has that ever stopped, you?”

“It never does, and it never will,” David proclaimed. “That also doesn’t mean I go looking for trouble. It just happens to find me most of the time.”

“Well we could save a lot of trouble if we could get him on board. I can read an entire book about potential curses in this school but if we don’t have the know how or power, then this ice could spread even further by year’s end.”

Rowan was never short on logic and he couldn’t fault him this particular time either. The worst Bill could do was say ‘no’ and that would be the end of it. As if to confirm his own intentions, Charlie suddenly came up behind him.

“Hey, David. Bill is waiting for you at the training grounds. Says he has an hour before his next class if you want to talk.”

“Wait, he’s already waiting for me?”

“I put in a good word for you,” Charlie said with a sly grin. “I think you’ll find he’ll be very interested in what you have to say.”

Rowan gave him a look as if to shout ‘what are you waiting for?’ before returning to his grilled cheese sandwich.

“Suppose now is as good a time as any,” he muttered getting up from the table. “Make sure Charlie doesn’t steal my pie, Rowan.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” the red head called back, digging his fork into the pie and shoving it into his mouth.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The route to the training grounds was simple enough, one simply had to traverse two stories and past the dungeons to reach the outside door that led to the cold, autumn outdoors. David was hardly giving much attention to his surroundings as he adjusted his hat and scarf, very eager to see what Bill had to say.

Suddenly, he stopped in the middle of the dungeon corridor, instincts going haywire. Though this part of Hogwarts was always dark and gloomy, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched.

“Hello?” he called out into the empty nothingness.

His natural reflexes kicked in as he just barely ducked a sickly-looking purple jet of light that created sparks on the stone walls.

“Goddamn it, what the hell?!”

Out of the shadows stepped a pale, black haired girl, one eye shrouded by the perpetual greasy mass of mop that never seemed to move. David immediately recognized her as Ismelda Murk, the same girl who had given him that creepy smile the previous week.

“So, you are going to see that blood traitor, Bill Weasley,” she said in a quiet, but deadly tone. “No doubt to discuss the cursed vaults.”

Her wand was trained on him, but David did not reach for his. At least, not yet. Any sudden movement would likely trigger another curse being sent his way.

“And how did you know that?” he stalled.

Ismelda rolled her visible eye.

“Please, your voice is loud enough. It’s not hard to overhear you.”

She took a step forward wand still pointed directly at his chest.

“But it makes no difference. You Gryffindors are all the same- cocky, arrogant, always hogging the spotlight for yourself.”

“Hey, Izzy, if this is about kicking your ass in Quidditch don’t take it out on me. I’m sure there’s a small, defenseless animal somewhere around here you can torture.”

Another jet of purple light barely missed his head.

“I didn’t have to miss,” Ismelda spoke with quiet fury. “Now here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to tell me everything you know about the vaults and I won’t have to hurt you…much.”

At this point, David had had enough. It was already irritating to constantly deal with one crazy Slytherin girl, two went beyond his patience.

“Yeah, okay let me tell you what’s actually going to happen. I’m going to hex you and I’m going to walk out that door.”

Without another second’s hesitation he whipped out his wand and fired the same spell Merula had used on him last year.

‘ Petrificus Totalus! ’

He caught her square in the chest, sending her toppling over like a four by four to the ground. However, she managed to fire off one more curse before it did, and this time he wasn’t quick enough to avoid it.

“GAH!” he winced as he felt his shoulder catch part of the blast. Still, he didn’t waste any more time waiting for Ismelda to regain use of her limbs and ran as fast he could out into the nippy, November air.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

So fast did he run that he barely noticed that after a minute or so, Bill Weasley was right in front of him. When he finally did, the older boy was already looking down on him with an eyebrow raised.

“Whoa, there David Grant. You look out of breath. What happened?”

Still panting from his recent escapade, it took a moment for the 12 year old Gryffindor to form sentences.

“Slytherin girl attacked me. Threatened me over the vaults. Managed to get away though.”

Bill leaned and took a glance at David’s shoulder.

“Not completely. Let me take a look at that wound.”

David saw for the first time the extent of the damage Ismelda had wrought. The top of his robes were cut open to reveal a nasty looking purple and black bruise which had the look of something that had festered for days.

“Ew,” he remarked dryly.

“Let me see if this helps,” Bill said as he pointed his wand at the injury. “ Episkey. ”

Much of the swelling went down and the size was reduced though there remained a remnant of the blackish/blue color in the center.

“Madam Pomfrey probably could have gotten rid of that in an instant. But I’m pretty rubbish when it comes to medicine, that’s the only healing spell I know.”

“It’s fine,” David shrugged. “No lasting damage. What was that curse anyway?”

“Only seen it a few times but it’s a nasty one, especially if a powerful dark wizard uses it. Bone bruise curse. Can cause severe internal bleeding in the hands of a real psycho. Sometimes kids at Hogwarts will use them in duels, but it’s generally taboo.”

“That explains a lot,” he muttered.

“It sounds like you were waylaid on your way down here,” Bill surmised. “Who was it?”

“Ismelda Murk. She’s my year. Makes Merula Snyde look like a flower girl by comparison.”

“I’ve heard of her,” Bill said darkly. “She apparently attacked Charlie on the train this year simply for bumping into her by accident. You were there for that if I recall correctly.”

“Indeed, I was.”

“Well in any case this might be the perfect opening into what you really came down here for. Charlie told me you needed some help with these cursed vaults.”

David nodded in the affirmative.

“I do. Rowan and I actually found the entrance, but there was some sort of enchantment on it. I don’t think we can break it, just the two of us. Charlie said you might be interested.”

“Interested? Hell, David I wish you had come to me sooner. I’m in.”

David didn’t know what to expect, but the fact that Bill accepted his request so readily was a tad surprising.

“Huh, well that didn’t take much persuasion.”

“You didn’t need to,” Bill said seriously. “This ice is becoming more and more dangerous by the week and doesn’t appear to be dissipating any time soon. If we can get through that door you spoke of earlier there’s a strong chance we can break this curse.”

His face broke into a reluctant smile.

“I’d also be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit excited too. This is my first curse breaking adventure and I’m honored to be a part of it.”

“The honor is all mine,” David grinned. “Seriously, I can’t thank you enough.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” the eldest Weasley warned. “It’s going to take a lot of preparation and even a little pain to break into a cursed vault. We’ll need to do a lot of research and spellwork if this is going to be successful. It’ll also give us the opportunity to learn a few more jinxes for dueling, especially considering you were just attacked.”

“Rowan will eagerly take care of the research. He’ll also be pretty happy to know you’re in on this little quest of ours.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” Bill laughed. “Come on, let’s get started.”

And so they did. For the next few weeks, the trio met once a week to either study in the library or go to the training grounds to learn new spells and practice them on the wooden target dummies. This became steadily more difficult as time went on as the weather became colder the first snowfall hit but it was still good practice and it also provided an opportunity for Rowan to progress in his own dueling prowess, which steadily improved over time. Now and then they were also joined by Penny and Ben, who were eager to help in any way they could. For Penny that meant assistance in brewing certain potions that they would need in a tight spot- fire breathing and pepperup potions came to mind. For Ben, it meant assistance in some of the research and moral support…and the occasional training session.

“Remind me why I have to learn the fire making spell again?” he asked one cold December morning between the crunch of white powder on the ground.

The snow was also a good outlet to begin practicing a spell that would be quite useful in keeping warm and potentially knocking down the giant snowflake that fired concentrated freezing spells at those who tried to enter its domain (Bill did a double take when he was told that story). Incendio would create large blasts of red and blue fire, though it was still somewhat difficult to control, especially for second years, and so Bill supervised their progress.

“A freezing day in December is almost as bad as the sensation you’ll feel inside the vault,” David told him as he shifted his scarf to reveal his pink, rosy nose, clearly whipped by the slight wind. “What better way to practice?”

“No offense, David, but I’m not sure I’m the right person to go inside the vault with you,” Ben said glumly.

“We will cross that bridge when we get to it,” Bill interjected. “For now, being prepared to break the protective enchantments is the best way to go. We’ll need a full arsenal to do so.”

Penny beamed underneath her hat, coat, and mittens.

“I’m just glad we’re finally learning something that could be considered proper defense. This year’s Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is complete rubbish.”

“Yeah, well I’d be lying if that also didn’t factor into it,” the red head muttered. “I also figured the fire making spell would be a top priority based off what Dave and Rowan told me about this vault.”

“Speaking of curse breaking, I actually brought you something,” David said, remembering suddenly his gift. “I bought this through mail order a week ago.”

He stuck his mittens into the bag and presented it to his friend.

“ Patricia Rakepick: A Guide to Cursebreaking,” Bill read aloud his eyes lighting up. “Wow, David this is amazing. You didn’t have to get me this. Madam Rakepick is one of the best in the world.”

“Good practice for when you become a cursebreaker yourself,” he replied with a wink. “Not to mention it’ll be good for all of us when we enter the vault. Rakepick has been around the globe and back again. Seen and done it all.”

“We’ll pour through it once we get back inside. In the meantime, let me see your fire one more time.”

David point his wand in the air.

“ Incendio! ”

A large stream of flames issued forth, crackling the air before ceasing altogether.

“You really have a talent for this stuff, don’t you?” Bill chuckled. “Took me a lot longer to learn that spell. Penny, you next.”

The blonde obliged, sending a lesser but still decent amount of flames into the frigid December day.

“Not bad. You need a little bit more power but otherwise you’re coming along fine,” Bill encouraged.

“I know,” Penny said a bit sheepishly. “I’m just afraid I’ll burn one of you guys.”

“You can burn me any time you want. Feels like my ass is about to freeze off,” David quipped.

“Well we certainly wouldn’t want that,” Bill responded dryly but with a cheeky grin. “One more from Ben and then we’ll grab some hot cocoa.”

Shaking heavily from the cold, Ben nevertheless loudly proclaimed the incantation.

“ I-Incendio !”

The amount of fire that issued from his wand was so vast that David actually had to grab Penny and duck to avoid minor injury. Even Bill took a step back, a look of shock plastered on his face.

“Well that’s one way to do it,” he offered in his gentlest tone. “Maybe say it a little less loudly next time.”

David began laughing as he picked himself up from the frost bitten ground, putting an arm around his friend.

“That could have melted the entire door down. And you say you’re not worthy of going into the vault,” he ribbed him.

Ben only offered a weak grin.

“Heh.”

The rest of the month continued like this, with spell learning sessions occurring inside rather than the increasingly frigid outdoors of Scotland. As they continued to meet together outside of class, at lunch, and in the library the group also took extra pains to ensure the Slytherins were not following or attempting to sabotage them. After the embarrassing loss to their rival, Merula and her ilk were becoming more vocal again and more than a few times, David caught her messing with his potions again. She constantly whispered about how she was closing in on key information on the vaults to distract him, which he did his best to ignore. Merula loved to exaggerate her own achievements so it wasn’t particularly concerning. Nevertheless, he made a point to keep an eye on her and her prime lacky, Ismelda Murk.

As December wore on and the holidays grew closer, David grew more anxious to revisit the vault, especially with all the planning and preparation they were doing. Bill, however, aired on the side of caution. He too was eager to visit the first cursed vault but opined it would be more prudent to wait until after they returned from Christmas break. It gave them all time to practice their spellwork and would throw off the scent of anyone on their trail, namely Filch, who was always scouring the 13th corridor at night with Mrs. Norris. In the end, the group largely concurred with such thinking.

It wasn’t until the last day before the holidays that the pressure to enter the vault ramped up a notch. The three boys were on their way back from their final class of the day, a potions extravaganza that featured pre-Christmas goodwill from the Gryffindors and Slytherins tossing acid pops into each other’s cauldrons, until they noticed a crowd stood outside the 9th corridor. Though no one was panicking as of yet the murmuring became louder as David, Rowan, and Ben approached.

“What’s going on?” David asked aloud. “It’s not supposed to be this busy. Not until the train leaves Hogsmeade station anyway.”

“No idea,” Rowan shrugged.

“Can we find out what this is later?” Ben said nervously. “Ismelda threw an acid pop in my cauldron and I think some of it burned through my robes.”

But curiosity overrode the other two Gryffindor boys as they slowly weaved their way through the crowd and towards the front.

“You guys! It happened again!” Tonks said to them. But there was no need to expound further. Reaching the front, they witnessed a fourth year Ravenclaw covered nearly head to toe in the cursed ice, face dangerously blue, eyes barely open. It was quite a revelation and also quite disturbing. No student, not even Ben had been entrapped so thoroughly. The only part of his body that remained free was his head and neck, everything else remained submerged.

It didn’t take long for the whispering to turn to proclamations.

“The ice won’t stop until it gets us all!” a random girl shouted.

Thankfully, any mass hysteria was quelled by the sudden arrival of Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Snape.

“Students, remain calm!” the deputy Headmistress shouted over the low hum of gossip. “Please be on your way to prepare for the train. Those who are staying at Hogwarts over Christmas break, return to your dormitories until further notice. Prefects, see that everyone is accounted for.”

“You heard her!” Snape barked. “Away with you!”

The intimidating leer of Severus Snape was more than enough to disperse the crowd, but not before David overheard the professors commenting on the situation.

“The ice has never spread this far before,” Flitwick said with a note of anxiety in his voice. “Should we not alert the Headmaster to return?”

“Dumbledore has enough on his plate,” Snape replied. “He will not come back to Hogwarts until after Christmas. We can handle things until then. If the ice is getting stronger, we should not allow that information to spread beyond these walls.”

“I will letter Albus. But for now, let us focus on unfreezing Mr. Isaacs. Madam Pomfrey will need to attend to him for quite a while,” Professor McGonagall spoke, taking out her wand.

David, Rowan, and Ben looked at each other as Tonks and the Hufflepuffs headed towards the kitchen. All of a sudden, containing the ice was looking more and more impossible. If all of Hogwarts was threatened to be consumed by it, they had less time than originally thought.

“Happy Christmas, everyone,” David said ironically as they approached the Fat Lady to pack.

Though most holidays were spent opening presents, eating pie, and retelling school stories, this was once incident he planned to keep away from the ears of his mother and father, knowing both of them would panic if they found out he was attempting to break into the vaults himself.

Rubbing the back of his neck, David couldn’t help but wish for a quick end to December.

There was much more work to be done, yet.

#hogwarts mystery #hphm #hphm fanfiction #fanfiction #david grant #rowan khanna #charlie weasley #bill weasley #penny haywood #ben copper #nymphadora tonks #ismelda murk #gryffindor #slytherin #hufflepuff #minerva mcgonagall

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scifrey · 5 years

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2019 Writing Round Up

The new year is here, and with it everyone is talking about what they wrote this past year. The last quarter of 2019 was a brutal rollercoaster for me, emotionally and personally, so it’s good for me to have the chance to sit here and reflect on what I accomplished and the good things that happened too.

2019 started with receiving a grant from the Toronto Arts Council for The Maddening Science – said grant went to research materials for the novel, a new computer, printer, and keyboard, and paying off some debts. But 2019 also started in a place of utter burn-out, having slammed through writing, editing, and publishing five big novels in three years, as well as rewriting a feature film and completing the scripts for three seasons of a webseries.

I was also working two dayjobs – one first thing in the morning, for an hour and a half, and then a standard eight-hour shift in the evenings which got me home at around 10pm – so my sleep schedule was a mess and I was having trouble not only making time to write, but concentrating when I did have the time.

I started the year in a place of complete exhaustion and mild frustration that neither of my book series had really caught on, and as my agent once said, “burned out from tried to break out.” I’m not happy to say that I think I still occupy that place a full year later; but I’ve had the opportunity to rest more, and begin to refill my creative well again, and to reclaim my writing space by no longer needing a roommate.

I’m not quite there yet – turns out finishing two series in four years really takes it out of you – but maybe in a few more months I’ll be ready to sit down and begin to spin out a new novel. In the mean time, I’ve got lots of irons in the fire, as you’ll see.

January

The first third of 2019 was dedicated to rewriting The Skylark’s Sacrifice a second time. I’d rewritten it in the last third of 2018 and my editor ended up agreeing that while the rewrite was exactly what she asked for, we should not have gone down that street in the first place. It was what was asked of me, but it didn’t work. So I took it back to the drawing board, and started the re-write all over again.

I also published WORDS FOR WRITERS: The DO-ING Trap.

I finished the edits/polish on A Woman of the Sea, which I had begun in October 2018 and loaded the book onto Wattpad in preparation for serializing it.

February

I spent February rewriting and jobhunting. I tried to write a short story and Did Not Do Well. It’s half done and likely to end up on the Pile Of Unfinished Tales.

At least I got some new words on the page with WORDS FOR WRITERS – Beta Readers.

And I began releasing A Woman of the Sea a chapter at a time on Valentine’s Day.

March

I completed the Skylark rewrites and handed them over to Reuts Publications. I also published WORDS FOR WRITERS – From Signing to Signing.

At this point I tried to start The Maddening Science, the book I received a Toronto Art’s Council Grant for in 2018, and bashed out a few chapters and a few scenes. But something was off about it, and I couldn’t pinpoint why, so I kept going into the file and only put a few hundred words in here and there. I couldn’t really sit down and dig in, and because I don’t believe in Writer’s Block as a mystical magical reason for why people can’t write (there are always reasons), I had to step back to try to figure out why I was struggling. I assumed it was probably because I was in the middle of job interviews and decided to try again later.

April

I started a new copywriting job, leaving my other two dayjobs, and it sucked up all my brainpower and creativity and made it very hard to want to sit down and compose yet more words at the end of the day.

I resumed working piecemeal on The Maddening Science, pecking out what I could one molasses-slow sentence at a time. I realized that the incidents in the news regarding the current political comment and the toxic white supremacist misogyny that is rampant in our society today has made it very hard to figure out how to tell a responsible story about a supervillain as the protagonist.

I’m still working on that. In the mean time, while I figure out how to restructure the tale, the book and the progress blog are on hiatus.

May

Still brain-dead from work, I only managed to bash out WORDS FOR WRITERS: How do social media and writing/publishing work together?

June

There were some final edits on The Skylark’s Sacrifice to be discussed, but I really did nothing this month beyond marketing pushes and watching all the webseries I judged for TOWebfest.

July

The director of my feature film, To a Stranger, was going to start shopping the script around to executive producers, so before he did that I got some actorfriends together to do a table read. The read, and their feedback, revealed some character motivation gaps in the film, and I set about organizing their notes and figuring out how to solve the issues.

I also wrote and published WORDS FOR WRITERS – How To Write a Synopsis.

This was also the month of TOWebfest, the festival itself, and I spent a lovely day with fellow creators and spoke to some executive producers about my own webseries to try to garner interest.

I was a guest at Pretty Heroes Con for the first time and LOVED it. It’s great to celebrate strong female leads in SF/F and I loved Sailor Moon as a kid, so I was in nostalgic nirvana. It was lovely to introduce those Girl Power-loving fans to The Skylark’s Saga.

August

I restructured and rewrote To a Stranger, added extra characters and extra scenes to clear up some character motivation in the screenplay. It’s now back with the director and I hope to hear that he’s got a production house and an Exec attached to the project soon.

I appeared at FanExpo Toronto to do some panels, sell some books, and judged the short fiction contest. I also wrote and published WORDS FOR WRITERS: How to Create a Pitch Package.

September

The Skylark’s Sacrifice was published! Yay! I had a wonderful launch party at Bakka Phoenix, and got to simultaneously launch the incredible book trailer for the duology animated by Elizabeth Hirst to a song by Victor Sierra. Friends Adrianna Prosser and Eric Metzloff, and Danforth Brewery made it extra special.

I also got to read at Word on the Street, which was been a career-long dream, reading on the new Across the Universe Stage.

However, September was also the month when I lost the copywriting job. I saw it coming, so I was shocked when it happened and how it went down, but not surprised. I wasn’t fitting in well with the team, the original project I had been hired for had been vetoed by the execs, work was being taken away from me and given to freelancers, and I didn’t have the training they wanted (though that makes me wonder why they hired me in the first place.) In retrospect it’s been a blessing, as the workplace was not at all a good fit for me and was slowly becoming toxic, but at the time it was a devastating blow to my confidence and my coffers.

Just a few days after I was fired, on my 37th birthday, I won a Watty Award for A Woman of the Sea. Happy birthday to me! I was offered a place among the Wattpad Stars program and accepted – and wow, is there a lot of paperwork for that – and I’m still trying to figure out what benefits the program offers. (Though I’m pretty chuffed with my free Canva Premium subscription!) A Woman of the Sea was featured on the home page as an Undiscovered Gem and as of today has about 82k reads. Whoa!

I also wrote and published WORDS FOR WRITERS: How to Plan a Series.

October

I spent most of the month sleeping and crying and working through how I felt about getting fired. When one identifies oneself as a writer, to finally get a job in writing was a thrill and felt like a confirmation that although I was struggling with my next book, I was a writer and I’d get through it. Being fired from the job – even though the reason was an exec decision to eliminate my project and thus my role – felt like a very personal blow. I wasn’t a writer after all. (Or at least, that’s what it felt like).

This had me thinking long and hard. Especially about where I wanted my writing career to go next – as much I’ve been writing in the realm of SF/F the past decade, I’ve begun to realize that was I really am is a Character-Driven Romance writer. Romance set in spec fic and fantasy realms, sure, but Romance and Character Work are my wheelhouse and how I should be selling myself.

This realization has been pretty freeing because it means that the frustrations and roadblocks I’ve been coming up against can maybe be dissolved by reframing my brand and rethinking my career map.

Wattpad added the sample of City By Night that’s on Wattpad to their Halloween Reads list on the homepage and I decided to put the whole novella up on the site for people to read. Read it now, though. It won’t stay up forever as the eBook rights to the novel are signed with an indie publisher. This is just a limited-time promotion.

And knowing that readers were asking what I would be posting next on Wattpad after A Woman of the Sea, I rejigged Triptych for the site and started serializing it from the start. You can read it here. This story also won’t stay up forever, for the same reason.

I also started serializing Words for Writers on Wattpad. I won’t be copying over all 75+ articles I have on my website, just the ones that are specifically useful for Watties.

I also polished a webseries and sent it to a producer with a major broadcaster after our convo at TOWebfest for consideration. I’ve followed up but there’s no reply. I’ll follow up again in January 2020 but I can pretty well assume that No Answer is my ‘No’ Answer.

I am thinking about maybe pitching it as a graphic novel in the future, though I’m going to have to reach out to my friends who write them for publishers to figure out how to put at pitch together.

November

In 2017 I handed over a YA contemporary re-telling of “Northanger Abbey” to my agent, and it was lukewarmly received by both her and the handful of editors she showed it to. It was then shelved for possible future reworking.

In the first part of the NaNoWriMo month, I decided to tackle this reworking, and I was still wrestling mentally with The Maddening Science. This reworking was inspired a lot by reading Red, White & Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston in October, and realizing that the tone I’d been going for with my narrator hadn’t been irreverent or GenZ-y enough for the story I was trying to tell, and not grounded enough in the technologies and social media that my modern-day Catherine Morland would have access to.

I reworked the Pitch Document for the novel, now currently called “Title TBA”, and got to chapter seven during NaNo. I’ve got some thinking to do about structure for the novel, and how far into using Social Media As A Storytelling Tool I want to go with the idea, but generally speaking I’m pretty pleased with the result of the rewrites.

Partway through NaNo, it occurred to me that there was another story that my Wattpad readers were asking for, and one that would be a lot of fun to write. In A Woman of the Sea, my fictional Regency-era Jane-Austen-analogue authoress Margaret Goodenough writes her debut novel “The Welshman’s Daughters”. As I describe this non-existent novel in A Woman of the Sea, it’s a gothic romance that’s very Elizabeth Gaskell-and-Jane Austen-esque in terms of it being a character study driven romance, with some of the fun high melodrama and gothic tone of Anne Radcliffe. And, in the world of A Woman of the Sea, it’s the first queer kiss in Classic Western Literature.

A handful of readers have asked where they can find this book, or have confessed to going to the library to ask for it, only to learn that it’s not real. I made it up.

And I thought… well, why not make it real?

So I’m working on the pitch doc and the first chapter now, to see if a) this is something I want to pursue and b) this is something that will help me break through my burn-out slump. I hope it will, but I think I still need to take time to rest before I really push into it.

And I still have the “Title TBA” rewrites to complete.

December

I published WORDS FOR WRITERS: How Do I Get An Agent?, and spent the rest of the month just trying to chill. I’ve become a bit of a reluctant reader, so I am trying to push myself to read a little each day, to remind myself why I fell in love with storytelling in the first place.

A Woman of the Sea was turned down for Paid Stories, unfortunately, because of the structure of the romance. The Stars Team explained that romance stories like this one, with one romantic partner in the first half of the book, and a different one in the second (a la Brigit Jones’ Diary) doesn’t tend to do well on Paid because readers are reluctant to shell out for a romance where they don’t meet the HEA partner until later. It’s heartbreaking to hear, because I was really hoping that this might become a viable stream of income for me. At least the team who turned it down were very kind and expressed how much they loved the story in and of itself.

But no matter – onwards and upwards!

What’s ahead for 2020

Well, I’m not sure. This has been a really, really difficult year and I have really, really struggled with trying to figure out who I am and what I want, both in life and as a writer.

Certainly, there will be lot of hard thinking about the future of my writing career. I have ideas that I love and want to pursue, but this post-firing-return-to-the-job-hunt-depression is killing my desire to create. And honestly, the fact that I’ve worked so hard for so many years and haven’t managed to get any sort of break-through or cultural foothold or ability to even really to pay my bills with this job is disheartening. I’m still paying more in marketing every year than I’m making in Royalties.

However, I have some new opportunities on the horizon – conversations happening behind closed doors, as well as Divine Paradox Films still working toward filming To A Stranger, and Alpaca vs Llama shopping The Skylark’s Song as a teens animated series. And the webseries I wrote is under consideration with a new production team, so I can keep my fingers crossed.

Who knows, perhaps the rewritten “Title TBA” might be just the thing to propel my work into a realm where I’m really earning money. Though I had originally envisioned it as the first of a series, the more I work and think on it, the more I feel like it would be best as a stand-alone. I think it would slap a lot harder if it was a one-off.

And I am genuinely liking the plot of The Welshman’s Daughters, and all the research reading and viewing I am doing to get the tone and mood of the book right (please recommend me your favourite Gothic Romances – film, TV, or books!)

But I’m not going to rush anything. It’s nice to be able to remember how to putter with a book and have no looming, razor-blade deadlines hanging over my neck.

2020 will be, I hope, a year of renewed creativity, motivation, and the year where I complete at least one of the three novel projects I’ve started.

For now, I think I’m going to go have a nap.

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#J.M. Frey #about the author #words for writers #writing round up #2019 writing round up #writing #writing community #writeblr

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shellheadtm-a · 5 years

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@ikumkani | your thoughts on tony/t'challa, enlighten me

oh boy oh boy, i’ll do my best. so this is like...a dynamic that i think gets overshadowed a lot because a lot of the deeper meat of it is in little asides and offhand comments made by either t’challa or tony themselves. like we’ve got plenty of them interacting one on one, sure, and there’s some good shit like that, but it’s the casual talking about each in other things that kind of...cement the dynamic for me.

but first off...tony and t’challa have like. known each other a long time - t’challa was an avenger way back when in the early days, you know, it makes him part of the old guard. the...what i like to term the pre-house of m old guard. there’s a connection between them that just doesn’t really establish itself in later avengers teams. too much blood under the bridge at that point, i guess, it’s not easy anymore but. that already puts a certain flavor in their interactions that’s going to be lacking in others, if that makes sense? especially when you consider t’challa knew iron man, more than likely, before he ever knew tony stark.

they have some really...odd things in common, i guess? that aren’t really that odd if you dig a little. both of them absolutely suck at...idk. maintaining a relationship and there’s like a million reasons as to why that is, but i think...being who they are - in respects to black panther and iron man - kind of has an influence on that. there’s a...weight of responsibility on the both of them that goes beyond just being an avenger - or part of the superhuman community in general. t’challa’s not just a superhero, you know, he can’t just...devote himself blindly to his ideals the way a lot of people do in a lot of respects (the way, say, someone like steve rogers can, when his whole life revolves around being an avenger). he has real world concerns. t’challa lives in the real world - he has a country to run, people to lead and see to the welfare of, he has to move and exist within the world’s boundaries that way and balance all sides of his life. meanwhile you have tony, who while not a king (but one of his many masks is pretending like he’s king of world), still is a real and powerful influence on the world. people like to talk shit in this respect, but it’s true: tony’s a powerful figure on the world stage outside of the suit. he influences trends in technology, he employs thousands and thousands of people. tony acts on his ideals a lot, but he’s also bound by his real world life, too. that’s a thing they both have to manage, which, i think, often puts them both at odds with people that are pure idealism. they both understand the ends can and have to justify the means sometimes (see: the last illuminati line up). and people are quick to call it arrogance, but what it really is...it’s a different kind of leadership - the leadership that involves dealing in real people and real consequences. it’s having a foot firmly planted in both worlds.

like i cannot overstate how important them being hugely public (i mean, t’challa’s a king and tony’s an industrial business titan) and influential people in their civilian identities as well as their superhero ones is.

they’re both nerds, and everyone knows they’re nerds, sure, like it’s not like some huge hidden dark secret, but like...they’re not the kind of people i think you expect to be such huge ones, does that make sense? they both have...polish, i guess. i think that’s the word i’m looking for. and it comes from what they do and their places in the world but then on their own they’re complete lab-dwelling troll disasters that not everyone gets to see as clearly. it’s just...a fun parallel, i think.

but then you’ve got things like red zone. this is one of my favorite interactions between them, it really is, because there’s this urgency, people are dying, they need to do something and bureaucracy is being ridiculous and shady on the part of the us (considering where the whole thing came from) and yet especially on tony’s part there’s a kind of...smug good humor, especially when he’s breaking them out of jail and they go full tilt to save the avengers in the containment zone. this is also one of those times where someone other than steve sees and recognizes one of tony’s self-sacrificing moves for what it is. and also i’m sorry literally everyone missed t’challa kicking the shit out of red skull because it was glorious. what an absolute bad ass babe. and then you’ve got tony and t’challa post-battle while tony’s recovering from the virus hammering out an idea trade agreement with wakanda. do...do either of them know how to just. slow down a minute? no. the answer is really no.

also a super important thing to note here: tony trusts t’challa. even after everything, tony trusts him. this is a big damn deal, on tony’s end. he trusts him enough that t’challa has access to the iron man. there are not - i repeat not - many people that do. i can think of four others - steve, bucky, pepper, and rhodey - that do. especially after tony’s stint as secdef. and t’challa’s trolly enough to put that knowledge to the most unorthodox use possible (so hey remember that time t’challa used tony’s armors to act as waiters at a dinner thing because that was hilarious and good shit and we stan t’challa in the house of amanda). like...t’challa has that sense of humor that gets on well with tony’s, answers his playfulness with a deadpan dryness and it’s just...good shit. love it. want to see more of it.

and while i still complained that it definitely needs to be steve rogers looking for tony in the current avengers run and t’challa in space (more bc the way the writing of steve was handled it was just bad) because t’challa is chairman and i feel like he’d be better served being with the team: friendly reminder that when tony went radio silent for seemingly no reason, it’s t’challa out there looking for him. t’challa also joined tony’s side in the fight with carol, even though they were on opposing sides during the first civil war.

and kind of unrelated but still important, as much as i harp on tony and steve being framed in couple like ways at ben grimm’s bachelor party, tony and steve also had t’challa with them. like it was three of them together. and we know they all used to hang out in the mansion together in the early days so that makes complete sense. also it tells you everything you need to know about how similar tony and t’challa are, because they both gamely went into that strip poker game and clearly had a blast. they’re friends. which for me bumps t’challa way up the could definitely work out list because that’s an important factor, i think, in a tony ship. you can think he’s pretty, but do you like him? do you enjoy his company? have you seen the good and bad sides of him? his good and bad days? and i can answer yes, i think, to every one of those questions.

i don’t think a relationship between them would be easy. i don’t think it would be smooth sailing. i think there’d be bumps in the road, definitely. which means they’d have to communicate in more than deadpan one liners, do a little soul searching, be open to making themselves mutually vulnerable to one another. but i think they occupy unique positions in the world that are similar, and a shared understanding of what it’s like to be an avenger and responsible for the whole world? and being civilian leaders and responsible for also your own people, and having to consider that in the moves you make in the life of the former. if they could like...work some stuff out (especially on tony’s end good lord that boy has more issues than scientific american), i think...this would be some good shit. they’d be good places to lean on for each other, because of those similarities, and their differences would keep things interesting.

also talk about a fucking power couple in either world.

anyway, i like it. looks good. gets my stamp of approval.

who do you ship tony with | accepting

#ikumkani #array //: ( ooc asks )#// i apparently had...more thoughts about this than i thought i did #// which i guess makes sense i always do but point is #// i could get behind this one pretty hard

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