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aboveallarescuer · 3 years

Note

#that happens even when the person isnt trying to argue that shes a mad queen/villain but that she has both 'good' and 'evil' in her#and is meant to fail#(e.g. that meta about how dany is a tragic shakespearean hero; which annoys me more bc it sounds convincing when you don't remember what#happened in the books very well...

Can you talk more about your problems with that essay? I thought that it sounded plausible... I don't want those things to happen to Daenerys, but I don't trust GRRM either.

Anon, thank you for this ask and sorry for the delayed answer. I was already planning to write several posts as a response to the arguments of “Daughter of Death: A Song of Ice and Fire’s Shakespearean Tragic Hero” (which you can read here), but I couldn't find the time or motivation for that lately, so thanks for giving me the opportunity to counter-argue it in a single answer. I tried to be brief by summarizing some of my notes and by linking to a lot of metas instead of repeating all of their points, but the response unfortunately ended up becoming long anyway.

In the context of that essay, Dany is considered a Shakespearean tragic hero because the writer thinks she fits five requirements: 1) Dany’s chapters contain supposedly deliberate references to Shakespearean plays; 2) Dany is “torn by an internal struggle”, namely peace versus violence or companionship versus rulership or home versus the Iron Throne, all of which also drive the external conflicts. Choosing the second options will lead to her demise; 3) prophecies and “influential accidents” - that is, events that “have roots in a character’s motivation”, as well as “the sense of ‘if only this had not happened’” - will “heighten and exaggerate [tragic flaws that] already [exist]” in Dany; 4) Dany will (according to the essayist’s speculations) take actions that produce “exceptional calamity” and her demise will be “her own choice and doing”; 5) Dany “[rose] high in position” and is “an exceptional being”, which sets her apart as a character that fits the mold of the Shakespearean tragedy because her reversal of fortune will highlight “the greatness and piteousness of humanity”.

I would argue that the points that the essayist made to justify how Dany supposedly fits these five requirements are all very skewed.

1) When it comes to requirement 1 (Dany’s chapters contain supposedly deliberate references to Shakespearean plays), the essayist is conveniently cherry-picking (as they often do throughout the meta). Bran Stark wants a dreamless sleep just like Dany: “Sweet, dreamless sleep, Bran thought.” (ACOK Bran I); “That night Bran prayed to his father’s gods for dreamless sleep.” (ACOK Bran II). Indeed, @marinabridgerton argues that that’s most likely tied to the fact that they’re the two characters most heavily associated with prophecies. Even Sansa is said to have a dreamless sleep: “Sometimes her sleep was leaden and dreamless, and she woke from it more tired than when she had closed her eyes” (AGOT Sansa VI). And yet, where are the essays about how these quotes are teaching the readership to interpret Bran’s and Sansa’s characters, storylines and trajectories based on Shakespearean tragedies?

2) When it comes to requirement 2 (Dany is “torn by an internal struggle”, namely peace versus violence or companionship versus rulership or home versus the Iron Throne, all of which also drive the external conflicts. Choosing the second options will lead to her demise), the essayist is right to point out that those dilemmas exist. However, they portray Dany’s struggles in a way that makes it seem that 1) there are “good” options (peace/companionship/home) and “bad” options (violence/rulership/Iron Throne) for Dany to take and that 2) choosing the latter ones will lead to Dany’s downfall. There is a lot to question about these assumptions.

2.1) When it comes to Dany’s conflict between peace versus violence, the essayist takes everything that Adam Feldman’s series of essays “Untangling the Meereenese Knot” says for granted when it shouldn’t be. I’m not going to delve into all the problems/inaccuracies/double standards with those essays. For our purposes here, it’s enough to say that they: 1) dichotomize Dany’s identity into mhysa and mother of dragons to argue that the former represents her desire for peace and the latter her violent impulses; 2) assert that the peace was real; 3) conclude that, by rejecting the peace, the Dany of ASOS is gone and from now on she’s going to be a very different person because she will have chosen to follow her violent impulses.

As already argued before, though, 1) Dany’s character can’t be dichotomized in that way because these facets - mhysa and mother of dragons - actually complement each other (as @yendany made clear in her most recent meta). Because Dany was the mother of dragons, she was able to act as mhysa way before she was hailed as such, which we see, for instance, when she kills the Astapori slave masters to free the Unsullied. Both of these identities manifest Dany’s fierceness when faced with great injustices. This is why, in ADWD, locking her dragon children prevented Dany from properly defending her human children… She needs to integrate both parts of her identity to be able to protect them. But Feldman couldn’t recognize that because 2) he accepts the peace deal that Dany made with the slavers as valid. Doing so would mean, however, ignoring the re-enslavement and suffering of thousands of marginalized people, which GRRM continually emphasizes in Dany's and Tyrion’s final ADWD chapters (read more about this here and here) to hammer home that the peace is false for prioritizing the slavers over them. Finally, 3) Dany is not a violent person nor does she have violent impulses. Feldman decontextualized the moments in which Dany uses violence from the standards of her time and place (read more about this here and here and here and here) to portray them in a more negative light than how they are actually meant to be viewed. Additionally, he conveniently left out all the moments in which Dany chooses to be merciful, from when she spares Yunkai and most of the Meereenese slavers (she didn’t do the same in Astapor because she was outnumbered and needed to protect her retinue) to when she doesn’t punish people who threaten or disrespect her to her face (such an envoy who spits at her face, a boy who tries to attack her, Xaro after he says he wishes he’d killed her), to give a few examples (read more about this in @rainhadaenerys's comprehensive meta). I would argue that Dany’s conflict is less about peace versus violence and more accurately about her tendency to be merciful versus her desire for justice (which, especially in the particular context she finds herself in, is unattainable without violence). In fact, I would go further and say that it’s distasteful to characterize Dany as someone “violent” or with “violent impulses” when, so far, she’s only used violence to a) defend and protect victims of (physical and systemic) violence and/or b) in circumstances in which her actions are no more problematic than those of any other leader of her world. And yet, the essayist portrays them as if they were (“To choose indiscriminate destruction over peace tends toward the evil”).

It’s also convenient that the essayist only talks about fire negatively (“Dany wields unmatched power that can “make or unmake at a word”—Dracarys—villages, armies and kingdoms”, “in the words of Maester Aemon, “Fire consumes.””) when it's also connected to life, rebirth, healing and enlightenment. And dracarys in particular is explicitly associated with freedom by the narrative while Dany frees the Unsullied (her decision, in turn, is associated with her future actions in the War for the Dawn). But acknowledging these things would make it harder to portray Dany as a Shakespearean tragic hero.

2.2) When it comes to Dany’s conflict between companionship and rulership … Again, the dilemma exists, but not in the way that the essayist presents it. What I mean is that they go out of their way to make it seem that Dany’s loneliness was the main factor driving her decisions, such as the liberation of the Unsullied (“She feels for the forced loneliness of the Unsullied, and it is loneliness that convinces her to commit violence in the plaza to free the slaves—just as it is in loneliness she chooses violence amidst the Dothraki Sea.”)... And not, y’know, her compassion and sense of justice (“Why do the gods make kings and queens, if not to protect the ones who can’t protect themselves?”), which are rarely acknowledged in this essay even though it’s arguably the main aspect of Dany's characterization. Why does the essayist do that? Because, since they are arguing that Dany is a tragic hero, they need to present Dany’s loneliness both as the reason why she achieved greatness and as the reason that will lead to her demise when she (supposedly) starts distrusting people, closing herself off and choosing violence (“the moral conviction she feels for her abolitionist crusade is part of the greatness that is also her tragic trait [...] She feels for the forced loneliness of the Unsullied, and it is loneliness that convinces her to commit violence in the plaza to free the slaves—just as it is in loneliness she chooses violence amidst the Dothraki Sea.”). As I said, however, doing so requires downplaying Dany’s compassion, as well as ignoring the fact that she does not close herself off to people in ADWD, nor is there any sign that this was seeded as a serious issue for her in future books (especially considering that her governance is meant to be contrasted with Cersei, the character who actually does close herself off to people. But more on that below when I talk about why Dany doesn’t fit the essayist’s third requirement).

Also, singling out rulership in particular as a reason for Dany to feel alone is conveniently selective (“Returning to Westeros means ruling Westeros - and ruling means loneliness”). All the major characters have reasons to feel lonely and isolated in their society because GRRM chose to focus on the underdogs. Their social standings are already enough to make all of them feel alone. As he said, “Tyrion of course is a dwarf which has its own challenges. Dany is an exile, powerless, penniless, at the mercy of other people, and Jon is a bastard”. You can also throw in Arya for being a young girl struggling to adhere to gender norms and Bran for being a disabled child. And that is just one example… There are a myriad of reasons and situations for various characters to feel lonely and isolated, but the essayist specifically chose to talk about how rulership causes that for Dany. And, considering that the essayist thinks that Dany’s rulership -> growing isolation and loneliness -> her ultimate downfall, it really feels like they’re punishing Dany narratively for acquiring and wielding power. Which leads me to the next point...

2.3) When it comes to Dany’s conflict between home and the Iron Throne, I would argue that that’s not really a conflict. Dany (like any feudal leader) believes she needs to retake the Iron Throne to stay in her homeland just like the Starks believe they need to retake Winterfell to stay in their homeland. Whether Dany finds herself at home in Westeros or not is irrelevant to that fact. And yet, the essayist only presents the former as being in the wrong for fighting for her birthright. However, as it's been already explained before, the Starks’ claim to the North isn’t morally righteous. They only have dominance over the North because, for thousands of years, their ancestors fought against, drove away and killed most of its indigenous population (the Children of the Forest), as well as multiple families who were also vying for control over the region. With that in mind, Dany fighting for her birthright isn’t any more problematic than the Starks enjoying the lands and privileges obtained with conquest and bloodshed, as well as the labor of peasants. One could argue that GRRM may have a double standard against Dany in this case (though it's been argued before that he doesn't intend to present the Iron Throne as a source of greed and evil like how fandom presents it) because of the order of the events and depending on whether he holds Dany accountable for more problems for waging her war than the Starks for having done/doing essentially the same thing, but that’s not what the essayist is doing. Instead, they a) take for granted that Dany is doing the wrong thing for fighting for the Iron Throne ("To delay the call of the North and continue to divide an already weakened realm is to give into dark desires.") and b) center all their speculations about her eventual demise based on that belief.

Ultimately, I would argue that none of these three dilemmas - peace versus violence, companionship versus rulership, home versus the Iron Throne - come with easy answers. When it comes to the first conflict, it’s important that Dany prioritizes the lives of the slaves over the privileges of the masters, but that causes more war and bloodshed. When it comes to the second and the third conflicts, it’s worth noting that the first options (which the essayist presents as the “good” ones) are actually the selfish paths for Dany to take. After all, she would rather live a normal life with a husband (companionship) in the house with the red door (home) - “She would rather have drifted in the fragrant pool all day, eating iced fruit off silver trays and dreaming of a house with a red door, but a queen belongs to her people, not to herself”. But, as the quote shows, instead of choosing these selfish goals, Dany accepts the burden of rulership and the fight for the Iron Throne because of her duty towards her people and ancestors. And, while this path leads to war (either in Meereen or in Westeros, though the former is morally righteous and the latter, while not inherently justified, is not any more problematic than Robb fighting for Northern independence), power is also the means through which Dany can make changes that benefit the common people.

With all that said, it’s ironic that Dany fans are often accused of flattening her character or her choices when it’s actually her detractors or “neutrals” (like the essayist) who do so - they are dead set on portraying Dany’s available options as either “good” or “bad” and on speculating that choosing the latter ones will lead to her downfall, but the text actually gives her conflicts in which all the options have their pros and cons.

The essayist also makes a mistake that isn’t really up to interpretation or difference in opinions. They say that, in AGOT Daenerys III, “after admitting this difficult truth [that Viserys will never take back the Seven Kingdoms], Dany assumes the goal for herself (and at the time, her son)”. That is incorrect. In AGOT Daenerys V, moments before Viserys’s death, Dany says she would have allowed him to have the dragon eggs because “he is my brother … and my true king”. Jorah doesn’t think she should still acknowledge him as such, but she tells him that “he is all I have”. So no, Dany hadn’t assumed the goal for herself at that point, she only took over his campaign in her son's name (not hers) after Viserys's death. But the essayist needs to exaggerate Dany's ambition to justify her demise, since they speculate that “in that hurt and betrayal, all that will be left - she will think - is the crown”.

3) When it comes to requirement 3 (prophecies and “influential accidents” - that is, events that “have roots in a character’s motivation”, as well as “the sense of ‘if only this had not happened’” - will “heighten and exaggerate [tragic flaws that] already [exist]” in Dany), the problem is not in cherry-picking or in double standards against Dany, but rather in the essayist’s lack of knowledge about Dany’s characterization. It’s simply not true that Dany’s distrust of people grows to the point that she closes herself off to them. Instead, I would argue that Dany is actually portrayed as someone with a healthy distrust of people. We know from the books (1, 2, 3, 4) that she finds it unlikely that Barristan, Grey Worm or Missandei would ever betray her, but that she doesn’t think she can rely entirely upon Reznak, the Green Grace, the Shavepate, Hizdahr and Daario. Do Dany’s doubts about these people’s intentions lead her to, as the essayist says, “push people away”? No. Through almost all of ADWD, she (wrongly, though understandably) believes that "until [freedmen and former masters stand together, Meereen will know no peace". Accordingly, Dany is willing to listen to the counsel of all of her advisors (both the ones she trusts and the ones she distrusts) to ensure that she makes informed decisions. To give some examples:

Dany allows “well spoken and gently born” people (i.e., not the typical condition of most former slaves, who are glad that Dany freed them) to sell themselves into slavery and imposes a tax each time men chose to do so like how it happened in Astapor (ASOS Daenerys VI). By making this decision, she agreed with both Missandei and Daario.

Dany employs the Unsullied to ask the Blue Graces if someone showed up with a sword wound and to ask butchers and herdsmen who’s been gelding goats (ADWD Daenerys I). By making this decision, she disagreed with Barristan.

Dany chooses not to punish any noble in response to the murder of Stalwart Shield and only increases the amount of gold for whoever gives information about the Sons of the Harpy (ADWD Daenerys I). By making this decision, she agreed with Reznak and disagreed with the Shavepate.

Dany gives up on banning the tokar and wears it herself (ADWD Daenerys I). By making this decision, she agreed with the Green Grace.

Dany (rightly) refuses to reopen the fighting pits for a while until she later relents in the name of the peace with the Meereenese nobles (ADWD Daenerys I, II, III, VI). By making this decision, she disagreed with Hizdahr, Reznak, the Green Grace and the Shavepate and agreed with Missandei.

Dany delays the choice of a husband until it becomes necessary later (ADWD Daenerys I). By making this decision, she disagreed with Reznak, the Shavepate and the Green Grace.

Dany chooses to pay the shepherds for the animals that they say their dragons ate (ADWD Daenerys I). By making this decision, she disagreed with Reznak.

Dany pays Hazzea’s father the blood price (i.e., one hundred times the worth of a lamb) for her death, lays her bones to rest in the Temple of the Graces and promises to pay for his children each year so they shall not want (ADWD Daenerys II). By making this decision, she disagreed with the Shavepate.

Dany allows the Shavepate to torture the wineseller and his daughters for information about the Sons (ADWD Daenerys II). By making this decision, she agreed with the Shavepate.

Dany imposes a blood tax on the noble families to pay for a new watch led by the Shavepate, takes the gold and the stores of food of any nobleman who wishes to leave the city and keeps two children from each pyramid as hostages instead of letting the nobles go unpunished after nine freedmen were killed by the Sons (ADWD Daenerys II). By making this decision, she agreed with the Shavepate and disagreed with Reznak.

Dany has Barristan and Groleo and his captains and sailors to inspect Xaro’s ships (ADWD Daenerys III). By making this decision, she agreed with Barristan.

Dany chooses not to go to Westeros despite being offered ships to do so (ADWD Daenerys III). By making this decision, she disagreed with Barristan.

Dany doesn’t kill her child hostages despite the Sons’ ongoing attacks (ADWD Daenerys IV). By making this decision, she agreed with the Green Grace and disagreed with the Shavepate.

Dany agrees to marry Hizdahr if he’s able to give her ninety days of peace in Meereen (ADWD Daenerys IV). By making this decision, she agreed with Hizdahr, the Green Grace and Reznak and disagreed with the Shavepate, Barristan, Missandei and Daario.

Dany refuses to gather the masters and kill them indiscriminately (ADWD Daenerys IV). By making this decision, she disagreed with Daario.

Dany doesn’t allow the Shavepate to continue his tortures due to their unreliable results (ADWD Daenerys V). By making this decision, she agreed with Hizdahr and disagreed with the Shavepate.

Dany refuses to use her dragons in battle (ADWD Daenerys V). By making this decision, she agreed with Reznak.

Dany decides not to take the field against Yunkai (ADWD Daenerys V). By making this decision, she agreed with the Shavepate and disagreed with Barristan.

Dany brings the food to the Astapori refugees instead of sending someone else to do it (ADWD Daenerys VI). By making this decision, she disagreed with Reznak, the Shavepate and Barristan.

Dany burns the dead among the Astapori refugees, bathes an old man and shames her men into helping her (ADWD Daenerys VI). By making this decision, she disagreed with Barristan.

Dany refuses to allow Hizdahr’s mother and sisters to inspect her womb and to wash Hizdahr’s feet before he washes hers (ADWD Daeneerys VI). By making this decision, she disagreed with the Green Grace and Reznak.

Dany decides to marry Hizdahr by Ghiscari rites and to wear a white tokar fringed with pearls (ADWD Daenerys VI). By making this decision, she agreed with the Green Grace and Reznak.

Dany allows Hizdahr to reopen the fighting pits (ADWD Daenerys VI). By making this decision, she agreed with Hizdahr, the Green Grace and Reznak.

Dany goes along with a peace agreement with the Yunkish slavers in which she’ll let Yunkai and Astapor reinstall slavery if they leave Meereen intact (ADWD Daenerys VI). By making this decision, she agreed with Hizdahr.

Dany holds court in order to, among other reasons, meet the Westerosi men that came over from the Windblown (ADWD Daenerys VII). By making this decision, she agreed with Daario.

Dany doesn’t accept Quentyn’s marriage proposal because she doesn’t want to abandon her people (ADWD Daenerys VII). By making this decision, she disagreed with Barristan.

Dany doesn’t ride a horse in a tokar to meet Hizdahr (ADWD Daenerys VII). By making this decision, she agreed with Missandei.

Dany decides not to sound out the Company of the Cats (even though she wanted to) because Barristan says he's untrustworthy (ADWD Daenerys VIII). By making this decision, she agreed with Barristan.

Dany attends the reopening of the pits (ADWD Daenerys IX). By making this decision, she disagreed with Missandei.

Dany allows the Brazen Beasts to guard her because she wants to show that she trusts them so that her people can trust them as well (ADWD Daenerys IX). By making this decision, she disagreed with Barristan.

Dany prevents Tyrion and Penny from fighting against lions with wooden swords. By making this decision, she disagreed with Hizdahr.

I didn’t include all of Dany’s decisions because she makes many of them on her own and/or without someone explicitly supporting them or opposing them (in fact, many of the ones above were made without any advisor giving her their feedback, but I listed them if they’re seen agreeing or disagreeing with her onpage anyway). That being said, note that Reznak is the one that Dany is most suspicious of (because he perfectly fits the description of one of the treasoners), but that five of her decisions follow his recommendations, in contrast to Barristan (the knight who she actually trusts and who keeps all her secrets) only having his advice followed twice. Also note that Dany “trusted Skahaz more than she trusted Hizdahr”, but she agreed with the former three times and disagreed with him eight times, in contrast to having agreed with the latter four times and disagreed with him twice. The list clearly shows that Dany listens to everyone’s feedback (including from people she distrusts), considers it carefully, makes her own decisions and handles dissent extremely well. Her actions reflect her own words (“A queen must listen to all. [...] One voice may speak you false, but in many there is always truth to be found”, “It seems to me that a queen who trusts no one is as foolish as a queen who trusts everyone”).

There is, however, one character who is seen only listening to people who agree with her and who distrusts and closes herself off to almost everyone - Cersei Lannister. And it’s especially worth noting that Cersei is meant to be “directly contrasted” with Dany, that the author was “doing point and counterpoint” with them and that each of them is meant to show “a different approach to how a woman would rule in a male dominated, medieval-inspired fantasy world”. In other words, Dany and Cersei are narrative foils, but Cersei’s traits are being transferred to Dany in this essay.

Also, I could just as easily create an entire narrative about how Sansa will end up closing herself off to people based on what we see on canon. She thought she could trust Joffrey, but she ultimately couldn’t. She thought she could trust Cersei, but she ultimately couldn’t. She trusted Sandor, but he left her. She tried to trust the Tyrells, but they ultimately disposed of her after she was no longer necessary. She tried to rely on Dontos, but he was a disappointment and was ultimately murdered. She doesn’t trust Littlefinger, but she needs to stick to his side because she has no better option. She considered telling the Vale lords her identity, but she doesn’t trust them. All of this feeds into Sansa’s distrust of others and will lead to tragic consequences. Indeed, as Sansa herself says, "In life, the monsters win". I bet that the essayist would find this whole speculation biased considering that they favor Sansa's character. But then, why is only Dany singled out as the one who is going to meet her demise even though it’s made clear that she continues to trust people through and through?

The essayist needs to say that Dany starts distrusting people to an unhealthy degree (“As Dany gains more power, [...] her focus on the treasons causes her to push people away, widening the gap between rulership and companionship”; ”The more power she gains, the greater her isolation and likely her fear of betrayal. The fear of betrayal is, of course, human. But GRRM has stated that he likes to turn dramatic situations up to 11, which is necessary to create the Shakespearean tragic hero. Dany’s fear must be larger than life.”), as well as to judge her campaign to take back the Seven Kingdoms based on double standards (“Dany’s great sin within the story’s moral order will have been focusing on the war for Westeros against Aegon VI before she turns to the enemy of the North”) compared to the Starks. If they didn’t do so, there wouldn’t be a reason to justify Dany’s demise. If they didn’t do so, the entire speculation that she’s a Shakespearean tragic hero falls apart. But saying that something is true doesn’t necessarily make it true, you need to provide the textual evidence (which they barely do … They assume that the reader will take almost everything they say for granted. After all, since there’s a prophecy foretelling that Dany will be betrayed three times, of course she’s going to distrust people way too much from now on).

There’s also another aspect of Dany’s relationship with prophecies that the essayist portrays inaccurately. They say that “the effect of this prophecy on Daenerys is multifaceted” for “[promising] greatness” (which, along with the also inaccurate statement that “part of Dany’s pursuit of the Iron Throne is born from a sense of destiny”, implies that Dany wants to be great or that she thinks of herself as great, none of which are true) and pushing her “further from the people who surround her”. I already questioned the latter statement, and the former is inaccurate too. After all, Dany has doubts that there are men in Westeros waiting for the Targaryens to return. The birth of the dragons has to do with the fact that Dany was able to put two and two together with clues from dragon dreams and Mirri's words, not because she thinks she's exceptional. Dany is not really sure that the red comet was meant for her. She followed its direction because the other paths weren't reliable and, even in Qarth, she's unsure that it was meant to guide her to success. Then she never thinks about it again. I'd expect otherwise from someone who thinks they're exceptional. Dany is surprised when told by Quaithe that she's the reason why magic is increasing in the world and never thinks or brags about it after their interaction. I'd expect otherwise from someone who thinks they're exceptional. Dany doesn't think she won any victories in the House of the Undying, she credits Drogon for burning the Undying Ones. She only allows Jhiqui to add a bell to the end of her braid because "the Dothraki would esteem her all the more for a few bells in her hair". Dany refuses to sit on the throne inside the Great Pyramid's audience chamber and chooses to sit on a simple ebony bench that the Meereenese think does "not befit a queen". Dany refuses the offer to have a statue in her image to replace the bronze harpy in the Plaza of Purification. I'd expect otherwise from someone who thinks they're exceptional. Dany is highly self-critical and, later in ADWD, thinks that she "was as clean as she was ever going to be" after taking a bath because she holds herself accountable for the upcoming slaughter in the opening of the fighting pits. I'd expect different from someone that thinks they're exceptional. Dany doesn’t think that the people who came to the reopening of the pits wanted to see her - “it was my floppy ears they cheered, not me”. I'd expect different from someone that thinks they're exceptional. Most of Dany's titles (the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, Mhysa, Azor Ahai, etc) are given to her by other people, they're not self-proclaimed (not that there's a problem if they were, I'm only saying it to reiterate that Dany doesn't think she's exceptional). The ones that she assumes on her own are the ones that anyone who believes in birthright (i.e., everyone in her time and place, regardless of family, regardless of whether they're Targaryens) would assume.

4) When it comes to requirement 4 (Dany will (according to the essayist’s speculations) take actions that produce “exceptional calamity” and her demise will be “her own choice and doing”) … Well, we now enter the realm of speculation. It’s not impossible that Dany “will feel like a villain to the Westerosi, as she burns their villages and crops ahead of a hard winter” in the future. The problem here, once again, is in the double standards. Look at the way the essayist describes the likely reascendance of the Starks in the upcoming books - “With the death of “good” characters like Ned, the injury of innocents and moments such as the Red Wedding, ASOIAF as a story is not concerned with justice. But as the story progresses, we see that the way Ned ruled his people and raised his children contrasts with characters like Tywin and his methods. Much of the North seems to continue to rally behind the idea of the Starks, some with less “honorable” methods than others, while Tywin’s legacy begins to fall apart. Like in Shakespeare’s tragic world, there appears to be an order that arcs towards a higher idea of goodness that instills a dramatic satisfaction”. Like I said above when I questioned requirement 2, the Starks’ claim to the North is no more justified than Dany’s to the Seven Kingdoms. They have the advantage of having had their rule normalized throughout the thousands of years they ruled the North, but it doesn’t change the fact that, because they’re feudal lords, they still maintain a system rigged in favor of the nobles that promotes social inequality and extreme lack of social mobility. It doesn’t change the fact that there's no righteous form of feudalism. But only Dany is criticized in that sense by the essayist - “By nature, power breeds inequality, when one party has the ability to decide the fate of another. That inequality creates distance. As a queen Dany wields absolute power over the rest of her subjects and her court”. Which is pretty infuriating not only because the Starks are also morally grey in the sense that the essayist describes, but also because GRRM specifically mentioned that Daenerys is the ruler "who wants equality for everyone, she wants to be at the same level as her people". Additionally, if Ned left a legacy that motivated his people to fight against his enemies, so did Dany with the former slaves. But the essayist needs to ignore all of that to paint Dany as a Shakespearean tragic hero.

Even if we don’t take into account what TWOIAF reveals about the Starks’ ancestors, the main story itself often paints House Stark’s actions in a negative light. We see a peasant spitting at the mention of the Starks and saying that things were better with King Aerys II in power. We're told that Northmen looking for Jaime on Edmure’s orders burned a village called Sallydance and were guilty of rape and murder. It’s no wonder that the High Sparrow mentions the wolves along with the lions as threats to the septas. Also, thousands of soldiers died indirectly because of Robb’s decisions, as well as lots of people who remained north and became vulnerable to raping and pillaging due to his inability to hold Winterfell. And finally, when winter comes, the smallfolk will be affected by the actions of the northmen, who (like Dany might do in the future) already helped to disrupt the harvest and to leave the continent short on food. And yet, why is their future success framed as “an order that arcs towards a higher idea of goodness”? Why is Dany the only one who is said to be “giv[ing] into dark desires” by “divid[ing] an already weakened realm” when the Starks (framed as the heroes in the essay) did the same thing? This double standard gets infuriating when one remembers that Dany is the one fighting a war in the name of the disenfranchised (even though she is not connected to them by blood or lands or oath of fealty and doesn’t gain anything by helping them), while the Starks are (and will be, if they want to retake Winterfell) fighting a war because of personal injury (which, sympathetic as it may be, doesn’t justify the damage that they caused to the smallfolk). It gets even more infuriating when, as @rakharo pointed out to me, one remembers that, while Dany is trying to right the wrongs of the Valyrians by ending slavery in Slaver’s Bay, none of the Starks have acknowledged, much less tried to make amends for injustices perpetrated by the First Men against the Children of the Forest. It gets even more infuriating when one remembers that Aegon the Conqueror united Westeros in preparation for the War for the Dawn (something that GRRM himself confirmed), while the Starks’ ancestors conquered the North solely because of their greed. That's why Dany’s story can’t be effective as a tragedy: she’d be punished for starting to do what everyone else was doing after doing more than almost everyone else was doing.

5) When it comes to requirement 5 (Dany “[rose] high in position” and is “an exceptional being”, which sets her apart as a character that fits the mold of the Shakespearean tragedy because her reversal of fortune will highlight “the greatness and piteousness of humanity”), again, we’re in the realm of speculation. But there are some things to question as well. First, the essayist validates the criticisms that Dany “too easily ascends to a position of power” by using them as proof that she’s a tragic character. But that’s not really true, which becomes clear with a few comparisons: the Starks lost their father, mother and older brother throughout the story because of the Lannisters, which Dany also did; but her losses go beyond them: she also lost another brother, her first husband and her first child. The Starks had their direwolves given to them, Dany had to use her intuition and then literally walk into a fire to birth her dragons. Aegon the Conqueror used dragons to take Westeros, Dany conquered three cities without barely using hers. Jon Snow’s conflict in ADWD involves conciliating the Free Folk and the Night’s Watch after he makes decisions favoring the former group, while Dany’s involves conciliating the freedmen and the slavers after she makes decisions favoring the former group, which has a worldwide impact; Jon’s conflict has relatively low stakes (because it hasn’t involved the Others so far), Dany’s conflict leads to “half the world” wanting her dead. As these examples show, Dany suffered more losses than the Starks. Dany had to do a lot more than the Starks to find her animal companions. Dany became a conqueror primarily because of her military strategies and resourcefulness without relying on dragonfire like her ancestor. Dany faced greater opposition than her male counterpart Jon so far. As we can see, gaining power and retaining it has not been easy for Dany at all. Every single one of her accomplishments has been earned. But it sure is interesting that Dany’s supposed future tragedies must stem from her actions, but that her victories aren’t given the proper credit and acknowledged as being a result of what she also did as well.

And then the essayist declares something even more inaccurate: that Dany “overcame each obstacle that came her way” and that “Robb and Jon paid for their mistakes while Dany did not” (which, to the essayist, is evidence that “Dany’s fall is meant to stand in contrast as something grander than just one slip-up”).

First of all, Dany clearly did not overcome every obstacle that came her way. Saying so means ignoring all of her ADWD storyline (and it’s funny how Dany's detractors go from saying that she’s overpowered and hasn’t suffered consequences to accusing her of being a bad ruler precisely because she dealt with the negative consequences of her choices, lol). To recap, Dany had an indirect part in the wars outside Meereen because she left the Yunkish slavers’ wealth intact, which leads to terrible consequences - multiple city-states and sellsword companies joining forces against her, Astapor’s fall, the pale mare’s outbreak, the emergence of refugees from Astapor outside her city and the upcoming Battle of Fire. Dany had an indirect role in the wars inside Meereen because she left most of the Meereenese slavers alive with most of their wealth intact, which leads to terrible consequences - the Sons of the Harpy’s attacks and dozens of freedmen’s deaths. Additionally, Dany had an indirect role in Hazzea’s death because Drogon was allowed to roam freely and she had no way to train him or her brothers. All these problems culminate in Dany agreeing with a peace deal that, as already explained here, was inherently unjust for prioritizing the slavers over the freedmen. Dany had to learn that, as much as she wants peace and to plant trees, there are situations in which she can’t be merciful because violence really is the only way to achieve justice for the disenfranchised. (On the flip side, that’s one of the reasons why I’m critical of the theory that Dany accidentally burns King’s Landing. When she was merciful, as I just listed, great tragedies occurred (which is fine, it was a realistic exploration of what happens when you abolish slavery and try to do good). When she used fire and blood, great tragedies will occur too? Even though she would be acting just like the Starks or any other feudal lord by fighting for her birthright? The theory narratively punishes Dany in a way that it doesn't do with the Starks, which is why it's no wonder that it was created by someone with Stark/Stannis biases. Additionally, it validates the common belief that Dany is only meant to be a wartime queen, even though she’s already showed that she’s a good peacetime ruler.)

Second, is dying the only way to pay for one’s mistakes (considering that only Robb and Jon are listed as examples of characters who did)? I don’t think so. Consider Sansa. Didn’t she pay for the mistake of going to Cersei to tell her of Ned’s plan? I would say she did. I would say the author agrees - “Sansa was the least sympathetic of the Starks in the first book; she has become more sympathetic, partly because she comes to accept responsibility for her part in her father's death”. Similarly, Dany had to accept her indirect responsibility for the tragedies that I just listed (Hazzea, forgive me; No marriage would ever bring them back to life, but if a husband could help end the slaughter, then she owed it to her dead to marry.; “I should’ve gone to Astapor. [...] I am the queen. It was my place to know.”; “What kind of mother has no milk to feed her children?”). I would argue that Dany and Sansa both paid for her mistakes, which were acknowledged, made them suffer and influenced their character developments. But the essayist needs to say that Dany didn’t pay for them (or that she had an easy rise to power) to help to paint her as a Shakespearean tragic hero.

6) Now that the essayist’s five requirements have all been questioned, I would also like to mention positive prophecies and speculations related to Dany that are never brought up in this essay.

First, Dany is AA/PTWP/SWMTW. That was heavily foreshadowed (read more about it here) and built up to and, if it doesn’t happen, it frankly would be bad writing. After all, haven’t readers praised GRRM for the foreshadowing of Ned’s death (e.g., a stag having killed the mother direwolf in the beginning of AGOT)? Haven’t readers praised GRRM for the foreshadowing of the Red Wedding (which we see from Tyrion’s to Theon’s to Dany’s chapters)? And yet, the essayist thinks that Dany’s death will cause “the forces [to] become more even, making victory less sure, or the Others surpass the side of the living in strength” and that “the White Walkers gain Drogon, becoming one-on-one but with the White Walkers having the larger dragon.”

Second, Dany and Bran both have dreams in AGOT leading up to their magical awakening. Bran needs to fly to escape from the “cold” of the darkness below, while Dany needs to run from the “icy breath behind”. Both of these dreams culminate with Bran and Dany learning to fly and accepting their magical destinies, which will be important in the War for the Dawn. And yet, the essayist thinks that “by understanding that the concept of warmth is tied to companionship, we can understand that the cold, “icy breath” must represent the opposite: loneliness” to justify Dany’s demise. Instead, it's clear (especially considering the parallels with Bran) that "icy breath" is an allusion to the Others. But they can't acknowledge that Dany will have a crucial role in the War for the Dawn, otherwise their entire speculation falls apart.

Third, Quaithe was presented as the third of the three Qartheen envoys (after Pyat Pree and Xaro) that came to find Dany in Vaes Tolorro, which heavily implies that she breaks the norm and is the one person that Dany can trust. And yet, the essayist takes for granted that Quaithe’s “narrative connection to betrayal is already established”.

Fourth, Dany might as well be the prophesied betrayer, not the one who’s betrayed by three people (after all, she’s already been betrayed by more than three people - Jorah, Mirri, Pyat Pree, Xaro, Brown Ben, the person that gave her the poisoned locusts, etc). It would fit with the pattern of Dany being an active participant in the prophecies rather than a passive one (e.g. Dany is AA/PTWP, not the one who gives birth to the AA/PTWP or the one who dies as a sacrifice to AA/PTWP) even though, at first, the readership is expected to think otherwise. And yet, the essayist takes for granted that Dany will be betrayed because otherwise their entire speculation falls apart.

Fifth, Dany is foreshadowed to have a positive relationship with Jon because “the blue flower” from the “wall of ice” filled the air with “sweetness”. And yet, the essayist needs to say that Dany "[will push] Jon away [...] from fear of betrayal and hurt” and from worries that he might be a “usurper” (nevermind that they are mischaracterizing Dany as someone overfocused on retaking the Iron Throne and who closes herself off due to prophecies, none of which are not true, as I already showed above) because otherwise their entire speculation falls apart.

7) Finally, I would also like to ask: what’s the point of giving Dany a storyline like this? Not only because it would be unearned due to the double standards and the changes that would have to occur in her characterization, but also because Dany has a special place in the narrative. She is 1) one of the two women (along with Asha) claiming power in her own right and the only one that we actually got to see rule, 2) one of three Chosen Ones (along with Bran and Jon) and the only female one, 3) one of two POV revolutionaries (along with Jon) and the only female one (and the one whose storyline arguably has the most political messages since she’s fighting against human slavery), 4) one of two POV female rulers (along with Cersei) and the only one who’s been depicted as competent (because she subverts the Good Princess Evil Queen dichotomy), 5) one of two Targaryen conquerors (three, if Young Griff does indeed take Westeros) and the only female one - “Aegon the Conqueror with teats”, 6) the only major mother who isn’t sure to be doomed and/or hasn’t gone mad, 7) one of two Targaryen queens regnant (along with Rhaenyra) and the only remaining Targaryen woman who gets to have power after a long line of Targaryen women - Rhaenyra herself, but also Rhaena, Aerea, Rhaella, Daenerys (Alysanne’s daughter), Rhaenys the Queen Who Never Was, Baela, Rhaena of Pentos, Daena - who were disempowered. GRRM already has a terrible history with female leaders in particular. If he causes the downfall of another one (especially one who is also one of the five main protagonists) for such unearned reasons like the ones that the essayist laid out, there would also be sexist implications. It would make the only she-king that we saw wielding power onpage overly defined by violence and destruction in a way kings don't have to be depending on their actions, it makes the only competent POV female ruler look incompetent in comparison to the other POV male rulers and it makes her conquest a disaster while the other male Targaryen conqueror (two, if Young Griff takes Westeros) gets to succeed. And yet, death by childbirth is the only speculation that the essayist calls out as problematic (“death by childbirth is a uniquely biologically female phenomenon and would be punishing Daenerys for her sexuality”).

8) What I find insidious about essays like this one is that they pretend to be unbiased (I do not argue for the death of Daenerys as a judgement on her ethical/moral goodness as a character nor of the world she inhabits. I argue it on the strength of her characterization and story, that she should be able to encompass such intensity and greatness as to be considered as complex as all these other single-name headliners in literature.) even though they really aren't. To recap, the essayist portrays Dany as someone with "violent" impulses even though she's a merciful person in general, accepts the peace deal with the slavers as valid even though it prioritizes the slavers' privileges over the lives of marginalized people, only talks about the negative connotations of fire, downplays Dany's compassion and sense of justice, argues that Dany is losing her ability to trust others even though she isn't, says that Dany is negatively affected by promises of greatness even though she isn't, argues that Dany had an easy rise to power and didn't pay for her mistakes even though she did, paints Dany's campaign to take the Iron Throne in a negative light without doing the same with the Starks having dominance over the North and ignores Dany's foreshadowing as AA/PTWP, as well as her special place in the narrative. So it’s not that Dany stans are unable to accept Dany’s mistakes and flaws, it’s that people who dislike her can’t understand her characterization or acknowledge the double standards against her or accept her particular place in the story. At the end of the day, an essay like this one is no better than jonsa metas mindlessly hating on Dany because, just like them, as @semperty and @niniane17 made clear, it also creates speculations with the intent of making Dany self-destruct and become irrelevant to pave the way for their preferred characters. The only difference is that it's more successful at appearing "neutral" to someone who doesn't remember what happened in the books very well, especially because Dany has become a polarizing character for a variety of reasons and it's easy to buy into the Appeal to Moderation fallacy.

Also, as I said before, the fact that these Twitter 'neutrals' all misunderstand Dany's characterization, downplay her struggles and judge her by different standards actually makes me somewhat hopeful that she's getting a better ending, because how can their speculations come true if they don't know Dany at all? But then, it's hard to trust GRRM.

#daenerys targaryen #asoiaf meta #answered

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haehaeming · 3 years

Text

100 random facts about SJ members that may or may not help you with your FF

Or if you’re just... bored

1. Eunhyuk doesn’t like finger prints on screens, glasses, etc... It’s a little thing I find cute

2. Kyuhyun was a fan of SJ’s music before debuting with them

3. Leeteuk knows what ‘daddy’ means in a sexual context

4. Leeteuk also understands the concept of a sugar parent, but it was not a positive experience for him. It’s possible other members also understand this concept.

5. Kyuhyun likes men and women

6. Yesung writes his own music

7. Leeteuk has many unreleased songs

8. Eunhyuk has difficulty with his emotions in a general sense, so he’s thankful SJ understand him

9. When Kyuhyun was a teenager, he has to rebel against his fathers wishes to debut as a singer.

10. Kyuhyun dated many girls as a teenager, but only kissed one

11. Sungmin and Kyuhyun have the highest amount of testosterone among SJ members. This was public information a long time ago, though, and alcohol consumption has probably lowered the number a little over time.

12. Sungmin and Kyuhyun share a love of wine

13. Ryeowook is an affectionate drunk

14. Leeteuk is a Leo Venus which means he’s very annoying (read: passionate) in his relationships (This fact was corrected by @fanbynature , it originally said Heechul was a Leo Venus too but he’s actually a Leo Virgo, bonus fact!!)

15. Donghae thinks Eunhyuks lips look best in the morning.

16. Eunhyuk understands the concept of drag.

17. Yesung is very talkative but only when you’re close to him

18. Yesung would kiss SJ good morning back in the dorm days

19. Kyuhyun shows love through acts of service

20. Yesung shows love through quality time

21. Leeteuk is a huge flirt, any fan who met him more personally will tell you

22. As far as we know, Yesung used to collect all sorts of jewellery.

23. Ryeowook and Leeteuk are into cute things (phone cases with cute characters, charms, etc)

24. It’s said Yesung and Sungmin will sleep the least amount of time, but Ryeowook will sleep the most

25. Sungmin and Leeteuk share a moon phase (Waning Gibbous)

26. Back in the dorm, Donghae would also wake his members with affection, but no kisses.

27. Donghae lost his first love because he was too clingy.

28. Kyuhyun and Leeteuk were consider ‘mom’s friend’s kids’ in their school days because they excelled in everything they did. Like the scold ‘why can’t you be more like my friends kid’

29. Kyuhyun has a HUGE fanboy past. Now he can barely use the Internet without making it clear he’s old.

30. Shindong doesn’t like to be clothed at night or in the summer. He takes off his clothes unconsciously

31. Donghae was entrusted to Leeteuk by Donghae’s father

32. Donghae keeps his habits from the dorm days around Leeteuk even now. When he and Leeteuk would share a room, Donghae would cuddle Leeteuk. Even now, when they share a room to sleep, Donghae sings to Leeteuk to try and lull him to sleep.

33. Kyuhyuns relationship with Donghae has been a little bit confusing for him, but recently he said Donghae is like SJs son

34. Yesung’s favourite song is ‘I’ll Make Love To You’

35. Sungmin is the only introvert in SJ

36. Kyuhyun, Leeteuk and Sungmin are open to book recommendations at all times

37. Because of Koreas age system, Yesung and Sungmin are basically the same age.

38. Sungmin technically ages 2 times on his birthday.

39. Teenage Leeteuk celebrated little milestones in relationships like ‘100 days anniversary’

40. Leeteuk would rather be called his stage name than his given name.

41. DBSJ* worked with a ghost in the recording studio, according to Sungmin

42. Donghae and Eunhyuk share a love of strawberries

43. Kyuhyun does not like to be called with pet names

44. Yesung has always shown interest in Canada for whatever reason

45. Ryeowook played the triangle in his school band. Literally

46. Yesung, Donghae and Leeteuk don’t drink.

47. Leeteuk and Kyuhyun love the colour white

48. Sometimes, Kyuhyun unwinds by solving math problems

49. Kyuhyun cited himself in his college thesis on K-pop’s popularity.

50. Leeteuk is taller than Sungmin. It’s more drastic than you think

51. Donghae and Sungmin have both been deemed as ‘naturally cute’, but oddly enough, Sungmin has said he doesn’t act cute anymore. Donghae hasn’t changed in terms of cuteness once

52. Donghae is very fond of dogs. Kyuhyun and Ryeowook are not

53. Sungmin and Eunhyuk were the closest friends predebut. They would take the bus to SM together and make sure nobody else sat next to them. There’s a picture somewhere online of a predebut Sungmin resting his head on Eunhyuk during one of those bus rides

54. Leeteuk didn’t have many friends when he was younger. Leeteuk still thinks he doesn’t have many friends.

55. Donghae and Sungmin share forgetfulness.

56. Leeteuk and Heechul became friends easily because they’re the same age and look out for each other. Also because if Leeteuk was busy or resting, Heechul would be the oldest and have authority over the young SJ for him.

57. Leeteuk and Kyuhyun taught themselves how to cook. Ryeowook and Sungmin were good at it from the beginning

58. Leeteuk wanted to become an idol because of 90s kpop groups looking super cool. He wanted some of that for himself and now I think he’s one of the coolest people ever

59. Leeteuk smokes

60. Sungmin used to sleep in a pink nightgown. Even now, he doesn’t let the fact go, but he says it’s embarrassing

61. Predebut Eunhyuk stole a Shinhwa CD from SM to impress a girl

62. Leeteuks waist size is 26 inches. The ideal size for women in the west

63. Leeteuk entered to win special edition Nike shoes 100 times total. He won

64. When a younger Sungmin was frustrated, he would vent online. Similar to how Leeteuk would when he was younger

65. Sungmin recently said men ask him for his number when he goes out

66. As far as we know, Yesung used to worry about whether or not he would live to grow old :(

67. Donghae has always had a love of poetry

68. Kyuhyun’s originally near-sighted

69. Both Yesung and Leeteuk struggle to define their relationships with others

70. Yesung doesn’t smile a lot when cameras aren’t on him

71. Eunhyuk doesn’t like seafood. Donghae does.

72. Donghae doesn’t like sweets. Eunhyuk does

73. Sungmin was the first member to open his YT channel back in 2018.

74. Ryeowook is said to be a heavy drinker

75. Leeteuk finds peace in the rain

76. Kyuhyun is said to have one of the biggest hearts in SJ, alongside Leeteuk

77. Eunhyuk first appeared publicly in 1992 on a TV show by complete accident. It made him happy

78. In order to sleep in a new location, Donghae sleeps best if there’s something near him that reminds him of home. This is an old fact holds up today, Donghae often sleeps close to his members

79. Predebut, Eunhyuk and Junsu purposefully tried to make Donghae cry

80. Every roommate Donghae has had, he has had multiple complaints about all of them

81. Yesung bought a turtle a long time ago because he felt bored without a pet. Even after buying the turtle, he was still bored

82. Eunhyuk is constantly getting ‘friend zoned’ by Donghae. It’s mostly Donghae who calls them as friends, Eunhyuk got a million other words

83. Sungmin studies English and music every day.

84. Leeteuk loves to learn and is always studying something new as well

85. In high school, Leeteuk studied German

86. ‘Don’t give up’ was Sungmin’s motto in elementary school

87. Leeteuk and Sungmin are big Na Hoon Ah fans

88. When Donghae was in elementary school, he was taller than his classmates and even had a nickname relating to how tall he was

89. Sungmin is still mistaken for his 20s

90. Sungmin loves to eat, he talks about food a lot, but still diets strictly as a couple with his Saeun~

91. Eunhyuk is clumsy

92. Leeteuk is very different off camera, but he’s always aware of hidden cameras, so it’s impossible to catch him ‘normally’.

93. Leeteuk and Yesung curse like sailors

94. Kyuhyun and Shindong share great memorization skills

95. Donghae doesn’t like to eat alone

96. Yesung is the only Virgo in SJ. Kyuhyun is the only Aquarius.

97. Leeteuk finds some men to be cute. Particularly men with beards (in terms of dating)

98. Sungmin wants to record music in English for his international fans

99. Sungmin and Leeteuk both have a fan they consider a friend

100. Eunhyuk loves to be in Japan

#super junior #suju #eunhyuk #donghae #yesung #kyuhyun #shindong #ryeowook #leeteuk #sungmin #heechul #🖤 idiot

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green-socks · 3 years

Text

Hungry Eyes chapter 5

Pairing: Benny Miller x OFC (Dirty Dancing AU)

Summary: Dirty Dancing but Benny is Baby and the dance instructor is a female OC, Jolene. Benny goes to a holiday resort with his family and somehow ends up spending his time dancing and falling in love! This part is practicing the famous lift and like Eye of the Tiger training montage type moments.

Words: 2.1k

Warnings: None.

Notes: This fic is my own little world where I go when I need to. What you see on paper is only a bit of what happens inside my head, but it is what it is. I try. Inconsistent af about posting this bc my muse is a very "it's for me to know and you to to find out" type of gal, so I just follow her lead. Right now she's saying dance, Benny, dance, so he dances. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 4 | MASTERLIST

The next few days continued with more dance lessons whenever they could.

Benny had experience with working out. A lot. He pretty much did that for a living, after all. So he knew he shouldn’t get frustrated when some new bit of information didn’t immediately stick to his mind. And yet it was hard to keep himself from stressing out, because there was a time limit, and he didn’t want to let Jolene and Patrick down.

They had the steps mostly down already, now it was about getting the routine to look like dancing- tying the steps together as fluid movement. Jolene kept saying that it was about the feeling, but Benny was having some trouble with that. It wasn’t easy to try and express feelings while all his brainpower went to focusing on remembering where to step and where to look and what to do with his hands at any given moment.

On the fourth day of practice Benny finally started letting loose, and he noticed he was actually having sort of fun with it. They had had a whole lesson on how to feel the music and let it guide you as much as your muscle memory. Apparently, the music told when there was room to breathe and where to be precise and hit the right accents. Jolene made him practice same bits over different songs to make him focus on the different beats. Once he got the feel of that down more, it became easier to make the whole choreography flow better.

Patrick also came in to help them practice and fine-tune the performance, since he knew the part better than Jolene did. Benny had some trouble with turns and keeping his form at first, but his fight training combined with Patrick’s tips helped with those. Some parts were truly starting to go well, and it was beginning to come together. They were extremely sweaty and exhausted all the time, but happy to be making progress. Benny’s legs were tired, arms tired, feet blistered - “dancer’s feet,” Jolene told him - but despite all that he was having a great time. He thrived on the challenge and physicality of it all, it made him feel alive.

He did still feel guilty about spending less time with his family, and instead spending late nights working on the choreography and occasionally popping into the entertainment crew’s parties. Most of the crew had really taken a liking to him, and even Patrick was slowly warming up to him. Only Jolene was still a closed off, not really volunteering anything personal about herself outside of the dancing they did. They still got along fairly well - they understood each other. They both had a strong work ethic and their teamwork got results.

But their teamwork wasn’t always smooth sailing, of course.

One of the parts Benny was struggling with was a serious and tender moment in the beginning of the choreography that required them to be very up close and personal. He couldn’t stop snickering and making jokes or just bursting out laughing and not doing it properly. Jo got annoyed at him for that, because she thought it was a stupid thing to be stuck on, and she had felt a little like he was somehow mocking the choreography, making it seem silly. But the truth of it was that Benny was a bit afraid of how intensely he would feel things if he let himself be completely serious and truly try to live the moment, be vulnerable. He didn’t know if he could keep his emotions in check.

There had also been a small argument on the fifth day when Benny had complained about a part he didn’t like in the choreo, and Jolene was having none of his sass. The frustration and stress had started getting to her, and she had snapped at him about not taking it seriously enough and not learning quickly enough.

And Benny had bit back, “Hey, I’m doin’ this just to help you and your friend! And we haven’t even tried to go through the whole thing yet, we haven’t practiced the lift at all, so how do you expect me to get it all if I can’t have the full picture?!”

Jo had seethed at him, breathing heavily for a moment, until she had said, “Fine. You have a car?”

--------

That’s how they had ended up borrowing Benny’s brother Will’s car to drive to a place where they could practice the troublesome lift.

Jo had most of the day off, so she decided now was a good time to go and work on the lift, since it would be best to practice it outside the resort. Benny made jokes and laughed at her when she had to adjust every setting on the seat and mirrors of the car to suit her much shorter frame. Jo was used to hearing jokes about her height but somehow, she didn’t mind them from Benny. She found herself surprised at how easy she felt in his company, the argument from before long forgotten already. With the radio playing and both of them joking around, she started driving toward a secluded beach nearby.

Jo noticed that it was much easier to talk with him now that they were alone together and removed from the context of training for a moment. She found herself opening up about her background in dance, how she had started and how her dream was to open her own dance studio someday. She also told him about her family, how she didn’t see them often because her younger brother was in college far from her and her parents had retired and moved to Australia. Benny was a surprisingly good listener, letting her talk and asking questions, seeming genuinely interested in her. Before she knew it, they reached the destination.

Under normal circumstances she would have started with some balancing and trust exercises, but they were past trust exercises, and Benny’s fight training meant he had great balance, so she decided to jump into the thing itself right away.

“Okay. We’ll just- go for it. I’ve shown you the video of what it’s supposed to look like, I’ve shown you where you’re supposed to put your hands and everything. We’re good to go, right? Or do you have any questions?”

“No.. I think I know what to do in theory, at least..” Benny says, rubbing his beard nervously.

She took a deep breath. Okay. There was nothing to it but to just try, it would be fine.

But after tumbling down to the grass a few times Jo realized it wouldn’t work, because they were both holding back for fear of falling. She was afraid of Benny not being able to lift her and then hurting him when he had to bear the brunt of the fallings. And Benny in his turn was scared of hurting her. There was also the added difficulty of their height difference - Benny would have to lift with his legs a lot more, and she would have to adjust a lot from what she was used to with Patrick, too.

So, they would have to make sure the fall was less scary..

“What if we get into the water? It’s safer to fall down there at least,” she suggested.

“What? You serious?”

“Yeah! What, you scared or something?”

Benny rolled his eyes at her childish taunting but shrugged and started taking his shoes and shirt off.

When she had first met him a few days ago, she had dismissed him as just some random dude crashing their party - a seemingly pleasant dude, sure, but nothing special. But now, given the opportunity to admire his back and arms without having to focus on being a dance instructor first, she couldn’t deny the view was very.. inspiring. She had seen him shirtless before because they did work up quite the sweat dancing in the summer heat, and the guy seemed very comfortable with his body. It was different, though, in this new environment and this new, more relaxed energy between them. It was a nice change of pace, truth be told.

Benny started opening his belt and Jo stopped in her tracks.

“What are you doing?”

“If you wanna deal with my brother when we return his car with the seats all wet, be my guest, but I learned to not get any fluids on his car seats when I was sixteen,” he said seriously, shaking his head while pulling his jeans off.

“…You know what, I’ll take that chance. I’m keeping my shorts on,” she said, thinking of the not-covering-much-at-all underwear she had on.

“It’s totally fine, I have a hoodie you can sit on. Plus, he wouldn’t even know how to be mad at you,” Benny smiled.

They got in the slightly chilly water, Jo determinedly not looking at Benny until they were deep enough.

“Alright, let’s try again!”

The added support of the water was a big help, and after a few tries they managed a perfect lift for a moment until Jo lost her balance and dived into the water.

“Yes, yes! You did it! That was so good!” Jo shouted after she resurfaced. “I lost my balance, but you did it!”

Benny’s eyes seemed to light up, and the next few times he tried even harder. Jo had noticed during practices that Benny was good at following orders when working out, and that he responded to her stricter coaching really well. But she had also noticed that when she praised him, he seemed to get an extra boost of energy, and usually performed even better after that. It was as if the hard training kept him focused and sharp, but a few compliments helped free his creativity more. She wanted to keep the compliments genuine though, and not overdo it.

They still ended up underwater more often than not, but they were starting to get the hang of it at least. They were both tired and had wet hair plastered to their faces as they stood there catching their breaths before a new try.

Benny brushed his hair back from his eyes in the way men do in commercials and Jo found herself staring. He looked unreasonably good like this when she was sure she was a total mess. His blue eyes were shining brighter than the water, and the droplets on his chest made her eyes follow their trajectory downward. Oh boy was she staring. How to stop, though?

“Hello?” Benny’s voice was trying to pull her out of her thoughts. “Jo?”

That was the first time he had called her that, and not her full name. She lifted her head to meet his gaze again, and she was sure her face greatly resembled a tomato.

She didn’t know what to do to save the situation when she was so obviously caught ogling. So she splashed him.

Benny spluttered. “Oh, really? That what you wanna do?” he asked with a big grin.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Jo said, and splashed him again.

“Sweetheart, you’re gonna regret that,” he laughed, and started swimming after her.

Then it was a mess of screaming, laughing, splashing, trashing, and wrestling in the water. Jo was breathless from laughing and the exertion, and she couldn’t remember having that much fun in weeks. She was no match for Benny’s strength, though. He caught her, lifting her up and threatening to throw her back in the water. (Which was essentially what they had done all evening, but this was a different situation entirely.)

“I surrender, you win!” Jo managed to shout out through her giggles.

“Hah, told ya!” Benny gloated as he lowered her back to stand on her own legs.

Suddenly it hit Jo how near each other they were standing, and how very little clothing each of them were wearing, especially Benny. And this was no training situation anymore.

She cleared her throat, avoiding his eyes. “One more go with the lift?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

But the sun was already setting, and it was getting chilly, so they only tried a couple more times before calling it a day.

They drove back to the resort, Jo sitting on Benny’s hoodie to protect the car like he promised. The radio was playing again, both of them still making jokes and talking, but this time there was also a different kind of tension in the air. Tomorrow they would have time to practice a little during the day and then it would be time for the performance. But Jo wasn’t sure the tension she felt was just performance jitters.

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tagsies: @writeforfandoms @starlightmornings @lorecraft @niki-xie@salome-c @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @sgnjimmy @marvelousmermaid @velocibee @killyspinacoladas

#benny miller x ofc #benny miller fanfiction #benjamin miller #triple frontier fanfiction #dirty dancing au #nobody puts benny in the corner #i accidentally wrote something #garrett hedlund fanfiction #benny miller fic

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bi-bard · 4 years

Text

you were too polite to leave me-Elliot Alderson (Mr. Robot)

Title: you were too polite to leave me

Pairing: Elliot Alderson X Reader

Song Drawn: coney island (ft. The National)

Word Count: 1,156 words

Warning(s): Mentions of violence, hacking, references to the plot of Mr. Robot

Summary: (Context: first part in season 1, second part in season 4) Unconditional love. That’s what (y/n) had promised. However, (Y/n) didn’t expect for part of that to almost kill them. Now, (Y/n) wants to step back but- for once- Elliot doesn’t want to push away what might be the healthiest part of his life.

Author’s Note: Here’s the second part of my evermore & folklore writing challenge! You can learn more by clicking here!

Definitely gave this a happier ending than the song would’ve been

Buy me a coffee? https://ko-fi.com/khoward0

----------------------------------------------------

I sighed as I looked out at the water. I was sitting on a bench, waiting for Elliot to find wherever I was sitting. Elliot and I were supposed to spend the night together and I had agreed to meet near where some of his friends meet up.

We had been together for a while now. We worked together at Allsafe for a few years before we actually ended up together. There were some nights where I would have to work late and I would just meet him here instead of just running into his apartment.

“Hey,” I jumped when I heard Elliot from behind me. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I shook my head, scooting over so he could sit next to me on the bench. “How was your day?”

“Fine,” he nodded. I didn’t even bother to make a mental note of how different his body language was. I involuntarily shivered and crossed my arms. “Are you cold?”

“I’m fine, we should be heading out anyway,” I shrugged.

“Here,” Elliot started unzipping his hoodie.

“What,” I asked. He looked confused at my shocked look. He never gave up his hoodie. “You don’t need to give up your jacket.”

“It’s just a jacket,” he shrugged. I raised an eyebrow at him. “I promise.”

I should’ve noticed his complete shift in behavior then. It would’ve saved me a lot of time.

--Time Skip--

The differences did eventually become clearer. He went through random moments where he was more aggressive instead of nervous or stressed. He was more cunning than just smart. Originally, I picked up on it but I didn’t want to push him. He could tell me in his own time.

And then he ended up in jail. I went to visit him and he panicked, apologizing and telling someone to let me go. I was led out of the jail by a guard, left to helplessly watch him get dragged out of the room. I knew then that I needed to start asking more questions... which he refused to answer.

Elliot was physically there but he wasn’t there mentally.

I didn’t want to leave him. He needed help and leaving him alone like this seemed like a bad decision. I stayed with him, hoping that he was going to explain everything to me.

It all came to a head when I found him sneaking around with Tyrell Wellick and found out that they were working for the Dark Army. I found out that I was no longer safe. I wanted to help him but I had to draw a line somewhere. My line was my life being put on the line by an organization leading the 1% of the 1%.

I gripped my kitchen knife tightly when someone knocked on my door. I walked over to the door, hand shaking slightly. I looked through the peephole and let out a sigh. Elliot. I carefully opened the door, only enough to face him, no enough to let him in.

“Hi,” he said, hands tucked in his pockets.

“Hey,” I replied. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you,” he explained. “Can we go somewhere?”

“Why the hell would I do that,” I hissed. “I don’t know if you noticed, I’m not really in the safest situation right now.”

“I promise, if they were keeping an eye on you, then your apartment is tapped right now,” he added quietly. “Please.”

I looked down and bit my lip. I nodded quickly before holding up a finger, telling him to wait a second. I placed the knife back on the counter and grabbed some shoes, my jacket, my key ring, and my wallet. I couldn’t give less of a shit about my phone at this point.

“Where are we going,” I asked as I locked my door.

“The safe place I can think of,” he shrugged.

I followed close behind him as we walked. It didn’t even take half of the trip to figure out where we were going.

“Oh, I get it,” I nodded. Elliot glanced at me before looking back at the ground again. I had to keep myself from grabbing his hand.

I stayed silent for the rest of the trip. We walked to the bench and sat down, looking at the water. I looked around, finally catching sight of the sign on one of the buildings.

“I feel so stupid,” I said. Elliot looked over to where I was. The sign read fsociety. “It was right in front of me.”

“You didn’t have a reason to be looking,” he replied. I nodded and shrugged. “I came back here.”

“Hmm,” I hummed.

“When you left,” he explained. “I came back and sat here. I stared at the water and tried to feel what you did. You stayed with me for so long. You had no reason to stay... and every reason to leave.”

“Is this what you wanted to tell me?”

“This bench wasn’t right without you here,” he added. “It felt like an anomaly. I... I miss you.”

“Elliot,” I sighed. “I... I miss you too... I just can’t get back into this without some information.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” I said. “I need to know what you hid from me. I need to know exactly what’s going on before I jump back in. And I hate pushing you but I... I need to be safe.”

Elliot nodded. I listened to the rest of his story. Meeting Mr. Robot, the initial hack, finding out who and what Mr. Robot was, the incident with Tyrell, the follow-up, why he ended up getting arrested, everything.

“So, that time you screamed about me being attacked... Mr. Robot was the one attacking me,” I asked. Elliot nodded. “And those changes in behavior are about Mr. Robot.”

“He is in control at that point,” he explained. I nodded. “I know it’s dangerous. And I know it’s scary. I just... I want you. I’ve never trusted someone so much. What’s good about what fsociety has done if I lose you. I... I love you.”

I sat in silence for a moment. Carefully, I reached over and grabbed his hand. He stared at our hands.

“I love you too,” I said. He looked at me. I felt tears well up in my eyes. “I just want this to be over. So bad.”

“It will be... soon,” he promised.

Elliot leaned over and kissed my cheek softly. I chuckled at him.

“What?”

“You just kissed my cheek,” I replied. “Kiss me properly, Elliot.”

He grinned at me before leaning over and kissing me gently. I reached up and cupped the side of his face. I pulled away a little bit, leaning my forehead on his.

“One more thing and then we’re done,” he promised quietly. “I swear.”

“Okay,” I mumbled. “One more.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” I rubbed his cheeks with my thumbs. “So, so much.”

----------------------------------------------------

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#elliot alderson imagine #elliot alderson fanfiction #rami malek imagine #rami malek fanfiction #imagine #fanfiction #mr robot fanfiction #mr robot imagine

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baoshan-sanren · 4 years

Text

Chapter 42

of the wwx emperor au that’s back to being called Emperor Wei WuXian And His Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Birthday

The summons come while the sky is still dark.

WangJi had woken with a tight sense of foreboding lodged in his chest, alert and on guard the moment his eyes had opened in the pre-dawn gloom. The events of the day before had certainly disturbed his equilibrium to such an extent that the anxiety and the trepidation do not seem out of the ordinary. The air is heavy in the Imperial guest chambers, weighed down with uncle’s disappointment and XiChen’s silent misery; in such an environment, it is difficult to trust one’s own instincts.

WangJi does not try. He moves though his morning routine as unobtrusively as possible, refraining from any unsolicited observations.

XiChen had not slept. If uncle had managed to sleep, no such thing can be garnered from the deep shadows under his eyes.

The small flame of joy in WangJi’s chest, so bright and unrestrained the day before, is now layered with bitter guilt. He has always experienced all of his happiness and misery with XiChen. They have always shared their burdens equally. It feels a betrayal, that this is a burden WangJi cannot make lighter for his brother, that he is powerless over the way their paths have diverged.

It is almost a relief, to have the heavy silence interrupted, to have something else to focus on for the time being.

The Imperial summons are for WangJi alone. Wei Ying is unpredictable in this respect; it is difficult to tell if he intends to sneak out of the Immortal Mountain again, propose for the second time, or if he simply wishes to have company with his morning tea. Nie ZongHui does not offer a reason for the summons, and WangJi does not ask. Still, the moment he steps out into the hall, his sense of foreboding increases.

The Imperial guest chambers have been heavily guarded from the moment the Lan Sect had taken up residence. However, the number of the guards had increased throughout the night, unnoticed by those within. Now, dozens of them stand shoulder to shoulder, forming an impenetrable wall outside the receiving hall.

Even more alarming is the fact that WangJi’s escort consists of thirty men, a mix of Nie Sect members and Imperial guards, all personally headed by the Lieutenant General of the Emperor’s army. The Emperor himself is rarely ever seen with such an excessive escort, especially within his own palace halls. It is slightly absurd, being surrounded by so many armed men, that they can barely fit through the palace halls without tangling in each other’s scabbards. The size of such an escort would suggest that their destination is some distance away, but hardly any time passes at all before he finds himself back in front of the doors to the Emperor’s personal study.

Immediately, he is both concerned and frustrated. If Wei Ying has summoned him before sunrise, with such an obnoxious escort, only to propose again, after he had promised to give WangJi time--

“Lan Zhan!”

The exasperation bleeds away in a hurry. Although it is difficult to pay attention to anything with Wei Ying’s bright smile turned his way, there are other people present in the Emperor’s personal study, each one a sharp reminder of WangJi’s current ambiguity of position.

He is not yet betrothed. Even if he were, the level of familiarity he has displayed when alone with the Emperor will certainly not be seen as appropriate. He knows that kneeling will make Wei Ying unhappy, so he settles for a compromise; a bow, and a polite greeting.

“Your Majesty.”

He does not quite manage to complete the bow before Wei Ying has his forearms in a tight grip, and is tugging him forward.

“Do not address me so Lan Zhan, everyone present is family. You have met my uncle XingChen and Song Lan.”

Being pulled into the circle of people he hardly knows is more than a little discomforting. Song Lan is coldly polite, but the Rogue Prince, the person WangJi had actually offended, smiles in a warm greeting, for the first time displaying some physical resemblance to his nephew.

“I know you have met Jiang Cheng and my Royal Companion as well.”

Jiang WanYin looks distinctly unhappy to see him.

Nie HuaiSang does not. He looks... half-asleep, and at best, disinterested in WangJi’s presence.

“I do not believe you have officially met Wen Qing.”

The day they were supposed to meet, the day WangJi had come upon Wei Ying covered in dirt, with a child on his hip, seems to have occurred decades ago.

WangJi bows, “Lady Wen.”

It is difficult to tell from her expression whether she approves or disapproves of him being present among the people Wei Ying had claimed as family, but WangJi has a clear impression that her approval is not something which can be easily obtained.

“Shijie should be here,” Wei Ying says, “but she had pressing business to attend to in the dungeons.”

Jiang WanYin snorts at that, but no one bothers to elaborate on the subject.

“Can we get on with this?” Nie HuaiSang says, “I would like to nap before the Gifting Ceremony.”

“You mean, you would like an opportunity to riffle through all the gifts before they are presented,” Jiang WanYin says.

He sounds irritable and cross. There is something defensive about his posture, the folded arms, the tightness around his mouth. WangJi does not know Jiang WanYin well, and cannot discern if this defensiveness is an ordinary occurrence, or a specific response to his own presence.

“I have already done so, yesterday,” Nie HuaiSang says, “so the joke is on you. By the way,” he turns to Wei Ying, “the set of jade hair ornaments from the LaoLing Qin are mine. They would look terrible with your complexion.”

Wen Qing and Jiang WanYin both roll their eyes at the same time. They do not seem aware that they have done so, as they appear to be taking particular care not to look in each other’s direction.

“We have the same complexion,” Wei Ying says.

Nie HuaiSang snorts, “Not even on your best day.”

“I have work to do today,” Wen Qing snaps, “can we focus on why we are here?”

A silence falls, one in which WangJi feels uncomfortably out of place. He is the only person who does not know why they are all gathered in the Emperor’s personal study, and he cannot help but wonder if he will ever feel a sense of belonging among the people Wei Ying considers his family. It is discouraging to think that he may always remain an unwelcome stranger, even once the marriage takes place.

“Second Young Master,” the Rogue Prince finally says, “You were perfectly correct in your assumption two days ago, and more than justified in your reproof. The man we are hunting is in the Immortal Mountain, and likely has been, all along.”

WangJi is not surprised. The thirty guards provided as an escort, just so WangJi could cross the length of the Jade Sword Palace, already implied the existence of some imminent threat.

It is somewhat of a relief, however, to have a rational explanation for his lingering sense of foreboding.

“The two servants connected with your attempted poisoning were killed by the same man,” Song Lan adds, “and it is possible that the attempt on the Emperor’s life, two days later, was also his work.”

“You are certain it is a man,” WangJi asks.

“We think it is a Jin Sect disciple,” Nie HuaiSang says, “Specifically one of these three Jin Sect disciples.”

The small piece of paper he passes to WangJi looks to have been folded up tightly, numerous times, by numerous hands. The three names appear unfamiliar at the first glance. Two carry the Jin name, but the third does not.

“Jin ZiXun,” he says, “is the Jin disciple who accused my brother of poisoning the Fan Sect Leader.”

“Jin ZiXun is not the one we want,” Nie HuaiSang says dismissively.

“You cannot be sure of that,” Jiang WanYin says, his tone quarrelsome.

“Jin ZiXun is clearly too stupid to commit mass murder, and not be caught in the process,” Nie HuaiSang counters.

“He must be an accomplice, at the very least.”

“He is too stupid to be an accomplice.”

“Okay!” Wei Ying says, “You have both had this argument three times now. Let us just-- move on.”

“We do not think that the Emperor is his target,” Song Lan says, as if Nie HuaiSang and Jiang WanYin had not spoken, “We believe that he is at the Immortal Mountain specifically because it provides him an easy access to a Sect that is fully removed from the public presence at all other times of the year.”

This does come as a surprise.

It had not been so difficult to believe that a hired assassin, or a random cultivator with a grudge, may be targeting the Lan Sect. But to be a target of a person who has collected the resentful energy from more than three hundred corpses seems preposterous in both theory, and in practice. WangJi cannot begin to guess what would motivate such a man to specifically attack the Lan Sect over any other.

“What none of them are brave enough to ask,” Wen Qing says impatiently, “is the Lan Sect’s history when it comes to the use of resentful energy.”

WangJi feels himself stiffen at the implication. Perhaps she did not mean to sound accusing, but it is difficult to hear the words in any other context.

Before he can respond, Wei Ying’s fingers are wrapping around his wrist, his body shifting slightly so his shoulder is in front of WangJi’s own. It is a small movement, barely half of a step. And yet, the intention is clear, and the result indisputable.

Wei Ying is shielding him. From those he had, only moments ago, referred to as his family.

The defensive armor that WangJi dons so easily, as familiar as his own skin, melts away at the gesture. It leaves behind a hot, dry lump in his throat, one he cannot seem to properly breathe around.

“We have had this argument three times as well,” Wei Ying says, his voice hard, “The Lan Sect is clearly a victim.”

“Yes, but why,” Nie HuaiSang says, seemingly unbothered by Wei Ying’s gesture and tone, “Why focus on the Lan Sect?”

“A madman does not need a reason,” Jiang WanYin says.

WangJi wonders if Jiang WanYin would resort to explicitly defending the Lan Sect for no other reason than to be as contrary as possible.

“I do not believe that we can assume him to be a madman,” XingChen says gently, “His actions so far, the way his victims are chosen, his behavior here at the Immortal Mountain, it all points to a highly organized individual, one who carefully plans each step before execution.”

“A madman cannot be organized?” Wei Ying says, and Nie HuaiSang shoots him a look which seems to imply that Wei Ying is being intentionally dense.

“The point is,” Nie HuaiSang says slowly, “he has not chosen the Lan Sect on a whim. There is a purpose in his focus.”

“A member of the Lan Sect murdered the rightful ruler of the Shan Empire, and her Consort, all because her distant relative, long dead, had used resentful energy,” Jiang WanYin says impatiently, “I would think, out of all the Sects, they would be the least likely to meddle in this type of cultivation.”

He may be right, but his defense somehow sounds both like censure and an accusation.

In the next moment, Nie HuaiSang’s fan meets Jiang WanYin’s shoulder hard enough to make him wince.

“Do not be crass,” the boy says coldly, “Frustration is no excuse for incivility.”

“The Lan Sect is particularly skilled in dispelling resentful energy,” the Rogue Prince says, “I suppose it is possible that this individual sees them as a threat to his plans.”

“The Lan Sect also has a few hundred cultivators and disciples, all in possession of this particular skill,” Wen Qing counters, “Killing three of them would hardly make a difference.”

“But it is unlikely that any three together could equal the power and skill of the current Sect Leader and his two top disciples,” Song Lan says.

All eyes now turn on WangJi, as if expecting him to deny or confirm the assertion.

Still reeling from the fact that Jiang WanYin, of all people, had felt the need to come to his defense, WangJi needs a few moments to consider the question.

“I am less skilled than my uncle or my brother,” he finally says, “Among the rest, only my father, two of the Sect Elders, and Lan HanLi have an equal, or greater ability. None of those we brought to the Immortal Mountain can be considered particularly proficient or powerful.”

Everyone seems to consider this in silence, forming their own conclusions.

Wei Ying’s hand is still wrapped around WangJi’s wrist. The gesture should be awkward in front of so many witnesses, but instead, it is a soothing, grounding contact that WangJi does not want to relinquish.

He wonders at the power of Wei Ying’s touch, to instill in him a sense of comfort even among strangers.

“I still do not see why we cannot simply arrest all three of them, stuff them into the dungeon, and get a confession through torture,” Jiang WanYin says irritably.

“Because two of them could be completely innocent,” Wen Qing retorts, sounding equally as irritable.

“Is anyone really innocent?” Nie HuaiSang says.

“Certainly not you,” Wei Ying quips.

“You were never innocent,” Wen Qing says.

Nie HuaiSang’s smile, hidden behind the fan, is only evident by a slight crinkling in the corners of his eyes.

Song Lan sighs, rubbing his forehead, “XingChen and I believe that this individual’s last attempt to eliminate the Lan Sect must be tonight. The sects and clans are all due to depart tomorrow, and despite the recent... development,” his eyes slide off WangJi, “there has been no indication that the Lan Sect plans to remain at the Immortal Mountain. The seventh day banquet is traditionally a much more... unrestrained event than any of the others, likely to result in drunken fights and unseemly indiscretions. We think the individual will try and use the revelry as a cover.”

“We want you to be the bait,” Jiang WanYin cuts in bluntly.

“No,” Wei Ying says, his voice hard, “We have discussed this already, and the answer is no.”

“It is not up to you,” XingChen says kindly, “This person has repeatedly attacked the Lan Sect. Whether they have a hand in his capture is entirely their choice.”

Wei Ying does not seem to realize that his hand around WangJi’s wrist has tightened to the point of pain.

“Wei Ying,” he says, fighting the urge to pull his hand back, “I am willing.”

“I will not put your family at risk again.”

“We will not be at risk. You will protect us.”

Wei Ying flinches, whirling to face WangJi, his eyes wide and lost, “How can you say that? I have done a terrible job protecting you.”

It is absurd, that he can be so sweetly endearing, and at the same time, so utterly maddening. WangJi is not sure if he would like to kiss him, or kick him. Perhaps both.

“All three of us are alive and unharmed. You have done nothing but protect us from the moment we had arrived at the Immortal Mountain. I trust you.”

Wonder of all wonders, he seems to have found a combination of words that will render Wei Ying speechless. His mouth is still moving, because he is Wei Ying, and apparently incapable of being speechless with his mouth shut, but no sounds are forthcoming.

Everyone else, however, is beginning to look noticeably uncomfortable in their presence.

Jiang WanYin, his expression sour, is the first to break the silence, “Ugh. Are we done?”

Nie HuaiSang smacks him on the shoulder again, “Why do you have to ruin the moment?”

“I do not want to see any moments. I want to finish this discussion, then leave.”

“I second that,” Wen Qing says.

“I will be the bait,” WangJi says firmly, ignoring the fact that his face feels uncomfortably hot, “Along with my uncle and brother.”

“Excellent,” Song Lan says, “We will meet again after the Gifting Ceremony to discuss the particulars.”

Apparently, he is in a hurry to leave as well, because he does not waste time tugging the Rogue Prince towards the exit. Jiang WanYin practically tramples Song Lan’s heels, and Wen Qing is only a step behind him.

Nie HuaiSang is the only one who feels the need to take his time, and although his grin is wide and knowing, WangJi feels little resentment.

He does not know how to erase this silly, speechless expression from Wei Ying’s face, but he will start his attempt with kissing, and decide the rest depending on the progress he makes.

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #ficlet #m #wwx emperor au #2-3 chapters more to go before the epilogue(s)#i don't wanna know the word count on this thing #ily chickens

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wiypt-writes · 4 years

Text

Stark Spangled Forever

One Shot: One More

Intro: How much meaning can two words actually carry?

Warnings: Language! Smut (NSFW) No under 18s

Pairings: Steve Rogers and Katie Stark (Rogers)

A/N: So this was a little idea that came to me when a friend and I were drunkenly discussing how many things you could cover simply with the words “one more.” So, here we have it in a few different contexts…and one big one! And this edit, well, if doesn’t melt your heart then you don’t have one! Thanks @angrybirdcr

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

WARNING: If you are reading Stark Spangled Banner for the first time as it is being reposted and have not yet read it through then this contains MAJOR SPOILERS!!!!!

Stark Spangled Forever Masterlist // Main Masterlist

April 2026.

“James Anthony Samuel Rogers I swear to God you push your sister like that again and there’s no Baseball or Soccer practice for a month!” Steve glared at his son as he picked his 23 month old daughter up from the floor.

“She started it!” the 6 year old met his glare straight back.

“One more excuse, try me!” Steve glared at him, and he should have known better when all was considered as true to form his son took his words as a challenge.

“She smashed up my lego house!”

“Yeah, and you used to smash up our actual house when you were her age.” Steve pointed at him as Aurora buried her face into the crook of his neck, sobbing loudly. Steve gently shushed her as he looked down at Jamie “you’re bigger and stronger than she is, you don’t push her or hurt her in anyway, you got that? If she’s annoying you, you come find me or your ma.” Jamie looked up at his dad for a second, before he looked down, his wrong behaviour understood “Sorry Dad.” “It’s not me you should be apologising to.” Steve said, his voice softening slightly.

Jamie looked up, his blue eyes full of tears and Steve’s heart sank. He hated seeing his kids like this but he knew he had to tell them off when they misbehaved.

“Sorry Rori.” Jamie sniffed.

Rori turned her head to face him leaving a stream of snot and drool hanging from Steve’s shoulder as she eyed up her brother.

“MkayJay…” she sniffed and she leaned forward holding her arms out to him. Steve dropped her to the floor and she toddled across to his open arms and gave her elder brother a hug. Steve smiled as he watched them, despite the fact she bugged the crap out of him Jamie would do anything for his baby sister. Steve knew that.

He also knew that it was only fair Rori got chastised for her part in the argument. So he crouched down in front of them both and he looked at her.

“Aurora, you don’t touch Jamie’s toys unless he says you can ok?” he said to her, firmly but not angrily “You have enough of your own to play with.”

Or destroy as the case may be Her big green eyes, so like her mothers looked back and him and she nodded, looking down at the carpet, suitably chastised, her voice quiet “ok daddy” “Good girl.” He smiled, brushing her brunette hair off her face. When she looked back he was pleased to see both of them were smiling again. Crisis averted, discipline delivered… “Cookie?” Rori asked hopefully and Steve sighed. He and Katie had been hoping that she would have slightly less of an appetite than her brother but no. The serum was as much a part of her as it was him. He glanced at his watch and seeing it was almost 4:30 pm he knew Katie would be home any time and he had just started their dinner before world war 3 had broken out in the living room. So as far as cookies went he really shouldn’t… “One.” He relented “but you better eat your dinner. And don’t tell momma.” He held out his hand. Aurora slipped her small palm into his and they headed into the kitchen, Jamie following.

There were no more tantrums or arguments that evening, just a small plea from Jamie as he tried desperately to avoid going to bed at his 9pm weekend curfew “Just one more please Momma and then I’ll go to bed I swear” he said from his spot sat in between Katie’s legs in front of her on the piano stool. Katie sighed and looked at Steve who leaned in the doorway of the smaller lounge at the back of the house and cocked his head to the side, raising his eyebrows before he shrugged. “One more…” she relented and Jamie clapped his hands as she placed her fingers onto the keys of the piano in front of her, Jamie lying his hands on the top of his mom’s. He wasn’t interested in learning to play, not really. Baseball and soccer were his things, but he enjoyed this, the alone time with his momma and dad that the two parents tried to ensure each of their younger kids got fairly (Emmy being far too old for any of that ‘mushy shit’ now) Katie’s hands flew over the keys and her soft voice gently filled the room as she sang, Jamie joining in after giving her a little grin when he recognised what she was playing. “I wanna be where the people are I wanna see Wanna see ‘em dancing Walking around on those…”

She stopped playing and looked down at Jamie playfully “What do you call ‘em?” “Feet!” Jamie said, holding his leg up. Steve let out a soft smile at the display of playfulness and affection between his wife and son as Katie laughed and carried on with the song. Eventually they finished and without protest Jamie turned to his mom and placed his arms round her neck. “Night Momma. I love you.” “Love you too baby boy. I’ll be up soon to tuck you in when you’ve finished your story ok?” He jumped down from the bench and headed over to his dad who gently guided him out of the room with a large, gentle hand on the back of his head. As he turned to go he cast a look over his shoulder as Katie stood up, closing the lid on the American Walnut finished Bösendorfer 155 baby grand piano he had bought her for her 40th. She turned to face him, and shyly smiled in the same way she always did when she caught him looking at her the way he was right then, the expression on his face soft, conveying just how much he loved her and it still knocked her off her feet. “You’re beautiful.” He said softly as she brushed past him in the doorway. “Charmer” she smiled as he captured her lips in a soft kiss before giving her ass a friendly squeeze with both his palms before he headed off after Jamie for their usual bed time stories. A father-son routine that Steve hoped Jamie wasn’t gonna grow out of any time soon.

A story about 1920s Gangsters later Steve bid Jamie goodnight and strode over the landing to Rori’s bed room. He picked up the stuffed bear that had fallen out of her toddler bed and, tucking it in next to her, he straightened the covers around his daughter’s chin and dropped a kiss to her head. “Sweet dreams Princess” he said, standing up and turning off the lamp, flicking the pony night light on. “You know when they’re in bed I actually understand why we had them.” He chuckled gently as he entered the kitchen where Katie was unloading the dishwasher. Katie laughed softly “They’re good kids really.” “I know.” Steve’s arms circled her waist “What time is Emmy back?” “You told her midnight…so probably about 5 past.” she grinned. “She text me before, she’s fine. Pete took her to a burger joint and they were just about to go into the movies…” “Better not be on the back row” Steve grumbled. “She’s 18 Steve.” Katie laughed before she sighed. “They’re all growing up so fast” “You not fancy one more?” He asked, his nose brushing against her jaw. Katie stilled and turned her head to face him. “I’m 42, still carrying extra pounds from Rori. And trust me when I say after her birth, I have no desire to push a baby out of my vagina ever again” Steve laughed loudly, his head tipping back as he did so. “Just a thought” he said, kissing the side of her neck before he straightened up. “You fancy a glass of wine?” “Getting me drunk will not make me agree to having another baby…” Katie sly eyed him as he opened the wine chiller and pulled out a bottle of Sancerre. Steve rolled his eyes “That’s not what I was trying to do… I thought seeing as they’re asleep, its Friday…we could sit outside by the fire pit and take some us time. Maybe I can make some loving on my baby momma.” She smiled and slipped her arms round his waist, standing on her tip toes to give him a kiss. “Sounds perfect daddy, let me just go tuck Jamie in and I’ll be with you.” *****

June 2026

Steve looked at his wife, simply smiling as she talked. It wasn’t often they got out like they had done before the kids, but tonight they were out for a meal and a few drinks for her birthday. She looked stunning. Her hair was curled loosely, hanging to one side over her right shoulder, her eyes were highlighted even more by the light brown shimmer that sat on her lids and her lips were plump and glossed with a soft, almost neutral pink. It reminded him a lot of how she had looked on her first date. Similar, but yet slightly different. A bit like them really. They weren’t radically different but everything they had been through, seen, done, becoming parents…it had made them evolve in a way but Steve’s heart still burst with pride and lust and love whenever he looked at the woman sat in front of him. Yes she had changed physically over the years. Taught lines of muscle had given way to softer curves over her stomach and thighs, her hips were bigger- not much- but it only served to emphasise her small waist even more. The curve of her ass was more pronounced as was her chest, both of which Steve was more than happy about, especially tonight as they were emphasised even more by the tight black cut off capris she was wearing, low cut shimmering gold top and high heels that made her shapely legs look even more toned. And right now he was imagining them hooked around his shoulders… “Are you even listening to me?” She sat back, glass of crisp white wine in her hand, a teasing smile on her face. He looked beyond gorgeous. Short, dark beard flecked with grey, strands of his short hair also Iightening slightly. His black long sleeved sweater which although loose did nothing to hide his still ridiculously toned physique underneath. He was deep in thought, but relaxed, she could see that from the way he sat. His elbow was leaning on the table, chin resting gently in his hand, his fore and middle fingers making an L shape against his cheek as his thumb gently brushed against the beard underneath his chin. She raised her eyebrows silently requesting an answer and he took a deep breath, and cocked his head slightly more to the left, eyes crinkling even further as he suppressed a chuckle because he had been caught, red handed. “Sorry baby I was just thinking.” “You were miles away.” She said softly, leaving forward “what’s going on Soldier” He loved how she still called him that. And right then it made him want to bend her over the table and fuck her senseless. He squirmed slightly and picked up his wine glass, leaving back in his chair “Just thinking about you, how lucky I am…how gorgeous you are…” his voice dropped as he arched an eyebrow “and the things I’m intending on doing to you tonight.” They headed to a bar and bumped into Marcus and his brother, Allan, two of the guys who had religiously attended Steve’s support groups pre and post snap. Marcus gleefully told then that his wife, one of the returned, was expecting their first baby, news which both Katie and Steve had greeted with congratulations and a bottle of Don Perignon As they chatted and laughed with their friends, Katie was very aware of how tactile Steve was being. A hand on her back, skimming her ass every now and then, squeezing her hip, soft kisses to her temple and cheek.. it was all driving her wild so after an hour or so in the bar, when he asked if she was ready for home she greeted him with an affirmative nod. He held out her jacket for her, hands skimming the bare skin on her shoulders making her shiver. They bid their friends goodbye and headed out, hand in hand to hail a cab. Katie stole a glance at her husband, the father of her children and a fire lit in her belly. She had never loved anyone as much as she loves him. He wasn’t perfect, but neither was she. But they accepted each others faults as much as they loved each others better traits. He was an affectionate and loving man, both with her and their kids. Firm but fair and never shied away from lavishing affection on any of them. And then, in the dimly lit back seat if that yellow New York cab as it headed over Brooklyn Bridge something stirred in both her heart and her mind. She leaned over to him and gently nuzzled her nose into his neck, breathing in his aftershave. He gave an involuntary shiver and moved his arm around her shoulder as her nose now moved over the short whiskers that adorned his jaw and cheeks up to his ear where she whispered. “One more…” He turned to her, his eyes shining as he looked at her, smiling softly. “You sure?” He asked, barely able to believe it. She placed a soft kiss to his lips and whispered into his mouth. “Yeah, I’m sure.” It was all Steve could do to keep himself from jumping her there and then but somehow his will power held out. Once home, Emmy had simply raised her eyebrows when they had popped their heads into the lounge and told her and Peter not to stay up to late, and then rolled her eyes when Steve had pointedly told Peter the spare room was the 1st door on the right after you climbed the stairs. Closing the door to the lounge, Steve slung his wife over his shoulder causing her to giggle as he carried her upstairs, dropping her gently on her feet in the bedroom when she exclaimed she needed to pee. Steve shrugged off his sweater and was midway into undoing his trousers when she emerged from the bathroom, her pants in her hand, leaving her clad in just that delectable top and underwear. He felt his cock twitch at the sight of her almost naked ass and long legs. As she walked past, heading to the laundry basket in the corner of the room, Steve looped both arms round her waist and pulled her discarded clothes from her hands, dropping them to the floor. He tugged her back into him, his hands gripping the hem of her top before he pulled it over her head, hands setting on her hips as she rolled her head back against his shoulder so he could lightly graze her skin with his lips. Her hands gently moved between them as she undid the clasp on her bra and Steve slid the straps down, placing soft kisses to each of her shoulders causing her to shudder as he tossed that to the floor too. His palms flattened on her stomach as her arms slid up and connected round the back of his neck, pushing her chest up and he gave moan as he glanced down and saw her presented to him. One of his large hands crept into the front of her lace briefs, the other up to her chest, gently tweaking and playing with her as he saw fit, lips skating over her neck. “So beautiful…” he whispered and she moaned and writhed in delight at his praise and his actions as he worked her over “such a good girl for me…” Her head fell back even further into him as she let out a soft whimper of his name, his hands upping their pace slightly as she began to buck into his touch. She arched her back, her mouth fell open and then her head rolled forward as she came, knees trembling, her hands pulling at his hair. He held her up in his strong arms and whilst she was still in the after throws of bliss he nipped at her neck, drawing a soft groan from her mouth. “Gonna fuck a baby into you…” he said, lips hot on her ear “fill you up, see you all round with my child again…that what you want?” “Please…” she sighed, “Please put a baby in me, Daddy…” His hands fell to her hips and he spun her round, lips crashing to hers almost bruisingly before he walked her backwards, her knees colliding with the bed as she fell back wards, Steve crawling over the top of her. His lips skated down from her mouth, to her neck, between the valley of her breasts and to her naval where his nose skimmed across the waistband of her panties. He hooked his fingers into the top and slid them down over her thighs, a hot kiss dropping to her ankle. His beard scratched her soft skin as he nipped his way up her leg, before setting his mouth to her. He licked, sucked, bit as she keened into him, her hands tangling into his hair as she writhed and groaned, trying but failing to keep her noise down. It wasn’t long before he’d gotten her there again and as she fell back, panting slightly he crawled over her, ridding himself of the remainder of his clothes as he did so. His hands placed either side of her head, he dropped his mouth to her ear and kissed just underneath before he whispered “I know you got one more in you baby…” as he pushed into her, the pair of them groaning at the sensation.

And she did. As he thrust into her powerfully, her hands skated up his arms to hi back, nails dragging down his skin. It was an assault on her senses, and as he continued to love her in a way only he could, the heat was rising again and she found herself teetering on the edge.

“That’s my girl…” Steve panted out as she arched her back and came again, this one leaving her utterly shattered. Steve wasn’t far behind her, releasing inside of her before they both collapsed, utterly boneless and melted completely into the bed beneath them. Her hands gently tangled into his hair and he lazily picked his head up and gave her a soft kiss, his nose rubbing up against hers.

“I love you baby girl.” he said softly, lips pressing against hers.

“Love you too…” she whispered into his mouth.

***** February 2027 Katie glanced down at the small, white stick in her hands. She inhaled sharply as she glanced at the result and tears filled her eyes as she stood up from the toilet where she had been sat on the lid, waiting for those precious last few seconds to pass.

Her mind strayed to the conversation they had held on Christmas eve little over 6 weeks prior…

“You know… it’s kind of ironic” Katie sighed as she nestled into Steve further, her head on his chest as the arm round her gently traced shaped on her side, under her jumper. “What is?” He asked, although he had a feeling he knew what was wrong. She sat up and looked at him, her eyes sad. “We’ve been trying for our little one more ow for 6 months. Doing everything right and…” she took a deep breath “maybe I just can’t anymore. I’m sorry Steve” “Hey.” He frowned, shifting so he was looking at her as she blinked, trying to stop the tears from falling “You have nothing to apologise for.” “I just know how much you wanted this and…” “Stop.” He said almost sternly as he gently cupped her face in his hands “we already have 3 beautiful kids. I don’t want you feeling like this” He hated it. Hated the fact he felt like he had backed her into this in a way. She was feeling inadequate and she was anything but. “I wish you’d told me you felt like this sooner.” He said softly, and she shrugged as he pulled her face to meet his in a soft, tender kiss. “One more try.” He rest his forehead against hers, his decision made “One more month and we forget it. I’m not having you feeling like this anymore baby. I love you too much to see you hurting ok?” She nodded and smiled gently, her hand reaching up and her fingers gently scratching through his beard. He closed his eyes and then her lips were on his, pulling him down on top of her on the couch, the movie on the tv completely forgotten as they lost themselves in each other again, moans and sighs filling the softly lit room. No more tries. “Honey?’ Steve called later that evening, his keys dropping to the table in the hall as he greeted their now, very elderly dog, before he headed into the kitchen. She was sat at the table, eating dinner in between watching Aurora feed herself. Jamie was tucking into his food with gusto as both kids beamed at their daddy who greeted them both in turn. “Hi.” Katie smiled softly at him, taking the kiss he offered on her cheek “dinner is in the oven” “Sorry I’m late.” He said “ the faculty meeting went on a bit longer than I thought and then we got caught discussing the next semester…” “Steve it’s fine.” She assured him, taking a drink of her soda, eyes still on her fiercely independent daughter who probably had more spaghetti round her face than in her stomach. “How was your day son?” He asked once he had grabbed his plate and settled into the seat next to him at the oak table. “Ok.” Jamie shrugged. “Ok?” Katie looked at him “more than ok sweetie, tell your dad what you got in class!” “Oh I got the class weekly gold star for my art” he said, excitement flooding his tone. “No way!” Steve beamed at him, he loved the fact his son had inherited his talent “for the sketch you did of the planets?” Jamie nodded as he smiled. “Proud of you buddy” he said, ruffling his hair as Jamie’s grin at his fathers praise practically split his face in half. A few hours later both kids were in bed, they’d skyped Emmy who was just getting ready to go to a party in one of the dorms, something Steve wasn’t feeling all too comfortable about, and were heading up to bed. Steve was just about to make his way into the bathroom for a shower when Katie stopped him. “I have something to tell you.” She said softly before she opened the drawer at the side of her bed and with a sigh she pulled out the test. Steve felt his heart sink as she turned around and held it out to him. “Baby don’t be upset.” He said softly, as he took it, giving it a cursory glance “we agreed that if it didnt…” He trailed off and looked again. 2 blue lines. 2. “Oh my…shit.. Katie…” he looked up at her, his face shocked before he gave out a splitter of a laugh and grabbed her hips, swinging her up in the air. She laughed as he set her in her feet, giving her a soft kiss “You sure?” He asked, wanting to believe it but not daring to at the same time “Maybe you should do one more to be sure?” With a smirk she turned and reached into the drawer and began to toss test after test on the bed. 10 in total, including the one still in Steve’s hand. “Way ahead of you there soldier” “You’re incredible…” he said, tossing the plastic stick onto the bed and pulling her closer “My fucking incredible…” kiss “amazing…” kiss “ gorgeous” kiss “baby momma…” This time when his lips met hers she wrapped her arms round his neck and held him in place whilst she kissed him hard, deep, passionate before she pulled away, her fingers felt tracing his t-shirt clad chest “you mentioned something about a shower…” Grinning his hands slid under her ass and she laughed as he hauled her up, legs wrapping round his waist as he walked them into the en-suite.

***** May 2027 Steve woke first that morning. Gently pressing a kiss to Katie’s cheek he left her asleep, climbing out of the bed and heading into the bathroom. Once he’d seen to his bladder, he pulled on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and headed out onto the landing.

He poked his head into Jamie’s room first, and his son grinned at him as he turned his eyes from the TV onto his father. Lucky jumped down from is spot on Jamie’s bed and headed over to Steve for an ear scratch.

“Morning buddy.” Steve looked at his son.

“Morning dad…you making breakfast?” Food, as always the first thing on his mind.

Steve nodded and Jamie scrambled out of bed, following him as he next headed to Rori’s room. She was still asleep so he left her to it. Finally he knocked on Emmy’s door and she told him to come in.

“Hey…” he frowned as he saw her on her bed, surrounded by text books “its early Sunday…you got work to do?”

“Studying.” She grumbled.

“Ok well, take a break yeah? I’m gonna start breakfast”

“I’ll be down in a minute.” She hummed at him and he nodded, closing the door.

Steve opened the back door to let Lucky out whilst Jamie sat at the table with a yawn as Steve set the coffee going and poured Jamie an orange juice.

“Thank you.” He said as he set it down in front of him “Dad?”

“Yeah pal?”

“What was Momma asking you for one more of last night?”

Oh…fuck…

Steve felt himself go bright red, as he could clearly remember exactly what Katie had been begging him for more of.

“Erm…” he turned away, cursing inwardly as he glanced around desperately trying to think of an answer Jamie would buy. “I…er….” he reached into the cupboard for the bread, and then the answer suddenly hit him in the face

“Chocolate!” He practically exploded as his eyes fell on the jar of spread.

“Chocolate?” Jamie cocked his head to one side as Steve turned to face him. “In the middle of the night?”

“Yeah well, you know the baby makes her want it…like you made your mom want peanut butter and Rori made her want strawberries, this time she wants chocolate”

“Oh.” He said, nodding “Ok. Did you give her some?”

Steve was thankful that his son couldn’t see his face as he threw 4 slices of bread in the toaster. Pressing his lips together to try and stop the smirk on his face, because he had indeed given her some, so to speak, before he turned and nodded.

“Yup.” He said “Sure did…”

August 2027 “One more baby.” Steve urged, his wife’s hand tightly gripping his right, his left brushing her hair back off her face “One more honey, you got this.” With a loud yell and a final, almighty effort she sagged back on the bed as a piercing cry hit their ears. “You did it…” Steve said, his eyes welling up “I’m so proud of you, Darlin’, you did it…” She laughed through her tears as their baby was placed on her chest, cries giving way to soft wimpers which turned into those familiar nickering noises babies make as their newest addition pressed into his momma, pink and wrinkled, brown hair spattering his head, his eyes the same shape and colour as his fathers, but the Stark nose stood out clearly, just as it did with Jamie. Their little one more, Henry Steven Rogers, Harry for short, opened his eyes for the first time to reveal a shock of baby blue and Steve felt his heart swell even more. Out of all their kids he had been the easiest to name. Henry chosen by Steve, Steven picked by Katie, Harry agreed upon by both. There was no 3rd name. They didn’t have one they liked or felt drawn to and besides, in Katie’s eyes he didn’t need one, because his fathers was worth two. Something which had made Steve’s eyes fill with emotion when she had told him that. Harry was measured, weighed and returned to his father wrapped in a soft blue blanket as Steve preened over his latest progeny, another male to carry the Rogers name down the line. Eventually he began to fuss and was handed to his mother for his first feed, Steve settling in their bed, arm round Katie as he watched his son’s cheeks work hungrily. “I love you” he said gently, tilting Katie’s face round to his, placing a soft kiss on her lips. “I love you too..” she smiled before they both looked down at their baby as he suckled on his mothers breast, tiny hand shaped in a fist which rest against her exposed skin. Steve gently traced his youngest son’s cheek with his finger, his chest felt like it was going to explode with emotion. After a few hours of being on their own with their baby boy, Katie having been cleaned up and Harry settled and changed and fed again, the peace of their hospital room was shattered. “There really should only be 4 visitors…” Steve heard the nurse say as the door hovered open a few inches. “Oh come on, what’s one more?” Sam’s voice pleaded. She must have acquiesced as the door opened further and their eldest and second eldest shot into the room, followed by Sam and Buck with their now second youngest held on his hip. “Oh Mom!” Emmy gushed, her large brown eyes shining as she looked down at her baby brother in her mothers arms whilst the men were exchanging back slaps and hugs “he’s beautiful” “Course he is” Steve replied, taking Rori and walking her to the bed so she could look at her baby brother “Your mom made him” Katie smiled up at Steve “You had something to do with it…” “The enjoyable bit.” We winked as Emmie moaned

“Gross..” Jamie climbed up onto the bed, his mum gently pushing down the blanket so he could see Harry’s face clearly. The sun was peeking through the blinds, the room was loud and crowded as their older kids aged 19, 7 and 3, and their friends- their brothers- took turns to hold and meet the newest addition to the Rogers family. Steve dropped a kiss to Katie’s head, the pair of them sharing a deliriously happy look.

“Thank you.” Steve said, resting his head against hers. “Thank you for this one more and for making me the happiest man alive”

#stark spangled forever #steve rogers #Katie Stark #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #chris evans #chris evans characters

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watch-grok-brainrot · 4 years

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Hi! So I saw some of your commentary on translation and decided it's worth a shot to ask. Sorry if it's a bother! What is, in your opinion, the most faithful translation of this line? "Who cares about the crowded, broad road? I'll stick to my single-log bridge until it's dark". I've seen a few variations, including "into the dark". It's a minor difference, I guess, but it's such an important line, I want to know as much as possible!

Not a bother at all! I’m so honored someone would ask my opinion of a translation! And your question is delightfully open ended. i’ve been needing an excuse to go down a rabbit hole of chinese and cql! That means if i wander and end up super off topic, it’s ok! (also, this is the first ask i’ve gotten about something not due to a tumblr game so i’m really excited!)

Any-hoot! The line in question is:

管他熙熙攘攘阳关道我偏要一条独木桥走到黑

In short, both “into dark” and “until dark” work. But let’s talk a bit in depth about the elements of the line since you want to know as much as possible. Also, translation, IMO, is personal so you can decide what you prefer. Hopefully i’ll give you enough information to help you form an opinion.

管他 - guan ta - no matter, who cares. 管 has a lot of meanings: tube, pipe, valve, manage, control, care, jurisdiction, etc. 他 is him/other. In this case, together, the phrase is a VERY casual (borderline rude) way of saying who cares -- fitting of WWX’s relaxed speech pattern.

熙熙攘攘 - xi xi rang rang - bustling/full of people. Per Baidu, this is a 成语 (1) referring to a line from 《史记·货殖列传》: “天下熙熙，皆为利来；天下攘攘，皆为利往”. 史记 is commonly thought of as China’s first “biolographical history”. Written in the Han Dynasty, it chronicles all Pre-Han dynasties and kingdoms. It set the precedent of not discussing the current dynasty in a piece of history writing because under the circumstances one cannot be impartial (i.e you can say whatever you want about previous rulers but not those related to the current ones lest you want to risk decapitation). The passage the term is from is a section that discusses merchants. The line can be translated as “Everyone [under heaven] is happy, all arriving for profits; everyone [under heaven] is troubled, all leaving for profits.” The coming and going captured from the source is reflected by the current usage of the term as bustling/full of people.

阳关道 - yang guan dao - character by character: sunny, pass, path/way/road. 阳关道 is a reference to a road going through a pass on the Silk Road. There were two options onto the silk road back in the Han Dynasty. The north road forces you through 玉门关 (Yu men guan). The south road forces you through 阳关. Located in modern day Gansu Province, 阳关道 is said to have been 120 meters wide (which is massive even by today’s standards!). Within this context, it indicates a well known, well traveled, busy, broad road. (2) (3)

我偏要 - wo pian yao - character by character: i, wilfully, want. So, in short, “i insist on”. Like 管他, WWX is just being casual in his speech here. The idea of willful, though, is important as a character trait for him. He will do what’s right; he will follow his path; come hell or high water.

一条 - yi tiao - a. Seriously, the first character is one. The second is a measure word for a stick-like thing. This is a fun (aka highly frustrating for non-native speakers) part of chinese! When you refer to an object that can be counted, you need to use measure words. You use the wrong one, and the implications get odd. Sometimes I would translate measure words via “a [measure word] of [something]”. E.g. A unit of person. A head of cattle. A cup of water. BUT! If you use the wrong measure word, it seems really weird. E.g. A cup of person. A stick of water.

独木桥 - du mu qiao - character by character: single, wood, bridge. Aka a single plank bridge. It is often paired with 阳关道 since they contrast so well. There is also a chinese saying: “你走你的阳关道，我走我的独木桥” which basically says you walk your broad path, I’ll walk my single plank bridge. It means to each their own. This is definitely part of what WWX is trying to do. He saved the Wens. He’s exiled himself from the Jiangs and the cultivation world. He says to Jiang Cheng that he just wants to be left alone to live out his life. And that sentiment is reflected in this statement about busy broad paths and single plank bridges.

走到黑 - zou dao hei - character by character: walk, reach/until, black/dark. In this case, the color black indicates an ending. I’m thinking death or some sort of fall from grace. Usage-wise, it can just refer to the end of an alley (alleys existed even in the Tang Dynasty since cities were organized in grids). Sometimes, in a slightly longer phrasing, the wording can mean stubbornly choosing to do something without looking back. So how do we want to interpret this part of the line? Based on context of WWX, his stubbornness, and his 独木桥, I would say he is mindfully heading towards the end. For that reason, I prefer “into the dark” over “until dark”. (4)

That said, we can also be less literal with our translations! Let me offer this as an option of a fairly liberal translation that still captures the essence and the tone: “Who cares! To each their own! I’ll walk my own path come hell or high water!”

And I’d like to leave you with the idea of LWJ saying to WWX: The feeling of “walking my own path come hell or high water” isn’t bad indeed.

Footnotes:

成语s are idioms and are usually 4 characters long. They are super common in modern chinese. As a child, you either pick up their meanings from context or are taught the meaning. Oftentimes, the meaning derives from a story or a literary reference that are only tangentially related to the characters of the idiom.

It’s actually a modern day tourist attraction! In my wanderings on Baidu, i saw a picture of modern day 阳关道. There was a picture of a stone memorial and the writing on the stone literally said former location of 阳关. I don’t know why i found this so funny... oh, well.

Both 阳关 and 玉门关 are well known to Chinese children due to their presence in Tang Dynasty poetry. For example: 送元二使安西作者：唐王维 (Sending Off Yuan Er Towards Xi’an by tang poet Wang Wei) 渭城朝雨浥轻尘，客舍青青柳色新。劝君更尽一杯酒，西出阳关无故人。(Morning rain in Weicheng dampens the light dust ， Making the inn verdant and freshening the willows’ color 。 I implore you to drink one more cup of wine ， Once west of Yang Guan you will have no more familiar people 。)

Full disclaimer: I might be partial to into the dark because of that Deathcab for Cutie song “I will follow you into the dark”. Also, uh… LWJ’s mood when he named LSZ (5), right?! “Love of mine, someday you will die/But I'll be close behind and I'll follow you into the dark” FOLLOW YOU INTO THE DARK. I AM SCREAMING. What are wangxian feels?! Why are they EVERYWHERE.

In case you don’t know, LSZ’s S and Z are 思 (si, to think/miss) and 追 (zhui, to follow/chase). LWJ explains it as 思君不可追, 念君何时归. People (i think both in chinese and english speaking fandom) explain it as “missing you but can’t go after/be near you, thinking about you and wondering when you’ll return.” I always interpreted this line very dramatically: LWJ wanted to follow WWX into death but could not because of this child. By bestowing the name on the child, he expresses his desire to chase after WWX. (also, WTF does my footnote have a footnote?!)

(I want to say I consider myself a native Chinese speaker but I grew up outside of China. I didn't go to school in China but I did manage to work my way through textbooks (aka my dad sat me down nearly every day for 10 years to teach me the language) so that I have at least a late middle school/early high school reading level. I have read the unabridged/simplified Journey to the West but none of the other famous 4 novels. From interacting with people, I believe I have good language sense. I also pick up wordings and phrases pretty easily. The language makes sense to me. However, I am not well read or well studied.)

Welp, @ ho-heystranger let me know if you’re happy with this. If not, feel free to follow up in the notes or something. oof. this got way longer than i anticipated!

#ho-heystranger #i got an ask!#mo dao zu shi #the untamed 陈情令 #translation #管他熙熙攘攘阳关道我偏要一条独木桥走到黑 #wei wuxian #lan wangji #lan sizhui #definite ramblings #some historical context #everything is a reference in chinese #and the more you read the more you learn your references but the more you want to bang you head against a wall #yes this is personal experience #also ngl i kinda love it #chinese is so old its references has references and other references #reference-ception?#i'm gonna stop now #my ramblings are ending up in the tags

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silver-wield · 4 years

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I found this somewhere, I think it's pretty interesting and y'all should read (all credits to the owner): "Funny thing is, the song ''Hollow'' has more connection to Cloud and Tifa (from Cloud's perspective) than it does to Cloud and Aerith, so it's kinda awkward when other fandom says that the song is ''official to their ship''.You know, it rained when Tifa found Cloud at the Sector 7 station, Cloud immediately recognized Tifa and then started slowly to (mentally) come back to his senses. + 1/4

I mean, it's in the FF7. Basically, Tifa (unknowingly) healed Cloud back then ('You would appear, reach out to me; Heal every wound and make me whole' - it can also imply to the time when Tifa went to Lifestream to fix Cloud's mind). Even the lyrics heavily imply that. Not only that, but it hints to Cloud's thoughts when Nibelheim burned down when he thought that Tifa died after Sephiroth sliced her with Masamune in the Reactor and injured her (very) heavily + 2/4

('Had I realized, had I thought it through (implying to Sephiroth's descend to madness because Cloud was the only one who thought and voiced out that Sephiroth was behaving ''weirdly''); Would you be here in my embrace?'). And no, not a shipper of any kind. Just using logic and common sense when Nobuo Uematsu said that he 'envisioned Cloud alone in the rain' when he composed the song ''Hollow''. + 3/4

Besides, in the FF7 (including Crisis Core), it only rained when Zack died, and when Tifa found Cloud. It didn't rain when Aerith died. The song clearly describes what happened in the past [for Cloud] when it comes to FF7 Remake. So, then, how can the song be about something that's yet to happen (or maybe, not happen at all)? Plus, it would be a really heavy spoiler for those who haven't played the OG FF7 and don't know Aerith's fate." 4/4

The only way Hollow is about Aerith is whatever applies to what they just went through in the Shinra building and that whole bit was friendship coded between them. Cloud isn’t meta. Not at all. Other characters get meta lines or foreknowledge, but Cloud (and Tifa) live within FF7 narrative. Barret in OG got meta lines about killing the planet as a message to corporations, but they were within the narrative. He still gets those same lines because they’re in the original game, but he also gets new meta lines to do with new stuff - and it’s hilarious. He’s still within the narrative though, so he doesn’t know they’re meta.

Aerith knows her statements are meta. So does Sephiroth. That’s their symmetry. They were always like that. They are two sides of a coin. It’s why their designs have symmetry too. They both have the same bangs and similar eye colour, but the subtext of that is Aerith’s represent the lifestream and Sephiroth’s represent its corruption.

Cloud lives within the narrative and only says things he means. There’s no deeper hidden code within his words. Things like “I don’t know how to explain” are not “I’m secretly falling for someone new” he means, “I don’t know how to explain” because he doesn’t know about real Cloud, who owns those feelings. He’s looking at and feeling things for Tifa from a distance, but because those feelings are so strong they still affect soldier Cloud.

Cloud barely remembers what happened in Nibeheim because it happened to real Cloud. It’s something he sees and feels from a distance. That’s why he’s always confused and in pain when he gets those flashes. Because soldier Cloud wasn’t there. Real Cloud was. And real Cloud is in real pain because of it!

Cloud’s last memories before waking up are his best friend and the girl he loves dying -- the girl he never confessed to. That he regrets not confessing to. When he wakes up it’s to Zack dying -- again -- right before his eyes. He couldn’t do a thing about it. It’s raining and he’s in pain and wants to cry and scream at how unfair it is. Somehow he manages to drag himself to Midgar where he collapses at the train station -- it’s still raining. Tifa finds him and her voice snaps him out of the last of that mako fog. He thought she was dead. Her death was the motivator that drove him to kill Sephiroth. And then, there she is looking at him and asking if he’s ok. Ofc she’d look like some kind of angel in that moment because he thought she was dead.

After that, Cloud spends a lot of time focused on Tifa’s safety. Literally any time she’s in danger he’s there physically moving her out of harm’s way. This is his second chance to protect her. But he can’t escape Sephiroth and things build to a head and Cloud literally looks at Tifa when he says he’s heard enough howling for a lifetime. That is absolutely a reference to Hollow and who is on his mind. It’s a pre-reference to Hollow since the song comes after this line. This is what Cloud is thinking of when he’s saying he feels hollow. Because he’s had enough of losing the people he loves. He lost his best friend, his girl, his home -- twice -- his mother, his memories, his identity! Cloud lost everything in what feels like the space of a week to him!

Those lines at the end that people keep saying are about a girl. They’re talking about himself. He lost himself.

“I’ll see the truth hidden inside your tears. But I know that you’re long gone. But I will go on howling and hollow.”

It’s everything that Cloud lost, including himself. Cloud will see the truth hidden within his own tears because if yall didn’t notice Cloud spends a lot of this game trying not to cry. He knows everything he loves is long gone. He knows real Cloud is long gone. Soldier Cloud will go on howling and feeling hollow because he’s not connected to real Cloud.

Why do people keep acting like Cloud having a fractured psyche is nothing more than a cool gaming mechanism? Cloud lost himself. Cloud wants to cry for himself.

He lost everything.

I think the boi is allowed to mourn without people trying to appropriate his feelings as romantic.

This song is not romantic. Cloud is not thinking about anything in a romantic context. He is fucking sad and anxious and feels alone and lost.

And that’s the absolute last time I talk about bloody Hollow because the lyrics are fucking obvious when you actually put them in context of Cloud as an individual and not an extension of someone’s twisted fanon. There’s no meta lines in this. Cloud is not meta!

#final fantasy 7 remake #Hollow #ost #Cloud strife #It's a song about Cloud #from Cloud's pov #Stop trying to erase his damn feelings #He's sad and anxious #Let him be sad and anxious

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musicollage · 4 years

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Atlas Sound. Logos, 2009. Kranky (USA) / 4AD (UK). ( Lyrics & Music – Bradford Cox ) ~ [ Album Review | 1) Pitchfork + 2) Pop Matters + 3) Drowned In Sound + 4) NME + 5) Prefix Magazine ]

1) As we've gotten to know Bradford Cox over the last couple of years through shows, interviews, and blog posts, one of the Deerhunter frontman's most appealing qualities is his deep and nuanced appreciation of the music of others. Some musicians listen to records to see how they work, check out the competition, or trawl for ideas; by all available evidence, Cox feels records, deeply. If he was born without musical gifts and couldn't sing or play an instrument, one can imagine him working at a record store, amassing an enviable collection while driving people on a message board crazy with the sureness of his detailed opinions. Whatever you think of his exploits as an indie rock media figure, Cox's music fandom is easy to identify with and also offers a portal into his own work.

Atlas Sound, Cox's solo alias, in one sense serves as a sort of laboratory for figuring out what makes some his favorite music tick, away from the expectations of his main band. Two collaborations on Logos, the second Atlas Sound full-length, are excellent examples of how music listening can be absorbed into original work. First is "Walkabout", a track Cox wrote and recorded with Noah Lennox from Animal Collective, whom Cox got to know during a European tour. Though Cox's music shades dark and Lennox's is often flecked with uncertainty and doubt, "Walkabout" is the sunniest pop tune of either of their careers. Coasting on a buoyant, twinkling keyboard sample, it is a starkly catchy and irresistible, a clattery post-millennial Archies tune that straddles perfectly the border between simple and simplistic. Interestingly, it also sounds very much like a Panda Bear tune.

Then there is Lætitia Sadier of Stereolab, who wrote the lyrics and sings lead on Logos' "Quick Canal". The song opens with some gorgeously textured organ chords and soon a steady-state beat and drums rise up in the mix, setting the kind of relaxed-but-propulsive neo-krautrock scene that Stereolab perfected very early on. Here Cox gets to play the part of the late Mary Hansen, adding "la-di-da" trills behind Sadier as she intones phrases in her unfailingly lovely, for-the-ages voice. He even throws in a "Jenny Ondioline"-style rupture about halfway through, sending the track into a breathtaking shoegaze section for its final four minutes, wherein it floats magisterially on a pillow of shifting guitar feedback. "Quick Canal" is almost nine minutes long and it doesn't waste a second.

On these tracks, the confidence Cox shows in melting his aesthetic into the soundworld of other musicians is striking-- both are unqualified successes, very different from each other but among the best things Cox has ever done. But they also sound a lot like the music his collaborators are known for. Cox's sympathetic support and sense of how to construct songs with others suggests a desire to expand the parameters of what Atlas Sound can be. And given his willingness to let others take the microphone on an Atlas Sound project on these cuts, I can't help but go back to Cox's words on Logos before the album was released, which suggested that this was to be less introverted and that was "not about me."

And then I remember that the cover of the album consists of a photo of Cox with his shirt off and the lyrics in the first two songs start with the word "I", which suggests that we probably shouldn't take these statements very seriously. While the songs may or may not be "about" Cox in the strictest sense, the overall vibe is at least as introverted as 2008's Let the Blind Lead Those Who Can See But Cannot Feel, and every note bears the same signature. With its strummed guitars, hushed double-tracked vocals, and tunes more reliant on ambiance and feel than melody or rhythm, Logos feels every bit as diaristic and personal, but with Cox, that's a plus. At this point, we're not looking to this guy for commentary on the outside world; we want to hear him wrestle with private demons in the sanctuary of his bedroom, bathing every sound in reverb to give the illusion of space and as a sonic balm against loneliness and figuring out how to make music as affecting as the stuff he loves to listen to.

So tracks like "The Light That Failed", "An Orchid", and "My Halo" (the latter two, though different in tone, are further entries in Cox's growing line of melancholy waltz-time shuffles) function primarily as the kind of eerie, blown-out mood music he has become very good at. They are amorphous sketches that still manage to convey feeling, capturing the sort of sad, exhausted, and fragile emotional state that is Cox's area of expertise. "Shelia", a taut pop song with a great chorus hook, is a change-up, though the repeating refrain "No one wants to die alone" fits with the rest of the record's themes. And "Washington School", with its dissonant chime of metallic percussion that sound like gamelan or evilly out-of-tune steel drums, contains the record's most interesting production, with thick drones reminiscent of Tim Hecker and menacing rhythm track.

So some things are different, some are the same, but all of it works well together. It's true that every time Cox ventures out of his comfort zone on Logos, you wish that he'd go even further and embrace extremes-- of tunefulness, tradition, noise-- that don't necessarily come to him naturally. He may yet take a big leap with Atlas Sound, but here the steps away, though rewarding, are tentative. For the rest of the record, Logos feels familiar and assuring, another affecting dispatch from a corner of indie music that is increasingly starting to seem like one Cox pretty much owns.

2) Take a quick gander at Deerhunter's discography and you'll notice a clear stylistic trajectory. From the confrontational noise of "Turn It Up Faggot" to the ambient preoccupations of Cryptograms to the straight-up indie-pop of Microcastle/Weird Era Cont., it's plain to see that as the band has evolved over time, its songwriting has increasingly tended toward the more accessible end of the spectrum. Unsurprisingly, it appears that Bradford Cox's other songwriting vehicle, Atlas Sound, is following a similar arc. On Logos, his second album under the Atlas Sound moniker, Cox provides us with 11 songs that are far less insular, though no less dreamy, than those he has penned in the past. While his fractured compositions still evoke the myth of the bedroom pop auteur, the songs on Logos sound considerably more refined than the lo-fi sketches being churned out by many of his peers. This, as it turns out, is a very good thing.

To wit: "Walkabout", the track that had the blogosphere buzzing with anticipation for the better part of the summer. Built around a squelchy organ sample lifted from the Dovers "What Am I Going to Do", the song simultaneously recalls both the acid-tinged psychedelia of Black Moth Super Rainbow and the technicolor pop of Brian Wilson. Of course, it's impossible to mention "Walkabout" without acknowledging its co-creator, Noah Lennox, a.k.a. Panda Bear. In many ways, "Walkabout" bears Lennox's fingerprints more than it does Cox's, with Lennox's wistful vocal harmonies echoing throughout the track's four-minute runtime. It's easy to see why Cox chose to leak "Walkabout" well in advance of the release of Logos; bright, bubbly and infinitely catchy, the song perfectly captures the mood of a fleeting summer afternoon and stands as one of the year's best singles.

"Walkabout" is obviously a standout, though it's also an outlier when approached within the context of Logos. While some may feel as if they've been misled, the good news is that the rest of the album is no less rewarding, if not quite as instantly gratifying. Take, for example, the opening suite that leads up to "Walkabout". Pitting disjointed acoustic guitar strums and distant, reverb-soaked vocals against a backdrop of aqueous noise, "The Light That Failed" succeeds at drawing the listener in while still keeping her at arm's length. "An Orchid", meanwhile, presents the listener with a dreamy ballad that feels like an indistinct outline for a Deerhunter song. Cox's vocals and the song's guitar hook are buried just deep enough in the mix to force the listener to dig a little. When "Walkabout" finally hits, it feels like a reward well earned.

Luckily, "Walkabout" isn't the only nugget of pure pop bliss to be found on Logos. "Shelia", a disarmingly straightforward slice of jangly college-rock, proves hard to shake, with its Pixies-esque melody and sun-bleached three-part harmonies. Lyrically, the song serves as a world-weary rejoinder to the sweetly nostalgic refrain of "Walkabout" ("What did you want to be / When you grew up"), with Cox explaining, "No one wants / To die alone", before promising the song's titular subject, "We'll die alone / Together." It sure goes down easy, though.

Cox has publicly acknowledged that Stereolab were his favorite band in high school, so it should come as no surprise that given the opportunity to collaborate with Lætitia Sadier, he puts his best foot forward. On "Quick Canal", he lovingly builds up and tears down a cathedral of sound for Sadier to inhabit, layering a deep bass groove, tambourine hits and a wall of gently panning organs atop a steady, shuffling beat. Midway through, the song falls apart, briefly taking a detour into glitchy noise before giving way to a squall of fuzzed-out guitars. Try as Cox might to obfuscate the vocals, however, Sadier's voice proves indefatigable. To her credit, she sounds right at home here, bouncing her voice off of the song's jagged edges to produce a track that's equal parts haunting and triumphant.

With regard to electronic composition, on Logos Cox sounds more confident than ever before. Samples and electronic instrumentation form the underpinnings of many of the album's songs, though not to conspicuous effect. Penultimate track "Washington School" illustrates this point better than perhaps any other on the album. Opening with a loop built from fragments of a minor key piano line, the song soon piles on a pounding, bass-heavy beat, chimes and a playful synth line, blossoming into a full-on folktronica number that recalls Four Tet circa Rounds. Somewhere in the distance, Cox's disembodied voice rings out: "Shine a light / On me."

If Let the Blind Lead Those Who Can See But Cannot Feel was the product of Cox's willful isolation, then Logos is the sound of the auteur stepping outside of his bedroom to engage the world outside. Though it cedes little of the hazy delivery that made Let the Blind… so compelling, Logos brims with a wide-eyed energy all its own, conveying a palpable sense of optimism that's all too rare in Cox's oeuvre. This isn't too surprising when one considers the circumstances; the path that led Cox to the album's creation -- globetrotting tours with his idols, collaborations with some of the most distinctive voices in indie rock -- is the stuff of dreams for hermetic music nerds. Perhaps that's why Logos sounds as vibrant as it does: it's the result of Bradford Cox living out his dreams rather than just dreaming them.

3) One of many unsatisfactory things about end-of-decade retrospectives is that musicians are rarely so accommodating as to plot their careers in nice, convenient ten year cycles. Nonetheless, that’s how posterity tends to remember them, regardless of finer details. Thus the Kinks are Sixties artists, the Clash a Seventies act, Talk Talk an Eighties band, Nirvana from the Nineties, and you’d comfortably stick a punt on The Strokes and Sufjan Stevens ending up defined by this decade we’re exiting.

But what of Bradford Cox? Even if you were aware of Deerhunter's raucous 2005 debut ”Turn It Up Faggot” at the time, you're a wizard or a liar if you foresaw how their frontman was going to fill the years 2007 to 2009. That is to say: three Deerhunter albums (‘tis a fool indeed who views Weird Era Cont. as anything other than a record in its own right), two EPs, and a solo project as Atlas Sound that’s yielded God-know-how-many free downloads, as well as last year's Let The Blind Lead Those Who Can See But Cannot Feel, and now – an epic 22 months later - Logos. That all of this bar the odd freebie has been good to exemplary is simply astonishing, and points to an artist whose profligacy and cult popularity has him nicely set up to be a defining artist of the next decade.

And yet... anomalous as ”Turn It Up Faggot” may seem, such scabrous origins are indicative of a palette that has been cooling and quietening ever since Cox first intersected with the limelight. The soundbite-friendly ‘ambient punk’ aesthetic never really lasted beyond Cryptograms, with Microcastle canning the abrasiveness in favour of reasonably straightforward shoegaze set off with dreamlike Fifties flourishes. Having arrived at something like a commercial sound, another artist might have stopped there; however, Cox has ploughed right on through, this year’s Rainwater Cassette Exchange far and away Deerhunter’s most introverted work, a retreat into quiescent childhood reverie.

Logos has much more in common with Rainwater... than Let the Blind..., for the most part ditching the dissonant electronics in favour of delayed acoustic guitars and old-time pop structures. On the face of it, it sets out Atlas Sound’s stall as simply being whatever Cox may do sans Deerhunter. Yet in a way the 'ambient solo project' tag still kind of makes sense. Strictly speaking ambient music is defined not by instrumentation, but by its evasion of the consciousness. Whole swathes of Logos are blurred and indistinct - technically melodic, hooky songs treated and delivered in such a way that they all but self-negate, leaving nothing but fleeting impressions: the winsome viola that arrives in ‘Attic Lights’, just as Cox mutters ”maximum pain, maximum effect”; the gay singer’s unsettling yearning for traditional marriage on ‘Sheila’ ("we’ll die alone, together"); the barely discernible mantra ”all is love” that briefly ghosts through ‘Washington School’.

This might sound like a way of romanticising an unmemorable album, but that's far from the case. These songs are bunched together into two dreamy, fog-like passages that serve as a backdrop for a handful of the most tangible tunes Cox has ever written, soaring atmospherically above the misty dreampop. Opener ‘The Light That Failed’ roots itself in the consciousness through eerily torpid glitching, Cox’s disconcerting use of something approaching a falsetto, and the doomy langour of its titular lyric. It sets up an album that frequently drifts into disquieting areas, yet never quite follows through on this early moment of dread. Indeed, delightful Panda Bear hook up ‘Walkabout’ serves as definitive proof that the light hasn't failed at all. While much of Cox’s early pop obsession speaks of a desire to creep out of the now entirely, ‘Walkabout’ is far more tangible and good natured, thanks largely to Panda Bear’s high, comforting tones and the appropriation of the hook from actual vintage Sixties pop gem ‘What Am I Going To Do?’ by The Dovers. Ironically for a song built around a 40-year-old tune, nothing, else on Logos has ‘Walkabout’s immediacy, though the excellent title track comes close, a rattling Strokes-alike number slightly removed from the world by Cox’s arsenal of floaty FX.

As we’ve known ever since last year’s leak of the Logos demos, the centrepiece is the eight and a half minute, wholly electronic ‘Quick Canal’. Though tamed a little from the leaked 13 minute instrumental, this more mannered, Laetitia Sadier-sung incarnation is a better fit here, and still towers above the skyline. The Stereolab singer adds an inescapably Enya-ish quality to the gentle early stages, but by the time the song’s swooshing, snowy motorik has kicked into full gear she fits in immaculately, an aloof Old World passenger on a song charged with haughty European electronica. It perhaps doesn’t sound so jaw-dropping as it did in isolation, but a lot of that can be attributed to an intentional effect of the surroundings. Those short, subliminal songs serving to filter away reality and focus, like half remembered dreams that leaves the senses baffled and feverish.

Logos is a gorgeous, hallucinatory and somewhat sickly outing. While there's every chance he'll wrong foot us, and soon, this record is entirely in keeping with the increasingly self-erasing route Bradford Cox has taken as a musician; it's hard to stifle a shudder at that blanked out cover image. Maybe Cox will go on to be a star next decade - he's a gregarious, prolific man liked by critics. But listen to his music, and that doesn't feel quite right. Maybe he'll become an icon. Or maybe he’ll finally make his escape from our timestream entirely, leaving us to wonder if he was ever there at all.

4) Much like Starbucks, Bradford Cox has become a ubiquitous presence. What with his work with art-rock outfit Deerhunter, his involvement in Karen O’s official soundtrack for Where The Wild Things Are, and now this, his second solo offering under the Atlas Sound banner, you’d be forgiven for thinking that such familiarity will start to breed contempt. But you’d be way off the mark.

There are two things you should know about this unlikely lo-fi hero of gangly deportment (he has Marfan Syndrome, a genetic disorder that stretches his limbs and strains his heart) and a girlish speaking voice (the affliction for this is yet uncertain). Firstly, it is impossible to dislike him (just see Wayne Coyne’s spoof argument with him on YouTube, branding Cox a “dick”). Secondly, his creative output has proved him to be one of – if not the – most forward-thinking and inspiring musicians of our generation.

So, as Cox takes time out from Deerhunter, along comes ‘Logos’. Less of an experimental minefield than its predecessor, ‘Let The Blind Lead Those Who Can See But Cannot Feel’, it sees Cox weave in and out of dream-like sequences, such as the sombre ‘The Light That Failed’ and ‘Quick Canal’, the latter featuring the sweetly masculine vocal of [a]Stereolab[/a]’s Laetitia Sadier; while ‘An Orchid’ pitches in as the aural equivalent of a David Lynch storyboard, guided along with looped noises and whimsical vocals.

It’d be easy to overlook Cox’s lyrics when the soundscapes are this rich and ornate, but there’s a delicate exploration of the most human of sensibilities and yearnings on ‘Logos’. He opens up the emotional vaults on ‘Sheila’, pining softly that “no-one wants to die alone… we’ll die alone together”. Likewise with ‘My Halo’, where Cox reveals “My halo burned a hole in the sky/My halo burned a hole in the ground… so I wait for polarity to change”. There’s much warmth and playfulness to be found here too, the unfeigned honesty and childlish desires expressed on ‘Walkabout’ – featuring the falsetto of [a]Animal Collective[/a]’s Noah Lennox – with its lyric “What did you want to see?/What did you want to be when you grew up?” being a case in point.

Cox may have tagged Atlas Sound as just another side-project, but ‘Logos’ is a clear indication that his solo creative output is just as richly rewarding as what came before.

5) For a project originally started as a way for Deerhunter frontman Bradford Cox to give a voice to his despairing isolation (he records completely alone) as a teenager, Atlas Sound is starting to sound like an arena-filling, widescreen pop project. Logos, Cox’s second proper solo album, takes the dense, gray worlds of Let the Blind Lead Those Who Can See, But Cannot Feel and puts them through a rainbow, delivering a splendid album.

If there’s one word to describe Logos, it’s “watery.” And in that regard, Logos shares a lot in common with Merriweather Post Pavilion (and Deerhunter’s Rainwater Cassette Exchange from earlier this year). Both albums trade in dreamy avant-pop landscapes buoyed by soggy atmospherics. “Criminals” sways like a shipping vessel in choppy seas, while the album’s great closing third (“My Halo” through the title track) sounds like it was transmitted from that underwater base in the third season of Lost. Cox is still reliant on the general ambiance that envelops his solo work, but here he’s willing to let his vocals float above the mix. And while musically this is brighter, he’s still all Debbie Downer. Old standby lyrical tropes of growing old (on “Sheila” Cox sings “we will grow old” like he’s reassuring someone else), loneliness (“Attic Lights”) and lost hope (“The Light that Failed”) show up repeatedly, and he still sounds like he’s on his deathbed when he sings.

But for an album created largely by one guy alone in his room, the guest performances shine the most on Logos. Stereolab’s Lætitia Sadier wrote the lyrics for “Quick Canal,” a sprawling, shoegazey track that never loses its motorik motion, peaking repeatedly in its eight minutes. The bubbly “Walkabout,” the high-profile track with Animal Collective’s Panda Bear lives up to all the hypertext spilled about it this summer, delivering the best of both Panda Bear’s effervescent youthful innocence and Cox’s wistful yearning.

Logos, while just the second solo album from the frontman for a band of marginal fame, represents the latest and greatest chapter in Cox’s ride to indie stardom. He rose to prominence mid-decade as a confrontational trickster riding blog-hype (circa Cryptograms), continuing with a solo album to build his brand (Let the Blind), an indie-rock masterwork (Microcastle) and a solo album of nearly as high repute (Logos). As for what’s next, Cox has remained mum (though Deerhunter might be taking a hiatus), but with Logos, he ensures we’ll all be waiting.

#rock music #art rock #atlas sound #bradford cox #kranky #4ad #2009 #2000s #2000s rock #pitchfork #pop matters #drowned in sound #nme #prefix magazine #review

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browncoatparadox · 4 years

Text

Day 4- AU

There were old songs that said that selkies couldn’t survive on land for more than a day. That come the stroke of midnight, they would choke and drown on the dry air, collapsing into dust.

Vespa knew the truth all too well. A selkie could stay on land as long as they liked, but without their skin they could not shift. And without their ability to shift, to both swim in the sea and walk on the land, they would slowly lose their self, their nature.

She had spent years without her skin, years in bond to figures who told her where to go, what to do. She could feel her mind slipping away as time passed, her thoughts washing away like a drawing in the sand. Only a few things poked out from the rising tide. That her name was Vespa Ilkay. That she was a selkie. That she loved Buddy Aurinko.

Some days, she didn’t know anything else. She could barely remember what some of those words meant sometimes. But even without the context, the knowledge of what a selkie was or who Buddy was, she knew that they were important.

She saw ghosts, sometimes. Flickering around corners, taunting her, figments of her parched mind. Sometimes they claimed to be people she knew. She wanted to rip into them with her teeth and claws, tear them open and leave them floating in the current, but they weren’t there. No matter how real they looked, they weren’t there.

So when she saw a woman that her mind insisted was Buddy reaching out to her, calling out her name? She fled. The job had gone wrong, her skin was still in the hands of that man, and there was too much happening, and she was so close to the sea but without her skin the salt-scent on the air just taunted her. It couldn’t be Buddy, had to be her mind taunting her again with what could never be.

Vespa retreated to the alleyways of Cerberus Harbor. She had to strike again soon, before her skin was hidden somewhere else. She had to get it back before she lost the only chance she had found in the last fifteen years.

She could hear the woman calling out to her in the darkness. Vespa couldn’t see much, certainly less than she would have been able to at her full power, but she could feel her skin here somewhere. She prowled forward, knife in hand. She needed it. This was her chance. And if her skin had already been moved, then at least she could kill one of the people who had trapped her on land for so long.

The woman with Buddy’s face called out to her again. Vespa’s grip on her knife tightened, poor substitute for her claws and teeth that it was. “You’re not real,” she said, spitting it out. “You’re not Buddy!”

She lashed out at the vague shadow of the woman, lunging towards her. The woman put up a fight, but she barely fought back enough to defend herself. Vespa didn’t know why she was so reluctant to fight back, but she would take advantage of it. She pinned the woman against the wall and raised her knife to strike.

A soft light filled the room. Someone must have released the pixie dust from the smuggling deal- pure concentrated magic, from one of the lost springs. It had been worth a fortune. This woman was supposed to sell the stolen magic to the man who held her skin. Vespa had known that he would be too distracted by the promise of it to properly secure her skin, would want it ready for him to make a quick exit after the deal was struck. It was why she needed to attack now, needed to go for the throat.

She looked like Buddy, looked like the sun-faded memories that haunted her mind. But Buddy was gone, had been taken from her long ago. She had waited by the Lighthouse, waited for her love to return, and her skin had been stolen in a moment of distraction. She had cursed her carelessness, cursed her weakness, but had never cursed Buddy. She would have been there, if she was able to. She would have been there to protect Vespa.

The woman who could not be Buddy reached out to her. “It’s me, darling.” Her voice cracked. And as she moved forward, gently pushing herself away from the wall, Vespa saw what was gripped in her hand.

A sealskin. Her sealskin.

Vespa froze, suddenly afraid that she would slice her coat, sever even the faded connection to it she had now. The woman had to be using it as a shield, protecting her from Vespa’s wrath, just waiting for the moment when she could hide it again and tell Vespa what to do…

The woman reached forward and gently wrapped the skin around Vespa’s shoulders.

She gasped, her eyes filling with sea-salt tears as she felt more whole than she had been in years, felt the sea rush into her and fill in all of her hollow places with life. She clung tightly to her skin as she staggered back, overwhelmed by the rush of magic that surged through her.

Buddy watched her, a sad smile on her face. “I was trapped in Faerie, after everything went wrong. They kept me there for a long time, and I swear that I looked for you as soon as I escaped.” She started to reach towards Vespa, but stopped herself. “I understand if you don’t want to see me again. I understand if you never want to leave the sea again. But if you want to try again, to see if we can make a new life together with who we’ve become… meet me at the Lighthouse.”

The magic faded away. Vespa cast one more glance in Buddy’s direction and fled for the sea.

Vespa swam to the shore. She still could barely believe that she was finally in her seal form again, no longer trapped in her human body alone. She had almost forgotten the way that the water smoothly folded around her, the invisible currents that her whiskers tracked, the sheer joy of hunting and devouring a fish with only her own teeth. It was almost too much for her to handle. She looked up at the rocky coastline, and the lighthouse that beamed out over the waves to welcome and warn sailors.

And there she was, next to the lighthouse, burning like a beacon. Buddy Aurinko.

Vespa stood off, fluidly sweeping her skin onto her shoulders. Now that she was standing, she could see Buddy’s companions standing behind her. She thought about keeping an eye on them for a moment, but Buddy quickly captivated her attention. She was silhouetted against the sunset, the last rays of light dancing through her hair, and for a moment she looked like a goddess. Vespa walked up to her, and took Buddy’s hands in her own. She wasn’t the same as she remembered. But then, Vespa wasn’t the same as she had been either.

“It’s you.”

“You’re here.”

And the universe fell into motion.

They were standing on the docks, a ship at their side, and Vespa was whole. Buddy was doing her last checks, examining the ship to make sure all of its operational spells were working. The werewolf- Sikuliaq, she had to get better at names- was walking up the gangplank with the seer and harpy- Steel and Rita- in tow.

The fae was on the deck, striking a pose on Sikuliaq’s airskimmer. She didn’t know why he was here. Vespa couldn’t forget what Buddy had told her, that she had been trapped in Faerie, that she had been cursed while there to never know safe harbor until the soul of a city was killed by its defenders. Apparently the curse had been broken, but there was still something about the fae that put her on edge, something about his glamour that rubbed her skin the wrong way.

It didn’t feel right to be around these people. They were wrong, bringing back memories of being landlocked. Buddy didn’t summon the same feelings- she was Buddy, her lighthouse, her love. But she didn’t feel comfortable around people anymore, and she certainly didn’t trust them.

Still, Buddy trusted them, at least enough for this quest. And if Buddy trusted them, then Vespa would trust Buddy.

The man who last held her skin walked by her on the deck, reaching out for her as he passed. She staggered back, gripping her flippers tightly. He grinned and then faded. Another hallucination. She had hoped that those would leave once her skin was returned, but that wasn’t the way things worked. Things that were broken could not always be mended, and both Vespa and Buddy had been broken by the time gone by. But they would get through it together. She knew they would.

Her love clapped her hands together when she saw the newcomers arrive. “Excellent, we’re all here. Welcome to the Carte Blanche.” She gestured around them. The harpy let out a slight shriek of excitement.

“We are going to find the springs of magic. And we are going to break them open and release it into the world.”

It seemed like an impossible task. But if anyone could do the impossible, it was Buddy Aurinko.

The ship pulled away from Cerberus Harbor and into the horizon as Buddy began to lay out their quest.

#podcastgirlsweek #the penumbra podcast #do you ever just spend far too much time figuring out a throwaway line?#and also what magical creatures each person in a crew of space criminals would be?#because I have done both #anyways selkie vespa is very important to me #so is regular vespa #but the selkie is my braindaughter and I love her #i want to do more worldbuilding around buddy's curse but that's not happening this week #my writing #my fic

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stifledlaughterao3 · 4 years

Text

How writing recursive fic (fanfic of fanfic) has made me a better author and member of fandom

After doing the math, approximately 45% of my AO3 works are recursive fanfiction. (I am actually excluding a large translation I did which was a translation of a recursive work itself!) The majority of that is from one single series, with the rest being significantly below that.

There are a few fanfics for which I've written fic.

1. "ReSWAN: The remix of Song Without A Name" by LadyYatexel

2. "Deep Dish Nine" by LadyYatexel (which turned into a community-wide AU where I took inspiration from other authors as well, such as tinsnip)

3. "Doing the Unstuck" by TempeTot

4. "Designation: Miracle" by umisabaku (the large majority of my recursive fic is for this series, most within a collection work, as well as a few stand-alone works.)

I've noticed a few patterns in fic that I am writing fic for. They are always:

1. An AU where the characters, changed by their AU circumstances, have aspects of them that are unique to the AU application and reflected strongly in their personalities and actions

2. There is more depth / possibilities of emotional interplay in the AU presented than the canon

3. Queer in both pairings and mood (relying heavily on found family, introspctions about sexuality, subversive responses to mainstream sexuality) . There sometimes are M/F pairings in the fic I base my fics on, but at least one pairing within the fic is always queer.

Permission

Something that feels different from writing regular fic as opposed to recursive fic is permission from the author. When writing regular fic, I feel that I do not owe the creator any sort of heads up or permission to write. There are entire laws protecting me on this.

Therefore, theoretically, there should be nothing stopping me from just writing recursive fic, posting it, and saying ,"This other fic was inspired by this other fic". However, having been in fandom since 2004, I don't feel it would be good fandom etiquette to do that without at least inquiring first.

I've never been told I cannot write the fic - however, if the author preferred that I not post a fic of their fic, I'd adhere to that. Would I write it in private? If I felt moved enough, yes, but not post. There's nothing stopping me except that I, as a longtime member of fandom, want to do my part to make fandom a kind place that acknowledges reasonable requests.

Perhaps it is hypocritical of me to write and post fanfic without the permission of the original media creator, whether it be a single author or a giant franchise, but when it's a fellow fanfic creator, that's where I draw the line? Maybe it's because I can usually easily message the fanfic creator and ask. Whereas, if the creator of the anime I am writing about personally messaged me to ask me to stop writing their characters kissing (or, more likely, having extended conversations over food), maybe I would pull my fics. Or, in the long-standing tradition of fandom/media relationships formed on defiance, I would wave my hand at the OTW Legal Team and say, "Go talk to them." It hasn’t happened so I honestly am not sure how I would respond.

In every instance the fanfic author has happily given me the go-ahead. Some have linked my work in the "works inspired by" section at the bottom of their fic, and others haven't, and I'm fine either way. I'm discomfited by the idea of the recursive fic author requesting the author link their story in the original fic - it feels like asking for free advertising, which then gets into the capitalism aspects of fandom that in general make me uncomfortable (in this case not cash capital but social capital/views.)

Posting etiquette

Another piece of recursive fic etiquette that I've done is, after I figured this particular etiquette out, was that I kept all of the stories for my recursive fic in one AO3 work and added chapters. (My earlier recursive fics are their own works as I hadn't gotten the hang of how I wanted my recursive fics displayed.) Even if the stories are long and disparate, they are 95% of the time one-shots, so that would be A. many stories filling up the AO3 feed for that fandom and B. filling up my AO3 works list with many one-shots for this specific AU.

For the fanfics that are longer or are really deserving of their own works, I try to really limit it and then post all of the chapters at once so it does not appear multiple times over days. These however are rare. The majority are held within one work that I call a collection. For example, "A Handmade Scrapbook" (which hosts the majority of my "Designation: Miracle" recursive fics), at this time of writing, has 23 chapters, all of which are completely unrelated one-shots and AUs. I sometimes would save up a handful of shorter stories I had written and post those chapters all at once so as not to clog the Kuroko No Basuke tag (which is canon for the D:M AU.) Sense I cannot assume average KnB fanfic reader has context of D:M (even if they read the first story, the majority of my works are based on the most recent addition to the series), they cannot read that fic, and thus I feel a bit guilty if I were to clog the tag with my recursive fic. I also do not tag the canon tag on tumblr if it is a recursive fic, especially one that requires a ton of source fic knowledge in order to begin to understand.

Again - is this necessary? In theory, it’s not. I could post a 100-word recursive fic every day forever on the AO3 tag and be completely in my rights to do so (I mean, I’m sure there’s some rule about spamming but that aside). However, something in me is feeling that it would not be considerate of other readers to do so. (I could probably look at my actions and think, “Hmm, is this influenced by my gender and how women are taught to not take up space, even if it’s okay to?” but we shan’t be getting into that now.)

I know that posting frequently, spreading out those frequent posts, and advertising gets more comments on fics. However, for my recursive fics, I genuinely don’t expect them to get views -and that’s okay! They often require pre-reading of another fic, which narrows down the readership considerably, and if it’s something huge, like my longer D:M fics, that’s a big investment. Therefore, writing recursive fic is genuinely a for-me practice that lets me be very self-indulgent and narrow with my interests. It's an interesting catch-22 - I truly enjoy comments and kudos, and love hearing feedback on my work. But the less I assume that someone will read a fic, the more off the rails I feel I can go with it, and thus why some of my favorite fics I've written are the recursive ones.

That does mean, however, when people read my recursive works, I cherish those comments and interactions a little more than my other fics, as I know that it took a little more to read my works and comprehend and appreciate them.

Characterization

Something specific to writing recursive fic is that it differs from regular fanfic in how precise the characterization is. Generally, when writing fic, you have to align (at least somewhat) to the characterization portrayed in canon. However, your interpretation of it can vary pretty wildly, and while you probably would be called out as writing someone as out of character if it skews significantly from canon, you can get away with your various interpretations.

With recursive fic, you’re deliberately working with a fellow fanfic writer’s interpretation. The entire point of your writing a fic of one of their fics is that their interpretation or worldbuilding grabbed you enough to want to write from it. Of course, there are instances where a characterization of a character is popularized enough to where you can just write it and it’s not necessarily a ‘recursive fic’ as much as ‘using a fic’s interpretation as a template’. In a recursive fic, you’re specifically writing to that characterization.

That’s why I think writing recursive fic has made me a better fanfic writer- writing regular fic, I did not feel particularly beholden to the canon characterization, and could shrug off writing a character a specific way if I felt like it. It is, after all, my right as a fic writer to do so.

However, with recursive fic, the entire purpose of me writing a recursive fic is so that I could make an homage the author’s characterization. It’s the characters that drew me in, after all (although it is occasionally the worldbuilding as well, which is when I bring in my own OCs, but that happens infrequently.) In many instances in the fics I’ve written recursive fics for, the characters had become so distinct that they were basically OCs at that point (or, I was writing about actual OCs from the fic). Therefore, I had a fairly strict characterization to follow if I really wanted to be writing recursive fic and not just “loosely inspired by this fic”.

Which leads back to another point about being a more conscientious member of fandom. The likelihood of anyone from the media I engage with reading my fic is slim to none. However, since I do ask each writer if I can post a recursive fic based on their fic, the likelihood of them reading it goes up significantly more (not necessarily 100%, but definitely higher than 0%!) Therefore, I feel slightly more beholden to ‘getting it right’.

I’ve also asked if I can write NSFW content of the characters for some stories, particularly if they were OCs. Again - something I am not required to do, but it’s part of me being respectful of the author’s choices. It also wouldn’t fit some character’s arcs or personalities if I were to write smut of them, so I do not do that, but for other characters, there were fade-to-black scenes that I wanted to fill in the gaps of. However! Just because that existed in the fic didn’t mean it was alright for me to write it, so I checked.

That said, per my earlier comment, I clearly write regular fic of characters having sex without checking in on the creator’s wishes. In fact, if a media creator came out and said, “X isn’t gay, stop writing them gay” I likely would not care. (See: Star Trek DS9’s butchering of Garak/Bashir. In my head, however, they are happily married and living together on Cardassia.) Therefore, it could be something else to examine within myself, as to why I give more consideration to fellow fans over the wishes of the media creators.

Conclusion

I write recursive fic for the same reason I write regular fic- I am so incredibly compelled to write it that I legitimately cannot stop myself. The same daydreaming+plot bunny herding+fannish actions I do when I engage with a new media I like occur for fics that I read, particularly well fleshed-out AUs with a strong worldbuilding premise that I’d like to expand upon.

However, unlike regular fic, the engagement with the author of the source fic means I am interacting with other writers on a more personal level than just leaving comments, something I really hadn’t done in fandom when I first started writing fanfiction when I was much younger.

Writing recursive fic has made me friends and helped me understand my own writing more. Even though it narrows my reading audience considerably, it brings me back to why I write in the first place - my own joy. Comments, views, kudos, and feedback are wonderful, but in the end, writing something because it makes me happy, no matter how niche or narrow, is why I write.

#fanfic

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ruffboijuliaburnsides · 4 years

Text

and yet, here we are (pt5)

i emerge victorious with... I think it’s not quite a full chapter. I haven’t decided yet. but because I finished a chunk, tumblr gets it!

There is a very brief not-quiet-suicidal thought that is promptly dismissed in the first few paragraphs, just under the cut.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) Now on AO3

----------------------

Jaskier struggled in Geralt's absence, with how overwhelmingly silent the room was when he couldn't speak or sing. The first night he slept poorly, but it was otherwise uneventful, no reason to worry about Geralt on the road, likely not even all the way to his destination, no performances to put on. After waking, he didn't feel like descending to the main room, and tried to convince himself that returning to as normal as possible a routine would be best. He got as far as pulling out his journal, but found himself staring at the most recent unfinished scattering of lyrics for a song whose melody he couldn't quite get right when he'd been working on it last. He stared at it until he noticed the darkening dots of tears falling onto the paper, and shut it with a snap, all but throwing it at his pack across the room, swiping angrily at his eyes.

With Geralt gone, unable to hate himself more for something Jaskier realistically didn't want him to take blame for, Jaskier allowed himself to feel angry. Angry that Geralt wouldn't listen to him that the djinn wouldn't do anything to help him sleep. Bitter that Geralt hadn't been more careful with what he said. Angry that Geralt had been able to find some way to save his life but not his voice.

Bitter that he'd been saved in this state at all. There was no place in the world for a bard with no voice, and part of him wondered if it wouldn't have been better if Geralt hadn't been able to get him help in time.

Jaskier quashed that line of thought almost as soon as it came up. It was one thing to be angry and bitter, but alive was better than not. Alive meant he could stay with Geralt. Alive meant more wine, and new adventures, and regardless of the situation, as angry and miserable as Jaskier was now, he wanted to see more of the world.

He still let himself stew angrily the entire first day he was there alone, and left the room only for lunch and supper. He tried as best he could to smile at Janah - the innkeeper's name, he learned - who was almost too kind to bear when she realized that rather than simply being shy the afternoon before, he actually couldn't speak. She fed him up at the bar, chatted about the local gossip that he had no context for, told him about interesting patrons she'd had before, and shooed away anyone who tried to ask him questions or otherwise bother him.

He drank himself nearly into a stupor after supper that night, despite the fact that he shouldn't have been wasting what little money they had, and had essentially emptied the coin purse for Janah by the end of the evening, and barely remembered her helping him upstairs to his bed. The next morning he woke to a pitcher of water and a fresh loaf of bread on a tray on the table, next to Geralt's coin purse, refilled with all the coin he'd spent the night before. The note set between them simply read, "I can spare one night's worth of ale for you to drown whatever sorrows you have hidden away. Eat and drink, you'll feel better."

Jaskier sat at the table and cried silently over her kindness even as he forced himself to eat and drink as instructed. Once he finished, he placed the tray in the hall and, feeling the headache pounding behind his eyes not improving, climbed back into bed. He lay there dozing in and out of unsatisfying sleep, crying intermittently, until long after sunset, unable to summon the energy to get out of bed for meals, let alone dress and make his way downstairs. The silence rang in his ears.

Geralt was planning to be gone four days at the most, and when he hadn't made it back to the inn by the time the sun had set and the evening crowd was well on their way to drunk on that second day since he'd left, Jaskier felt confident that Geralt wouldn't be back until the next day, at least. It was for the best, he thought, because it would allow him to purge as much of this... melancholy as possible before Geralt came back.

He was curled up and staring blankly out the dirty glass of the window next to the bed when the door opened. He only barely recognized the sound of it, his mind distant and unreachable, and he thought faintly that it was good he wasn't crying - hopefully Janah would assume he was asleep, and leave whatever reason she was coming upstairs until tomorrow. Maybe he could be a person tomorrow. There were other sounds, but they were faint, and Jaskier couldn't bring himself to even care about what they might be.

He only half processed the feeling of someone sitting on the edge of the bed, a soft voice speaking sounds he couldn't quite turn into words, the feeling of being pulled upright and into someone's arms. It was the warmth of those arms wrapped around him, the rumble of quiet speech, that pulled him (painfully, like through molasses by a toothed shackle) back into himself.

Geralt was holding him, all but cradled against his chest, murmuring worriedly. "Come back, Jaskier. Come on, you're strong enough." Jaskier tucked it away in the back of his head, the fact that Geralt didn't seem too shocked to find Jaskier had just left his body behind like that, even if he didn't mean to do it. He shifted, exhaled shakily, and Geralt's hold tightened slightly.

"Okay, Jaskier?" he asked, his voice vibrating through his chest almost like a cat's purr, resonating through Jaskier's bones in a way that made him want Geralt to just keep talking forever. That was too much of an ask, obviously, but for a moment Jaskier actually felt like he could breathe. Jaskier nodded, then shook his head, and found the tears spilling over again despite himself. He would've thought he didn't have a tear left in him, but apparently his body had taken time during his little mental jaunt to the foggy nowhere he'd spent the evening in to create more.

Geralt let out an unhappy grumble at his response, but simply shifts Jaskier into a little more comfortable of a position, Jaskier's head tucked under his chin. It was warm and safe and Jaskier wished for just a moment that he could have this forever, this space in Geralt's arms, not just now while he's so broken and Geralt feels so guilty. He knew he couldn't, but just for now, he could pretend. Geralt held him, still and silent, until Jaskier's breathing evened out and his tears finally stopped.

"Got you something," Geralt said, shifting to try to reach his things. Jaskier pushed off his chest reluctantly to allow him to stretch further, head tilted curiously. Since when did Geralt get him things? Geralt pulled out what looked briefly like a little wooden book of some sort, before Jaskier lit up and reached out for it in recognition, opening the wooden panels to reveal the wax tablets and stylus inside. It was nice, as well, the wax the perfect firmness for quick writing, without needing too much effort to scratch letters into the surface. The stylus was a design Jaskier had seen before, that had a mild enchantment on it that warmed both the metal ends, to better cut through the wax when writing, and to easily and quickly smooth the wax out to write something else.

Jaskier ran his fingers lightly over the tablets for a moment as it really sank in, in a different way, that he would be dependent on this tool and this man who gave it to him, for the foreseeable future. That it wasn't going to be a quick or easy fix to get his voice back. The tablet was bittersweet - a tool to let him communicate, but a reminder of everything he'd lost. He wondered if that aching bitterness under the sweet would be with him forever, or if it would fade.

Thanks. Jaskier scribbled in the wax after a moment, holding it up for Geralt to see. The corners of the witcher's eyes crinkled slightly and his mouth twitched a bit in what Jaskier had come to recognize as a smile.

"There are ways to speak with your hands that we can learn, if you want," Geralt says as Jaskier smoothes the wax to flat again. "But I thought this would be cheaper than paper when we can't get it, and easier than finding the right kind of dirt." Jaskier couldn't help a little bark of laughter at that, unnervingly silent as it was, at the mental image of Geralt trying to find a patch of dirt every time Jaskier wanted to say something. Easier indeed.

Hand speak. Like soldiers? Jaskier wrote, tilting the tablet towards Geralt. He knew that soldiers or scouts would often have hand signals they used to communicate silently. He wasn't sure anything like that would have even a fraction of the words he'd want to say, but it would at least be faster than writing.

"Similar," Geralt answered with a nod. "Better for actually talking, though. They have a kind of hand speech in Mahakam that would suit, I think." Jaskier's eyebrows shot up, because Geralt was relying on the possibility that the dwarves and gnomes that essentially ruled the mountain city would allow them in to learn it in the first place.

How get in? Jaskier wrote, looking up at Geralt uncertainly. Geralt's jaw set in a way that made it clear he'd thought about the difficulty too, possibly a lot.

"Not sure," Geralt admitted. "We'll convince them." And that was that, apparently. Jaskier couldn't quite disbelieve him, either, when he spoke like that. So they'd go to Mahakam and the two of them would learn how to speak with their hands. Jaskier wouldn't deny that sounded like a dream come true, to be able to speak faster than he could write, even if it was with hands instead of lips and voice. It was a kind of acceptance, though, a bigger kind than just a wax tablet represented. As much as it excited him, it also made something twist up unpleasantly in his chest.

Geralt seemed to notice the shift in Jaskier's demeanor, and frowned slightly, watching Jaskier's face intently. Jaskier had to remind himself that it was just necessity, his expressions helped Geralt understand what he was saying - or not saying - and so Geralt watched like he was drinking Jaskier in. Just to be kind. It didn't mean anything more than that. He waved Geralt off, and wrote, Just tired, on the tablet. Which, admittedly, was not untrue, despite how little he'd done and how much he'd slept all day.

"Hm," Geralt grunted in response, and got to his feet to strip down and get ready to sleep. Jaskier smoothed the wax down and traced the edges of the wood with a faint smile. Everything else aside, the knowledge that Geralt was trying this hard to find solutions for him was nice. More than nice. It made Jaskier want to throw caution to the wind and kiss Geralt thoroughly. He wouldn't, lest he drive Geralt away, put him off of the comforting touches he'd been allowing Jaskier to have the past... had it been a week? Maybe over a week, since he woke up silent. The choking feeling of words he couldn't speak started rising in his throat, and he set the wax tablet on the windowsill, then slid under the blankets to curl up and try to fight it down while Geralt went through his small habits and rituals.

It was still there trying to push out in a scream he couldn't voice when Geralt put out the candles and climbed into the bed, immediately curling against the line of Jaskier's back as he had every night since he heard Jaskier crying in the middle of the night and came to hold him. The weight of Geralt's arm draped over his stomach was enough to start to dissolve the choking feeling in Jaskier's throat, and he sighed softly in relief, melting back into Geralt's chest. He knew it was Geralt trying to be comforting and compassionate. He knew that once he was a little less falling apart, Geralt would go back to his own bed or bedroll. But until that day, Jaskier was going to appreciate this and soak up as much of the affection as he could.

"G'night, Jaskier," Geralt mumbled, his breath warming the back of Jaskier's neck and sending shivers down his spine. Jaskier squeezed the wrist of the arm Geralt had slung over him, and hoped that little touch communicated a reciprocal.

Jaskier drifted off with the soft slow rhythm of Geralt's breathing lulling him into sleep.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) Now on AO3

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #voiceless jaskier au #ayhwa #HECK YEAH #this didn't take me like. nearly 3 days or anything.#despite knowing exactly what I wanted it to be #nooooope

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simplysoriya · 5 years

Text

The Eternal Serpent

{Prologue, 1, 2, 3, interlude, 4, 5}

Chapter 6: The Temple

In deep ocean, currents were powerful and always in motion just above the surface. Vast and endless bodies of water pushed themselves, unchanging, in the direction that they always had. There was something ancient and unyielding about the way nature operated. Changed by nothing but itself. Songs were written about the sea in ways men speak of lovers, both soothing enough that every sailor kept it close to their heart and all fiercely respected it borne of fear.

Sailors wrote songs about the sea as if they were lovers. The gentle embrace and feeling of freedom that came with the life of wind in their hair and the sun on the horizon. But they also spun tales of the harsh and unforgiving ocean and the fury of storms that had swallowed up so many of their kind, instilling both fear and respect.

Such was the duality of the ocean.

But below? There was calm and serene in the gentle embrace of salt water that wrapped all that dare to plunge in. Leaving them surrounded from head to toe aimlessly floating amongst the endless miles of nothing but sea.

Each paddle taken downward was colder than the last. The vibrant sun with both light and warmth strangled by the ever encroaching sea. Leaving the seafloor blotched with stretches of white sands and underwater flora right along with spanning pits of empty black trenches where the light dare not tread.

It was far from the sunny beaches of Stranglethorn or the temperate shorelines of Tanaris…

Pressure began to wrack at her muscles producing involuntary contractions and tension as she braved the large trench that seemed to taper off into oblivion. Her lungs began begging for air needily with each second spent below the waves. But still she persisted deeper down the underwater cliff face with nothing but stubborn determination and a sense of hope.

After all, the alternative was a boat full of pirates still waiting for her up above. Undoubtedly already preparing to pursue her.

Running parallel to the jagged rock wall that led to the dark depths below light became scarce. Soriya remembered the reading light she had snagged from the goblin Quartermaster before. Fishing into her pocket to pull the small enchanted stone free, holding it in her palm with a gentle squeeze before a soft yellow light leaked from between her fingers.

It wasn’t much but it was enough to light her way as she explored down into the deeps further and further still.

Scrolling over the expanses of rocks was a daunting task with a limited window. Without diving gear or an extra tank of oxygen only gave her so much time to find the temple she sought. But it was all she had as others threatened to use the legend to their own ends and snatch the find from right under her. She couldn’t just accept defeat after coming so far, after doing so much, after investing so much of her life into finding it…

It was now or never.

It wasn’t until that dull light scanned over a smoother stone then the rest that hope was reignited fervently. A smooth banner rested far too perfect for it to be made from the ocean itself. Swimming down she investigated further only to find an old and broken down statue, full of pores and beaten by the passage of time spent underwater. But there was no mistaking the markings of a Pandarian cloud serpent.

She had finally found it; The Temple of the Eternal Serpent.

The crawling swim through the Temples rocky, dilapidated, and dark entrance seemed to go on forever. She thought her lungs would explode in her chest as anxiety began to wrack at her mind. It hadn’t even crossed her mind, despite its oceanic grave, that the whole temple may be underwater. A severe misstep in her plan that only darkened her thoughts as she desperately continued, knowing full well that she wouldn’t make it to the surface in time to replenish her air supply.

In the darkness, however, there was a glimmer of hope as the tunnel narrowed and led upward. Leaving a shimmering ripple of light against the surface of the water. Swiftly Soriya swam toward salvation as her lungs bucked and bubbles of the last of her air escaped her mouth making her chest heave and spasm.

A deep and needful gasp for breath immediately followed as the young monk resurfaced in the Temples entrance with a splash. Relenting to lay on the stone plateau sprawled out as half of her body remained beneath the water. Coughing and sputtering as she wheezed in air enough to fill her chest. It was like the whole world went black for just a moment as she desperately tried to normalize her breathing.

Eventually, once she felt well enough, Soriya squared her arms with her shoulders and lifted herself out from the pool that almost was her end. Soon scrambling to the first available surface to rest her back on as she continued to recover.

Fending off the excitement over the find proved to be a downhill battle. Here she was, standing where legend was born. The setting of a story she had heard so long ago. A place so many others had sought out only to fail. But here she was. History was within her grasp, if only her lungs would get on the same page as her mind.

Still weary she pushed on, even as her body rebelled against the very thought. She was too close now, she had gone through too much to take a break.

Stubbornly she pressed on down the dark hallway made of ancient stone. She recognized the familiarity of it as large blocks lay on top of one another in a near perfect pattern, held up by smooth and rounded pillars that the Pandarian often use in their infrastructure. Nothing but her stolen reading light in hand to lend to the dim light that radiated from scriptures on the wall.

Her mind raced as it filled with what awaited her deeper within. The legend had spoke of three trials she would face once within these walls. One of strengths, one of will, and a third that was shrouded in mystery. Each having a unique challenge that was never expanded on in any text she had read.

Arriving at the first room in the temple Soriya was greeted with a wondrous, large and grand antechamber. Six pillars stood flanking the room arranged in a circle with a single plaque situated in the center of them. On the other side of the room, at first glance, was simply an imposing door sealed off with a large stone slab.

As she stepped into the chamber Soriya’s eyes lit with awe as she spun in stride to take in all the room had to offer. Murals of the Jade Serpent sprawled out over the smooth faces of the walls behind the pillars depicting Fe’lon, The Eternal Serpent, finding his home in the mountains and settling down. Presumably to this very spot.

Drifting closer to the murals, a stark reminder that she wasn’t alone in her pursuits hung heavy. As much as she wanted to soak in every aspect of the fabled temple there was hardly time with the threat of treasure seekers looming in the back of her mind.

A dejected sigh rumbled as she lowered her head toward the ground. Making her way to the center chamber, those teal eyes of hers longingly drifted toward the piece of pandarian culture that had been swallowed up by the sea and lost by time, whimsically staring as if she was saying goodbye to an old friend.

With a brush of her hand to clear the modest amount of dust that covered the plaque, Soriya scanned over their words for a clue that would lead her further into the temple. It was written in old pandarian, but she could still make out the words after a little study. Quietly she read aloud to herself,

“Steel yourself for these trials will test your very soul.”

“The first will challenge your resolve. Remove the obstacle from the doorway to proceed to the next trial.”

It wasn’t the most informative slab of stone in the world, that much was certain, but it did serve to add context to the chamber itself. The doorway she had spotted early came under increased scrutiny of those teal eyes. Leaving little doubt it was the way forward… it just came to dealing with the massive stone wall, easily twice her size, that blocked the way. Off to the side was a thick rope that was tethered to the ground in two spots. It ran up and into the ceiling right next to the wall she sought to move. Another clue that hid obscured behind pillars on her initial gaze.

Drawing nearer to the challenge Soriya studied the obstruction with knitted brows and a quizzical face. There was no way she could lift that on her own, not without help. It was clear the rope tied into things as well. The fact that these trials were meant to be faced by one person alone only deepend the mystery.

Regardless of the case she had to try something...

Both hands came to take a firm grasp of the rope off to the side. Straining herself as she tugged hard against the cord, and as fate would have it, the stone slab rose an inch for her efforts. A happy surprise that brought a smile to her face as she continued to heave away, lifting the door up inch by inch against the strain of her efforts.

Though the smooth sailing far too quick, for as soon as she let go of the rope the stone fell before crashing into the floor with a boom so loud it shook the chamber. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

Soriya tried again, taking the rope within her hands and tugging fistful by fistful with her weight against the rope. Desperately she looked for something to tether the rope to, another clamp on the floor. But she found no such luck. She took the rope as far into the room as she could. But the pillars remained too far for her to tie it to.

Frustration came in waves as the young monk let the door crash onto the floor once more. And once more it threatened to collapse the ancient structure down around her head.

There was one more idea she had left to try, though it was the most dangerous of the attempts thus far. With the swim down already offering up a hazard to her life, Soriya saw little choice if she wanted to progress further into the temple.

For the third time, she wrapped her hands around the thick rope with a vice like grip. Pulling to leverage the door open bit by bit as each handful drew her closer to the juncture. She got as close as she could while the slack of the rope piled up behind her, up until she could see the winding hallway leading to the next trial.

With a deep and clearing breath she tugged as hard as she could toward the door only to abandon the rope mid way through. Throwing herself into a roll right under the now falling slab of stone that would crush her in a heartbeat. Speed was of the essence as the young monk braced herself in a kneel, her head tucked down to run parallel with her shoulders, and her hands right above them, only to catch the stone and stop its momentum. Her hands enveloped in ivory energies of chi helped her keep the stone in place, but such an exponential explosion of her energy? So quickly? She couldn’t keep it up long as the stone continually reminded her with its weight, bearing down until she began to buckle under the pressure.

Inch by inch Soriya waddled her way toward her goal, so within reach now that all she had to do was fight against the burden that had already pushed her hands to meet her shoulders. It wasn’t until she was a step away that she scurried, sliding her bottom half out first as her hands pushed against the falling door, only serving to speed up her exit from under it.

SLAM!!

The door crashed down behind her in tandem with the relieved exhale that escaped her after she had cleared the obstacle.

“One trial down…” She muttered to herself as she continued deeper into the ancient temple.

#RP #canon #story #stories #temple of the eternal serpent #chapter 6 #Soriya #wra

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thesublemon · 5 years

Text

songs of impotence and experience

In the last couple years, I’ve revisited a lot of the things that were meaningful to me when I was younger. I’m not exactly sure why I did that. Some nostalgia. Some curiosity about whether they held up. Some sense that maybe I could get some insight into myself. Why did I love the things I loved at a time when my id was more unfiltered? What did the younger version of myself need art about that maybe the adult version doesn’t?

A lot of the works are superficially goofy genre shit, but space ships, aliens and made-up words never really felt like it was what I loved about them. My taste was just as indiscriminate as a kid as it is now, which meant I read and watched and liked a wide variety of things. Proper literary things, even. I don’t think it’s an accident that I often connect(ed) with superficially goofy genre shit. Just like I don’t think it’s an accident that a different person might connect with musicals or period movies. But that’s an aspect of my personality to analyze another time.

No, what I realized was that all of these space-and-aliens-stories…on some level, were impotence stories. They’re stories about being manipulated by outside forces, or having shit stuck in you against your will. Stories about parasites. Stories about going insane. And while those might sound like “intense” themes for a child or teenager to be preoccupied with (as if children and teenagers don’t feel things intensely), I realized that it actually made complete and utter sense. When you’re young it feels like things are constantly just happening to you. Adults make decisions for you. Society makes demands of you. It’s hard to know what power you even have, let alone how to use it. Of course I’d relate to impotence.

I remember being obsessed with Ender’s Game. I don’t even know how many times I read it between the ages of 8 and 12. There was something in me that identified with being a pawn in an adult’s world, where your intelligence or your allegiance could be used to fight their wars and you’d have no control over it, no understanding of it. This sense that you were hurting others by proxy, fighting the wrong fights, because you didn’t understand how your power was being used. But that you had power. The feeling that if you were smart and special enough to be wanted, or to know that something was up, then you should have been smart enough to change the game.

Of course there’s arrogance in believing that you, a child, are so important that all of these adults want things from you. Arrogance in looking at a 6 year old military genius and going that speaks to me. But the truth is, adults do want things from children, even “unremarkable” children. They might want a child’s validation, obedience, affection, loyalty or even something as simple and benign as happiness. Being an unhappy child when you know your parents just want you to be all right? What a feeling of failure.

There was a sense that all of these adults—including but not limited to my parents—were invested in religion, or politics, or personal narratives, or some view of the world, and I had the power to reinforce it. I could grow up to be a good exemplar of their ideological beliefs, I could give them the feeling that I admired or needed them, I could pay them attention, I could tell them I believed them. But I couldn’t know whether doing those things was what I actually wanted. I couldn’t know if twenty years down the line I’d be yearning for an enemy’s forgiveness, and speaking for the dead.

Fast-forward to Farscape. Farscape is about a character who looks like he should be the hero. A character who knows the same hero stories we know, and thinks he should live up to them. But then the narrative makes him alien, and incompetent, and strips him of his every bit of cultural context and familiarity. In a narrative sense, it “feminizes” him. People want things from John Crichton, and it never has anything to do with him as a person (“Don’t be jealous Frau Blücher. He only loves me for my mind.”). Everyone is always hijacking his body and putting things into it. Microbes, needles, knowledge, chips. He spends most of the show with the villain literally living inside his head. An inescapable, macabre companion that aggressively dresses himself in the drag of Crichton’s psyche.

Language is a constant motif in Farscape, because language is how you communicate yourself. If you lack language, you’re impotent. You’re alien. It’s no coincidence that Crichton’s first moment of alien-ation is that he’s injected with translator microbes. It’s no coincidence that A Human Reaction flips repeatedly between how the alien characters sound to humans, and how they sound to Crichton. It’s no coincidence that the final horror of Die Me Dichotomy is that Crichton loses his power of speech. It’s no coincidence that Aeryn starts learning English, and Crichton starts quipping in Spanish. It’s no coincidence that Crichton starts the show speaking in incomprehensible human cultural references to aliens and ends up speaking in incomprehensible alien references to humans (“Fred Scarran. From the Gainesville Scarrans.”).

And not to be unbearably personal, but as a teenage girl who was going deaf, I responded to all of that. On a basic, physical level I felt like I was losing my ability to understand people, and by virtue of not understanding, becoming unable to make myself understood. A feeling of standing outside myself and watching myself become an alien. A feeling of invasion because I could no longer exist without technological augmentation. But there was also a gendered level. Being a girl and feeling like the world’s reaction to my physical form suddenly had consequences that it was up to me to either mitigate or capitalize upon. That sexuality was suddenly something I was supposed to be able to wield, and I had no idea how. This feeling that my body was betraying me both functionally and as my means of mediating between my Self and the world. In other words, a feeling that biology and social narratives were conspiring, like the universe in Farscape, to “feminize” me.

There was a cultural level too. I was aware of being in this American social moment that seemed grotesquely material and political. So are all moments in their own way, but I didn’t know that then. All I knew was that all these people cared about PT Cruisers and Super Size Me and Idiocracy and The Simple Life and Fahrenheit 911 and freedom fries and cartoons of Bush as a monkey. All these adults were begging for me to take a side about these things that felt stupid and ugly and profane. And none their interest in my side-taking had anything to do with me, anyway.

So at that time I wanted a hero’s journey that wasn’t a hero’s journey. I wanted a story about saying “fuck you” to the forces of the universe that were clutching at my hems and driving me insane, and going off to live as an alien and eking what joy I could from it. A story about saying “no” to the two equally evil sides of any evil, pointless war. I wanted a story about how maybe that made you a monster, or maybe that was a heroic thing to do. Maybe there was something horrible about it, but maybe there was something wonderful in it too.

Rewind to Animorphs. The whole concept of a Yeerk in your head using your body and speaking out your mouth. If my attraction to Ender’s Game was in part about the fear that adults and institutions were hijacking my abilities, then Animorphs was about the fear that the adults themselves were hijacked. There’s real horror in the idea that your mom isn’t your mom and your friends aren’t your friends, but prisoners trapped in their own minds, being piloted by an outside force. The fear that you’d have to re-interpret your every interaction with the people you admired or cared about, looking for ulterior motives. The feeling that say, your parent isn’t speaking their own beliefs, but rather acting as a mouthpiece for their country or their neuroses or an ad on TV.

One might rightfully observe, well isn’t that just They Live or Invasion of the Body Snatchers? Rhinoceros for kids? Yes, in part. But there’s the additional, crucial fact that these Yeerks only steal people’s bodies because they’re planet-bound slugs otherwise. The Yeerks aren’t an impersonal disease, and Controllers aren’t mindless zombies. The Yeerks are Pilots, just wanting to see the stars. Pilots that didn’t wait meekly for a Leviathan to take them or a PK to tempt them, but went and conquered an empire’s worth of sentient creatures themselves. Pilots we’re primed to see as disgusting instead of pitiable or majestic because they’re just slimy little slugs, right? The Yeerks are the antagonists because they’re the idea that powerlessness begets powerlessness. They’re the idea that you may feel impotent, but growing up to control others just makes you the villain.

It makes sense that the Animorphs are shapeshifters, and young, not just because whatever, these are technically books for children and turning into animals sounds cool. I like to imagine there’s some symbolism about flexibility there. It reminds me of His Dark Materials and the way that a child’s daemon has no settled form. An impossible circumstance? You morph. You don’t take and conquer; you change.

(I’m not reading too much into things when I say that. The books draw parallels between the Yeerks and the Animorphs from the very beginning. Marco pointing out in #1 The Invasion that Tobias wants to escape his life as badly as a voluntary Controller does. Cassie worrying in #4 The Message that they dominate the animals they morph the way the Yeerks dominate their hosts. Later in #16 The Warning they’ll debate the morality of morphing people. “Controlling” versus “morphing” is one of the most central dichotomies of Animorphs, one the Animorphs themselves do not always land on the right side of.)

Disability themes are rampant. Everyone is trapped: Tobias as a hawk, Ax on Earth, hosts in their heads, Yeerks in their pools, the Animorphs in their war. To say nothing of the times the books get explicit about it, like the Andalite taboos around vecols or that final arc when they give the ward of disabled kids the morphing power. And the question every time is, which of two non-ideal options for dealing with some limitation are you going to take? Do you live as a hawk, or do you give up? When the Animorphs give the Auxiliaries the morphing power, it isn’t a triumphant moment. They do it so the kids can fight, like the Animorphs themselves had to. They do it knowing that the kids will die.

That sort of thing was the appeal of Animorphs. They were exciting, funny, imaginative page-turners, sure. But half of the reason they were page-turners was because they centered these terrible ethical quandaries, and devastating emotional choices. That’s the kind of thing that makes you pay attention in fiction: situations where you don’t know the way out, so you don’t know what will happen. The same way you don’t know what will happen once you realize that the adults can’t be trusted, or your life isn’t entirely your own.

Here are some things I think are interesting.

I think it’s interesting that both the morphing power in Animorphs and Leviathans in Farscape are the things those works treat as something that can be profaned. Morphing may be described in gruesome, body horrific detail, but nonetheless an animal’s power is treated as something to be respected and used to fight. So David abusing morphing is profane. Visser Three morphing is profane. Similarly, forcing Moya to give birth to a gunship is profane. Cutting Pilot’s arms off is profane. The clones eating the walls of the ship in Eat Me is profane. And both of those, morphing and Moya, are symbols of transformation. Morphing in the obvious sense, and Moya in the sense of a guardian or shepherd or mother. The sacred instrument of your journey.

I think it’s interesting that the protagonists of all three stories change, but not necessarily for the better.

I think it’s interesting that all three stories involve loving and understanding the Other. Both Farscape and Animorphs are full of important interspecies relationships: Tobias and Rachel, Elfangor and Loren, Dak and Aldrea (it’s potentially relevant that Jake and Cassie are an interracial relationship too), or John and Aeryn, D’argo and Chiana (and Lolaan), Zhaan and Stark, Scorpius and Sikozu. Both Animorphs and Ender’s Game involve the protagonists—and the audience, by extension—learning “humanizing” things about the aliens that they’re fighting against. Aliens that have forms that they are not inclined to empathize with.

I think it’s interesting that Animorphs has a lot of the same parasitism versus symbiosis themes that Farscape does, but takes them in a direction that has less to do with sex and breeding (because as unbelievably dark as Animorphs gets they’re still books for kids) and more to do with authority. Where Farscape is full of half-breeds and genetic atrocities, Animorphs is full of gods and Galateas. In Farscape, parasitism versus symbiosis is about becoming alien in a positive way, or a self-directed way, versus being forced into alienation. Loving the Other versus being made Other. Birth imagery versus rape imagery. Whereas in Animorphs parasitism versus symbiosis is about control versus autonomy. How are people supposed to satisfy their competing desires without taking away other people’s agency? How much power should authorities have over the people they’re responsible for (and responsible to)?

#26 The Attack was always one of my favorite Animorphs books because of the way it drew parallels between all of these pseudo-children and their creators. The Pemalites made the Chee, Crayak made the Howlers, and Elfangor “made” the Animorphs. Then those children duke it out for the souls of the Iskoorts and the Yeerks. A literal war of symbiosis versus parasitism. The existence of the Pemalites and the Chee might lead one to think that creating children in your desired image is reasonable and ethical, because we all love dogs don’t we? And then you meet the Howlers, who are simultaneously pure innocents and terrifying killers. Creatures that think of killing as play, as a game of fetch, because that’s what they were made to be. The Howlers are dogs too. You realize that the Animorphs are their own kind of created beings. They were given powers to fight a war for someone else.

In other words, if you look at it a certain way, all of these children have been co-opted and controlled as much as Yeerks co-opt and control their hosts. Animorphs is deeply anti-war. And one of the main ways it’s anti-war is by painting war as something essentially parasitic. Something that chews people up. Something that traumatizes its protagonists from the word go. Something that forces you to make awful moral choices. Something that only happens when competing forces can’t resolve their needs in any other way. War is parasitic and parasitism leads to war.

I think it’s interesting that all of these stories involve war, and none of them are fond of it. They each question and deconstruct the genre of war story that they seem to belong to. Instead of telling a militaristic scifi story about crushing alien Others, and being led by nigh-mythological generals, Ender’s Game tells a militaristic scifi story about child soldiers, bureaucracy, misunderstanding the Other, and how although true genius and leadership exists, it can rarely outsmart the military apparatus that controls it. Instead of telling a campy Power Rangers tale about the wonders of friendship, Animorphs was intended, by the author’s own admission, to be a “grunts-eyed view” of combat that showed the “honest cost” of war. A group of guerrilla soldiers may form bonds and accomplish remarkable things, but their story will not end with medals or Ewok revelry. Instead of telling a utopic Star Trek story where humans are powerful and advanced and have near-imperial influence, Farscape tells a story about how humans are weak and clannish, and advanced imperial powers wage wars based on nothing better than conquest or mercenary interest. Crichton becomes a kind of warrior to defend himself, but he never becomes a soldier. He leads no armies or rebellions. He is nothing more than a bargaining chip in other people’s conflicts. The protagonists of all three stories wrestle with the guilt of having had to kill their enemies on a massive scale, and innocents along with them.

I think it’s interesting how embodied these stories are. There was something novel and arresting to my young brain, reading Peter’s jokes about pubic hair, or the descriptions of Ender smashing a boy’s nose. The feeling of a monitor in your neck, gravity and anti-gravity, the grappling shower fight. It feels uncomfortable and deliberate that these children are described in the “gross”, physical way that adults in boot-camp war stories normally are. There was something mesmerizing about all those descriptions of morphing. Every book there’d be paragraphs on paragraphs about teeth rearranging, legs sprouting, eyes popping, bones liquefying. Descriptions of the hunger and fear (and sometimes delight) of animals. Descriptions of horrifying battle wounds. Limbs removed, intestines spilling out, being eaten alive by ants. There was something affirming in how sexual, and how disgusting Farscape was. That even the puppets got horny, and John and Aeryn kissed like they meant it. That people ate and farted and were full of goo.

Change, symbiosis, bodies, war. I’m not going to overreach and claim that those themes necessarily go hand-in-hand with impotence, or that these three stories I happened to love indicate anything other than that they’re kind of story I happened to love. I recognize that I’ve glossed over potential interpretations or criticisms of these stories in order to draw the parallels that interest me. But I do think that war, i.e. super-personal conflict, and bodies are two of the most fundamental ways that power and selfhood get taken away. You lose yourself when you sign your will over to forces bigger than you, and you lose yourself when you die. Bodies are inextricable from mortality, and are a kind of shorthand for every natural circumstance you can’t control. Whereas change and symbiosis are the hopeful alternatives. Symbiosis means merging with something other, even bigger, than you, but in an inherently mutually beneficial way. You don’t get lost, because it wouldn’t be symbiosis if your needs weren’t being met, but you do become “more.” Change, in turn, implies agency. Nature and circumstance may transform you—transform you to the point of death—but you can also transform yourself. Change is a neutral force that anyone can potentially wield.

I don’t know that I need those stories anymore. I still love them, still find them meaningful (in fact I re-read some Animorphs to write this and I was taken aback by just how much I still honestly loved it). But I don’t recognize myself in them in quite the same way. Precisely, I think, because I do have power now. Not a lot. But I have a sense of what I’m good at, and what I can control. I dress how I like, think about what I like, talk to who I like. Having a body is a still a crock of shit, but that isn’t new information anymore. None of the ways I lack control over my life are new information anymore. And so there is less of a need to process the horror of it via fiction.

It was interesting rewatching Buffy, because Buffy was never something that I identified with when I was younger, despite the fact that it was a show about a teenage girl. Possibly because fundamentally, Buffy is a story about empowerment. Buffy has power. That’s the key thing about her. It’s true that like the characters in the other stories, she has been conscripted into a supernatural war against her will. She struggles with her agency, and is increasingly traumatized by the choices she has to make. But she wins. That is the point of her. She’s a classical hero. Her heroism is moving and satisfying because it’s never emotionally easy. It’s earned. But it’s still heroism.

So I was surprised that as an adult, I found myself relating to it. You might look at a season like season six, and think that that’s an impotence story, because a lot of it is about depression and when one is depressed one certainly feels impotent. But I see it more as a story about having agency and not knowing what the hell to do with it. The terror of “you have to make your own decisions now.” And most of the seasons are like that. They involve Buffy accepting some aspect of her power and growing up about it.

I notice a number of the stories I’ve been drawn to in my 20’s have had themes like that. I’ve found myself lingering on stories about women, and stories about confronting one’s agency. As a teenager, I loved Slings and Arrows, because Geoffrey Tennant was yet another character buffeted by outside forces (Art and Social Constraints On Art), with his own, art-related Harvey. But as an adult I was excited by Cayce Pollard instead. Someone who on the one hand is practically crippled by her responses to aesthetic stimuli, but on the other hand (a) uses this to practical effect, and (b) actually spends time examining to what extent her responses are disordered. I was similarly excited by Clarice Starling learning to pursue her taste in Hannibal.

It’s a weird shift, to realize you’re not powerless. It’s not necessarily a pleasant shift. It’s why I’ve never been compelled by empowerment stories that treat it as a triumphant, unambiguously positive thing. Stories that conflate having power with having the judgement or moral authority to use that power well. With great power comes great responsibility, but how do you know what the responsible thing to do even is? If you’re empowered by a story, all it really means is that it made you feel confident enough to make your own mistakes (or not-mistakes, of course) instead of someone else’s. Which can be quite a good and exciting thing. But it also means that if things go badly, it’s no-one’s fault but your own.

So I find that the stories about power that are most satisfying to me are actually stories about things like truth, judgment, and perseverance. Stories about solving problems. Stories about making decisions. Stories about fucking up and carrying on afterwards. Stories that treat self-possession as the hard work that it is.

I’m curious about what comes afterwards. Already I find myself itching for a new kind of story, but I’m not sure what. Maybe I’ll go back to needing the horror of powerlessness. Maybe I’ll find religion (the wonder of powerlessness). Maybe I’ll go full nihilism, or full hedonism. When I look at the next fifteen years of my life, I see work, but what stories does one need for that? Stories that explore the ideas that you want to explore yourself? It feels open-ended, in a way. For all that I’ve done all this talk about relating to stories, I’ve never actually explicitly gone looking for stories to relate to and identify with. That’s why I wrote this, really. It’s easy to see why I (or anyone) would be drawn to stories about people who looked me, or had the same experiences as me; less easy to see the deeper, more abstract concerns that speak to what one is preoccupied with. But even given that I’ve never had a very identitarian approach to art, I find myself caring less about relatability than ever. And maybe that’s a phase of development too. The phase at which you don’t so much need to process yourself as focus yourself. The phase at which your ego is secure enough that you can let your ego go, and be curious about other things.

#posts: art #posts: not-art #books: ender's game #books: animorphs #tv: farscape

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