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mybg3notebook · 4 years ago

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Astarion Analysis Summary

Disclaimer Game Version: All these analyses were made up to the game version v4.1.101.4425. As long as new content is added, and as long as I have free time for that, I will try to keep updating this information.

This will be a summarasing analysis integrating most of the main characteristics shown and proven in the post (Astarion Analysis)

Additional disclaimers about meta-knowledge and interpretations in (post)

The number between brackets [] represents the topic-block related to (this post), which gathers as much evidence as I could get.

Alignments are usually a topic of discussion since characters can be so complicated, that they are hard to put in some place on the spectrum. However, for Astarion’s case, it’s clear that he is an Evil-aligned character, like Shadowheart and Lae’Zel. Whether he lies on a Chaotic side or a Neutral one is a bit less important (personally, I believe this small shift is the most you will be able to change Astarion through the main game, but I will explain that in another post Astarion and Power -Part 2).

What is most important is to understand that we are analysing an Evil char, so his personality will lay in the negative characteristics. He likes all degrees of cruelty [3,6], violence [2, 13], and murder [2], having a particular taste for animal cruelty [4]. He finds this cruelty funny.

When it comes to animal cruelty, he has a broader concept of what’s animal than most Tavs would consider: he includes kobolds, goblins, and gnomes as such [5]. So all the cruelty upon them would be labelled, for his standards, as “animal” cruelty. This is why I specify he has a particular taste for this type of cruelty: he doesn’t only enjoy the death and torment of animals, but also of races he considers as such [5].

He has many racial biases [5] (hardly any char in Forgotten Realm lacks them): he only sees valuable elves and some humans (not all, since he despises the Gur) probably as a consequence of his backstory. Let’s remember that a group of Gur put him at death's door, forcing him into accepting Cazador's proposition. However, it’s also important to keep in mind he put himself in that situation with his corrupted magistrate role as a mortal (Swen’s interview).

He supports the most common biases about Tieflings and Gurs [5], and mocks halfling and Dwarven Tavs. He sees goblins, kobolds and gnomes as animals. Probably the list is broader, since all this information is what's present in the EA game at the moment.

Astarion as a character has a play of concepts with the duality animal/owner [14]. He speaks about choice as the element that separates animals from humanoids. Animals react out of instinct, thinking creatures choose to act. This speech doesn’t end with him claiming choice but being an animal desiring to kill. If in any other instance he would show a hint of empathy, one would be inclined to think his character is about the overwhelming reactions of a wounded animal installed by the abuse. But I hardly see it like that. He was twisted before turning into a vampire.

As such, he speaks about “survival instinct” [14]. With the little we see and can read in his approvals and disapprovals, he is looking for acceptance from Tav about his vampire nature, for the sake of survival. This character is an extreme survivalist. Astarion would care nothing about endangering or even killing innocent people to guarantee his survival. Once more, we see in the way he speaks about survival, the constant repetition of the symbol of “animal”.

He is greedy [1], no matter if what he gains is little or not; as long as it gives him a small reward (he hates to help for free), or if it causes pain, torment, or the death of the person he is interacting with, it’s enough. If Astarion doesn’t have a radical change in his background, we can be assured this greed comes from his past mortal life, when he was a corrupt magister to the point to double sell criminals to a local vampire lord and to slavers.

Manipulation [7]is the main characteristic in him. His words and mannerisms change as the game progresses, playing with the tones and the half-truth/lies he keeps saying. During his first interactions with Tav, Astarion is very careful in sharing his opinion about the events, —his judgements are always vague—while he tries to appraise Tav. This can be easily seen when he has no opinion about Kagha’s snake killing Arabella and playing an obvious mind game to Tav. For further detail check (Astarion and his Standards).

He is sometimes considered a prankster [3], but I prefer to call him Evil Trickster (pretty much like Shadowheart, who has trickster domain as cleric) who enjoys pranks to a higher degree of torment, ending sometimes with the death of the person in question. He enjoys, following this Trickster nature, the humiliation of people in general and outsmarting small people in particular [6]. He is aware that outsmarting powerful ones can bring consequences hard to deal with [7] (as he warns when Tav thinks about outsmarting Raphael), but applying all these torments to weak people is inconsequential, and therefore, enjoyable for him without risks.

We already stated that he enjoys the suffering of people [2,3], but he has a particular taste for the torment of the weakest ones [6]. The root of this pleasure for humiliating weak creatures comes from his desire for power. Astarion is a char deeply related to power [11], not as a goal itself (not power for the sake of power), but as a means to obtain revenge, and in the process, become a Master. I will analyse this aspect in another post (Astarion and Power part 1/ part 2).

However, I think it’s worth noting that Astarion’s descriptions of Cazador reflect not only his need for power but also his desire for that kind of power applied in a similar goal. Astarion despises Cazador’s obsession for power, but he has little problem to aspire to it. The obsession with any kind of power, especially the one given by the tadpoles which bend the will of people (mind control) [11], his paranoia, his constant desire to become master [14], his pleasure in cruelty and humiliation [2,3,4,6]… all these characteristics are very descriptive of Astarion too. Cazador and Astarion seem to be each other’s mirrors ( for more details check post Astarion and Power part 1/ part 2). .

Despite hating to be involved in anyone else's problems [9], he encourages and supports most acts of revenge [8,16], especially the ones against figures that can be interpreted as master. This will occur if and only if Astarion perceives the victim of such a master as a strong and resilient creature worth the trouble, i.e. Karlach [16].

He enjoys most Intimidation options you can pick [13], since they can result in the humiliation of a certain NPC, as a demonstration of power, or simply as elements for tormenting NPCs that would lead to murderous situations which are “funny” shows for Astarion. In general, most intimidation tags will be approved by him, except the ones that could be used to defuse violent outcomes.

All these evil pleasures can be considered as “the result” of turning into a vampire, but if we stick to what Swen has explained during the first demonstrations of the game and interviews before the release of EA, we know Astarion has been an Evil character during his mortal life. He was a corrupt magistrate in Baldur’s Gate, who fed the local coven of vampires with criminals. Being greedy, and trying to bite more than he knew he could chew, he sold this food into slavery to earn more money. As a consequence (directly or plotted by Cazador, we don’t know) he was attacked by a group of Gurs who almost beat him to death. Cazador appeared soon afterwards to grant him immortality with the curse of Vampirism. As we can see, he is not better than he was when he was a mortal elf.

A deeper relationship with concepts such as power, abuse, and victim will be explained in another post ( Astarion and Power-part 2). From Astarion’s brief background we can see that he has been an abuser in his mortal life. Due to his own actions, Cazador grasped him into his power and inflicted torment, humiliation, and violence of many kinds, for two centuries, twisting his personality into evilness even more than before (we also need to remember that not only torture may have twisted his personality, vampirism via Dark Desires causes a natural perversion of the persona as well). He now aspires to become more powerful, a reflection of Cazador himself, as a way to acquire his freedom. He wants power to be free [7, 11, 13, 14], and the power of mind-controlling others excites him [10,11] to no end, ignoring completely the cognitive dissonance of his own mind as an ex slave [12]. Although he suffered slavery in his own flesh, he is pretty apathetic (or even supports) slavery [10]. Some players may understand his narration of Cazador’s torments as a means to manipulate Tav, others, as a self-dismissal of his own traumatic experiences.

His story seems to narrate the story of an abuser who found a greater abuser and became a victim of the latter, seeking to return to a stronger power position (the greatest vampire of the world—description in Larian web page—). Despite suffering this abuse, that could be understood as poetic justice to certain degree, he never developed empathy for those sharing his condition. He cares little when he sees others in the same situations he had been ( for more details check post (Astarion and Power part 1/ part 2).

Some fans see that Astarion detests slavery, and he is just putting a show of a thick-skinned survivor, pretending that it does not affect him. I can’t see it with all what we see in EA. This “supposed” repulsive emotion should be a matter of narrative (we should see it in clear approvals or disapprovals as meta-knowledge), not a baseless imagination/wish of the player. We know that there are hundreds of resources to show hidden emotions in characters. Remorse or a desire to improve can be perfectly shown without being explicit, even when he may not be conscious of them. We can see how this is managed with Shadowheart, and we know there is something going on under her cruelty despite knowing little about herself (she knows less of her past and still yet we manage to see some degrees of goodness in her despite her evil inclinations).

So I don’t believe that Astarion has some remorse going on, because if it were the case, it has not been shown in any scene so far. To me, it makes much more sense for him to develop as a full evil character inside the spectrum of evilness. After all, and following the tradition of the mechanics seen in BG1 and BG2, a redemption arc of an evil char of this magnitude makes little sense (We can remember Edwin,Dorn Il-Khan, Sarevok Anchev, Viconia DeVir, Baeloth Barrityl, Xzar, or Hexxat, all evil chars whose development was always inside their evilness or showed, in few cases, a slight shift of it). But further details and reflections will be addressed in another post (Astarion and Power part 1/ part 2).

As a last detail, we can or cannot believe his statement of having lost his memories (he can perfectly claim it to hide his evil past from the main character to have a better manipulation of Tav) but considering Larian has kept most of the DnD vampire characteristics, I would like to bring awareness of a particular vampiric effect named Dark Desires (here). It’s the twistessness of the mortal-desires, which due to the fact that Astarion’s had always been dark, changed little with his vampiric nature, or just deepened in its perversion, and may cause sometimes the loss of memories (he was greedy and cruel before, now he stays the same, but darker and morbider.)

In short we can summarise Astarion as a moral bankrupt narcissist, a survivalist no matter the cost, a power-hungry character who wants to bend people’s will. He uses manipulation as his main tool, and enjoys violence, murder, and humiliation. Despite his slave past, he enoys acts of cruelty and torture on innocent or weak creatures. All his actions and words seem to ominously display a similarity with Cazador, as if his fate is to become the next Cazador.

This post was written on April 2021. → For more Astarion: Analysis Series Index

#astarion #bg3 early access #bg3 meta

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lemonsandstrawberries · 4 years ago

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Hashtag: RelationshipGoals

fandom: Stony (Steve x Tony)

summary: Steve is being forced into getting a Twitter accounts and logs into Tony’s for inspiration - one mistake later, he finds more than he asked for. Meaning, his boyfriend has a tickle kink and Steve has a lot of thinking to do.

length: 5 468

a/n: Happy Friday 13th! *throws confetti* To celebrate I am posting a fic that contains one of the biggest fears for people with tickle kink - someone finding out when you are not ready to tell them. It has a happy ending, promise! Hope you all will enjoy this fic, feedback, reblogs and likes are appreciated and needed! fic inspired by this prompt.

—————

Hashtag: RelationshipGoals

Long story short - Steve was getting a Twitter account.

Long story long...

It all started with a certain PR meeting held for the Avengers team, just this time, it was Steve vs the whole PR team. The problem was simple - Steve didn't like social media and didn't have an account on any of the numerous websites and apps. Fighting with aliens, planning new missions, schooling SHIELD agents - those were the zones he felt comfortable in. Some thought that the hidden reason behind the hostility towards social media was, that Steve, born in the 1920s, had a problem with using modern technology. Some called it endearing, some pathetic, the truth was, that Steve fairly quickly mastered each piece of technology he was given, skillfully using any given device. After all, he wasn't dense. Many apps were quite useful, some just plain entertaining, and it required a lot of navigating, but he managed to find some favorites. Just when it came to social media… Steve didn't feel like sharing his private life with unknown faces. Call him old-fashioned, but he liked having direct contact with people and as much as he liked to take a stop during his random walks in the city to talk with people who called themselves his fans, it quickly became too overwhelming. He wasn't good at such things and always thought he was too awkward and not what people expected. Steve didn't like that kind of pressure and didn't like the almost weekly notices from the PR team that he needed to make himself more 'accessible'. By no means, he was expected to stop and talk to everyone who ever called him or share mission details with strangers, but he needed to create a more public persona for Captain America and Steve Rogers.

Hence, Steve was encouraged to take a plunge into the world of social media.

And he really, really, really didn't want to do that.

One - it was pretty tedious to keep up with everything. Tony eagerly showed him all social accounts he had - Twitter, Instagram, Facebook profile, Youtube, and it all just gave him a headache as Tony chattered which media was good for what and gladly showed him his own Instagram page (mostly workshop photos and meals Steve had prepared for him, which was kinda sweet) and if Steve became slightly interested in that, his interest dropped after hearing about filters and tags. Too much work.

Second - he didn't have time to keep his theoretical accounts active and post new content regularly. Or more, he didn't want to make time, preferring to spend it on reading or training or hanging out with Tony or anything else, really. He had been gently suggested, that some celebrities (Steve's eyes widened a little after hearing that - was he a celebrity?) hire someone else to run their social media accounts. Steve shook his head at the proposition, knowing that none of his teammates did that and so he shouldn't either, not mentioning that everything posted wouldn't be sincere.

Third - Steve considered himself not an interesting person. He didn't have Tony's charisma, who, of course, had the biggest social media following ever, Thor's flair, which made his Youtube channel where he tasted food sent to him from all over the world by his viewers a huge success or Clint's humor, whose Internet activity limited to commenting on funny animal photos and home videos and people loved him. Even Bruce, seemingly even more awkward and distant when it came to dealing with a privacy-invading crowd, was doing great, kindling the interest of young kids in science with a series of easy to repeat experiments at home and railing about the importance of protecting and preserving the environment. Even Natasha didn't have a problem, her social media accounts full of useful self-defense tips for everyone who needed to feel safer. Steve just couldn't find anything in himself he would like to share with the world. He liked to keep his art private, his relationship private, and his whole life private.

It should be the ending statement.

It wasn't.

And so Steve, feeling scolded, got back to his and Tony's shared floor, planning to hide, except that he was assigned a very simple task for the week.

Get a Twitter account.

Steve sat heavily on the couch, putting elbows on his knees and palms around his cheeks, definitely not pouting. Why on Earth did he need a Twitter account? Wasn't it enough that from time to time he appeared on Tony's account, being the supportive boyfriend, and allowing Tony share the photos of their date nights or even the short movies from Steve's training when Tony was proudly showing off Steve's impressive physique and using those damn filters and making small stars and glitter swirl around him.

Speaking of Tony, he could use his boyfriend's advice... Steve checked his phone and knew that Tony was still stuck in a business meeting, and won't be back for an hour or so and as much as he wanted to not think about the Twitter issue it kept coming back to him. What was he supposed to write on Twitter? Something that wouldn't give too much about him, but would be safe and entertaining. He needed inspiration. Maybe a walk would clear his mind but as Steve was getting up, he noticed Tony's tablet laying at the edge of the coffee table.

Well... Tony wouldn't mind if he took a peak, right? Granted, he never used Tony's tablet before without his boyfriend’s permission. It felt too personal and barging on privacy and it was almost a silent agreement between them that Steve won't touch Tony's electronic devices and Tony won't look through Steve's sketchbooks without prior agreement. But it was different, right? Tony's Twitter account was out there, for everyone, so it didn't matter if Steve would install the app on his phone and check the account, or go to the source and look through Tony's account. It might even help him to understand better how the app was working.

Steve took the tablet and unlocked it, searching for the Twitter app. Letter T on a blue background. Steve pressed it and skimmed over the screen, looking at the design of the app. Huh, it looked very different from the account owner's point of view. He scrolled down the screen, seeing a lot of text, too much text because wasn't there a limit of signs per tweet? Further, into the app, Steve saw more of things he didn't recognize, didn't see any posts from other Avengers, instead of images and gifs and -

"Woah," Steve gaped, taking in what he was seeing. He quickly scrolled up, his face becoming heated, unsure what he just saw. For a minute, he turned the tablet in his hands, trying to decide if it really belonged to Tony and not someone else, but who else would have a hot red and gold cover, resembling the design of the Iron Man suit. It had to be Tony's tablet, which meant...

Those posts were Tony's. That account was Tony's. Tony had two Twitter accounts? Steve looked back, just now noticing that it wasn't Twitter after all. At the top of the screen on a background of dark blue in white letters was written Tumblr. Steve didn't hear of the app, it wasn't listed as one of the most popular ones for celebrities and that's probably why Tony used it for -

Steve wasn't exactly sure for what. For something secretive. Something he wanted to hide. Things he didn't admit even to Steve.

Cautiously, Steve scrolled down again, trying to keep an open mind and be more cautious. He wasn't a prude, he knew that people had different kinks and it was completely normal. Heck, he and Tony had a very healthy sex and intimate life and the sight of Tony tied down for their playtime always made Steve's blood boil with lust and desire and they did indulge in some kinks, Steve current favorite one included spanking Tony's bouncy ass and watch it jiggle and the skin turn red. Tony had no problems with sharing his kinky fantasies and Steve was always willing to give it a go, sometimes proposing things on his own, like wax play, which wasn't only sexy but also artistic - Tony's body colored with drips of different colored wax was a beautiful sight. This... This was something different, Steve didn't think to consider.

There were pictures, that without context seemed innocent, like an array of feathers on a pillow. Some were less subtle and showed a part of sucked in stomach, escaping from a coming closer feather duster. The gifs were the most intriguing - a tied up, blindfolded man, laughing and squirming, while a different man was...

Tickling him?

Steve's brow furrowed as he watched the gif, frame by frame. There was no doubt that it was tickling, fingers gliding over tied man's armpits and sides. Steve expected this to be a prelude, something more to follow, but it was all. Tickling was the main point. Steve blushed when he realized that if there were gifs, there had to be a video and who knew how long it was. How many minutes would it take to bring someone to the brink of hysterics, to make them crumble, but at the same time make it pleasurable? People were not forced into filming porn and following that principle, there were not forced into filming tickle kink videos.

And that being said...

"Huh..." Steve mused out, bits of information falling into one picture. They never discussed it, but in the back of his head, Steve had this thought that Tony enjoyed being tickled, or at least didn't mind terribly. The way he squirmed between Steve's tickling hands but didn't try to run away. How he laughed and screamed for mercy whenever Steve targeted a sensitive spot and always seemed a bit disappointed when the tickling ended but masked it with a smile and complaints of being assaulted. Sometimes, Steve just felt provoked into tickling his boyfriend, like that one time, Tony had taken his sketchbook and hid away, refusing to say where he hid it and Steve had to tickle the information out of him until Tony was absolutely incoherent from laughter and breathless.

That was cute. All those shared tickle moments were cute, but Steve never thought that they could be... hot. And intimate. He looked back at the gif, at the way the tickled man arched and bucked, but was not able to escape the ticklish strokes delivered over his skin. What if Tony was the one tied and spread in the chair and Steve was the one standing behind, dotting his fingertips over the bare torso, having that sense of power and control, enjoying the ticklish tremble of the bothered skin. It became a tempting image in his head.

'Guuuuys, I don't know what to do.'

Steve's eyes caught on some text among the images and gifs. A separate post.

'I still can't tell my bf that I like being tickled. I just can't! There is this block in my head -'

Steve read the text, feeling that he might know the author.

'I even did that thing you recommended with hiding his stuff away -'

Definitely knew the author. At the top of the post, he saw a name, probably the username and clicked on it. Blue background color, and image of feathers and the username in white bold font. The Spare Parts Man.

That was one major hint...

Steve scrolled down this page, seeing more text and images of people being tickled, some like, a gif that was of a zoomed in stomach, the belly button tickled by a tip of the feather, signed with a 'omg, goals', whatever that meant. Steve tried to search for the text he saw on the previous page, but couldn't find it anymore, instead saw more posts, where people seemed to be interacting with the author.

'Hi, SP! I was the one who sent you the asks with hiding your BF's stuff -'

'I am sure your BF will understand, from what you said, you are dating for a long time -'

'You still didn't tell him??? What are you waiting for, GO GO GO!'

Steve pursed his lips together, feeling upset that Tony was so willing to share with strangers, but not with him. This whole site seemed so secretive, and while Steve felt a bit betrayed, he started to think about things from Tony's perspective. Tickling wasn't a mainstream kink. Bondage, spanking, food play - all the things they had tried seemed to be more acceptable in the sex world while tickling... Some people enjoyed it, some hated it. Steve was somewhere in between. It could be a fun thing among loved ones, but could quickly become overwhelming and unbearable. Steve didn't think about it earlier, but he really liked tickling Tony. He loved the way his body twitched, the sound of his laughter, and the feeling of closeness and trust in the action. For Steve it was fun. For Tony, it had to run much deeper, forming stronger connections than it did for Steve.

'I don't want to lose him. What if he thinks I am a freak?'

No, Steve would never think that. Tony was the great love of his life and Steve accepted him on every level.

"Oh, babe..." Steve sighed softly, reading more posts, some screaming nervousness as Tony was pouring his heart out, feeling miserable with his inability to tell Steve the truth, some so heartwarming and oozing happiness when Tony was describing Steve's last tickle attacks and how incredibly good and completed it made Tony feel.

That. Steve wanted to make Tony feel like that every day. Satiated and fulfilled and safe.

No more secrets.

Carried on the moment, Steve pressed on an icon with a pencil and began to write.

***

Tony was bored. So, so bored. He caught a glimpse of Pepper sending him a scolding look and straightened up in his seat, pretending to pay attention. He just wanted to go back home and curl up next to Steve, feeling Steve's fingers stroking his hair and maybe, if he got lucky, Steve would rub his belly, using just enough pressure to make him smile and feel like melting. He started to smile at the thought and Pepper sent him a confused look. Uh oh. He better control himself. Tony grinned sheepishly at Pepper and set his face in a schooled, thoughtful look, trying to focus his attention on the meeting. Just half an hour more... It was all ending statements, so it was nothing bad if he decided to check his social media, right? Cautiously, Tony took out his phone and unlocked the screen, keeping the phone under the table. A new tasting video from Thor, with a package of sweets sent from the Netherlands. Tony made a mental note to drop later to Thor's floor and ask if he had any stroopwafels left to share because they were amazing with black coffee. Clint commenting on funny cats videos, Tony added it to his watch later list. As usual, his own social media were bursting with notifications, people raving over Iron Man and asking for more videos of Steve training routine, which, Tony couldn't blame them, the sight of his boyfriend working out was heaven. He even decided to check his Tumblr, curious if anyone sent him some more tips or maybe just left him a nice message -

Oh, that was weird. Usually, he had maybe two or three messages, some reblogs, and a few comments. This time, his app was bursting with notifications and Tony didn't post anything that could cause such a commotion in the last days.

'WHAT. WHAT????"

'Nooooooo... Please don't break up with him! He loves you so much!'

"The hell, dude! You invaded your bf's privacy like that?? You're the worst!"

Tony didn't understand anything. Maybe he clicked and shared something by accident. There was a slight possibility that his account was hacked. Maybe -

Maybe it was way, way worse.

There was a new text post on his main, one he didn't write.

'Hi, this is Spare Part Man's boyfriend. I found this account by accident and me and my boyfriend have a lot to talk about once I see him.'

No. No, no, no.

"Tony? Tony, are you okay?!"

Tony didn't realize he started to hyperventilate until Pepper's voice brought him back. Everyone was staring at him and Tony felt like vomiting.

"I am fine," Tony said, not meaning it, his voice coming out squeaky. "Can we - excuse me, I have to go," Tony rambled out, sending a sorry look in Pepper's direction and trying to walk out of the conference room as calmly as possible. It felt like the whole world was spinning around him, making him feel nauseous. Tony stumbled to the window and pressed his face against the cool glass, trying to soothe his heated skin and get his thoughts back in order.

It wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this. Maybe it was never supposed to happen, staying as his hidden fantasy and dark secret. What if he deleted the account, right here, right now, would he be able to convince Steve that it never existed?

No. Steve wouldn't fall for it. And Tony felt so stupid for creating that account in the first place, but he needed a place to vent. He didn't plan on socializing, sharing his life, just get the urges out and move on. He just... Wanted to feel accepted. Find people who thought the same as he did. Not feel so alone.

And he would end alone because Steve definitely was going to dump him.

***

"I am back!"

Tony was a genius. He had numerous diplomas to prove it. Yet, he decided that the best thing to do would be to march into his and Steve's shared floor, acting like nothing ever happened. Maybe if he managed to keep his cool he could put this whole Tumblr thing as a social study. Just a research on kinks. No biggie. He could do this.

"Tony, come to the bedroom for a second!"

Somehow hearing Steve's voice made this situation very real and not like Tony imagined it. He couldn't say anything from the tone of Steve's voice, it was neutral, not angry, but also wasn't the cheerful, loving one Steve had towards him. On usual days, Steve would come to him, resembling an excited puppy and lick his face - kiss, Tony meant kiss, and then they would sit on the couch and share their day. Their bedroom was a private, closed space and once Tony set his foot there, there was no way back.

Feeling a nervous twist in his stomach, Tony peeked into the bedroom, just to feel if the situation was as bad as he feared. Steve was on the bed, forehead creased in thought, and was looking at the space in front of him until he spotted Tony from the corner of his eyes.

"Tony - " Steve started, sitting up straight, pulling shoulders back.

"No, Steve, I - " Tony walked into the bedroom, trying to make his voice strong. Just remember what he had planned and it would be fine. "I want to talk first, okay?"

Steve blinked and frowned lightly, but kept his lips tight. Alright, if Tony insisted.

"Okay," Tony nodded, trying to give himself some courage and began to pace around the room. "I know you found my Tumblr account," he said the obvious, struggling to keep his voice firm. "And - and it was not true, you know that, right? I just - research - an experiment to - ahh," Tony quickly got lost in his words, noticing Steve's look changing to a confused one. "I - ah, fuck, fuck, fuck - " Tony couldn't get any coherent words out and stopped and hid his face in hands. He continued to quietly curse, not knowing how to get out of this mess and not lose everything.

"Babe..."

Tony almost jumped away, when Steve came closer and wrapped arms around him. After a moment of hesitation, Tony buried himself into his soldier's arms, his face pressed against Steve's neck. Probably the last hug he would receive from Steve. This whole thing won't make Avengers stuff awkward at all. What if Steve would quit the team? Tony couldn't imagine not being able to see Steve anymore. He needed him. He would change, he would do better. Steve couldn't break up with him.

"Of course that I am not breaking up with you," Steve said suddenly, and Tony winced, not realizing he said it out loud. "Is that what you thought?" Steve asked, sounding shocked. Reluctantly, Tony nodded. Somehow he was used to being rejected and walking away from problems was one of the things he did and expected the same happen to him.

"God, Tony," Steve said in an exasperated huff, not believing how quickly this whole thing could escalate in Tony's mind. Then again, he should know, because Tony did think too much and sometimes didn't stop his thoughts on time, letting them drag him deeper and deeper. "Tony, I am not breaking up with you," Steve said again, just to make sure the words sunk in his boyfriend's head. "And I am sorry," Steve gently put his thumb and forefinger under Tony's chin, encouraging him to eye contact. 'Sorry you turned out to be messed up in the head,' Tony finished in his mind, looking into Steve's blue eyes.

"I am sorry for barging into your space when you didn't feel ready to share yet," Steve said, closing the distance between them and leaning his forehead against Tony's.

What?

Tony didn't reply, just stared, his brown eyes widening. Steve was... apologizing to him? Not the other way around?

"I read some of your blog," Steve said and Tony panicked again, Steve holding him closer when he felt brunet's body tense, "and I understand how hard it is for you to talk about it and how important it is for you. I really do. If anything, I am... a bit disappointed you didn't tell me. Why didn't you?"

Tony's mouth twisted into a scowl. He was disappointed with himself too, but it was hard. Harder than admitting that he liked being pinned down by Steve, or spanked, as it all seemed... simpler. It was obvious why people who enjoyed it were turned on by it. Tickling wasn't easy to explain.

"I wanted to," Tony finally spoke, his voice coming out quiet, "I didn't know how," this wasn't a good answer. Tony closed his eyes, not able to look at Steve. "I was embarrassed, I guess."

"Hmmm," Steve hummed in understanding, waiting for Tony to continue, but he didn't say anything more. Tony had no problems with voicing out his needs on his site, but face to face with Steve, he was fumbling and struggling for words. Anonymity gave him a sense of control which was being stripped away from him, layer by layer. Maybe with time, Tony would open more, and it was on Steve's side to nurture that vulnerable mindset until Tony would feel strong enough and confident to voice out his true needs.

"Then... can you tell me why you like it?" Steve tried, sounding gentle and not judgmental. Keeping an open mind was the key here.

"I don't know," Tony said quickly, sounding defensive. He didn't mean to, but it was stranger than him. He didn't want Steve to judge him, to think less of him, but... It was Steve. Steve who was always so understanding and didn't laugh at him and did his best to keep Tony feel accepted. It won't work if Steve would be the only one willing to share. "I guess," Tony corrected himself, trying to be more open, "I like the trust in it. And closeness," he said, tugging on Steve's clothes and hiding more into his boyfriend, "and, uh, it feels good."

"Feels good?"

"Yeah," Tony admitted, burying his heated face deeper into Steve's neck. "Feels really good. Especially when you are the one ti - doing it."

"Oh," Steve said, carding his fingers through the short hair on the back of Tony's head. Tony shivered, just slightly, from the light touch, smiling against Steve's skin and Steve felt an urge to touch him all over. This time differently, more aware and more intimate, paying closer attention to the reactions. "So... you wanna do it?"

"Do what?"

"You know what."

Tony moved away from Steve, showing a confused face. That kinda felt like mocking him, but Steve's face was honest. And it would certainly change the mood and make Tony feel better about this whole day. "I don't know," Tony said, just to be safe, "do you want to do it?"

"Heck yeah."

"What? You do?" Tony asked, his mouth falling agape at the enthusiasm.

"Sure. You like it and I like tickling you too. It's a win-win, right?"

Tony started to smile in relief. It was really happening. Steve accepted one of Tony's darkest secrets and even wanted to take part in it. Tony could barely wrap his mind around it, already feeling excited and giddy.

"So?" Steve asked again, eyes sparkling, waiting for permission from his boyfriend.

"If you keep asking, it takes the surprise factor AWAAHHAHA!" Tony's newly found boost of confidence was efficiently cut off when Steve latched hands to his sides and squeezed repeatedly. Tony doubled over in laughter and squirmed away, watching with a pounding heart as Steve followed him, smiling beautifully mischievous. "No, no, no, wait, Steve! STEHEVE!" Tony screeched in laughter when Steve ran forward, pushing Tony on the bed, and falling with him. "ACK! STE - hahaha! Waaait!" Tony wailed when fingers were going up and down his body tickling intensely. When Tony became pink in the face and a little breathless, Steve stopped, leaning in and kissing Tony's smiling lips.

"I love you, babe," Steve whispered, looking at his lover.

"I love you too," Tony answered, his heart hammering from the ticklish rush and all love he had for Steve.

"Are we good?"

"We are good," Tony assured, still not believing that everything turned out so great.

"Good," Steve smiled, and just now Tony realized that somehow both of his wrists were in soldier's hold and Steve easily pinned his hands above his head, leaving his torso exposed. "Because now," Steve said, sitting on Tony's thighs and slowly sliding his free hand under Tony's shirt. "I want to test every ticklish spot on you."

"Oh fuhahahck - " Tony wriggled uselessly, his stomach sinking in when Steve gently ran fingertips over the soft skin. "Steve, Steve, pleaheehehehese!"

"This is just your tummy and you already are so ticklish. It is a very promising start."

"Ahhahaha!"

"Oh, is this rib ticklish? How about this one? And this one?"

"GAAA HAHAHA!"

"Oh look, the higher I go, the more you laugh. Sooo, this means that when I do this -"

"PFF HAHAHAHA!"

"That's one ticklish armpit you have, babe! Let's find out if the other one is as ticklish -"

Steve was grinning, watching Tony crumbling and laughing, coming apart under his fingers. Steve was right, it was a win-win for both of them.

***

"You should write on your Tumblr."

"Huh?"

"You should," Steve repeated, rolling on completely naked Tony and kissing his lips, "write on your," a kiss on the chin, "Tumblr," Steve finished, blowing a raspberry into Tony's neck.

"HAAHAHA! Stoooop," Tony tried to swat Steve away, feeling too blissful to move. Of course that a long, intimate tickle session changed into an amazing make out. It was incredible how the tickle foreplay increased their appetite and how wonderfully responsive Tony became.

Steve laughed and rolled on his side, looking at Tony with adoration. Laughing made Tony ten times more attractive in Steve's eyes, and Tony was off the scale to start with.

"I am serious, babe," Steve tried again, gently poking his finger all over Tony's bare belly, making him squeak funnily and curl up, "write on your Tumblr. Everyone has to be worried."

"Ah hahaha... Ohkahay!" Tony agreed, shielding his stomach with one hand and using the other one to reach for his phone. "Uhh... Should I update and delete it?" Tony asked. With everything working out so great, there was no reason for him to keep that account. No more secret lusting, when he had it all in real life.

"If you want to," Steve said truthfully, "or maybe you can keep it for a bit longer because I might need some inspiration on how to take you apart."

"Ahhh, not sure if I want to give you access to that sort of power," Tony teased, opening the app. "Huh, people kinda hate you."

Steve shrugged, understanding that what he wrote, did sound menacing, even if it wasn't his intention. "Just write that we are fine and your boyfriend plans on fulfilling your each and every one tickle fantasy."

"You do?" Tony asked, voice trembling with excitement.

"All of them, babe," Steve assured, smiling broadly. He had remembered some of the things he read and gifs he saw, and could easily imagine Tony on the receiving end.

Looking enthusiastic, Tony got to writing. Soon, Steve got up and leaned over Tony's shoulder, looking at the screen.

'Hi, guys. Sorry for the sudden silence but as you saw we had a situation here. It is all good now, me and BF talked, and he turned to be all sweet about it, not bragging, I just had my first tickle session and it was amazing! So, I just wanted to give you an update, that I am fine. More than fine. My BF said that I can keep this Tumblr if I want to and he will even use it as an inspiration, so aaaah, can't wait. Just don't give him any ideas! I am gonna talk to you all soon, but for now, I and my BF have plans. See you later!'

After the post got published, Tony and Steve didn't have to wait for a reaction.

'AAAAH! I AM SO GLAD EVERYTHING IS FINE! YOU BOYS HAVE FUN NOW!'

'Awesome, couple goals.'

'That's great, dude, but I hope your BF apologized.'

"That's the one that doesn't like me, right?" Steve squinted his eyes, pointing at the last comment. Tony laughed and nosed Steve's cheek playfully.

"It is okay, I like you," he smiled. "Do you want to have a nickname? That will make it much easier for me to write when you are involved."

"Um, sure," Steve said, not entirely sold on the idea, but not wanting to shot Tony's idea down. "You call yourself Spare Parts Man, right?" Steve asked and Tony nodded. "Soooo... How about you call me Iron Man?"

Tony's smile dropped in surprise, and he laughed mockingly. "Seriously, dude?"

"Hey, the darkest place is under the candle," Steve said, sounding defensive.

"Fine," Tony agreed, rolling his eyes dramatically. He reblogged the post and added an update.

'BF wants you to call him Iron Man. I know, lame.'

"Ack!" Tony almost dropped his phone when Steve scoldingly pinched his side. Soon the first comments came.

'Ah you sound like a superhero couple, how cute!'

'I am shipping you both. #relationshipgoals'

'Wow, your BF is not very creative, isn't he? But fine, let it be IRON MAN.'

"Write to this one that I don't like them either," Steve hissed, looking at the last comment.

Tony laughed and turned to Steve, pressing their lips together in a kiss. Long and sweet. The kind of kiss that was the perfect happy ending to a tickle kink coming out story.

"Oh, interesting!" Steve suddenly said, ending the kiss too soon and looking at one of the comments, smiling wickedly.

"What is int - noooooo!" Tony wailed, understanding the reason behind the smile. It was stronger than him and Tony started to panic. "It is a lie, Steve! Don't believe the lieeee no no aaah HELP!"

Steve laughed, wrestling Tony down and pinning his hands once again. If Tony was already getting this worked up, there was no way Steve would back up.

"No, please!" Tony giggled, kicking his legs, trying to wriggle away, as Steve's menacingly moving fingers were getting closer and closer. "I cahahahan't!"

Somehow, Steve didn't believe him. Instead, he believed the comment.

'Hey, this is for Iron Man - I am sure you know already, that SP's stomach is really ticklish, but did you try tickling his belly button specifically? From what SP writes it is a very ticklish outie. Have fun!'

When Steve pressed his finger over Tony's outie delicately and Tony burst into giggling, almost maniacal laughter, Steve was in heaven. It was settled, Tony was keeping his blog for further tips for Steve.

#stony #steve rogers #tony stark #superhusbands #stevetony #tickling #tickle kink #tickle fic #upperbody tickling #fanfic #fanfiction

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ask-impure-vessel · 4 years ago

Note

I don't know if this will reach you at the right moment in time Vessel but, peace friend, The Wyrm has already shown he cares for you greatly and you have done him no disservice or wrong. This may simply a matter too important to discuss elsewhere and His Majesty may be too caught up in his own troubles to understand the affect he has on you.

[Note: Frank discussion of anatomy, anxiety/panic attacks, unreality, post-traumatic stress, past abuse, suicide, disordered eating, self-harm, stuff about the Abyss with all that entails and other such unpleasantries. Strap in, folks!]

The vessel felt like their body was somewhere a few steps to the right and back of them. Their father said nothing as he led them down to the workshop.

You don’t understand. You don’t-

There’s a distant panic in Vessel’s voice. They still keep walking, they must. The order was given. Despite what happened in the Abyss, control still belongs to the Pale King.

It was as if nothing had changed at all.

For the first time, they begin to resent that. The workshop is the last place they want to be, for multiple reasons besides the temple that was to become their agonizing grave. This is not a place that holds any good memories for them, not a single one.

They arrive in that darkened place, the birthplace of moulds, all thousand of them-700 kingsmoulds, 300 wingsmoulds-where Wyrm's research led to the vessels that rested in the infirmary and that walked into the room. The king shrugged off his silken robe, leaving on a shirt that still covered what was considered a decent amount in Hallownest, showing off the truth of his form; it had been a while and Vessel Hallow was shocked by the changes to his father's form.

He was a being of pure white carapace, plates with softer flesh between, especially around the joints; his skin was sunken, his belly not just thin but almost concave instead of convex. He looked a bit muscular, but mostly because he appeared to be starving. He was dull in color, the white often not as bright as it could be, looking almost dirty with a lack of nutrients to look glossy and nice.

Wyrm could subsist on soul like a vessel, but that didn't mean it was pleasant for him to do so. He was much like other bugs in physicality, fueled by food, water and having to use the toilet to flush out what his body didn't use of those things. His genitals were internal, just like any bug, his shirt covered where that was hidden.

His secondary set of arms were more visible now, as was the lower half he usually ambled upon: multiple legs and a long tail that terminated in a pointed end. His tail was thin, almost collapsed with the lack of care.

What was more alarming were the splotches of black. His hands were absolutely covered in it, just beyond the wrists but the lines that raced upwards were far more concerning. Void taint was a part of Hallow's body but for a pale being, such a sight promised long, lingering agony. The absolute rigid calm their father practiced suddenly became a lot more impressive.

It left Hallow in minor shock.

Father, are you dying? Have you already assured your death? Was it on purpose that you inflicted starvation and void poisoning upon yourself? I can think of few less painful, lingering deaths.

"Come. Please kneel so that I can more easily examine you and the changes to you." He activated the door seals and waited in a clear space.

<Father, I-> The vessel walked and knelt, words cutting off with anxiety.

Wyrm activated and checked on the seal on Hallow's mask. "Interesting, joining with the Lord of Shades didn't disengage this? I hadn't expected that. It must have been greatly weakened over the course of my rule and being forgotten. I had thought them already dead." He muttered and began to ghost fingers over the notches Hallow had. "Where did the Kingsoul go?"

That had been a question Hallow had been dreading.

A hand touched upon Hallow's chest. "There it is, if changed greatly at your breast. It became your core? Brace."

It was more warning than Hallow usually got; sharp pain radiated through their being, as something touched their heart.

<Father, it. It hurts.> The vessel gasped out. They were not words sufficient, but they were descriptive enough for their use.

"Please bear it a little longer. This is a very beautiful charm that has become your heart even if it is taboo to my being."

The pain grew to shocking agony, then to a fading sensation, Hallow felt like their body was a distant, cut off thing.

<Father, please. Stop!> The vessel spoke in growing horror, fear and concern.

The Pale King was faced with a decision then-and let go of the charm. Sensation slowly returned and the vessel gasped on the floor, curling in on themself on the floor as mind and body reconnected. It was painful as the disruption the Pale King had inflicted and the vessel would have gagged if they could on the feelings of revulsion they now felt.

They instead wept on the floor, black tears falling onto the ground as they shivered and their mind turned to things they did there, the pale Wyrm unheeding to a child's pain in the terrible silence; the screams that echoed only through the void, the vessel capable only of displaying stiff trembling to their master.

They recall the efforts to ensure they could learn magic. The painful process of 'installation' over being taught the theory that took place here. The studies that involved dying here and their shade. When the various seals were made on their shell and mask, the burning magic that had kept burning on their mask for days from them. They had done nothing but suffer in this room and this day had proven no different.

"Vessel, I. I'm sorry, that went too far." The king stroked their mask, making a soothing sound, a purr that Hallow hadn't heard before.

Hallow felt the dam burst and sat as they cried, for all the things they'd wanted and had never had. That Wyrm was holding them now, comforting them now, touching with loving intention rather than with cold intent of science or with violence. The feelings were somewhat positive, but many were bitter, some even bordered on hate and disgust that they didn't know what to do with. They had so many things to say, for themself, for the things that had been done to them and the things they'd missed out on. For the way their father had run away the moment their emotions had become known like a damnable coward. That had been a choice Hallow had been denied, they couldn't say no-yet this day, for the first time, they had asked for their father to stop.

And he had listened.

The Pale King let Hallow get out everything they'd needed to, to calm down and recover from… whatever it was that he'd been doing to them. <This one doesn't want to be experimented on again, or studied. This place, it brings back bad memories for it.> Hallow spoke, in a shaking mental voice. <It is painful for this vessel to be here.>

"Oh, Vessel. I had no idea it was that upsetting. Let's go to my study, then so you don't have to be here. You never have to come in here again." The King promised and led the shaking knight from that terrible place.

They settled down in a chair this time, the king likewise going seated. "I will apologize. That was too far, I needed to explain what I was doing and why-to ask for your permission. It's not easy to break old habits. I noticed you dropped first-person pronouns in your stress." He spoke frankly with sadness.

<This one supposes not. It felt like it was… dying.> Hallow shuddered. <Did you pull this vessel away to speak, or was it to satisfy that curiosity?> They asked tiredly.

"A bit of both, admittedly. To ask you how you're feeling, but that's… obvious, right now and is very much my doing." He sighed and leaned forward. "I'll have to be invasive one more time, I'm afraid but perhaps not this day, to let you recover. I need to set you free and I intend to."

<You'll… free this one from its bondage?> Hallow rephrased in mild disbelief.

"Yes. As my final order in that bondage, for the rest of your life should something happen and I am unable to undo that binding-I order you to act of your own free will and feelings, as you see fit and judge is right. I relinquish control over your will and mind. There will need to be magic done to completely remove the binding, but it will no longer function."

<It will thank you, father once this one is wholly free.> Hallow spoke diplomatically. They couldn't exactly forgive him entirely yet if the harm was still there.

"I understand. You are a higher being now, truly. While you could read the language of the gods and make things function that are for gods, you didn't have a few aspects that would elevate you from a child of higher beings to purely one yourself. However, you do not have worshippers and as much distaste as I have for the god that was, that will need to change for your own health."

<That must be why the Lord of Shades said they were very, very starved. Speaking of, father. Why are you starved?> The vessel spoke pointedly. <This one believes they can ask some pointed questions and get answers in return. You owe it at least that much.>

"I. Eating is a currently disgusting endeavor to me. Certainly, I did like it once and ate but. Since the vessel project started, my. My enjoyment became nil." He replied honestly. "My shame steals the joy out of anything I do."

"I do not regret having you for a child. I regret that I killed so many and the crimes committed against the siblings who didn't make it. I regret how I've treated you. I don't know if I could make it up to the survivors but I will at the least try for the time I have and make sure your siblings do not go through the struggles you did." The king chose his words carefully. "I believed I had no other recourse. No other choice that wouldn't see my people dead or entirely enslaved to the Old Light-but I do not think I deserve forgiveness for being a kinslayer, for my mistreatment of you. I have been something to you for sixteen years. Would have been that for two years more, so you could have your final moulting and complete your training. I would have nailed that armor to your carapace and left you to her tender mercies. In that, I was wrong. I intended to kill myself once I was sure my people were safe and could carry on in my absence."

<It knows. It realized that when it went down into the Abyss before becoming the Shade Lord.> The vessel spoke, voice thick with pain. <You're dying, aren't you father. That's why you don't mind sacrificing yourself to the Grimm Troupe either. You are dying and you want to die.>

"I've done too much to live or to allow myself the pleasures in living. The situation in Hallownest is my fault. Your pain is my fault. The many, many broken masks in the Abyss are my fault. I am a kinslayer, who committed infanticide of his own children. Even a god doesn't get forgiveness for those kinds of horrible actions. I deserve the suffering you children experienced. I deserve the deaths I visited upon the children I deemed not good enough. Yes. I am suffering void poisoning, it is an agony I bear constantly. My light holds it at bay enough that I can live five more years without drastic actions." He spoke bluntly.

"Exposure to void with proper protections isn't deadly. A bug can be scarred by void without dying, in fact the exposure can have beneficial effects such as on the ageless mask maker. Void poisoning in mild cases caught early enough is treatable. So I suppose yes. I did that to myself deliberately." He spoke numbly. "It's… actually a relief to admit that. I wasn't expecting that."

<It's not treatable now. You're dying. How long do you have left?> Hallow felt like the ground was opening beneath their feet.

"No, even I will succumb to a case this severe having gone on this long. Five to seven years, depending." Wyrm spoke clinically. "Your mother doesn't know, but she's not very curious and finds my company odious these days. I don't want her to know."

<You aren't the only one. Would you die as a member of the Grimm Troupe?> Hallow pondered.

"No, time is frozen in a sense for a member of the Troupe. As a sacrifice, my original body would likely be immolated, the presence of void cast out as anathema to it as well. It's not got a will of its own so expelling it for the Nightmare Heart would be doable. It's just not for me between having a corpus much closer to mortal form and my diminishment as a god."

Hallow rubbed a hand over their chest. <Father, please free this vessel today. Now.> It was firm. <This vessel just wants to love you as themself. Not as your property, as your child. Whatever you have done, it does not know if it can forgive, but love. Love is something this vessel has always been able to give.>

The first time Hallow had ever demanded anything for themself and only themself.

Tears came from the king's eyes. "As you wish, Lord of Shades my child."

The bindings lit up as the king touched, claws digging into the mask with a strange sensation that felt like it should hurt but didn't. The light burned, the mark burned. But the claws were quick, chanting even and fast. Soul pooled around the king's hands.

The chains broke and Hallow felt a weight come off, something they hadn't realized had been there for a very long time. The remnants would be there, like an invisible scar until they moulted, but then-then it would be gone.

It would take time for them to understand what they'd gained and lost at once. <Today I learned that this one's father is not brave. Please. Please live. Even if your crimes are too much for your heart to bear. Stop running away. Please. Face what you have done, face us who you have wronged. It's not too late.>

"...I can try. I love you, my child." He touched foreheads with Hallow, a familial kiss. "For all you vessels, I will try. I don't know how anymore, but I can still learn."

Hallow is not an adult. They are, however, now free of their father's chains.

#hollow knight #hk pure vessel #hk pale king #the choice

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hanjizung · 4 years ago

Text

𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝟚𝟞: 𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘.

Seungmin x Reader.

Word count: 1.5k

♡ Warnings ♡: sugar daddy!Seungmin, Bratty!Reader, sexting, bondage/restraining, use of rope.

【ｐｒｅｖｉｏｕｓ　ｄａｙ　||　ｎｅｘｔ　ｄａｙ】

【Ｋｉｎｋｔｏｂｅｒ　ｍａｓｔｅｒｌｉｓｔ】

Seungmin had asked you to accompany him to one of his important dinners, buying you a fancy dress that he left in your bed along with a pair of beautiful high heels and a very expensive looking necklace that seemed so delicate and fragile.

There you were, smiling widely as his car parked inside of your house, the driver coming out of his seat to help you get inside it and then you were met with the man responsible of having you so dressed up, the one who spoiled you by buying things that, in his words, were made just for you exactly.

He smiled, guarding his phone and taking your small hand in his bigger ones, bringing it to his lips and kissing the back of your hand as a greeting.

"You look beautiful, princess. I knew that dress would fit you perfectly."

You asked him about your day, what he did earlier and he asked about yours, paying attention to every word that came out of your red colored lips.

He paid attention to you all the time during the ride to the place of the event, but when he reunited with the other important people he knew, you felt left aside.

You tried to not get bored, but no one dared to get close to you, maybe they were afraid of getting on Seungmin's bad side for trying to get to know a little more about you.

Your boyfriend scared people easily, and that left you alone and bored to death when he was busy talking with people of his interests, businesswise. And you were tired of it, of being left out.

Looking for your phone in your purse, you took it out and held it under the table, then staring at it you got an idea, stood up from the table and looking for the bathroom.

You finally found it, entering and checking it it was empty. When you made sure you were the only one, you locked the door and prepared to execute your plan.

First, you took a normal photo. Seungmin's gift was too beautiful, and to be honest you loved how sexy you looked in it, you definitely needed to post a photo with it. You posed, took a lot of pictures in front of the mirror until a message interrupted you. It was your boyfriend asking you where you were.

That was the time for you to follow the next part of your plan.

You took a picture of the cleavage of the dress and sent it to Seungmin. He saw it, responding to your photo with 'not now, baby.' But it was too late, you were already sending one where you squeezed your exposed breasts and bit your lip when you read his message.

He was going to be real mad at you.

Satisfied with your little mischief, you fixed your dress and walked out of the bathroom, phone turned off and a victorious smile on your face. You made your way back to the table where you were and just as you expected, Seungmin was waiting for you with a clear angry expression on his face. He stood up when he noticed you, bowing to the rest of people on the table and walking your way in two long strides. When he was next to you, he took you by the arm tightly and walked towards the exit.

"There you are, Y/N. I hope you're not forgetting anything, because we're leaving right now."

If you were walking by yourself and not being dragged by him, you would have stopped in your tracks.

"What? Why, what about the dinner?" you asked him, a tone of fear in your voice that you couldn't hide.

"I said we had an emergency" Seungmin didn't turn to answer you. Once outside, the driver from earlier opened the door for both of you. You got inside, moving to let Seungmin get in as well. You looked at him, he wasn't facing you, clearly deep in his thoughts.

The whole ride was in silence, the tension got you playing with your fingers until a message on your phone distracted you. 'Damm , I forgot to put it on silent' you thought. You turned it on and saw it was a message from one of your friends complimenting your latest story with the dress. You giggled, making Seungmin look at you and growl when he saw who you were talking to.

Talking to your friend was a great distraction during the rest of the right. Yeah, Seungmin got mad at you for sending him nudes, so how much madder could he get at you? Might as well keep messaging with your acquaintance.

The car stopped, Seungmin opened his door and walked inside his building, his long steps making it hard for you to keep up with him thanks to the long heels in your feet, you almost had to run to find him entering the elevator.

The bell on the elevator rang, you were on his floor. He stepped outside first, walking again as if he was alone and you swallowed. You were going to pay for this.

"I want you naked on the bed when I get to the room" we're his only words before he left to the kitchen.

You hurried to the master bedroom, starting to take off the beautiful dress as you walked to the room, sitting and taking all the other details off before he arrived. You sat in the corner of the bed, looking at yourself in the mirror of the closet he paid so much to get installed for you.

"Did you think sending me those pictures of you while I was talking to important people was going to be funny, Y/N?" Seungmin's voice brought you back to reality. He was standing by the doorframe, his coat long gone and his sleeves rolled up, arms crossed on his chest. He seemed to be disappointed, it made you feel a little bit bad.

And from that, he walked to you. You didn't know when it happened, but you stopped breathing until he touched you, making you stand up in front of the bed. He admired you, a cold but marveled shine on his eyes that sent shivers down your spine and almost -almost- made you close your eyes in embarrassment at how he was practically fucking you senseless with his eyes.

Then, he walked away to the closet and opened drawer at the bottom. You peeked to see the thing on his hands, it made no sound so you didn't know what it was, until he turned completely and showed you. Rope.

"Stay still, princess. I'm gonna tie you up, show you a lesson for sending those nasty pictures I didn't ask for" he caressed your cheek, then made you turn and moved your arms how he needed to start wrapping you with the rope. "Tell me if it's too tight, you know the safe word."

Nodding, you felt him tug, making knots here and there and passing the piece of rope behind you until he hummed in satisfaction.

"Try to move your arms for me, princess" you tried, the rope holding your arms still behind your back. He watched you struggle and smiled, proceeding to push you by the shoulders to the bed making you lay on your stomach.

"You look so beautiful like this, sweetheart. I don't like having to tie you up, but when I do I can't stop thinking how easy it is for me to destroy you" he muttered, admiring the masterpiece of his work before his eyes, you looked at him, eyes not failing to notice his caged cock.

You heard him leave again, but this time the opening of something caught your ears and a few moments later the familiar sensation of cold lube at your entrance met you. He was preparing you for him, and once he spread the liquid everywhere, he pulled out his cock, placing it at your entrance and making you whimper. You helped him, raising your Ass for him to have an easier access to your needy hole.

He groaned, grabbing your hips harshly and pushing himself inside you completely you gasped, closing your eyes when he started pulling out of you before slamming into you again.

You bit your lip, focusing on how he pounded into you, heavy breathing, his grip too tight on you, you were sure there would be marks later. But you didn't care, all you wanted, all you needed was Seungmin ducking you numb, and he was doing just that.

"You're such a needy whore, having to send me pictures naked because nobody is playing with you" one of his hand disappeared from your hips, a sudden slap on your buttcheek made you scream in surprise, jumping under him, an involuntary reaction from your body to the impact that came out of nowhere.

You felt him grab the rope that held your arms still, the other hand on your hips snaking down to hug you by the waist as his thrusting became more rapid. You were moaning, your mind blank as Seungmin's cock twitched inside you second before painting your walls white.

He kept fuxking you, slowing down his pace more and more until he couldn't take it anymore and he pulled out of you, admiring how his cum dripped from your throbbing pussy.

"This is just the start, princess. I'm far from being done with you."

#skz smut #skz fanfic #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfic #seungmin smut #seungmin x reader #seungmin x you #seungmin x y/n #kinktober 2020 #han jizung's kinktober list #day 26

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duhragonball · 4 years ago

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BEGIN: Battle Tendency Liveblog. JJBA Ch. 45-47

🇺🇸🗽🧗‍♂️🧼🪀🌵Part 2, Hell Yeah!🌪️🎈🛩️🌋🚬

I'm pretty friggin' excited for Part 6 anime, and Part 6 is one of my faves, so one could understandably assume that Part 6 is my favorite. And I post a lot of other JoJo stuff on this blog, so it's probably not obvious, but Part 2 is the best.

I got into JoJo in 2017, watching Parts 1-4 in anime version, then reading the scanlations of Parts 5-8 while I waited for the anime to catch up. Then I re-liveblogged the Part 5 manga because there was finally a proper translation available. And technically the Part 8 liveblog never ended, since the manga is still ongoing.

As I developed an appreciation for the manga, I started to feel like I should go back and check out the comic versions of Parts 1 through 4. Where better to start than my personal favorite? But I never got around to it, until now.

There's a few things I want to explore with Part 2. First, I want to go through and work out why exactly I like it so much. It's kind of tough to articulate, but usually I just say that it's fast-paced and something's always happening. Part 1 takes a while to get going, and Parts 3-8 rely on the Stand concept, which means that each of them occasionally fall into the trap of becoming formulaic. Part 2 doesn't have the hassle of introducing all the lore, and it doesn't have the luxury of just doing a gauntlet of Stand Battles to pad out the story. But I think there's more to it than that. Battle Tendency has a charm all it's own, and that's what I want to talk about.

Second, now that I've become familiar with Parts 1-7 (and most of 8), I want to go back and see how 2 holds up as part of this mythos. BT sort of gets overlooked, I think, and that's fair, since it doesn't involve Dio, Stands, or the more outlandish costumes of the later installments. A lot of fans write off Parts 1 and 2 for being "boring", but at least Phantom Blood carries the prestige of starting it all, and providing the origin of Dio. Something I think a lot about is whether or not Part 2 "connects" with the later entries in the JoJo series. It forms a trilogy with 1 and 3, and Part 4 features Joseph's legacy in an important way, but what about the later ones? Parts 5 through 8 owe a huge debt to Stardust Crusaders for introducing Stands, and to Phantom Blood for introducing JoJo's, but what does Part 2 give them, if anything?

Third, I'm interested in seeing how BT holds up in isolation. It's a direct sequel to Part 1, and it ends with a prelude to Part 3, so it's clearly designed to function as part of a larger saga. But Parts 4 and 5 really don't operate that way, and that got me thinking that maybe Part 2 is more self-contained than I give it credit for.

But enough about that, let's get this started.

There's two plot threads in these opening chapters. One reintroduces Robert E. O. Speedwagon, now a 70 year old oil tycoon, and Straizo, who has succeeded the late Tonpetti as the Ripple Master. Speedwagon has been using his oil fortune to fund a research organization called the Speedwagon Foundation, and it discovered something major during an archaeological expedition: an engraving of the stone mask, the same one Dio used to turn himself into a vampire 50 years earlier. Note that the mummified corpse lying on the slab with the engraving has vampire fangs. Whoever this guy is, he didn't just know about the masks, he used one personally.

It might get revealed later in the comics, but I'm pretty sure the anime version had Speedwagon explain that he primary purpose of his foundation was to learn more about phenomena like the Stone Mask, which is probably why they were digging up an Aztec temple in Mexico to begin with. As I recall, the Stone Mask was discovered in that part of the world, and taken back to Europe, where it eventually came into the possession of the Joestar family. Speedwagon would know this tale, and so if he wanted to find out more about the mask, he would have known where to start. Fifty years later, he seems to have hit paydirt.

But the mask engraving isn't why he called Straizo all the way in from Tibet. Deeper in the temple, there's a weird looking area that looks like something from out of an H.R. Giger painting. In the center stands this column, or pillar, if you will, and mounted on the pillar is...

...This guy, surrounded by more stone masks. When I first watched this part of the anime, I though the big reveal here was that there were lots and lots of Stone Masks, which would be a big problem, since Part 1 made a big deal out of destroying the one Stone Mask that started all the trouble. And maybe the guy in the pillar was the one who invented the things, I thought, but the bigger problem is that he made so many of them. But no, Speedwagon explains that the "Pillar Man" is not an image carved into the stone, but a living being, in some form of suspended animation. He even has a pulse.

So who is this guy and why did he create the Stone Masks? Speedwagon does not care. He only wants this Pillar Man destroyed before he wakes up, and that's the sole reason he called in Straizo. The two of them were the only survivors of the battle with Dio 50 years ago, and Straizo's Hamon power, also known as the Ripple, can destroy vampires that were created by the Stone Mask. So he's desperately hoping Straizo can finish off the Pillar Man the same way. But Straizo doesn't seem as concerned about it, and he asks about Joseph Joestar instead. So I guess I ought to circle back to the other plotline...

Fifty years after Jonathan Joestar sacrificed himself to defeat Dio Brando, his wife Erina and his grandson Joseph have moved to New York City. Joseph tries to buy a Coke, but this kid swipes his wallet. Kind of funny how Joesph's first and last appearances in JJBA are him getting robbed.

But the kid runs afoul of the local corrupt cops, who bludgeon him with their batons and threaten to put him in jail for 20 years unless he agrees to give them a cut of whatever money he makes from pickpocketing. When Joseph catches up to this scene, the cop even says he's going to keep Joseph's wallet "as evidence". I gotta say, not everything from Battle Tendency has aged well, but this police brutality stuff has become incredibly relevant. This could be 2021, except the cop would have had a gun, and he would have shot Smokey, then Joseph because he mistook the Coke bottle for a rocket launcher.

Joseph tries to defuse the situation by claiming he gave the wallet to the kid as a gift, but the cop doesn't believe that story, and he wouldn't care even if he did. He even smears boogers in Joseph's face just to prove that he can say and do whatever he pleases. Up to this point, Joseph looks and seems a lot like Jonathan. Later artwork tries to downplay that resemblance, probably just so it's easier to tell them apart. The anime gave Joseph different color hair, and Hirohiko Araki himself started drawing young Joseph with aviator goggles all the time, even though he doesn't wear them that much in this story. But starting out, the idea was that Joseph is the spitting image of his grandfather, and it almost looks like this is just an clever way to sneak Jonathan back into the story and transport him forward in time, except....

Coming through, coming through, coming through now

Coming through, coming through, coming through

Shake it like it's heat, Overdrive!

Yeah, so Joseph can do Hamon/Ripple tricks just like his grandfather, and all the others guys who could use Hamon back in Part 1. The difference is that when Joseph does it, it looks coooooool. After breaking Officer Hulk Hogan’s trigger finger, Joseph takes a big swig of soda, because it’s awesome.

To Smokey’s surprise, Joseph did all that badass stuff a second ago, but he’s terrified about his grandmother scolding him for it. So Joseph wants to run for it, and that suits Smokey, so they rush off together, beginning a long tradition of JoJo’s running from things. Enemies, consequences, you name it.

Smokey asks Joseph how he learned how to do that trick with the coke bottle, and he says he has no idea, he’s just always been able to do it. He knows his grandfather had the same power, but he’s dead, and so are his mother and father. Curiously, Joseph’s father did not have Hamon powers, so it seems to have skipped a generation.

And that sets up the other side of the plot. Speedwagon wants Straizo to destroy the Pillar Man immediately, but Straizo first asks about Joseph. He had heard some time ago that Joseph had innate Hamon abilities, and he had used them once to rescue Speedwagon from a kidnapping attempt in midair. A flashback shows us this moment, with guys threatening to ransom and kill Speedwagon, but Joseph is just chilling in the back with a Superman comic.

Okay, time out. This panel rules and all, but the Superman comic book didn’t start until 1939, a year after Battle Tendency begins. Superman was featured in the 1938 magazine Action Comics, but this scene on the plane is a flashback to Joseph from his early teens. Also, the earliest DC bullet logo didn’t appear until 1940, so what is this? Some kind of magic, time travelling comic book? I hope someone got fired for this blunder!

Anyway, Joseph was content to ignore the hijackers until one of them struck him, and even that wouldn’t have upset him except he got his own blood on his clothes, which Erina bought him, so that sends him into a rage. Speedwagon was worried that Joseph might clobber the hijackers, but instead he knocks out the pilot, then drags him and Speedwagon out of the plane before it crashes. The main thrust of that story was that Speedwagon was more worried about what Joseph might do than the hijackers who had already threatened to murder him. Joseph is slow to anger, but once you piss him off he’s going to go to war, and he doesn’t always think things through.

But he’s never been trained to use his powers like Straizo’s order. Upon hearing this, Straizo kills his own disciples, and all of the Speedwagon Foundation guys, then knocks Speedwagon himself out. This will anger Joseph when he hears about it, but Straizo is counting on this. As he explains, Hamon power can slow his aging process down considerably. He and Speedwagon are both about 70 here, but he looks much younger. Even so, he’s feeling his age, and he confesses that he always admired Dio for his immortality and power. So now that there’s Stone Masks available, he’s decided to use one on himself, become a vampire, and become “a being that surpasses all”.

And that’s a theme that runs through all of Battle Tendency, along with the rest of the JoJo franchise. The main villains always seek power to position themselves above the rest of humanity. At first, it seems kind of random for one of the men who opposed Dio to suddenly switch allegiences like this, but in truth, it’s human nature to be tempted by this kind of power. Dio succumbed to the lure of the Mask, and now we find that Straizo would have done the same. He just didn’t have the opportunity until now.

But the reason he’s concerned about Joseph is that he’s thinking this through. Dio was defeated after all, so Straizo wants to eliminate anyone who could potentially defeat him. Aside from himself and Speedwagon, the only others who know about the battle with Dio and the Stone Mask are Erina and Joseph. Once he eliminates them, he’ll be free to do as he pleases.

Back to New York, this is a pretty sweet drawing of a car. I’m not a car guy, but even I can get behind this. By now, Smokey has met Erina Joestar, and he finds out some of the backstory from Part 1. Erina’s husband died at sea, and she was pregnant with their son, Joseph’s father, and had a baby girl whom she rescued from the same incident at sea. The two children grew up, married, had Joseph, and died, the father in World War I, and the mother of some unspecified illness. Perhaps out of loneliness, Erina is “unflinchingly kind” even to someone like Smokey Brown, who doesn’t seem to think he’s worthy of her favor.

Anyway, Erina wants to take Smokey out to dinner at this nice Italian restaurant, but this racist mafia guy makes a big stink about a Black person being allowed to eat there. Joseph gets up to kick his ass, but first he has to check with Erina to make sure it’s okay, and she’s like “Yeah, destroy that guy,” because even though she doesn’t approve of Joseph beating up people, she can’t abide disrespect to her friends. This leads to the memorable fight scene where Joseph is like eight steps ahead of his opponent. He goes for his brass knuckles, but can’t find them, and Joseph deduces where they are because of some bloodstains on his shirt. He even suggests what this guy is about to say next because he’s so predictable.

Then he dodges every blow, moving so quickly that this jerk thinks he was hitting Joseph, when in fact he was punching a hat rack behind Joseph, and somehow he didn’t notice that he impaled his hand on broken wood until Joseph explained it to him. And honestly, this feels like the prototype for a lot of Stand Battles down the line. I’ll have more to say on that later.

What puts Battle Tendency over the top is how Joseph not only outwits this big lummox, but the rest of the diners at this restaurant all start applauding him for doing it. They’re just honored to be present in this insane comic book where literally anything can happen. “He made that asshole punch a hat rack! This is awesome!”

Then this dude suddenly speaks up. He’s not only the mafia guy in charge of the first guy, but he’s also heard a hot tip about Speedwagon getting murdered in Mexico by a Tibetan man. He knew Erina would be interested in hearing this, but he’d never met her before. Small world, huh?

How would this guy already know about it, though? I guess Straizo deliberately leaked the story, specifically so Joseph would find out about it sooner, but it seems awfully convenient. But that’s how Battle Tendency rolls. This thing’s only seven volumes long, and we’ve got a lot of ground to cover...

#jojo's bizarre adventure #battle tendency #joseph joestar #smokey brown #erina joestar #robert e o speedwagon #straizo #santana

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pathogenliliaceae · 3 years ago

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Thoughts on Jill Valentine

Hello, friends! My responsibilities for my trading company job have abated in the interim, so I thought perhaps I would come back around to Jill, as promised.

Thoughts on Jill Valentine:

I will begin this by saying that it is appropriate that she was asked alongside Mia because there is one outstanding issue that I have between the both of them: The need to be saved. Though I find Jill to be leagues more competent.

We’ll get to it in full a bit later.

I will make no secrets that Jill has never been my most favourite of protagonists. Most of those issues stem from “3: Nemesis” and Five, though I am not adverse to including bits from One and Revelations. In one word, Jill is tolerable. Though, if given a choice (depending upon who my choices are) I will usually pick someone else.

A bit of background on Miss Valentine: I am utterly convinced that Capcom has changed her birthdate. I remember quite vividly scoffing that they made her birthdate Valentine’s Day, but now that I look it up again it seems its in May. Well, that’s at least a half a point in her favour. It’s become less mind-numbingly stupid. She is French-Japanese-American, whose father was a professional thief. In addition, she received Delta Force training through the US Army. Unusually adept at lock-picking, she then (apparently) gains the moniker - the Master of Unlocking. She also, again apparently, is adept at bomb disposal, though I cannot remember an instance in which this is exhibited. Though I can remember many instances when this would have come in handy. Jill.

Post-Delta Force and US Army tenancy, Wesker recruited Jill for STARS - described as an elite special forces operation for the RPD comprised of military veterans and weapons specialists (put a leaf in this for when I eventually get to Rebecca Chambers). Joining her in STARS are Forest, who she already had a friendship with prior to working together, and Chris. She is the only female officer on STARS Alpha Team, and works as a Breaking and Entering specialist. Forward onto the Mansion Incident.

Again, I’ve mentioned that if given a choice, I will usually not pick Jill to play as. However, that is not to say that I have not played Jill’s scenario in One. My primary complaint about Jill’s Scenario is as follows: It is fundamentally easier than Chris’. She’s got the lockpick set, so she doesn’t need to find Old Keys. She has more inventory space. In the space where she finds the zombie in the bathtub, she stomps his head mid-cutscene and does not have to fight him. She starts with the handgun and receives higher powered weapons whilst Chris has a higher chance of critical headshots. She can mix chemicals to weaken Plant 42 and cut the boss fight in half. Jill can skip certain puzzles in Arklay with Barry’s help, one under the guise of “saving” her from the falling ceiling where you retrieve the shotgun. No need to find the broken shotgun, and you have access to the shotgun as soon as you unlock the area which makes accessing the Armour Key much easier. I used to believe that this was a reflection of the character, but now I believe it is a bit of thinly veiled misogyny on Capcom’s part. ):

About the opening to her scenario, after running amok in the forest and into the mansion - “There are only three STARS members left now. Captain Wesker, Barry, and myself. We don’t know where Chris is.” YOU’VE JUST HAD HIM AT THE DOOR! HOW HAVE YOU LOST HIM? Also, check your maths, Jill. That’s four STARS members. We have one negative point here in that she’s managed to lose her partner in the amount of time it takes to cross a threshold. Anyhow, like how it is when you play as Chris, the other is locked in the cell in the labs and must be released with the MO discs prior to the T-002 battle. Canonically, Jill escapes with Chris and Barry. Chris escapes with Jill and Rebecca. Rebecca does not make an appearance in Jill’s game, nor Barry in Chris’. Brad is there in the background, flying the helicopter he had damned them with at the beginning. It’s a bit of a flub.

Moving on to 3: Nemesis and the Remake and whatever happens in between the events of Arklay and the destruction of Raccoon City. Gathering from memos in Two and Three, shortly after the Arklay Incident, Chris and Jill take their concerns to Chief Irons, requesting the launch of an investigation into Umbrella and all the related shenanigans. Irons, being involved and heavily steeped in wrongdoing, denies this request. STARS all but disbands, as Chris leaves for Europe in August 1998, Barry moves his family to Canada and follows after Chris, Rebecca is doing fuck-all, and Irons has suspended Jill and ordered her confined to her flat. That leaves... Brad Vickers as STARS. The only member. In office. Everyone else is dead, suspended, or AWOL. I suppose one way to operate as a corrupt organisation is to keep the most inept person as your only functioning operative. I digress, this is about Jill and not the bucket of maladroitness that is Brian Irons.

Jill remains in Raccoon City under the pretense of attempting to locate NEST, with the intention of following behind Chris, Barry, and Rebecca(?) a bit later. I believe also she was intending to sort through the rumours of the development of Golgotha, but I cannot find accurate citation of that. Things that she manages to do whilst confined to her flat for a month behind the departure of the other STARS members: Not that at all. I have long wondered what it was that was actually keeping Jill in her flat, aside from orders from her no-longer boss, when she had intentions of leaving on 30 September. I don’t imagine that with what remains of STARS poking around, save for Brad, that Irons would put a definite date on the lifting of her suspension. “Yes, now you may leave to bring down the organisation that I am tangentially working for”. The Three Remake expands on this a bit, as it seems that perhaps Jill was not emotionally nor mentally suited for travel outside of the flat. In which case, I question whether steeping herself in all things Umbrella was perhaps exacerbating her condition. I do believe that there is a fundamentally large difference between Three: Remake Jill and 3: Nemesis Jill. First off, trousers. Enough said. I don’t do my personal investigations sitting in a pleather mini-skirt and a tube top with a rather practical jumper tied around my waist, and neither should you. I much rather imagine a suspension to be carried out in pyjamas, but again I am not the type of person to dress at home if I’m not needed to.

Secondly, Three: Remake Jill holds up much better against Nemesis without the help of Carlos (who is also rather incompetent and sexist), than her original counterpart. Her reactions to goings on are much more believable, and for much of the game she has absolutely no issue putting Carlos within appropriate boundaries. He tries to explain to her what a radio is, she snaps at him. He touches her, she tells him not to. You are a stranger, sir, please observe courtesy. Not to mention, a stranger who is working for the organisation we’ve just found out is responsible for the development of bioweapons and viral agents. At least bother to ask her name, first. A bit of a hint, Carlos: It isn’t “supercop”. If we are to continue on with this Jill further on in the series, I will support it. I would quite enjoy a long-standing female protagonist that has no issue scoffing at male protagonist foolishness and scolding their perspectives. Perhaps it is a good thing that she and Leon have never met in any official capacity.

Three: Remake Jill still falls prey to damsel-syndrome, as I’ll call it, upon being infected by Nemesis. Carlos comes in as the knight in shining armour, having become infatuated with her after knowing her for exactly four hours. I like to imagine that this New Jill could wake up from her comatose state, shout about her autonomy, and then go back to sleep. This is however, remedied by some sort of favour-trading as she does save Carlos in a quid-pro-quo a bit later. I do have concerns about how far Jill allowed Nikolai to get without shooting him down, but that’s unimportant in the long run. There is also a bit of inconsistency between games in how Jill and Carlos escape Raccoon City and what happened just prior, but those are unimportant to our examining of Jill.

All in all, New Jill is portrayed as a competent individual, which I think serves much better to support her character in instances such as the Fall of Umbrella chapter in The Umbrella Chronicles, which leads into the formation of the BSAA and her involvement with them.

Functionally, from 2003 until at least 2009, Chris and Jill mostly function as a singular unit. 2005- they work together to subdue T-ALOS. 2004- The Queen Zenobia, Queen Semiramis fiasco in which Jill carries Parker through a sinking ship as Chris slams doors in her face- as loving partners do. (I do want to mention in an aside that so many people find themselves in trouble whilst looking for Chris. It is the plot of NO FEWER than four games. One, Two, Code: Veronica, and Revelations. Maybe even a bit of Six. Call it four and a half). Revelations does delve into a bit of why I find Jill to be competent amongst the ranks of highly amateur BSAA agents. First off, she reads the manuals for things. She realises the importance of memos! Secondly, she is shown deducing and explaining quite a bit about the situation they find themselves in to Parker, who is often none-the-wiser. An argument could be made that Parker is a newly ported FBC emigre and therefore does not yet have the same expectation but I disagree having seen the... eptitude of other agents. She is rather instrumental in uncovering the whole FBC - Veltro - BSAA mess and quite honestly tends to hold her own in that installment. If only the dodge function worked better. Anyhow, back to her partnership with Chris- it canonically ends with the Lost in Nightmares campaign in Five. In which she quite literally bowls Wesker out of a window in defense of Chris and (sort of) the world. If there is any secret method of getting me to enjoy a character, it is self-sacrifice for the sake of another. There is something so beautiful about it. Except Ethan, nothing can redeem him. Jill functions best as a character when she is partnered with Chris. I cannot say that in any of these scenarios I have profound issues with her. Forward onto the events of Five and about where we will end this tangent.

Jill and Wesker, obviously, both survive the fall from the Spencer estate. Jill is kept for experimentation due to the existing muted strain of T in her body from the events of Three. The antibodies she possessed were used by Wesker in attempts to make Uroboros more accepting of human host bodies. During the time that she was “in his care” (poor choice of words, I know), he repeatedly injected her with Progenitor strains and took the resulting antibodies. As a result of the testing and antibody removal, Jill’s hair, skin, and eyes lightened in cryostasis (I am still trying to make sense of this bit). Once she had reached the extent of her usefulness, Wesker volunteered her for the P30 project, a Las Plagas extension that utilised chemical compounds for mind control. However, due to the high expulsion rate, the chemical had to be constantly injected, explaining the injector attached to her body.

This requires her, again, rescue at the hands of Chris and Sheva. Once the injector is removed, the other two move on after Wesker, and Jill promptly collapses into unconsciousness. She is found by BSAA Delta Team Captain Josh Stone, who escorts her to a helicopter and initiates a rendezvous with Chris and Sheva on the volcano. I will stand up for Jill on this one- I do not at all believe that if Jill was on the helicopter, that Sheva should have been the one to wield the rocket launcher. That honour should have belonged to the two original STARS Alpha Team members alone. It’s simply poetic, and I am sorry for Sheva, but it would have been much more perfect.

Currently, we’ve not seen anything from Jill since Five. The only mention to her current condition is that she is at the BSAA undergoing testing and rehabilitation for her time spent with Wesker. In her words: “...ever since getting back I've been locked up in this lab as they run tests on me day in and day out. It's every bit as boring as it sounds”. We leave Jill’s chronology with her being bored. Fitting. In short, I believe that Jill has quite a bit of potential in her competency, and I am actually quite interested to see what her reaction would be to the BSAA using bioweapons. We’ve not heard from her in twelve years, so one can only assume that she is still alive somewhere, being bored. If they are going to take her character in the same direction they appear to be going in the Three: Remake, I would not at all be adverse to seeing her again in a future standalone installment. That being said, I have quite the backlog of characters to talk about! Please give me the benefit of the doubt when waiting on these. I’ve got work to do, tea to drink, games to play, and characters to analyse.

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summahsunlight · 4 years ago

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Perhaps It’s Fate, Part 18

Rating: T, to be safe

Word Count: 2031

Summary: After joining the Resistance as a mechanic, you were happy to keep to yourself, until a little orange and white bb unit and his master wander into your workshop one day.

Pairings: Poe Dameron x Mechanic!Reader

Taglist: @ms-dont-care, @starless-eyes-remain, @elmoakepoke, @marvelobsessiononastick, @kiaralein, @softly-sad, @totalpoedameron, @ordinarymom1, @sevvysaurus, @spider-starry, @liadamerondjarin, @jingyuhearteu, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling

It’s here! The next part! Hope you enjoy it. I didn’t get to proof read this too much before posting, I’m too excited for you to be able to read it!🥰 Remember if you want to be added to the taglist, just let me know!

Finn left you in the med bay with the medics and promised to go find Poe. You were concerned that he hadn’t showed up to hover over you and make sure that the medics were taking good care of you. Finn figured that Poe was busy, after all the Raddus was now attempting to outrun the First Order fleet--he was surprised to find Poe tucked away in an abandoned part of the ship.

Poe’s head was cast downward, his shoulders slumped, with his face buried his hands. BB-8 was sitting by his side, every once and while beeping sounds of what Finn interpreted as comfort. “Poe?”

When the commander looked up at him, Finn was taken aback by his appearance. There was a dull looking in his brown eyes, he’d obviously been crying and he just looked--defeated. “Hey, you’re awake. How... how are you feeling?”

“It’s sore... but I supposed it could have been worse,” Finn replied.

“I dunno, buddy; you’re trapped on a ship being pursued by the First Order,” Poe said, tightly. “Seems like it is worse; we’d probably all be better off dead anyways. at this point.”

BB-8 moaned, sadly, his photoreceptor looking over at Finn.

Finn stood there, dumbstruck. It was like the fire and passion had been sucked right out of Poe. “Are you okay, Poe?”

Poe chuckled, angrily. “No. I took that dreadnaught out to protect us, to save the people on this ship--and it didn’t matter. The First Order managed to track us, they killed my friends.” He sucked in a large breath, trying to stifle a sob, “they killed her. I just wanted to keep her safe... keep her away from anymore pain they could inflict upon her. I failed her.”

It took Finn a few seconds to realize that Poe was talking about you. No wonder he hadn’t come by the med bay to find you--he thought you had been in the hanger--he thought you were dead. “Poe-”

“Don’t tell me it’s not my fault. I’ve heard that enough already.”

“But Poe...”

“Finn, I know you think you’re helping...” “Dameron! Shut up for a second! She’s fine.”

BB-8 rolled back and forth in excitement, wildly twilling and beeping at Poe--who sat there looking at Finn with wide, shocked eyes. “But she was working in the hanger--the First Order blew the hanger up.”

Finn shook his head. “She wasn’t in the hanger. They couldn’t find you when I woke up, so they called her. She came to see me. We were going back to the hanger when the ship was hit. Poe--she’s in the med bay wondering where the hell you are.”

Poe scrambled to his feet, wiping at the tears in his eyes. “I didn’t... I didn’t know--I thought she was dead, Finn. I thought I had lost her.”

“She’s a little banged up, but she’ll live.”

“Banged up?”

“Yeah, she hit her head--but like I said--she’s fine, Poe.”

BB-8 nudged Poe in the legs. He couldn’t figure out why the pilot was still standing there--the little droid wanted to go see you. He had been sad just like Poe when he thought you had died.

Poe suddenly snapped back to life, pushing passed Finn and heading towards the med bay with both BB-8 and Finn trailing behind him. You were alive; you were alive and suddenly the galaxy was aligned again--suddenly Poe realized the dire situation they were in. If they didn’t figure out a plan soon, they were all going to be dead in just a few hours.

Heart racing, he burst into the med bay, startling the medics and calling for you. Poe could worry about the Resistance in a minute--he just needed to see you first, needed to see you with his own eyes. When he came around a corner and saw you, sitting on a cot, asleep, his heart leapt into his throat.

Gently he went to cup your neck and ease you into a comfortable sleeping position. The movement stirred you and you looked at him, sleepily with a smile. “There you are. I thought you forgot about me,” you teased him.

“Never,” Poe sighed, tears springing to his eyes. “I could never forget.”

“Poe?” you questioned, seeing the tears. “What’s wrong?”

His arms were around you, drawing you towards him and holding onto you tightly. “I thought I lost you,” Poe cried, “I thought you were in the hanger when it was blown up and...my world crumbled, Y/N. There was nothing left for me to fight for, to care about--I love you.”

You pressed your face into his neck and let him hold you, your heart breaking at the grief he must have endured for the last couple of hours. If only you had known... you would have sent Finn to find Poe much sooner.

BB-8 rolled into your room then, happy to see you. Looking down at him over Poe’s shoulder, you smiled.

Poe pulled back, taking your face between his hands. He inspected the cut on your head, that the medics had done a nice job stitching up, and then he kissed you, tenderly. “Don’t scare me like that again, sweetheart.”

“I’ll try not too.”

“Guess I know how it feels to be you now--whenever I leave.”

“Sucks, doesn’t it?”

He stroked his thumbs over your cheeks. “Yeah... a lot.”

You smiled, lovingly. “I’ll try not to scare you again.”

Poe pulled you into his arms once again, burying his face into your hair and taking a deep breath. He knew he loved you, he just never knew how much until he thought he’d lost you. The cool metal of his mother’s ring pressed against his chest while he pressed you against him. He was going to give it to you, when this whole thing was over--when they had found away to get to the new base safely.

Finn cleared his throat; BB-8 beeped, reminding you that you were not alone. Softly pressing a kiss to your forehead, Poe pulled away from you.

“General Organa is looking for you,” Finn announced.

“Are you going to be okay, sweetheart?” Poe asked you.

“I’ll be fine,” you insisted. “It’s just a bump on the head.”

“Hey, Bee, stay with her okay?”

“Poe...”

“I’ll check in on you later.”

Finn smiled at you, awkwardly, and then leaving BB-8 behind to watch over you, he followed after Poe. Once they were out of the med bay and on their way to the bridge, he spoke. “You said that the First Order tracked us?”

Poe nodded. “Yeah... some kind of light speed tracker. When...when I left the bridge before you found me... one of our top mechanics was working on finding a way to disable it. But first, we need to get access codes and a shuttle to get on to the Supremacy.”

His eyes went wide. “Supreme Leader Snoke’s ship?” Finn sputtered. This was very, very serious if Snoke had shown up.

The pilot grimly nodded. “Yep. We learned that the tracker is generating from that ship, it’s only tracking the Raddus, which means the rest of the fleet made it to the next base safely. But we can’t jump to light speed and join them without the First Order following us.”

“Can you warn them?”

“Leia’s nervous that a transmission to them might be traced as well--I don’t blame her.”

“So... what’s the plan?”

“Once we know how to disable the tracker, we’re sneaking onboard that ship.”

Finn stopped walking. “You’re insane!”

Poe turned on his heel. “My dad jokes that’s my middle name.”

Shaking his head, Finn sighed, “Do you know what will happen to any of you if you sneak onboard that ship? Poe, you’d be executed. It would probably be broadcast for public display to scare the reset of the galaxy into submission.”

Placing his hands on his hips, Poe set his jaw. “I know that, Finn. It’s a risk I’m willing to take--it’s a risk a lot of us are willing to take. We might be the galaxy’s last hope at freedom, at restoring the Republic. There are a lot of lives depending on us.” He saw the fear flash in Finn’s eyes and dropped his hands. “Listen, I understand why you’re nervous. They took your identify from you--your life from you--but you’re here with us now, where you belong.”

-----

You wanted to get up; BB-8 ratted you out every time and the medics made you stay in bed. You were seriously cursing Poe for having his droid stay by your side while he went to speak to Leia. “BeeBee, I’m fine. Please, I need to get out of here. I’m bored.”

BB-8 firmly blurted no. You wondered if the little droid had ever said no to Poe a day in his life. You hated to just sit idly around--BB-8 probably knew that better than anyone. Of course, there wasn’t like there was much for you to do around the ship. The hanger was gone--all those people were gone. You feel the panic begin to bubble up inside of you as that familiar feeling of survivor’s guilt washed over you.

Slamming your eyes shut you did the breathing exercises that Poe had taught you for when he was away on missions. Deep breath in, count to ten, deep breath out. Repeat. You did this several times before you finally felt some what calm. When you opened your eyes, you saw that BB-8 was still standing loyally by you, watching you closely. “Okay, since you’re insisting on staying here--why not tell me a story, Bee?”

“No time for stories, Bee,” Poe said, sweeping into your room.

“What’s going on?” you asked, noticing that Finn wasn’t with him.

“We figured out how to disable that tracker.”

“Tracker?”

Poe recalled that you had not been present when he told Finn about the First Order tracking the ship at light speed. “Somehow, General Hux is tracking us even through light speed.”

You nodded. “Yeah, they can easily install one through a spy I’m sure--disabling them is the hard part--usually they’re heavily encrypted and can only be disabled from the Supreme Leader’s ship. The codes are incredibly difficult to decipher--when the First Order took over my planet I was forced to work on creating those codes.”

He smiled at you, his eyes filling with affection. “I told Leia you were the one.”

Confused, you looked at BB-8. “The one for what?”

“Our codebreaker.”

“Me? You want me to be the codebreaker?”

“Yes. Leia’s contacting Maz Kanata now--to see if she knows someone that can get us on the Supreme Leader’s ship.”

BB-8 whistled, lowly. You swallowed--you’d never left the safety of the base before getting on the Raddus, now Poe was asking you to go on a mission.

Poe saw the anxiety that ran through your eyes. He sat down on the cot with you and took your chin in his hand, forcing you to look at him. “Y/N, I trust you with my life--you can do this. And I’ll be right there. I won’t let them hurt you. I promise.”

Leaning into his touch, you closed your eyes. You had no doubt that Poe would protect you--with his life if he had too--but that didn’t make you any less terrified of the potential of sneaking on board the Supreme Leader’s ship to disable that tracker. And if you couldn’t disable it? The people on the Raddus were doomed.

You felt Poe’s lips brush against your temple. “Darling, you can do this. I know you can. You’re braver than you give yourself credit for, you know that?”

“Do you really think so?”

“I do; you fled the First Order with nothing but the clothes on your back to join the Resistance. That takes guts, sweetheart.”

“This is our only chance, right?”

“We have a back-up plan, but yes, this could be our only chance.”

Opening your eyes, you set your jaw. “Then I’ll do it, Poe. I’ll crack that code to save the Raddus.”

#star wars fanfiction #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #poe x reader #poe x you #perhaps it's fate

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kittystargen3 · 4 years ago

Link

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23360725/chapters/75467912

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13534569/1/Return-of-the-Survivors

Alternate Universe- What if Anakin's mother survived and Anakin never went dark side. Padme has the twins on Tatooine and survives. Anakin tries to help the surviving Jedi, while still keeping his family secret. Meanwhile Darth Sidious has been crowned emperor and is going after the remaining Jedi. Rumors have it he's looking for a new apprentice. Anakin gets to be a daddy.

I’ve posted chapter 49 to Return of the Survivors today. Below is a small section, please click one of the links above to read more.

Chapter 49 - Back and Gone

Anakin worried for his son. He’d never seen anything like that before, and he wanted to go into protective dad mode and insist Luke get checked out immediately, but there wasn’t time for that. Aco-Ness was standing there, holding up the ship’s Mainframe that was the last thing his son interacted with while under the effects of… whatever made his eyes glow.

“Dad, we have to get back to the ship. Before… He…” Luke waved in the direction Vader was buried under.

“Right. Let’s go.” Anakin and Obi-Wan helped Luke up while Aco-Ness followed them with the device.

Once back, Anakin took the mainframe from the pirate and went right to work installing it. “Padawan, hand me that…”

Before he even finished the sentence, Galen passed him the tool he needed. Their Master-Padawan Bond was growing stronger.

“Thanks,” Anakin sent him feelings of gratitude, which made the young man blush with pride.

“You know, I never expected to see a bunch of Pirates group hug like that. They’re still at it, you know.” Galen looked over his shoulder and into the next room.

“Yeah, they are really happy to have Aco-Ness back. He’s their crew-mate, their family.” Anakin knew how easy a crewmate could become like family. “And they were really worried about him. There we go, how about you go push that startup key for me.” Galen ran over and waited with his hand over the key while Anakin counted down. “Three, Two, One.”

As both men pressed their keys, lights started to come on all across the panel. Anakin ran over and hugged his Padawan in triumph. “WEEWH! We’re up and running, everybody!” He announced loud enough for the next room to hear.

Triumphant voices hollered back.

“Huh? Where am I?” A female voice came out of one of the ship’s speakers.

“TX. It is I, Huyang. These are my Jedi masters. They needed to transfer your mainframe to this vessel to make it functional. It’s a long story, but one I’m sure you’ll find satisfaction in hearing.” The droid walked in speaking to the ship.

“A working hyperdrive. A Navicomputer that doesn’t need error calculations. Oh, I feel out of the factory again! This is wonderful.” The ship replied.

Anakin smiled. “Yes, glad to do it. What did you say her name was? TX Stormchaser, I’m glad to meet you.”

“No, That classification was to the old bucket of bolts that was me before. This is another ship, and system analysis says that the core components to three other ships were installed to get me functional again. I need a new classification.”

“Oh…Um…” Anakin and the others looked at each other for an idea.

“How about Rogue Shadow.” Juno Eclipse suggested, then shrugged. “The name’s always stuck on my tongue, and I always thought I’d name a ship that, If I ever got the chance to name a ship, that is.”

“Ooh. Well, I like that name. I’m updating my classification as we speak.” The girl smiled proudly. “What are your orders? Database says the Jedi are stationed on Coruscant. Would you like me to return you to grid coordinates L-Nine, point zero, zero, zero?”

Several voices in the room rushed to call out at once, “NO!”

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outroshooky · 5 years ago

Text

whatever in heaven | knj

⇢ genre: series; part three (mafia!au) (angst, fluff, smut)

⇢ pairing: kim namjoon x reader

⇢ word count: 5.8k

⇢ warnings: smut (soft d/s dynamics. grinding, oral [m receiving], brief use of the word daddy, marking, gentler dirty talk [praise]) angst (implied usage and mention of knives, nightmare), some fluff. this fic is a bit of a mind-fuck; there are darker themes here, so please read with caution.

⇢ a/n: i’m so excited for you guys to read the next installment of verses & vibes! a huge, huge thank you to my beta readers @sunkoos (go check out nas’s work!) and @hobiswitch; an even bigger thank you to @guksheart for not only beta reading this fic but posting this for me because of laptop difficulties!

...which leads me into, unfortunately, some bad news. my laptop crashed permanently over the weekend and i may have lost all of my files. i’m working to get them back, but this also means i have to buy a new laptop. thus, verses and vibes (and my writing in general) may go on hiatus until i can figure out a way to keep writing and posting new content. more updates forthcoming— for now, enjoy whatever in heaven!

“i know not if i could have borne

to see thy beauties fade;

the night that follow’d such a morn

had worn a deeper shade:

thy day without a cloud hath pass’d,

and thou wert lovely to the last,

extinguish’d, not decay’d;

as stars that shoot along the sky

shine brightest as they fall from high.”

⤷ and thou art dead, as young and fair; lord byron (george gordon)

It is always the same in the beginning.

He is kneeling on a concrete floor that goes on as far as he can see, cold and callous against the skin that peeks from the stringy rips in his pajama pants. A single light flickers above his head, murky cream, faded with age. His arms are bound behind his back with braided rope, biting vengeance into his tender wrists. His exhalations wisp pale smoke, rushing from his lips to touch the folded legs of a woman sitting just out of the ring of wired lamplight.

The supports of the chair are metal; he momentarily ponders how her skin isn’t dotted with gooseflesh through the thin fabric of her dress, but her cherry-red heels catch the light in a way that has his breath hitching. Something in him presses to reach out to her but he can’t, straining against his bonds like a feral cat caged. He snarls, a gritting sound in the silence of the warehouse, and she hums something seductive in return.

It is a dark heat that kindles in the pit of Namjoon’s stomach when he realizes he is staring at temptation herself, clothed in cherry pumps and scarlet lipstick. She is the antithesis of everything he should have and yet, yet—

He craves her more and more with every second that goes past. He doesn’t need to see her face to know that she is hauntingly beautiful, a devil crafted from memory, sent from hell to tempt him in all the ways she knew how. The blooming lust in his veins climbs with viney fingers straight to his brain, his head spinning, flying high; he barely knows what to believe. Somehow, she’s pulling on the strings of his thoughts, a marionette and his master dancing on the brink. One wrong string and the puppet collapses in a heap of cloth and kindling.

He groans, the sound of frustration and need echoing on and on in the dim room. She laughs velvet rich, sickeningly sweet. He wishes he could rend the binds from his arms, crawl to her, worship her the way she deserves; he shuffles forward an inch, two—

A plain black combat knife skitters to a stop in front of him, twirling once before coming to rest, just grazing his left kneecap. Resting potential against the crook of his leg, and he sucks in a breath when he feels the chilled edge level against the puckered scar on his knee.

She doesn’t speak, but Namjoon knows exactly what she means to say.

Thoughts clamor at the base of his skull, hissing seduction like a writhing mass of coiled snakes snapping for attention. They strike at one another, seeking dominion, and he’s nearly consumed by the din. A choice, cut out for him by the hands of fate, burned in the ashes of every decision he’s ever made. It boils down to this, to him and her and everything in between.

At one pellucid flicker of insanity, his hands are freed.

The ropes fall frayed to the floor and he straightens, rubbing at the burn in his forearms, rolling his neck to loosen the strain. His eyes flicker to her mass in the darkness, the shape of her just touched by the faintest tendrils of light. She is just out of reach, but so close, so far when her head tilts, a hint of fascination. He is mortal, she is eternal— a man reduced at the end of the day, stripped of money and power and the demons that lick at his heels. Greed is his master, but she is his, coveted in the secrecy of this cushioned nightmare.

He knows though, in the deepest reaches of his twisted soul, that only one of them will leave the warehouse alive.

In this horrible, shattered husk of reality, only one of them is destined to live.

And somehow, the choice has fallen to him.

Pick up the knife. Pick it up, feel it in your hands, smooth and weighted, perfectly balanced. Everything you’ve ever wanted is in the palm of your hands. Make the right choice. Do it for me, baby. For me.

Namjoon is pitted against his own self-preservation, warped desires clamoring for attention, needy yet sick. Needy, he is so fucking needy, but for what? Anticipation itches the back of his neck; he can barely think when the handle melds into the curve of his palm with such a sinful fit. The metal glints promise of things yet to come, but when he tilts the blade towards himself, he sees only the industrial struts that crosshatch the ceiling, the dust that hovers thick in the clogged, choking air. Emptiness and fulfillment, hand in hand, only a breath away.

You know what the answer is, Kim Namjoon. Do it. Do it for me.

Does he know? He must know, deep in the recesses of his bones. Deep inside the fucked-up mind of his, playing tricks on him; a trickster, what trickster? The last of his sanity is threatening to drip, melting like liquid wax onto the cool, callous cement. It’s bubbling in his hands, pouring through the gaps between his fingers, but when he shakes his head, a mad dog, it solidifies molten silver, black titanium.

Do it for me.

Do it for her.

He must.

Namjoon’s eyes flicker to her calf, following the silk of her skin to the hem of her saccharine dress; it flutters scarlet just out of reach. He’s on his knees now; there’s something pulling at him, some indeterminable force dragging him through the floor. The blade slips; the knife twists in his hands as he falls forward, and—

The air rushes out of Namjoon’s lungs as he writhes himself awake, mouth agape in an silent scream. He’s wheezing with the first rush of oxygen into his lungs, his lips swollen with gnashing of teeth as he twists away from the warmth settled next to him in the sea of rippling sheets, curling in on himself.

“Namjoon, are you alright?”

The broken man lifts his head, taking in the naked form upright in bed beside him, hair awry, concern bleeding every word.

It’s you.

He’s safe.

Indeed, Namjoon has had many dreams, but none quite like this one.

It is as if the very breath was sucked from Namjoon’s lungs when he first wrested himself awake in a cold sweat. Control is something he craves, something he owns save the late night hours when it is ripped from his hands by the sick desires of his own brain, playing tricks on him. He exercises his grip on every minutiae of his life, but when his eyes flutter shut and his conscience takes hold, it wraps a silken tie around his thoughts and begs him to pay attention.

You’re calling his name in a voice burdened by drowsiness. He knows you were awoken because of him but he can’t seem to think, to do anything else but sit here in this bed, in these rippling creamy sheets, and feel his lungs fill, empty. Fill, empty.

“Namjoon, love, breathe with me, okay?”

Breathing. Breathing is all he has been reduced to, a creature of the night with oxygen in his lungs and demons in his head.

You take his hand in your own, feels the slim digits trembling against your skin. You rub gentle circles into his knuckles and it somehow grounds him in the midst of the chaos, the overwhelming flood conjured from his worst nightmares. He watches as you carefully trace every crooked angle of his fingers with your own.

It is this simple motion that produces new thoughts, a mental clamor not of his own demise but for his own safety, the protection that he seeks. You are so much more than the sum of your parts: you are safety in the midst of a den of ruby-eyed cobras simply begging for a chance to strike. He’s never thought of anybody the way he thinks of you; there is no one else who comes close to you, and that’s saying a lot when it comes to his line of work.

“Namjoon, you’re safe, okay? You’re safe with me. We’re in our bedroom. You’re still the head of the most feared crime ring in the country. Nothing has changed. Yoongi is just outside the door; I’m right here. Nothing has changed, baby. You’re safe.”

Your words are warm against his skin, dotted with the press of lips to his temple, his cheek. You’re burning up against him, sweat beading at the roots of his hair, the silver strands falling low into his eyes. Somehow, the heat only serves to make him cooler, and he’s nestling into your arms before his mind catches up to his body. He’s safe. Somehow, in the roaring din of his mind, he is safe. His demons won’t follow him here, locked outside the door, palms scrabbling at the windows. The windows. Namjoon’s eyes flick to the glass and find the shades drawn, blocking out the ambient light that hovers thick on the other side. Bulletproof, he insisted, and for good reason. But Yoongi would have called if there was a problem, and he’s got Seokjin at the front gate, and it begins to seep in, sweet relief, that he truly is safe.

He is cradled to you like a child, a position compromising for a man of his stature, but he knows you won’t judge. Your hand trails from his thigh to his hip, his ribs to his shoulders, and your fingers nest in his hair, gently scratching his scalp. Lord knows he won’t be able to close his eyes until daylight breaks over the dark oak floor of your shared bedroom, but he hums and noses at your neck. You smell like sage and lavender with a touch of his own cologne, a memory of last night, and he inhales deeply, tries to savor the muskiness.

“You’re okay baby, I promise.” A kiss to his temple, another grounding touch. “I’m not going anywhere. I love you; you’re safe right here with me. Just let me love you, okay baby?”

Love. Love, a concept Namjoon knew better by verbal parry than by any real, tangible memory. It was wielded by a father he barely knew, an absent mother who preferred the company of socialites to the company of her own son. It was really a wonder he found it in him to love at all, really; he’d assumed he’d leave such an emotion to those who built a life out of a 9-5 day and mediocre sex. He’d been proven wrong, however, when you came along— you, once a high-profile escort in the dirty underworld he’d built for himself, proved yourself a worthy companion when you stayed beyond his guttural moans and dirty secrets. It was in fact, a moment like this when he realized he quite enjoyed your company, and there was something more to it than just a good fuck, an easy pussy.

You were the closest thing to real love he’d ever experienced, a home to come back to that wasn’t a prowling security team and a clean gun barrel. He’d exposed the grittiest parts of himself to you, the most private secrets and still you came back for more. You were just as fucked up as he was, really, and that was his favorite thing about you. You’d killed for him and he knew you’d kill again, and that was, very plainly, the matter of things.

Plus, that mouth made him see the stars more times than he’d willingly brag about at the poker table.

He presses a kiss to your shoulder, exposed through the lip of your shirt (his shirt, actually). It’s a careful kiss, chaste for him. Your fingers rub comfort into the base of his skull and he swears he could purr, an alley cat sleek and pleasured.

“You doing okay, Joonie?” Your eyes tell him everything he needs to know and he nods, unsure if he trusts himself to speak. Fear still gnaws at his bones, muted terror of a red-heeled succubus and a silver blade that gleams in the lamplight. Somehow though, you know, scraping the blunt of your fingernails against his roots. “You don’t have to talk to me about it if you don’t want to. I’m here regardless of that, you know me.”

Namjoon noses the column of your neck in reply, folding his sizeable frame until it molds against yours. Some things he’d never let the boys know about, but some things, he thinks, they knew about already. He is hard and cold and calculated yet soft and warm and comforting, a living contradiction unto himself; you’d never believe it if you hadn’t seen it yourself. A complexity of men who prefers to live by the simplest of rules, but you’d learned long ago not to try to understand something that was fucked-up from the start. Some things in this world were just fucked up, and that was the way they were meant to be.

Neither of you know how long you sit there, adrift in messy sheets, dry eyes gritty with the lateness of the hour. Your hand weaves through Namjoon’s hair as the vines around his heart flex, their thorny stems unraveling. He stopped shaking minutes before, but if you know anything about him, the internal tremors never cease, not outside of the safety of this bedroom, impossible with the life he lives.

He stirs a little, murmurs your name against your neck, his lips brushing bare skin and the small freckle that dots just above your collarbone. There’s something so intimate, so human about it, screaming vulnerability that hangs open and aching in the silence. His hands slide smooth across the breadth of your back, your waist, palms settling atop your thighs as he draws back slowly, slowly.

There’s a question in his eyes, one you meet with your own.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He hesitates.

“Namjoon…”

He swallows, tilts his head, steals a kiss. “I’m sorry.” Then another.

With the third you’re pulling away, chest steady, finger to his lips. “Namjoon, you’re not thinking clearly. We can’t do this right now—”

“Says who?” He is breathless with the thought. “I wanna make you feel good, baby. You deserve that.”

The sweetest words wrap themselves around the breadth of your bones, melting between the gaps. He’s always been so good with his tongue.

“Namjoon, I wanna make you feel good too, but not when you’re like this.” You shake your head. “Not when you’re waking up screaming about death and knives and all sorts of horrible things.”

His hands brush your curves. “If this bed is an ocean, I wanna drown in you.”

“Joonie…”

It’s so easy to work at you, the sharper edges that he can dissect piece by piece. He knows exactly how far to push, what little to say to reel you in hook, line, and sinker. “Just go with it baby, alright? Just trust me.”

It’s easy to fall into Namjoon, collapsing every time as he folds around you. His head tilts to the side as he leans in, his nose brushing your own. He tastes like mint toothpaste and something uniquely him, an element you can never place but when he’s exposing the most vulnerable parts of himself to you like this. His mouth moves easy against yours, just tender lips, warm kisses. His hand smoothes up your spine to cradle your neck, thumb brushing at the nape, the soft hairs that tickle the back of his hand. “Just relax baby, relax.”

Once more. “Joonie, are you sure you’re okay with this?”

He nods. “I want this.”

He’s never been one for kissing but tonight he craves it, the simplicity of two mouths and hands that fit themselves perfectly against the curves and the edges. Musk curls under your nose as your eyelids flutter shut, dusting the apples of your cheeks a pinkish hue. Your hands meet his chest, burning with heat through the oversized Grateful Dead shirt he wears to bed with you, and they slide to his shoulders when he slips an arm underneath you to tug you closer.

You settle atop the apexes of his thighs, legs folding around him as he gazes up at you. The utmost adoration he has for you, written in the stars and in two hearts that beat as one, rattling against their cages with a need for closer, closer, closer. Fear melts underneath practiced fingertips and patience; he’ll be damned if he doesn’t return the favor. His eyes, usually tawny and mellow, burn blacker than charcoal but sweeter than syrup, running with emotion. It’s evident in every brush of his hands against your bare skin when his fingertips edge under the hem of your shorts, the gleam in his eye that warns of everything that is about to come. One hand supports your back as the other squeezes your thigh, and you can’t help but smirk down at him with the easy smile that tugs at his own kiss-bitten lips.

You aren’t smirking, however, when he leans in and nips a bite at your neck, teasing with his teeth, making you whimper and whine atop him. His tongue pokes between his lips, assuaging the pain, and your own mouth falls open as your fingers clench at his shoulders, nails sliding a lazy path along his spine. He licks once at the bite, then once more until he’s satisfied with the petaled violet that blossoms across the breadth of your throat. He nibbles a matching purple rose on the other side; you can feel the smile on his lips when your mouth shamelessly tips open and you stutter out his name.

“Hm, what is it?” When he draws back, you moan a singular complaint. “What do you want, love? I’ll give you anything you want.”

“W-Wanna make you feel good,” you pant, eyes fluttering. “Wanna make you feel so good.”

“I wanna make you feel good too, baby. Let’s just focus on the now, yeah?” Namjoon’s hand squeezes your thigh but you’re already pressing your body flush to his, kneeling over him. You cup his face and he strokes your wrist lightly, the most tentative of touches, thanking god that somehow, in the midst of the lion’s den, you’d found him. He had you and he knew he could trust you, trust the smell of your shampoo and the heat of your skin. “Focus on me.”

You lean down to kiss him, brushing his cheekbones, tangling your hands in his hair, but apparently, Namjoon had other plans. His lips graze your own, trailing the edge of your jaw to pepper the lightest kisses at your ear and move lower, lower. When his mouth lavishes the column of your neck with the utmost pleasure, you can’t help but feel your core ache, the purest whines permeating the thick air as you beg. He’s definitely hard now, weight against the inside of your thigh, and the temptation— no, the need to grind down on him sparked the fuzziest pleasures in your mind, the most sinful ideas.

“Please Joonie, please feels so good, please, w-wanna—”

When Namjoon mouths wet at the shell of your ear you writhe, losing control with each second that slips between your fingers like sand. His lips burn fire against your already heated skin, sizzling and crackling like a live wire under his touch. You hiss and he growls deep in the back of his throat, continues his ministrations.

“I forgot how much you liked that,” he breathes shakily.

“You’re so fucking hot,” you gasp, releasing your iron grasp on his roots. Luckily he’s unfazed; damn lucky you to be with someone who actually enjoyed their fair share of kinkiness. “So fucking hot and you’re so thick, I can feel it—”

When you grind down on him, pressing yourself onto the growing bulge in his slacks and swiveling your hips with practiced ease, he groans feverishly. With every brush of the head of his cock, he’s harder than before, memory weighty in the palm of his hand. He chokes on the breath in his lungs, his nails blunt on your back, and he moans once in content. Feels so fucking good.

“God, baby, you’re gonna ruin me like this,” Namjoon chuckles.

“Maybe that’s the intention,” you trill.

“Fuck.” The word lies heavy in the air, heavy on his bated breath.

You smirk, sinful seduction in his ear. “And what if I did this?”

As his eyebrows furrow, you ease yourself onto his thighs, so strong and sinewy. Your fingertips slip down his shoulders, trace every muscle that strains under his loose sleep shirt. Beneath the fabric is the coiled power of a lethal creature, a tiger poised to devour his prey. And he is utterly wrapped around your finger, letting his head tip back against the headboard with a sigh. He’s lost in your touches, an angel fallen from heaven, no idea which way is up or down.

You rub circles into his hip bones; he twists under you. Practically begging with his gasps, knowing what awaits him. Your fingers toy with the hem of his boxers and he’s hissing between his teeth. “Baby…”

You hum a response, press a kiss to the shell of his ear.

“Please…”

“Oh Namjoon,” you coo. “You’re a mess, baby.”

He is. Hair sticking to his forehead, sweat gleaming at his temple; he’s a model for destruction, the dirtiest of kinds. Hips arching underneath you, and there’s a wet spot that stains the fabric. He smiles somehow, teeth flashing in the low light. “All for you.”

You withdraw, spit into your palm. “Then you get all of me.”

Your hand slips beneath the waistband of his boxers, finds his cock, thick and hard. At the first stroke, lazy and full, he can’t stop the raspy grunt that leaves his throat. “Shit, baby. Feels so good.” When you lower your head to mouth at him over his sweats he practically writhes, begging, needy. So unlike him, but a welcome change to see him falling apart, falling apart over you. The fabric is soaked with saliva and dotted with a pearl of cum, a carnal work of art.

You rub slowly down his length, thumbing the swollen head leaking his seed. It’s messy and wet and he’s moaning and it’s all worth it, worth it to see him wrecked like this. His balls are heavy in your palm; when your eyes flutter up to meet his, wide and expectant, Namjoon hisses. That sound enough jolts burning heat between your thighs, twisting devilishly in your stomach. “B-Babygirl?”

There’s question in the word, question that makes you pause. You moan against his clothed cock; he chokes on his words.

“Can I make you feel good too?”

A sloppy kiss pressed to his member. “Later, okay? I wanna focus on you right now, Joonie.”

His hand strokes through your hair, flyaway, disheveled. “You’re so good to me. So fucking good—” He chokes on the downstroke, fingers tightening out of reflex. “Want you so bad.”

You press. “How bad? Bad enough to want my mouth?”

“Shit, your mouth,” he whines. “Want your mouth, want you—”

“Joonie,” you murmur.

His heartbeat resounds like gunfire in the ringing silence.

“Lift.”

He lifts his hips as you tug, pulling his sweats down to his thighs, the fabric ridged underneath your perch. His cock falls free, standing slightly crooked against his still-clothed abdomen, rippling with tension. It twitches under the heat of your gaze, steadily seeping liquid bliss, and your mouth waters at the thought. It’s been so long since you took him like this; when it’ll happen again, who’s to say.

You pepper kisses along his thighs just to hear him whimper, feel the predator writhe in his own constraints. His hands burn their own trails along the curves of your body, spreading heat in their wake as you cave to your own desire, slipping a hand between your thighs when you take him in your mouth with practiced ease. He’s firm under your fingertips, lithe and sleek and powerful in all the right ways, but he falls apart when it comes to you, crumbles like rock under the breath of the tidal wave. He grunts sin from between gritted teeth but whines complaint when you pull back to tease, to draw things out. He’s gentle in his touches but firm in his demands, even through the cottony billows of his neediness.

“I-I’m close,” Namjoon stutters, skin crimson from lavished attention. There’s saliva smeared down your chin and tears twinkle liquid starlight on your lashes, but you’ve never felt more electrified, burning up at the seams for him. From the heated confines of your throat you withdraw his cock with a firm touch at the base, his fingers running through your mussed locks.

“Where do you want to cum, baby?”

He squirms. “Fuck. Wherever you’ll take m-me—” He shudders, ribs heaving. Your fallen angel, shattering under your touch. “Oh shit, I’m gonna cum for you, babygirl.”

“Cum for me, angel. Cum for me...” you murmur, gaze level with his own as you wrap your lips around his member.

“Gonna cum for you, fuck—”

“Daddy.”

The cavernous heat of your mouth is a slick warmth, so wet and warm and utterly divine. He loses himself in it, lets himself go, pushing towards that edge of no return, riding the crest of the wave as it rolls faster, harder, heavier. “‘M gonna fucking cum. Oh god, fuck, shit, babygirl, I’m cumming, I’m—”

A drawn out groan fills the air, raspy and thick and throaty as he thrusts into your mouth once, twice, spills over. He’s bitter on your tongue, acrid but you take it, swallow it all. It’s worth it to see the pleasure overtake him, to see him let go of every capacity and capability to fall drowning, dizzy. Whatever in heaven, above or below, he’s tumbling headlong into it, collapsing into himself like a burning star falling from the cosmos.

He’s the first to break the silence that falls, withdrawing himself and tucking his softening cock back in his sweats with a remarkable amount of composition for a man who’d just seen the very sparks of the universe behind closed eyelids. He chuckles breathless, bated. “Fucking hell, angel.”

You try to speak but merely croak at first, throat grating dry. He hushes you soothingly, easing you back on the pillows now soaked with sweat. “Let me get you some water, yeah? Just stay here for now.”

You whine a complaint— shouldn’t you be taking care of him?— but he’s insistent and already on his feet, legs shaky as he heads towards the bathroom. There’s a pang in your chest watching him go, the reality of the situation settling in, and vulnerability flowers in your heart.

The tap squeaks; the faucet runs. Room temperature water, not too hot but not too cold to soothe the burn in your esophagus. He knows you better than anyone, knows how to take care of you when you fail to take care of yourself, life spent always on the run. You’re the one holding him when his nightmares consume him, the steel that he draws from his belt to wield before him, the ultimate weapon. Yin and yang, black and white, blooming nebula and neutron star. The water turns off, a grating complaint.

It’s been too long; you’ve delayed too much. Play to his fantasy; he has no idea what’s coming.

“If the water’s not enough, I can send Yoongi for some tea— oh.”

Oh.

You are no longer prostrate, the limp rag doll exhausted from her play. No, you are stretched out on the bed, ass up on your hands and knees, silver glinting between your teeth as a pair of handcuffs dangles in the air. You are looking at him with fire smouldering deep in your eyes, blazing a burning glare straight through him.

The predator has become the prey.

“Daddy,” you purr, right on cue. “Come here.”

It’s automatic, the way Namjoon moves towards you, glass forgotten on the nearby dresser. He’s completely transfixed, fascinated by the possibilities, and when he reaches the end of the bed, you stop him with one outstretched foot, bare with the lateness of the hour. “Turn around.”

He’s so submissive, so compliant simply by the force of his own surprise. It’s hard to keep going, hard to push through the adrenaline thrumming through your blood, the underlying current that threatens to sweep you away, too. But you mustn’t listen, mustn’t feel.

“Hands behind your back, Joonie, baby.”

He’s perfect, perfectly whole in the way he follows each command that falls from your lips like silk spun thread. He surrenders himself so willingly to you, it stings raw.

You rise to your feet, level with the back of him. Your fingers make quick work of the cuffs and with a firm click, the deed is done.

With a tender motion that surprises even you considering the brevity of the situation, you wrap your arms around your torso, bury your face in his skin, inhale his scent. Amber and citrus. Musk and spice. Whole contradictions that somehow manage to summarize him perfectly. You whisper against his spine like it’s a secret. “I’m so sorry.”

“What, baby?”

You can feel his heartbeat against your cheek, thudding rapid with excitement, wonder at what lies ahead of him. Guilt roars its ugly head and you beat it back with double the force.

You stiffen, step away from him. Four years you’d waited to formulate these words, to hear them drop from your lips, plummeting on high. Four years and now the moment is here, and you swallow past the lump in your sore throat.

“Kim Namjoon, you are under arrest for charges of extortion, murder, murder-for-hire, drug possession, and arms trafficking. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you…”

“...Do you understand the rights I have just read to you? With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?”

You’re sitting in the open door of a police cruiser, more specifically a SWAT cruiser, an aluminum blanket wrapped around your bare shoulders. The air is warm, but you can’t stop shivering.

Seokjin paces fifteen feet away from you, ever more handsome in his suit and tie. Hoseok is finishing his interview of the conclusion, anticlimactic for the better. Yoongi’s legs dangle from the open doors of one of the ambulances called when your colleagues expected the worst. Thankfully, no casualties had occurred but a sprained ankle, a fight between one of your fellow law enforcement officers and that guy that manned the back gate. Everyone can go home, rest easy.

After Seokjin’s interview is yours, and you realize by the time Hoseok is asking the last question that you don’t remember a single word of what you’ve said. Elite agents taking down the biggest crime boss in the country are not supposed to feel so empathetic, so broken. Guilty. Regretful.

Four years, the longest and most dramatic chase of your career. Justice fell, a swift hammer; you’d saved the day once again, added another face to the chalkboard in your sterile office a thousand miles away. You’d won. Hadn’t you?

There’s a faraway look in your eyes that Hoseok somehow understands, a glimmer of something more than success. He straddles the age gap between the members of the team, incorporating Jeongguk’s youthfulness with his elders’ experience, the glue of it all handed the most important task. He calls your name. “You’ve been out of it the entire time I’ve been interviewing you. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing.”

But there’s no bite to the words, no whet of passion. They fall flat below the crackle of radios, the mist that reflects red and blue through the evergreen trees scraping the stars winking high above.

Hoseok puts his pen and clipboard aside. “Hey,” he says. The kindness in his tone pierces daggers through your heart. You somehow would’ve been more comfortable if he had yelled at you. “You did the right thing. He hurt a lot of people. Killed many more, and did so without remorse.”

That’s what you think, you want to scream. Because to you, he is some foreign criminal, far removed from any last dregs of humanity. He is a monster and a crook and a fiend, twisted into something unrecognizable, but you didn’t see what I saw. Did you see the warmth in his eyes when he rolled over and buried himself in my arms all those mornings in bed? Did you see the way he saved those dogs about to be euthanized in a shelter, because those pups reminded him of how he used to feel, staring death in the eyes every day? Did you see the way he loved me?

Hoseok pats your shoulder. “I’ll put in a month and a half of vacation time for you when we get home. Lord knows you’ve earned it. And we can rest tonight, rest for the first time in a while. We’ve got a nice hotel an hour away from here, top floor. We’re not done flushing out the rest of his boys, but that can wait for now. We can handle that on our own; they’re scattered all over the continent anyways. It’ll take time.” He picks up his supplies, turns to move on to Yoongi. The look in the elder man’s eyes, the special ops agent thinks, is exactly the same as your own. What had you two seen in that hellhole?

You tuck the blanket tighter around yourself and nod once. It’s the most you can do.

Hoseok smiles, but it’s not quite the beaming, sunshine-filled glow he usually carries about himself. “You did good work and I’m proud of you. Get some sleep, agent.”

Sleep does not come for a long, long time.

When it does, it eats away behind your eyelids, filling your mind with visions of a man adrift in an ocean of bedsheets, rocking on the waves of an endless concrete floor that goes for miles and miles, whispering promises of things to come that never would be.

Kim Namjoon is sentenced to life in prison for six counts of murder, fifteen counts of extortion, three counts of murder-for-hire, six counts of drug trafficking, three counts of arms trafficking, and two counts of drug possession.

He never makes it to see his twenty-sixth birthday.

#bts #bts smut #bts fluff #kpop fluff #namjoon smut #namjoon angst #kpop fanfiction #bts au #verses and vibes #outroshooky

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shelterinwilderness · 3 years ago

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4 Best Way to Build a Shelter in the Wilderness for 2021

In this article, you will learn about different types of survival shelters you can use in a wilderness survival situation and possibly save your life.

Survival stories in the wilderness are not uncommon.

Tyson Steele, 30, survived the harsh Alaskan wilderness for three weeks before being rescued.

Initially, he hid in a snow cave, and then he made a tent out of scrap material.

The rest of Tyson's story indicates that he had plenty of knowledge about how to build a survival shelter, which he claimed he learned from being in the outdoors and watching YouTube videos.

If you were in Tyson's position, what would you do? Is it freezing?

I hope not. However, your survival would depend on your ability to build a cold-weather shelter.

By reading this article you will avoid the freezing fate by learning how to make or identify a natural shelter for extreme weather conditions.

The skills you need to master so that you can make your emergency shelter and the type of survival shelter that will work best in different survival situations are also discussed.

Here is a quick overview of survival shelters.

4 Types of Wilderness Survival Shelters

Lean-to shelter

Tarp shelters

A-frame lean-to shelter

Snow shelters

Also, check the Best 5 Person Tent for Camping 2021 If you are planning to visit nature with a group of friends or family, a 5-person tent is a perfect choice.

4 Types of Survival Shelter: How to Build a Shelter in the Wilderness

These 4 different types of shelter in the wilderness provide protection from the effects of winter's cold, summer's heat, rainy weather's wetness, and insects.

1) Taking a lean-to shelter

Lean-to shelters are quick and easy to construct. Lean-to shelter can be either single- or double-sided. The cold will not be sheltered by single-sided lean-to shelters.

Furthermore, a single-sided lean-to shelter may not be practical if the wind or rain changes direction.

Shelters with double lean-to Shelters are more effective. Providing they are installed properly, they will keep you from the rain and wind.

Here are some instructions for building a lean-to shelter:

Hold a long pole firmly between two trees by placing it between a Y-joint on each tree. There are also options, such as tying a strong rope on the trees or making a firm square lashing to hold the pole on each tree.

You can cover one or both sides (for the single-sided shelter) with poles so that the poles meet at the 'lean-to' pole.

Make your shelter dense and waterproof by covering the poles with branches and heaps of leaves, grass, or other types of vegetation.

You can replace the branches and foliage with a tarp, emergency blanket, or poncho if available.

2) Tarp shelters

In the wilderness, we should always carry tarps in our backpacks and keep them in our vehicles.

When we have to build a survival shelter, a good quality tarp like the Aqua Quest Defender Tarp will protect us from harsh weather conditions.

A simple tarp shelter can be constructed by tying a rope between two poles or trees and draping your tarp over the rope. You can use the cord to tie the corners of your tarp away from you to firm it.

It will protect you from rain and wind, but you might need to build a tarp teepee if you want protection from cold and wild animals.

When you are in a group, a tarp teepee shelter is a good option.

How to build a tarp teepee shelter:

Find a few poles that are long enough to accommodate the length of your canvas.

Tying the first three poles at the top will prevent the poles from detaching from each other.

Prop up the three poles diagonally from the bottom until they are stable and resemble a teepee.

Place the other poles between the first three poles and firm them with ropes.

Wrap the tarp around the poles to complete your tarp teepee shelter. At the top, the joint between the poles creates smoke flaps, and the space between them allows rain to enter. You can prevent this by placing a piece of canvas on top to seal the space.

Tarp teepee shelters offer more space, so you can make a fire inside. You should leave the entrance open to prevent carbon monoxide intoxication.

3) A-frame lean-to shelter

Similar to the lean-to shelter, the A-frame shelter is easy to assemble and uses materials that are readily available in the wilderness.

The name refers to the A-shaped shape the shelter takes at the entrance. While the shelter will protect you from wind and rain, you may need a fire at the entrance to generate heat.

Just don't get too close to the entrance to avoid intoxication.

Making a lean-to shelter from an A-frame:

Three sturdy posts will suffice; two around 4-5* and one around 10* (or the size that will allow you to lie down inside the shelter without leaving part of your body outside the shelter).

Grasp the three posts in a Y-shape by weaving the two shorter posts together in an A shape. Set the two posts firmly on the ground and create the width of the entrance that you desire.

Using a strong square lash, fasten the longer post to a tree at the other end of the Y-shape. You can also secure the post firmly with smaller rocks or logs if you find a tree stump or rock nearby.

Put the end of the horizontal post on one of the long horizontal posts, and stride them out at uniform distances, so that you can even out the walls of your shelter.

Make your shelter thatched and fill up the open spaces with grass, sticks, and twigs. If you want to stay relatively warm, your shelter walls should be thick enough to keep you dry and protected from the wind. Pine boughs, moss, or leaves can be used to add more density to the walls. Additionally, you can add these to your shelter to remain undetected.

Garbage bags can be draped over horizontal posts in the event that water gets in and insulate the space before adding the wall posts.

On the floor, you can put a log bed, which can be covered with leaves.

4) Snow shelters

Due to its density and the trapped air in its flakes, snow acts as an insulator.

Loose snow is more insulating because it traps more air and therefore preserves more heat. Snow can be used to build any of these types of shelters.

The snow trench shelter

A snow trench is designed to create an insulating shelter against cold and wind. Snow trenches can be made in two ways.

If you have access to compacted snow, you can cut it into blocks, arrange them on the ground in two parallel lines, and then cover the top of the trench with more blocks.

The blocks can, however, be cut out with a survival knife or saw if you have one available.

The second method requires digging out a trench, covering it with poles to create a roofing base, and then insulating the top layer with tree boughs and leaves.

Cutting out snow blocks requires more energy than this method. The trench can be dug with a stick since the ground is moist. You must dig a trench long enough to cover your entire body.

Shelter in a snow cave

The snow shelter is created by hollowing out the snow pile. We describe one method of building a snow cave for survival.

Snow usually drifts and gathers into huge piles in one place due to wind. When you need to build an emergency shelter in winter, you could use this to build your snow cave.

Alternatively, you can pile up snow and follow these steps to create a snow cave:

Build a pile of snow around 5 feet high and 10 feet long. You will have a shovel with you if you are making a snow cave. In an emergency winter shelter, however, you'll need to use your snowshoes or anything else you have that could serve as a shovel.

Let the snow settle and compact so that it stays together and does not separate when you make your cave.

Collect the materials you will need to insulate yourself inside the shelter while your snow bonds. You can use pine or spruce boughs, or even dry leaves.

You can mark the entrance of the cave by cutting a square shape into the snow and then gradually scoop out the snow. Wear waterproof clothes to avoid getting wet and losing insulation from your clothing, which may lead to hypothermia. As you dig, lay pine boughs on the cave base to prevent losing heat through convection and conduction.

Afterward, smooth out the top of the cave into a dome shape. This compacts the snow on the roof and prevents dripping. You will be able to move better if your cave has a concave finish. For an enclosed snow cave, you'll need to make a few ventilation holes in the roof and pass a stick now and then to keep them open.

Make your spruce/pine boughs bed by crawling in a few times to compact it. To act as insulation, your bed should be a few inches thick.

If you stay in the snowy wilderness for more than a night, you will need a more stable snow survival shelter like an igloo.

Shelter in an igloo

It takes longer to make an igloo than other winter camping shelters, but if temperatures do not rise, it will last you for more than a night.

For cutting out snow blocks, you'll also need a shovel, a survival knife, or a saw.

Snow igloos work best when the snow is compact.

Here's how to build an igloo shelter:

Find a flat area.

In the snow, draw a circle about 12ft (3.5m) in diameter. Make the drawing compass more accurate by planting a stick in the center and tying a string to another stick that is half the diameter of your circle.

Remove the top layer of snow and dig around 2 cm deep.

To cut the compact snow into 50cm-long blocks, use a knife or saw. If you don't have compact snow, you can use a crate, but you will need to wait for the blocks to compact.

Create a slight angle towards the inside by arranging the snow blocks around the base of the circle.

As you stack the blocks, you will end up with a dome-shaped roof.

Dig out two or three blocks at the entrance point. Make sure your entrance faces the wind.

Seal off the gaps between the blocks with loose snow and smooth the roof inside to prevent water from falling.

Snow shelter made from a tree pit

Another winter survival shelter that you can use is a tree pit. This type of shelter already has the basic structure for your shelter built for you.

The tree's trunk is buried a few feet by snow. After digging out the snow around the tree trunk, you cover the bottom with pine boughs and leaves to create an insulation bed.

The tree canopy already covers you, but you'll need to cover the top of the pit with branches and leaves. It will keep the heat inside and prevent any snow on the tree from falling on you.

Summary

Protecting yourself from the extremes of weather elements is crucial if you find yourself in the wilderness, whether you are lost or planning a trip.

Ideally, you should learn how to build extreme weather survival shelters before you face a survival situation.

Understanding your wilderness survival shelter needs and identifying an appropriate situation should precede your selection of a specific shelter design.

In winter, you can build a snow cave, dig a trench in the ground if you're in the desert, or make an a-frame shelter if you're in the jungle.

Whatever choice you make, your ultimate goal is to survive the extremes of weather, which makes the strain of making a survival shelter worthwhile.

#Shelter in the Wilderness #camping #tents

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1-1snailxd-art · 5 years ago

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psst...I have a question

Have you checked out the @until-the-sun-rises blog yet? Well, you might want to consider looking into it. @a-valorous-choice and @ironwoman359 joined forces to create a Sanders Sides apocalypse AU.

I read the first main instalment ‘Virgil’s Promise’ and got smacked in the face with inspiration and attempted to draw it (cause why not try and draw the hardest part of the body to get right😝)

(Lighter image/sketch/thoughts below cut)

This AU had my interest from the first post on the character breakdown (and lets be honest, the authors behind it). The first instalment focused around Virgil and his younger brother Thomas. I couldn’t get the image of Virgil grabbing Thomas’s hand out of my head and it became the focus of this.

I did play with the idea of their hands joining horizontally and having the shadow of their mum approaching over the horizon, but it just wasn’t working with my skill level. So, I shifted gears and went for a book cover style showing Virgil grabbing Thomas’s hand and a quote.

The locket looks to be a key point in the story, so I added that as a feature to break up the image. And just to be Captain Obvious, I put a sunny glow thing behind a hill (very original of me). I made the image dark to reflect the feel of the story (dark and desperate for light) but also to attempt to hide the hands a bit. I mean, I know I’m noticing more things and getting better with some things, but there is still a lot to learn (not doing black outlines was a weird thing to try again).

If you’ve read this far - thanks for taking the time to keep on reading, but isn’t there somewhere you should be? ..... visiting @until-the-sun-rises ??? Read the warnings, strap in and enjoy the ride you know is coming.

Quick Links - Introduction to the au - Virgil’s Promise

______________________

What else have I done?

Writing Master Post

Drawing in tag #snail art #my art

I’m Snail ( @snail-giggles ) 💜🐌 I just try to have fun

#sanders sides #sanders sides apocalypse au #sanders sides fanart #my art #snail art #until-the-sun-rises #a-valorous-choice #ironwoman359 #ts virgil #ts thomas #tsart

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selfindulgentpoorlywritten · 5 years ago

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Home (T. Konecny & N. Patrick Imagine)

I didn’t finish this, but I don’t have the motivation to either. So enjoy 3k of self-indulgent bs I wrote when I was upset.

Rating: T

Pairing: T. Konecny/Reader/N. Patrick

Words: 3008

Warnings: Food, general negativity

Requested: yes / no

Summary: *Daniel Powter voice* You had a bad day...

Life sucks.

Life sucks and everything is terrible and you’re so fucking tired.

Your shift had gotten changed and no one bothered to tell you, so you woke up at 5:15 to your manager asking why you weren’t there yet, even though you usually don’t start until 7. Thus, you had to scramble through getting ready and driving to work in record time, except you didn’t realize until you’d gotten to the stadium that you’d forgotten your badge, so not only were you late, but they had to make you a temporary. Luckily you’re generally a good employee, so you just had to apologize a thousand times and work a little faster than usual, which is objectively better than getting fired. But it also sucked extra, because the reason your shift had been changed was due to them accidentally giving too many people the day off, so you were understaffed with a 3 o’clock 76’ers game to prepare for. Even on a calm day, hauling around boxes of food and delivering them to the kitchens was enough of a workout to justify not spending money on a gym membership, but with being half staffed and starting late, you were ready to collapse by time you were finished. Your entire body ached.

It would have been bad enough if it were just a rushed day, but everyone seemed to be in a pissy mood as well. The cooks snapped at you, because the chefs snapped at them, except the chefs also snapped at you, so you just got the business end of everyone’s bad mood. Plus you always felt bad when you were late to work or late with a delivery anyway, and you’d barely been sleeping, and you were constantly hungry but too nauseous to eat, and you couldn’t sit still for five minutes but moving was exhausting. So you were just guilty and irritated and mad at the entire world but mostly at yourself.

Once you clock out, you don’t even bother pretending to consider going back to your place. Traffic is a bitch, because you head out at the same time everyone is coming in for the game. You want to scream. You may or may not roll your windows up and do so, but no one can prove anything.

By time you reach your destination, the frustration has faded to leave you empty and apathetic and more tired than you’ve been in a long time. The doorman greets you, and usually you’d ask how he is and make small talk for a minute, but right now all you can do is shoot him as much of a smile as you can manage and thank him as you enter. The elevator ride feels like it takes a thousand years. The sight of their door is your first bit of relief in days; you don’t even have to dig out your key because it’s unlocked. Leaving it unlocked is probably not the most responsible decision, but they’re not the most responsible pair out there, and you might have sent them several frustrated texts during stolen seconds throughout the morning that would imply you’d be coming over.

You stop in the entryway to drop your bag and kick off your (ugly) regulation non-slip shoes. Just being here allows you to take a deep breath and relax, even minutely. You find Nolan in the kitchen, leaning on the island as he reads something on his phone and snacks on something definitely not on his diet plan. For a moment, you allow yourself to simply look. To appreciate the strong cut of his jaw, the constant flush of his cheeks, the curl of his hair against the nape of his neck.

“Hey nerd,” you greet, padding over to wrap your arms around him from behind. He hums, pressing back into you a bit. With your face buried into him, eyes closed, you can hear the quiet clack of him putting his phone down.

“Bad day, huh?” he asks, already knowing the answer. You just groan, pulling away enough to grab his hand and pull him out of the kitchen and toward the couch. He sits obediently, propping his feet up on the ottoman so you can spread out over the rest of the couch with your head in his lap. One hand on the side of your neck, he uses the other to play with your hair and scratch your scalp. It can’t be pleasant for him. You’re still sweaty and grimy from work, desperately in need of a shower, but he continues nevertheless.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks. You don’t really want to, and you know he probably doesn’t want to either, so you save both of you the trouble by shaking your head.

“When’s Travis gonna be home?” you ask after a few minutes, turning onto your back after breaking the peaceful silence. Nolan checks his watch.

“Like twenty minutes,” he says, settling his hand over your collarbone now that you’ve turned. You let out another groan. Twenty fucking minutes.

“He’s at a meeting, he’ll be home soon,” Nolan mumbles, trying to appease you. Soon, hah, not soon enough. It was nice to mope with Nolan, doing nothing but laying around and letting his calm demeanor soothe you, but you always prefer to have them both around. Nolan can settle you like no other, but Travis was better at actually cheering you up. Working together, they made the perfect resolution to a shitty day.

Twenty minutes ends up being closer to thirty. The first half is spent with Nolan stroking his thumb along the skin under the collar of your uniform shirt, until you start feeling too gross and decide you should definitely get a shower. They have way better water pressure than you do, and you savor the hot water beating over your sore back until you hear the front door open. Trav is home. After giving yourself a cursory towel-dry and wrapping the (ridiculously) soft towel around yourself, you don’t bother getting dressed before bounding out to intercept him before he can even make it through the bedroom door. He laughs when you catch him in a hug, but squeezes you back nonetheless.

The two of you get changed together, chatting a bit about your days. He switches from his suit to a t-shirt and athletic shorts, and you pick out something cozy from your designated drawer. The urge to steal something of theirs to comfort yourself is powerful, but you resist, because you have them already. Who needs one of their oversized shirts when you have the real deal?

Once dressed, Travis wraps his arms around you from behind, huddling up against your back and enveloping you in his perpetual warmth. He waddles the two of you to the living room, keeping you plastered to his front, like a parent helping their child work out their first unsteady steps. The exaggerated swaying is exactly ridiculous enough to get a laugh out of you, the barest giggle that feels cathartic after the awful day you’ve had. The sound makes Travis cheer, pulling your arm up into a fistpump of success, which only makes you giggle more. As previously stated: Travis is really good at cheering you up.

During your time in the master suite, Nolan has gathered various pillows and blankets from around the condo and made a sort-of nest on the couch. You grab your favorite stuffed animal from the pile the second Travis lets you go, fussing with the pile of bedclothes until it’s arranged to your satisfaction. Then you proceed to arrange Travis and Nolan to your liking; Nols on the left with his feet on the ottoman as he likes, Trav wedged into the corner on the right, one leg spanning the back of the couch until his foot can bury itself behind Nolan, while the other leg is bent at the knee to settle his left foot flat on the floor. They are both more than adequately propped and padded with pillows, allowing them to be comfortable whilst providing you the perfect resting place.

The moment you’re fully settled in-- head on Travis’s left thigh, feet on Nolan’s lap, angled perfectly to see the TV without straining your neck or eyes, nor sacrificing full view-- Nolan hands you the remote without debate or question. You click through the usual streaming services for a few minutes, finding nothing of interest. Honestly, you already know what you want to watch, who are you kidding. Rather than continue the charade of considering other options, you click through to a less-than-savory streaming app Trav had installed a while back, despite Nolan’s concern for viruses. You go straight to the search bar and quickly to your favorite cheer-up movie, lodging the remote half under your forearm after pressing play. One final adjustment in position, and you’re set for the next two hours.

Throughout the movie, Nolan absently massages your calves and ankles, which he’s unusually good at, probably from getting so many massages at the rink. Travis scratches your scalp gently, rubbing at the base of your skull now and again, lucky to get you post-shower. They both let you make your commentary without complaint, even throwing their own comments in here and there. Maybe you got a bit too into the things you liked, and learned a gratuitous amount about them, and occasionally wanted to share your knowledge, despite it being entirely useless. You didn’t need to feel smart, necessarily, just heard. Understood.

The screen finally fades to black, jumping back to the preview screen automatically. Though Nol maneuvers your legs so he can stand and hobble to the kitchen, shaking out his knees along the way, you simply close your eyes and appreciate the situation. Yes, you had a shitty day. But you also have two wonderful, loving boyfriends who put off their game tape to watch your favorite movies for the millionth time, curl up with you for hours even if it makes their joints go stiff, listen to you ramble about the things you’re passionate about with admiration rather than complaint… You’re burrowed under your favorite comforter, with your favorite people, in a safe place, with the promise of forever under your tongue.

Nolan brings back two bowls with a properly portioned amount of diet-appropriate snacks, that he hands to you and Travis to hold while he settles back in. One bowl has these weird “bites” that only Nolan likes, so that ends up in his hands before you start the next movie, Trav holding the bowl of home-made trail mix the both of you will presumably share. You all snack and watch your favorite rom-com, probably more invested than you should be after having seen it this many times. But it serves as an adequate relief from the leftover stress of your day. Plus, witnessing TK and Nolan evolve from pretending not to care about the story, to nearly screaming at the TV when the characters do stupid things, is always a bonus and a privilege. It’s difficult for them, especially as professional hockey players, to express anything both genuine and outside the scope of traditional masculinity, you know that; that’s why it’s such a stunning scene to be allowed to witness. Any time they allow themselves to openly feel around you, you feel more trusted, more loved.

After the fade to black snaps back to the preview screen, it’s roundabout time for a slightly overdue dinner. The three of you debate the merits of ordering out versus making the lemon garlic tilapia you’d picked up the ingredients for the other day, deciding to be responsible and cook the fish before it spoiled. They’re both useless in the kitchen, so they mostly sit at the island and provide entertainment while you cook, occasionally bringing you something you need. In the past, you’d attempted to teach them some culinary skills, but in the interest of not burning the condo down most of the cooking is left to you or their chef. Because they have a personal chef, like the rich bastards they are. But again, you’d rather they not die in a grease fire, so maybe that’s for the best. Even if you’re a little jealous.

The recipe is fairly straightforward, so it’s not too much work after your long day. And making food always makes you feel a little better anyway, especially if you’re making it for other people. Food is love, and all that, so it was just nice to work on something and have someone actually appreciate it (instead of yelling at you for being ten minutes late). The boys get into an argument about the best way to counteract some opponent’s play style, or something like that, and you have to give them each a good whack on the arm with the spatula to get them to disengage. Luckily, dinner is ready not long after, so they don’t have time to work themselves back up.

They both help you serve the food, setting out plates and glasses and silverware on the small wooden table as you dish out fish and rice and squash. The larger filets go to them, as well as a heartier portion of sides. They’re gonna need as much as they can get before the official season starts and they end up losing all the weight they’d gained over the summer. When you’re at home, dinner is a quiet affair. Usually it’s just you eating on the couch as you watch a show or scroll social media. With Travis and Nolan, however, dinner is loud and long and engaging. The both of them talk throughout the meal, pulling you into the conversation so often that your rice is almost cold before you finish it. For as long as you’d lived alone, you’d convinced yourself that you were okay with the silence-- enjoyed it, actually-- but after your first dinner with the boys, you couldn’t deny that the commotion was infinitely preferable.

Clean-up is a breeze between the three of you, Trav and Nolan doing the bulk of the work to make up for not cooking. All you have to do is hand the dishes to Nolan so he can wash them, handing them off to Travis to dry and put away. Trav had been banned from washing after a few too many arguments about what constituted “clean”. You’re not entirely sure it wasn’t a ploy to get out of the hardest work, but you and Nolan love him, so you’ll let it slide. On occasion, you’ll play background music while you clean. This is one of those occasions, and you’re caught off guard when Nolan perks up and Travis drops the plate in his hands to the counter with a clatter.

“It’s our song!” he says, almost loud enough to make you worry about retaliation from the neighbors. But it is your song, so you’re not particularly worried about what Mr. Steinberg thinks.

The three of you move at the same time, Nolan placing the cup in his hand into the sink and you setting the pan you’re holding back into the pile, letting Travis lead you into the more open space between the stove and island, where you’re less likely to break something. As the music plays, you all move more-or-less in sync. Travis and Nols swing each other around as you spin around them, only to be pulled in so Nolan can push and pull you around while Trav shimmies around you. You’re all laughing, singing along to the old jazz song, Sinatra’s deep croon guiding you around the tiled floor. This is one of those rare times that Nolan really lets himself go, allows himself to smile and laugh and dance like no one is watching. Or maybe like you and Travis are watching, and he feels safe enough to be open and happy in front of you both.

After the four or so minutes of the song ends, the three of you converge in a standing pile of smiles and laughter. The three of you exchange kisses and nudge heads and shoulders, just enjoying each other’s company. Enjoying the fact that you get to have this, this overwhelming, chest-bursting happiness. But eventually, you have to return to the dishes. Instead of being a chore, it’s significantly more an activity to do together. The three of you chatter as you wash, unable to wipe the smiles from your faces-- even Nolan.

As Travis places the last cup in the cabinet, you allow Nols to wrap his arms around you, enveloping you in his warmth. Rather than complain, as he usually does, Travis simply joins in, wrapping his arms around the both of you. You’re entirely encompassed by their affection, doing your absolute best to radiate appreciation and affection. You’re not sure that you’ll ever be able to express how much their care means to you; but you’re also not sure you’ll ever truly understand how they feel about you, either. But no one does this for someone they don’t love dearly. They don’t watch shitty movies, or pet your greasy hair, or dance around the kitchen to your old music-- not even just to cheer you up. Just because that’s who you are and what you like, and they want to be a part of that-- no one does all of that unless they love you.

Time passes; maybe a minute, maybe an hour. All you know is the hard stretch of Travis and Nolan’s chests against your back and front, their heat, the softness of their lips against your cheeks, neck, forehead, shoulders, nose, jaw…

Eventually, you have to part. It takes a bit of effort to slip out from between them, partially because you’re pressed so closely together, but mostly because you don’t really want to leave this place, ever. If you could stay pressed between them forever, you would, without question. They’re your safe space, your home. More than any physical location could be.

#Travis Konecny imagine #nhl imagine #Nolan patrick imagine #RI #tkonecny #npatrick #andis coping mechanism

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hellzyeahwebwielingessays · 5 years ago

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The Not-So-Amazing Mary Jane Part 25: AMJ #2.1

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Just like the first issue, I’m going to go through the issue page by page.

Believe it or not. the problems literally start on the recap page.

For starters check out this line:

....and staffed with outsiders (like MJ) whenever possible...

This is incredibly odd as it seemingly contradicts what issue #1 established.

I say seemingly because it depends upon how you define ‘outsiders’. Outside of what exactly?

The Hollywood system?

Traditional film or TV circles?

By those metrics the inclusion of so many criminals and former felons could fit the bill.

However, the recap lists Mary Jane as an example of such ‘outsiders’, which muddies the waters.

I suppose from a certain point of view she might be called an outsider but in context it doesn’t seem an appropriate descriptor at all.

Mary Jane has acting credits. She’s worked on Hollywood films before. She’s worked in TV before. She’s worked on stage before.

Alright, she’s not exactly Scarlett Johansson, but she’s not really an outsider.

More poignantly, the recap seems to be implying that MJ was included specifically because of her alleged outsider status. Putting aside how MJ isn’t really an outsider, this just doesn’t add up.

As detailed in parts 5-6, we the audience know that MJ’s inclusion is either due to:

Mysterio knowing about her connection to Spidey or

Kindred ordered Beck to include her.

The latter is the more likely answer. But even if it wasn’t the implication here is that Mysterio always wanted Mary Jane in his movie.

This is imbecilic of him because he is aware of her connection to Spider-Man!

Beck could be viewed as an obsessive and an egomaniac, but he’s not an idiot. If anything he is dangerously cunning. If he really just wanted an outsider actress with talent he’d have endless options other than Mary Jane to pick from.

Regardless of your feelings on the matter, the reality within Hollywood is that actors are a dime a dozen.

If Beck knows who Spidey is and therefore knows about MJ’s connection to him, he must have a specific reason for hiring her. He must have a particular need to keep her on set as he practically begged her to do in issue #1; a fact acknowledged in the recap itself. In fact in ASM v5 #25 Beck personally sought out Mary Jane’s former agent in order to get her into the movie. He didn’t look at a pool of actors and cast someone. He was incredibly specific.

Based upon the information we’ve been given, MJ’s connection to Spidey is the only explanation for all this. So what the Hell is this nonsense about her being an outsider? If he wanted an outsider why did he personally seek out Mary Jane?

I’m sorry, I can’t give the benefit of the doubt on this front. This is a clear cut example of incompetence. Either Williams and/or her editors weren’t paying attention to prior stories (including the first issue!) or they were and didn’t care.

Regardless it’s bad.

Moving on, we then have Cage McKnight referred to as a “superstar director”.

Wasn’t Cage supposed to be an indie director? Call me nuts but a ‘superstar director’ is surely someone like Spielberg or Ryan Coogler. An indie director is by definition not a superstar. It also further contradicts ASM v5 #29’s claims about McKnight harder to reconcile. In that issue McKnight was supposed to be a new and fairly unknown director.

But I’ll let all that pass because he could be a super star on the indie scene.

Additionally, the recap in general fails to acknowledge the presence of criminals on set. They are simply referred to as outsiders and people who were on their ‘last hope of making something meaningful’. This totally obscures the reality of the situation and paints it as a lot less dangerous or irresponsible.

We then come to the most damning line in the entire recap.

MJ agreed to keep Quentin’s secret—even from Peter/Spider-Man.

That literally never happened in issue #1.

There was never a moment MJ agreed to keep Mysterio’s secret from Peter. Sure, we never saw her tell him the truth. But the story never highlighted the fact she was knowingly withholding information from him. She was incredibly casual about the film project and showed no signs of apprehension about lying to her partner.

It’s not even that Williams was being incredibly subtle. The first issue simply failed to ever acknowledge the fact that MJ was lying to Peter; she just did it!

More significantly the implication is that MJ is keeping this secret from Peter specifically because she’s sympathetic to Mysterio and his crew’s desire to make something meaningful. So I guess Williams is maintaining the mischaracterization from last issue huh? See prior instalments for why lying to Peter, sympathising with Beck and trusting him is OOC for Mary Jane.

Honestly, how would Matt Murdock feel about MJ letting Mysterio tell his magnum opus before he dies? The last time he was dying and decided he needed a magnum opus his girlfriend died!

Surely Karen or Gwyneth or any of the other innocent people Beck killed wanted the chance to do something meaningful with their lives too?

Why should Beck be afforded such an opportunity when he denied similar chances to people far more deserving?

Now granted this is just the recap page but the importance of a recap page is not to be underestimated.

Every comic is someone’s first, Stan Lee himself said that.

Recap pages are important as they give new readers the opportunity to jump on ship and thereby hopefully buoy up the sales as they naturally decline from issue #1 onwards.

Speaking from experience here, growing up my UK Marvel reprints had fairly detailed recap pages that provided enough context for me to pick up basically any issue and generally understand what was going on.

Having the recap contradict the actual story is misinforming and can thereby create a false impression of the work. Screwing it up is also just a bad sign for the rest of the comic. That’s particularly true when it’s providing details that weren’t actually present in the stories it is recapping.

Anyway, as we get into the story proper, we see MJ performing a scene from the movie.

I am not exactly sure if Williams is trying to make some commentary on Mary Jane here.

The dialogue her character says could be interpreted as commenting upon MJ’s growth as a character, on how she grew more capable of defending herself. Of how as she grew older she realised the real dangers in life were human beings not childish imaginings of monsters.

The main reason I suspect this might’ve been meant as commentary is that the dialogue specifically pints out how people wear masks to hide their true natures.

Masks are a recurrent theme in the Spider-Man mythos and particularly prevalent with MJ’s character.

If this was Williams intent it demonstrates a certain understanding of Spider-lore and of MJ that’s been woefully been lacking for most of the 2010s.

And one could justifiable argue the dialogue about how she grew stronger and more capable of defending herself is supported by her evolution over time. MJ never underwent a clear cut arc where she became more capable of defending herself. She was basically just shown to have bravery, common sense and resourcefulness. The frequent dangerous encounters she endured afforded her chances to put those skills into practice thus she got better at it, but she didn’t undergo active training towards that end like Batman.

Furthermore the dialogue can be argued to be talking about Mysterio as well, specifically the lines about monsters hiding behind pleasant masks. This is applicable to Mysterio’s masquerade as Cage McKnight.

However the comparison (if intentional at all) breaks down in two key areas.

The dialogue implies ‘Mary Jane’ learned that humans are the real monsters in life as she grew older. This is patently not true as MJ’s father was frequently abusive even when MJ was a baby.

This was the norm for Mary Jane’s entire childhood and she herself created a mask of her own to cope with it.

ASM #259

It was even implied MJ suspected Peter of being a ‘monster’ like her father precisely because she knew he hid the truth of himself.

So MJ would’ve been acutely aware that people can be monsters and use masks to hide this fact.

The second way the comparison breaks down regards Mysterio. If we accept that the dialogue is commentating upon Mysterio then it’s Williams acknowledging that Mysterio is a monster in disguise. This in turn throws her characterization of MJ into question. It implies Williams is knowingly writing Mary Jane as an idiot and out of character. It also doesn’t jive with his sympathetic portrayal in issue #1; nor in fact in this issue as we’ll see.

Of course all of that is hypothetical. I fully admit I might be reading more into this than was intended. Williams could’ve just thought this dialogue seemed cool and that was all.

I should also briefly discuss the artwork. In issue #1 I critiqued it because at times it made the intent ambiguous. In fairness that might be more down to Williams or the editors as opposed to Gomez. I suspect it will become a problem that will crop up moving forward. Nevertheless, it doesn’t detract for the utterly gorgeous aesthetic of his artwork.

With all that’s said let’s get back to the story.

MJ’s scene is interrupted when ‘Cage’ realises a pair of men are removing the wind machine. Actually, they’re removing several pieces of equipment the crew were renting. Mallorie, ‘Cage’s’ right-hand woman (sorry I don’t know Hollywood lingo), snatches a small piece of equipment and makes a point of withholding it from the men. MJ begins to ask what’s going on, turning on some of the charm for one of the men (named Noah).

‘Cage’ though is far less polite, demanding Noah’s attention. He warns him that, once Hollywood hears of this situation, he’ll struggle to find future work. Noah angrily retorts that ‘Cage’ hasn’t paid his rental fees in weeks, a fact confirmed when he checks his phone.

There are a few things to unpack from these pages, most of which further confirms topics we’ve already touched on.

For starters, we could argue Beck’s rudeness and threat exemplifies the danger he poses. Not just because he is a violent man, but also because he is seeking to ruin an innocent man’s business. This is something he could theoretically use McKnight’s reputation to achieve even more effectively.

Admittedly, that’s a little nit-picky.

Beck in Cage’s role here didn’t act unreasonably. He’s a bad person but even a good person could be forgiven or at least understood in this situation.

The real Cage McKnight may well be miffed at his equipment being removed and the lack of professionalism. That wouldn’t necessarily be grounds for Noah’s business to be harmed either if he was genuinely being unprofessional. Not to mention, we could easily give Beck the benefit of the doubt and say his threat was simply a bargaining tactic to get what he wants.

However, what’s less forgivable is Beck’s carelessness.

In the grand scheme of his history, failing to check his phone or pay some bills is hardly his worse crime. But it is endemic of a larger issue. Beck has never made a real movie before, not as the director anyway. The closest he’s ever come are his crimes, which granted would demand certain similar skills. However, he pulled off those crimes with little concern for any henchmen he involved nor any legal or financial obligations. He funded his crimes through other crimes. He viewed his helpers as disposable. And as for breaking the law, that obviously wasn’t going to bother him.

In this story Beck has dozens of people who’s jobs (and possibly their careers) ride on his decisions. The narrative has even painted him as genuinely wanting to help them. And yet he has failed as an incredibly basic responsibility. He hasn’t even considered delegated that task to someone else. It’s exemplary of selfishness at worst, and poor leadership at best.

I’m not trying to argue any of this is out of character for Mysterio. Rather, it’s the implications of this within the status quo that are concerning.

On to of everything else, Mary Jane has decided to go along with Beck’s passion project without considering if he’s even qualified for the job. Creative vision isn’t enough, you need basic competency as well. You need to know how and who to delegate stuff to if it’s not your forte or not what you are interested in.

It’s also further exemplifies the potential damage Beck can bring to the real McKnight’s reputation. If word of this gets out suddenly McKnight at best might be regarded as rude, at worst a poor leader and incompetent. Incompetent with money no less, which (above anything else) is likely to paint him poorly in the eyes of the Hollywood power players.

This misuse of Cage’s reputation continues into the next page where Beck outright throws McKnight’s name around. He claims there has been a mistake because his movie was given a generous budget. Mary Jane tries to calm the situation down and sits in one of the fold out chairs. Her plan is to prevent the men from removing it off the set, a scheme Mallorie (literally) adds some weight to.

In spite of ‘Cage’s’ borderline verbal abuse, Noah expresses respect for Cage and the film project, suggesting he talk to the money people.

By rights MJ in observing this entire scene should be much more sceptical of Beck. At the very least she should wonder if she’s made the right decision in helping him. SPOILERS: She won’t.

What she does do though, is use her charm/social savvy to defuse situations and keep Mysterio under control. This is clearly part of the direction Williams wants to take the series in. In fact it’s the central conceit of this entire issue.

On this front Williams does a superb job. No seriously, I might hate this status quo. I might loathe the mischaracterization facilitating it. I might despise the contrivance that keeps it going. But it’s stuff like this where Williams once more displays a deftness with MJ’s character.

She understands that Mary Jane possesses superb social skills that can serve as a form of ‘super power’ within certain contexts. Williams has (clumsily) generated one such context and thus allowed MJ to shine. You could genuinely cite or post this scene to exemplify some of the strengths of Mary Jane’s character. If you want a Spider-Man comparison, it’s a little like citing Otto injuring Scorpion from ASM #700 as an example of Peter’s raw power. How we got to that moment was nonsensical but unto itself it is a great example of a singular aspect of the character.

Another example occurs when MJ prompts ‘Cage’ to seek out more money for the film.

This moment demonstrates MJ’s practicality and determination. It’s just a shame that display entails her helping a criminal and suggesting they con yet more people!

The next page is a montage of just that, with Hollywood money people turning them down. ‘Cage’ reacts by angrily flipping tables. In contrast MJ calmly and politely tries to inject some positivity into the meetings.

Williams again does a great job of showing MJ’s personality. She keeps in control and is a great people person. She is practical and knows how to help Mysterio get stuff done.

But take note of ‘Cage’s’ misbehaviour in front of the money people. This opens up the possibility of him being dangerous and unstable, therefore a liability if left unchecked. Were this an exception to the rule or extenuating circumstances, that’d perhaps be understandable. But Mysterio, whilst not exactly defined by his rage, is a violent person. He has inflicted physical and mental harm/abuse to people. And his bouts of bad behaviour are likely to negatively impact the real McKnight’s chances of working with any of these people in the future.

I’ll leave it there for now. We’ll pick up where we left off last time.

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#Leah Williams #amazing mary jane #mjwatsonedit #mary jane watson #Mary Jane Watson Parker #MJ Watson #Mysterio #quentin beck #Spider-Man #Savage Six #Vulture #Peter Parker #Carlos Gomez

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cassatine · 5 years ago

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In the spirit of avoiding behemoth threads, finishing with Chapter Two of Queen’s Shadow in a new post. Things got long.

Starting with a mea culpa, because I done fucked up when I said “It’s also not specified whether she intends to free the slaves she’d buy”, it is in fact there! I even quoted it (”I can use the assets I have to free what people I can”) so very much my bad. I felt a bit bad over my ungenerous reading, but it kinda balances out because I was also too generous in assuming Padmé’s personal crusade was against Slavery, The Institution, rather than slavery on Tatooine, specifically.

It’s one of the bits that made me go ‘why oh why,’ not because I think it doesn’t fit with Padmé’s character, but because to me it reads like... in TPM she was surprised to find there were slaves on Tatooine: "I can't believe there's still slavery in the galaxy. The Republic's anti-slavery laws -”. And it is a bit weird: as a politician and then a head of state she’s supposed to have a decent grasp on the actual state of the galaxy at that point, not to be naive enough to be surprised by the state of the Outer Rim or to to think slavery doesn’t exist at all in the galaxy. Irony of irony, the Nemoidians are actually listed on the wookiee as practicing it around TPM, deliberately stunting the growth of some of their young to make them into labour drones the Trade Federation... brings into the Senate.

(Seems there’s another slavery-in-civilized-space example with Czerka Arms in Master & Apprentice, which I haven’t read, but as far as I’m concerned two examples are enough to point to the fact that slavery was far from being a Tatooine or even Outer Rim only issue before Padmé was elected.)

In Queen’s Shadow we’re four years later after she first witnessed slavery does exist (even if only by happenstance; if there’d been no forced landing on Tatooine who knows when she’d have realized) and she’s still at ‘slavery’s only a problem on Tatooine’.

It’s not just that, though. It’s that it’s four years after her planet was invaded and the Senate proved to be useless (at one point in TPM she straight up says the Republic is broken) and she still believes it is - “I know how the Senate works”. Not that she doesn’t have reasons to believe it; there was the invasion itself, and as we learn it’s Republic courts that handle Nute Gunray’s trials. Trials plural, we lean from Palpatine: the third, he says, just “ended in a hung jury. Not the best outcome, obviously, but not the worst, either, given the strength of the Trade Federation’s legal team. The Republic lawyers must regroup, but they are already planning their next moves.”

We are all extremely surprised! This kind of thing is why Padmé doesn’t trust the Senate with the question of Tatooine slavery in the first place, after all. And I’m not saying it’s not an accurate assessment, because it is, but her plan boils down to 'hey democratic institutions are fucked but I’m rich so trickle-down economics it is. let’s do us some charity baby.’

Okay that was a little mean. The point is Padmé has reasons to see the Senate as useless, and she does. And we, the audience, know any push for reform would be useless too - we know how it all ends already, we know that the Senate is paralyzed by bureaucratic inertia, full of corruption, and we know Palpatine’s there to stack the deck against any meaningful internal attempt at reform.

Padmé doesn’t! Well, she knows about the bureaucratic inertia and the corruption. She’s supposed to be an idealist, and she’s a politician; fixing the actual institutions should be the first thing she looks to. Sure, even without Padmé knowing how much the deck is stacked against that fix happening, it would probably look like an impossible task, but I’m pretty sure Padmé’s never been afraid of impossible tasks. And the Republic she believes in is the one she invokes when she says it stands against slavery; the one that’s supposed to mediate between members to avoid things like invasions. TPM showed her wrong on both counts, and instead of choosing to fix it the Idealist Politician Way (doomed crusade) she went with private intervention for slavery on Tatooine and slapped some cannons on Naboo.

Yeah that happened, I haven’t gotten to it yet but I looked up a few EKJ interviews and at some point before the book starts Padmé had planetary defenses installed, and apparently that was part of the platform her successor ran on too. So much for Naboo’s pacifism - an easier position to maintain when the Republic can actually be trusted to make sure invasion and the like are prevented, I suppose.

One thing I keep coming back to wrt Tatooine is "I can’t bring official political change, given the state of most Outer Rim planets”. Because if she knows the state these planets are in, shouldn’t she have an idea of why. One of the major factors is Republic politics?? Quoting the wookie again, on Tarkin deets this time, for an example:

Several years before the Clone Wars, those in the Outer Rim eventually came to believe themselves victims of economic and social injustices, as Judicials were often withheld in intervening in Outer Rim affairs after many far-flung worlds refused to provide the Core with profitable deals. (x)

(Softly, but with feeling:) That’s corruption. It’s part of the context that allows slavery to flourish, and that’s the kind of things that’s, huh, hard to change without some politicking. It’s not a Hutt problem, or a backward planet problem. It’s a Republic problem. (Then again, if Padmé doesn’t think of slavery outside the bounds of one planet, then she doesn’t have to consider it in terms of a systemic issue at the galactic scale.)

All in all, we’re four years after TPM and Padmé’s trust in the Republic’s institutions’ ability to function is somewhere close to zero; it makes sense that she never considered leaving it despite that. What reasons does Naboo have to stay, if the Republic doesn’t work? That they don’t like the Separatists? That one of their own is Chancellor? That even with that one invasion they still have it better with the Republic than without? Padmé still calls to the Republic’s ideals because she believes in them, and I do think that’s part of why its decay is hard for her to face, but if she could put how much she cares for the slaves on Tatooine on the side for four years because of her Naboo’s needs first policy, maybe that policy played a role in Naboo’s NoLeave position too.

I’m not saying Naboo should have left, or that Padmé’s in an easy position, watching the Republic fall apart with little power to change things - sure she has more influence than some Joe Random but even as Queen of Naboo it’s not like she can snap her fingers and fix the Republic, or slavery, or economic exploitation of the Outer Rim. She was a local ruler, not exactly Queen of the galaxy, and moreover those are systemic issues, they don’t have quick, easy fixes.

It’s still weird that Padmé just... only looks to Naboo. I know I just said she’s a local ruler, so looking to Naboo is her job, and her planet did have to recover from an invasion. But once she realizes the Republic is broken, it’s also part of her job to think of the consequences for Naboo if the Republic stays broken, which should motivate her to try all she can not to let that happen (the consequences are not good). And realize that in the long-term, slapping canons on her planet while doing shit-all to fix the actual underlying systemic issues makes her part of the problem. In-universe, the invasion of Naboo isn’t a small event: if corporate entities like the Trade Federation can go after Mid Rim planets instead of stopping at exploiting the Outer Rim like everyone else, and still keep the seats they shouldn’t even have in the Republic and make their trials for invasion drag on for years (and it’s Nute Gunray’s trial, not the Trade Federation’s), it’s bad news for a lot of planets. And if every rich, ~civilized~ Republic member does it like Naboo, and no one does jack shit to fucking reform the Republic, then they’re basically saying it’s every planet for themselves and letting free run to predatory corporations like the Trade Federation, and it all goes even downer from there, because why wouldn’t some use the opportunity to finally get their hands on that moon or that asteroid or whatever else. Etc. Padmé doesn’t know there’s an Empire just waiting, so if she thinks the Republic is broken she should be worrying about the breakdown of its institutions

(Also, the fact that Padmé slapped cannons on Naboo and then went on to campaign against the creation of a Republic army is kind of ironic, because one of the selling points for that army probably was protecting those planets that can’t do it like Naboo.)

For all the ranting - everything checks out with how I see Padmé; it’s not that she doesn’t mean well, but Naboo’s privilege planet without even accounting with the Naboo fuckery and Palpatine mentored her. She has blind spots and she’s very good at not looking at what she doesn’t want to see.

What it doesn’t check out with is the framing. I’m supposed to think Padmé’s brilliant. I checked!!

E.K. Johnston: I think a lot of what Padmé does in the movies goes on inside her head. So her brilliance and her political acumen, you don’t necessarily see it play out in the movies. Because she’s so smart, she doesn’t explain what she’s doing. Getting to kind of get inside her head a little bit, and write from the perspective of inside her head, you sort of see how smart and how talented and how deeply compassionate she is. In a dress that weighs 80 billion pounds or in a suit for sneaking around or whatever, she has it covered because she knows herself and she knows her friends so well. (x)

Look if you want me to buy political acumen and brilliance and whatever, then maybe that’s what you should portray. I’m not even done grumbling, because the next (and last) noteworthy bit is between Padmé and Sabé - who didn’t know about the scheme, Padmé didn’t share it with anyone before Palpatine asked.

“I don’t have enough capital to free them all,” Padmé said, still avoiding the word buy.

“Then we’ll find out what they want on Tatooine and sell it to them in trade,” Sabé said.

“‘We’?” Padmé said, her heart in her mouth.

“Of course we,” Sabé said. “You haven’t tied your own shoelaces in four years. You’re going to need all the help you can get.”

Just as well that Sabé decides to help out, because I peeked ahead and Padmé’s going to be too busy Senatoring, and just like Queen, Senator is a post that’s completely incompatible with any kind of action on Tatooine apparently, so ofc she’ll drop the matter altogether but in the meantime, she’ll put Sabé on it.

(If I didn’t already know Padmé was going to drop it, I’d probably have been nicer. But between that and having seen EKJ explain Padmé’s lack of reaction at the AOTC Tusken slaughter and lack of intervention re: the slavery situation... no.)

Anyway! EKJ’s angle is girl power and friendship (and role models), but I’m disappointed there isn’t more on the plan, because it’s not exactly the worst moment to show Padmé’s done her research - and she should have, since she’s supposed to care and to be smart - and that she actually has at least the beginning of an idea of “what they want on Tatooine”. Or that she’s aware that “they” covers a range of people from Jabba, ie local Hutt lords that probably profit from the slave trade in the first place, and I guess would be interested in money, bling (ie status symbols) or ugly deals thanks to her influence and contacts; to the Wattos and moisture farmers who have slaves for their labour - what they’d want is to replace that labour force and come up with a profit since they’re at it, or enough dough (local currency, Watto doesn’t take Republic credits) not to need it in the first place and live better than they do with that labour; to the actual slave traders who’ll mostly be interested in keeping their business going, so again, it’s mostly money they’d want.

And for the other options, discounting political deals with the Hutts because I very much doubt Padmé would go there... I am not particularly good at The Economics, but it does seem likely there are chances that trading “what they want” with Tatooine locals for slaves still involves an exchange of money at some point, so what Sabé’s really offering comes down to adding an intermediary step to the exchange of goods and in no way does that solve the capital issue. Really - what’s Padmé going to offer the Wattos of Tatooine, who don’t even take Republic credits? Not political favours, that’s for sure. Her wardrobe? Tried that one. A week at Lake Cuomo - experience the wonders of civilization, one-time offer?

Water would be an option - worth a lot on Tatooine, so maybe she can drain the lake at her family’s home in the Lake Country, although after that unless the next Queen gives her free reign over the rest of Naboo’s waters we’re back to money. Also that’d fuck over every moisture farmer on the planet, so maybe it’s not the best idea ever. She could use droids to solve the labour issue, maybe she can even get a price if she places a big order - I’m sure the Geonosians would love to help out, I hear they’re good at mass-producing cheap droids. Clones? I don’t remember that she was very vocal about their rights. Most likely it’ll come down to counting coppers - there’s probably plenty of places in the galaxy where a new vaporator is cheaper than on Tatooine.

But if that kind of maths sounds ugly, it still doesn’t solve the finite capital problem - and if the one thing steeped in practicality Padmé has to say about her plan is ‘I don’t have the money for everyone’ then maybe that’s another reason to reconsider other options.

I’m also gonna point out that Padmé plans to have a massive impact on Tatooine’s labour force without apparently having considered the vacuum that’d create on a planet she knows to be poor and more lawless than not. It’s Hutt territory ffs, who’s going to step in if not them - and Padmé’s strategy not going to hurt them. It’s not that Tatooine’s economic model is good in any way, but if you just waltz in, take an axe to it and waltz back to fucking Lake Cuomo and your silk sheets, what’s going to replace is probably either more of the same, or worse.

In a similar but why vein, she says of the people she intends to free that she’ll “find them new homes, if they wish it” and I guess it’s supposed to sound good except if you think about it we’re talking about people who have nothing. Anakin and Shmi’s hovel isn’t *their*, it’s Watto’s; Anakin’s pod was only his because it was built out of junk (and because Watto has a modicum of decency somewhere inside). Freeing people is all well and good, but if you’re not actually giving them the tools to do so then you’re not really giving people a new start in life.

All this is why without actual systemic change what Padmé’s planning here is just plain fucked up: she’ll be injecting her assets into the very system she wants to go against, and do zero against the conditions that allow slavery to continue. Buying people, even to free them, is going to do shit against the institution of slavery itself, and if Padmé’s political acumen is supposed to be worth writing home about, then maybe she should show some awareness that she’s pulling some First World bullshit.

Previous notes: Chapter 1 / Chapter 2.a

#this got way too long #*im gonna do a speedread* she said #but i wanted to think about that stuff before things start moving in the book #star wars #naboo #padme amidala #queen's shadow #legacies pinboard

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mexcine · 4 years ago

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La foire aux chimères [Carnival of Illusions] (1946) review: La foire aux chimères (literally, "The Fair of Chimeras," also known as Devil and the Angel), turned out to be something different than I expected (having only read a one-sentence description). I'd imagined it was going to be a film noir about a middle-aged man whose love for a younger woman causes him to turn to crime and eventually lose his life--and all of this is true, except it's less of a film noir-crime thriller than it is a romantic melodrama. It's a matter of tone and emphasis. It’s still an excellent film, though.

La foire aux chimères is set in Paris, apparently in the post-war period (although I suppose it could be taking place in the immediate pre-war era)--there are no references to World War II at all. Von Stroheim's character "Frank Davis" is clearly a foreigner, and early in the film his supposed accent is mocked by his fellow workers (even someone who doesn't speak French, like me, can tell he's not a native speaker: while he is apparently perfectly fluent, he just doesn't sound the same as the other characters). Frank's nationality and background are not explained at all--even his scarred face is attributed only to "an explosion," but when and where that happened is not elaborated upon.

Frank Davis is the chief engraver at a large bank (which also creates money for foreign countries); one side of his face is badly scarred from an accident. Frank is a stern task-master and perfectionist who says the banknotes he creates are forgery-proof. On the night of his 50th birthday (von Stroheim was actually 61 when the film was made), the lonely Frank visits a carnival and wins a doll. He is surprised to see an attractive young woman with a goat on a leash: she is Jeanne, the "Angel" in a knife-throwing act at the circus, and is blind (it’s a seeing-eye goat). Frank and Jeanne chat and he promises to come see her act. At home, Frank is greeted by his middle-aged housekeeper Marie-Louise, who has baked him a birthday cake.

Frank returns to the carnival the next night, but the weather is bad and the circus decides not to perform. Frank buys up enough tickets to justify a performance, and sees Robert--dressed as the Devil--throw knives at Jeanne. Afterwards, Frank visits Robert, his girlfriend Clara, and Jeanne in their trailer. Money changes hands, and Frank leaves with Jeanne, who will become his wife.

Six months pass. Frank and Jeanne live in a large mansion, complete with butler (Marie-Louise has also come along, at Jeanne's request). However, Frank has been borrowing money to finance their luxurious lifestyle. Lenoir, a disgruntled employee of Frank's bank, urges Frank to visit Furet's nightclub/casino: Furet intends to force the indebted Frank to cooperate in a counterfeiting scheme. However, Frank stuns Furet by handing over a check for the full amount owed, and Furet suspects Frank has gone into the counterfeiting business on his own (and he has!).

However, when the police visit Frank to ask his expert advice on counterfeit money recently discovered, Frank panics and tosses the printing plates into the river--Furet witnesses this, and blackmails Frank into resuming his criminal activities, but as part of a larger gang. As more and more counterfeit banknotes circulate, Frank plays a double game, allegedly helping the police while creating the false bills at the same time. Lenoir is arrested but Furet has him poisoned in prison so he can’t implicate the others in the gang.

Jeanne, unaware of the reason for Frank's frequent absences, fears he's having an affair and undergoes surgery to restore her sight. However, Marie-Louise warns her that Frank will be devastated if Jeanne shows pity when she sees her husband's scarred face. Jeanne pretends to still be blind, but her relationship with Frank changes. Jeanne and Marie-Louise visit the carnival, and discover Robert has given up his act because he can't find a replacement forJeanne.

Learning Robert and his friend Doudou are giving up show business and intend to become sailors, Jeanne meets Robert in a café; he declares his love for her and asserts that she loves him in return, but she refuses to leave Frank. He says he'll be on the midnight train, with or without her.

Back home, Jeanne is confronted by Frank, who accuses her of deceiving him about her vision and of having an affair with Robert. She denies this, but when Frank continues to heap abuse upon her, Jeanne flees. Frank follows, but loses her in the dark streets. He goes instead to Furet's club, where he shoots the man in his office, then calls the police and starts a fire to destroy the counterfeit bills in the safe. When the police arrive, Frank does a deliberate back-flip off the balcony and falls to his death.

As the film concludes, Robert and Jeanne are performing their "Devil and Angel" knife-throwing act, this time in a large theatre in front of an appreciative audience.

La foire aux chimères is generally well-produced and -directed, but isn't especially stylish until the final 7-8 minutes, when it goes completely off the rails (most of it is shot in extreme dutch-tilt), in a good way. Von Stroheim throws restraint to the winds, first angrily berating Jeanne, then chasing after her in remorse, and finally attacking Furet. As he tosses the false bills around Furet's office, he shouts--perfectionist to the end-- "I hate this paper!"

The climax of the film is even more powerful because prior to this point Frank Davis has been extremely restrained: even his response to a cruel joke played by his co-workers (putting flies in his mashed potatoes) is cutting but calm. Frank is proud of his skill in creating banknotes and is respected as an expert, but his personal life is barren. His relationship with Jeanne is problematical: he essentially purchases her from Robert, marries her, and gives her a life of luxury (none of which she requests, but none of which she rejects, either). A telling moment occurs when Frank learns Jeanne has undergone surgery to restore her sight: he goes into the hospital chapel to pray, and while we aren't privy to what he is praying for, one can only imagine it is for the operation to have been a failure (the best-case scenario would be for him to ask that Jeanne regain her eyesight but continue to love him), given his reaction when she says she's still blind.

The film generally presents a positive image of Jeanne, but upon closer examination her character is perhaps not as "angelic" as one might first think. She is a passive character for most of the film--as noted above, Frank is the one who takes her away from the circus life, marries her, and installs her in a grand mansion. She only takes an active role when she fears Frank is losing interest in her; she then secretly arranges to have an eye operation, believing her disability has turned him against her (this feels a bit odd: one would imagine that Jeanne would have sought out this operation earlier for her own sake, since she has no idea that regaining her sight would make her less attractive to her husband). Even though she subsequently finds herself repulsed by Frank's appearance and admits (to herself) her love for Robert, Jeanne is willing to stay with Frank--out of gratitude, one assumes--but he rejects her.

However, there are hints that Jeanne is not perfect. After attending the circus as the only person in the audience, Frank visits the trailer where Robert, Clara and Jeanne live. Robert suspects the "wealthy" patron is in love with Clara (a bareback rider) and is jealous (it's stated quite early that he and Jeanne do not have a romantic relationship), but Jeanne rather smugly says she knows it's Frank, keeping his promise (made only the night before) to watch her perform. Jeanne readily jettisons her role in Robert's act and her "home" to go with Frank, and accepts the new life he offers her without a second thought. After she regains her eyesight, Jeanne treats Frank in a significantly different manner. It's possible this is solely the result of his facial scars (and the age difference), but it seems more likely that a contributing factor is Jeanne's new freedom and independence: she no longer needs Frank, and while she's not immediately disposed to leave him, her world has suddenly expanded.

Jeanne and Marie-Louise visit the carnival--Jeanne dislikes the tawdry world she left, now that she can actually see it--and discover Robert and Clara have broken up. Jeanne spots an old poster of the "Devil and Angel" act and--seeing Robert for the first time--remarks about how handsome he is. Later, Robert sends his friend Doudou to Jeanne with a parting gift: the "wings" from her costume. She meets Robert in a café and they admit their love for one another. All that prevents Jeanne from running off with him right then is her gratitude to Frank--in a true film noir, Jeanne would probably steal money from Frank and flee, so at least she's not a completely evil femme fatale here. Nonetheless, if Frank had never met Jeanne, or if at any point she'd balked at Frank's controlling ways, Frank would have not become a counterfeiter and murderer and a suicide.

While Frank and Jeanne get the most screen time and character development, La foire aux chimères gives its supporting characters some attention. Furet is suave and likes to quote poetry (even as he's dying); Lenoir, although a minor, nasty character, is even given a girlfriend (who works for Furet and inadvertently delivers poisoned chocolates to Lenoir in prison). Marie-Louise is introduced as a stereotypical stern housekeeper, but she goes to the trouble of baking Frank a birthday cake so perhaps she has a soft spot for him; when Frank brings Jeanne home, Marie-Louise thinks she's a whore, but winds up becoming Jeanne's friend and confidant. Robert tries to replace Jeanne but the new candidates for "human target" are unsatisfactory; he argues with Clara and finally realises he loved Jeanne and made a mistake by allowing Frank to take her away.

The performances are all quite satisfactory. Von Stroheim is a sympathetic character throughout, although hardly a downtrodden "poor soul"--he's lonely but not pitiful. When he first arrives at the carnival, Frank stops in a café for a glass of wine; two young women come in, and Frank buys them champagne. They gaily accept, but hurriedly make their excuses to leave when they see the “ruined” side of his face. Frank smiles ruefully as they go: this has happened before.

Frank perverts his engraver’s "art"--his pride and joy, even his reason for living--in an attempt to win Jeanne's love (which he appears to have, but not because he's given her a mansion and furs), then becomes infuriated when he thinks he's been betrayed. Von Stroheim is excellent: while many have an image of him as just a shaven-headed villain, in fact this is chiefly a function of his Hollywood appearances--a number of his film roles (especially in France) were sympathetic, in whole or part (La Grand Illusion, to name just one, or Macao, l’enfer de jeu, one of my favourite von Stroheim movies).

Madeleine Sologne, of whom I knew little prior to this film (although she had a decent career), has a rather hard (while not unattractive) face, but towards the end of the film she somehow becomes more beautiful, perhaps because she's more animated and real when she "regains" her sight.

La foire aux chimères is a very fine film. The plot is predictable but also tosses in a twist or two; however, the strengths of the picture are in the performances, the direction, the photography and general mise-en-scene, all of which are top-notch. Well worth watching.

#french film #erich von stroheim #film noir #romantic melodrama #la foire aux chimeres

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