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pleasecallmealsip · 27 days

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the so-called Terror: a dialogue

or: Why some concerns about the concept of revolution aren't worth your concern.

Frev happened 235 years ago. Rusrev happened 107 years ago. Chrev happened — do people still care when and how Chrev happened, or how Chrev was precisely inspired by the violent and popular aspects of Frev? No. Nein. Pas du tout. In all possibility, all that you hear is "Here is Why You Must Not Do Any More Revolutions".

That each of the Frev, Rusrev, and Chrev happened many years ago is a fact now misused and abused by those with no introspection in history or politics, only to show how "we are no longer living in the age of revolutions".

Against the Logic of the Guillotine. Because, as we all know, Louis Capet certainly survived by finding good talking points, and he loved facts and logic, and he facted so factually and he logiced so logically, that he won the rap battle against every member of the Third Estate and every petit bourgeois in each city and every peasant in each village and every enslaved person of Saint-Domingue, and therefore retained an absolute monarchy through the power of open reformist liberal discussion marketplace free-speech... (mumble jumble) ... both sides can have a point ideas opinions scientific human nature requires permissive modern enlightenment.

Enlightenment. It was philosophy that started the frev, and whether or not a person thinks highly of the frev, they cannot but admit: making sense of the frev is definitely very brain-consuming. This is where troll questions come in, and they are extremely brain-consuming if you, like me, sometimes get tempted to answer in good faith.

Most of the time, though, we on the left would brush away these troll questions. We'd respond... by not responding, because it's a waste of your time and energy to serve nuance, context, empathy, and primary sources, when, to the person who trolls you, if you know too much then you're an elitist, and if you know too little then you're a fake leftist, and if you know just the correct amount of things, then you're an elitist-fake-leftist. There's not even a sense of victory if you manage to fact-and-logic your way out.

But then, you log off, you do your twenty-five-hour-per-day paid shift, you eat, you shower, and you lie awake at night thinking: what if that person who comes off as a troll could unlearn what was certainly only a social condition? What if most trolls can become my leftist comrades?

Leftism. The title of a "leftist" is indeed a broad and vague one, and I totally understand that, for some of my fellow Marxists, it can be extremely annoying to debate a person who criticises capitalism as much as you do, but who, unlike you, does not take inspiration from any historical attempt at making a sustainable alternative. I mean, even Steve Bannon tries to brand himself as following Lenin, and he's already more specific in his wording than the liberal whose reason for calling themselves a "leftist" is that they would welcome trans people to become cops.

So what happens when the lines between Marxists and liberals constantly get blurred? And what if, in the night of the world, in the sombre stretch through each trembling horizon, all the way up into your own shadow, you hear what might as well be guns?

Well... To paraphrase Slavoj Žižek, himself paraphrasing someone whomst must not be mentioned: when I hear guns, I reach for my pop culture. I reach for my cultural osmosis, and I reach, and I reach, until I realise that the culture has not really osmosed upon me yet, because I never watched superhero films as a child, and cannot really name the so-called evil revolutionary villains in Gotham, and even without meaning to side-eye, I already am looking askew. The only problem, is how I, as someone who cannot have enough of Žižek's works, should be doing this looking-askew thing ...

Let's watch an instructional video to learn more.

(Alsip turns on the telly and shows the following.)

Trudy: Welcome to the Historic Hinterland, the show where we make the history that you've never heard of still feel as comfortable as home. I'm Trudy Mainstream. On this show, we don't ask for sources, we don't require history degrees, and we've only got one rule: we don't take "it's complicated" for an answer.

(Alice and Bob stare at each other from either side of Trudy, both waiting for Trudy to finish their introduction)

Trudy: Victor Hugo's Les Mis: can we finally de-politicise it? Jorjor Well's 90-84: why does it perfectly illustrate how the bourgeois intellectual is always the only sane man? Revolutionary Girl Utena: seriously, can she just calm down and be a pretty prince instead? Revolutions: can they be stopped at the right point in time? Today we’re talking about revolutions, and we’re leaving neither stone nor barrel-of-the-gun unturned.

(Both Alice and Bob already look tired.)

Trudy: My guests are Alice Kalandro, author of "From a Shakespearean Reading of Marx to a Marxist Reading of Shakespeare", and Bob Kinbote, beloved novelist, screenwriter, director, actor, whose 1992 debut "To Drown Next to You" about the tragic martyrdom of Olympe de Gouges, the feminist forerunner French revolutionary, has recently gotten a theatre adaptation. Bob, why is it so difficult to connect with all these self-proclaimed soon-to-be revolutionaries?

Bob: It's all about human nature, Trudy. That's the catch. If you start a revolution, and then it fails, you basically end up with a system much worse than the one you started with, all while ruining the reputation of your country among its neighbours. And human nature ensures that you shall go down as the most notorious of tyrants, monsters, beasts, and repressed queers.

Trudy: Ooh, I’d keep that last one off the list, really. I mean, I don’t know about her, but I’m not up for this language: I'm literally a they/them.

Alice: Well nice to meet you, Trudy, I'm Alice, and I’m also non-binary. You would have known that already, had you taken a glance at the About the Author paragraph on the front flap of my book.

Bob: And I don’t mean this as disparaging our queer audience in general. As an ally, I’m very aware of my optics, you see.

Trudy: But you don’t want any of our repressed queer viewers getting any ideas. Law and order, darling!

Bob: Not at all. Dare I say that the threat of totalitarianism is always one that worsens the lives of everyone, queer or trans or otherwise. And I don’t mean this as part of the community, but I know that wherever they oppress women, the queer people and the trans people would suffer simultaneously, at exactly the same rate and to exactly the same degree. The chevalier d’Éon, blessed be their soul, would have also perished on the scaffold had they decided to stay in France… Alice, you’ve written about Coriolanus and how he’s basically both gay and a rebel against his own mother, his own Rome. The archetypal restless youth. Would you say that Coriolanus ended up being a pathetic pawn of the totalitarian Volsci?

Alice: I’m not here to define things, and you’re not going to trick me into defining totalitarianism for you. But pray tell: How would a revolution fail, and how would a failed revolution worsen lives? Who gets disproportionately hit by this worsening you seem to be warning us about?

Bob: Trudy, you’ve got yourself a real sham rebel here. I mean, you've all heard about that lady whose great granddad used to own and sell all the eggs in China, right?

Alice: The source of her family’s case was a single thread that she tweeted half a century after it allegedly happened. Oh, we’re onto quite the great (!) example.

Bob: And she’s not the only example. Throughout the twentieth century, Hungarian mobs were raging through Cuban pagoda gardens, easily tearing apart like paper the precious Burkinabe musical boxes that used to entertain many an innocent young Haitian boyar.

Trudy: And why so much violence?

Alice: I must interrupt. What kind of violence are we talking about?

Bob: Long story short, it all started with the Guillotine, and the quick and painful executions thereby…

Alice: the probability that someone is an expert about the French Revolution is inversely correlated with the frequency at which they wax lyrical about how painful an execution by the guillotine was. And why am I, an amateur literary critic, and you, a historical novelist, the ones invited for this particular topic? Where are Jean-Clément Martin and Florence Gauthier and Peter McPhee and Clifford D Conner? Where is that tumblr user who’s been studying the so-called Terror of 1792-94, as well as the historiography thereof, for nearly two decades, and who can recount every love-language that the Duplays have shown to Robespierre? Alice: (Now looking straight at you, the reader) Frankly, this is not my area of expertise. I won't tell you which particular British commonwealthmen influenced Jean-Paul Marat while he was a young physician practicing in England, and therefore imply that even the British were not and are not ontologically counterrevolutionary... because I am not a historian. All I can tell you, is why most of the conservatives and lower-l liberals are asking the wrong questions.

Trudy: Alice, this is a fun show about fun history for the average audience, we’ve got no time for this smug little elitism of yours.

Bob: Oh, but let her… I’m sorry, let Them carry on. Alice, you don’t want to talk about the Guillotine, so what type of violence are you referring to here? Struggle sessions?

Alice: I mean, are we talking about law-making violence or law-preserving violence, and are we touching upon the difference between mythic violence and divine violence at all?

Trudy: Alice, those are some jargons that will take eternity to explain. And our average audience don’t have eternity. I mean, are we categorising violences the way some very careful environmentalists would categorise their bins?

Alice: I can explain, and it's incredibly fun and unfortunately average, and I'm sure that after I explain, the average audience will keep my explanation safe in their hands, warm in their arms, and other types of comfortable in their various other bodily orifices.

(Alice makes sure that Trudy and Bob are not going to interrupt.)

Alice: When we hear about violence in the news, who is usually represented as the perpetrators of that violence? The answer is “mobs”. Protestors are framed as mobs with banners and war-cries. The armies of certain countries are framed as foreign mobs. Even workers on a strike — and for the majority of workers, being on a strike in the 2010s and early 2020s in the UK basically means taking the day off — are framed as mobs who want to cause a fuss instead of doing their job.

Bob: So that's what you call law-making violence? Come on, violence is violence, and all violence is always bad.

Alice: Bad for whom?

Bob: So your point is that some violence is good then?

Alice: My point is that, whenever violence makes the news, they are usually represented as done by mobs to the so-called normal and average person. What doesn't make the news, however, are the...

Bob: authors of children's books about talking owls and hats that decide your fate, the last instalment of which is now almost old enough to be a university student?

Trudy: Excuse me, that one author you must not name is still selling books, is still tweeting, and those tweets are still hitting the headlines. That doesn't sound like being silenced, because that is the opposite of being silenced. Remember, Bob, we are talking about hypothetical revolutions, and so far one has not happened to target that one author. Now, let Alice finish.

Alice: Thanks a lot, Trudy. What doesn't make the news are why such outbursts of so-called “mob violence” became necessary in the first place. When you hear that a workers' strike is going on, you think to yourself, these lazy people want a pay rise while they don't do their job, and they're coercing their employers. But behind their visible, short-term coercion is subtle and long-term coercion, done by their employers to them, by asking them to endure inhumane working conditions, decreasing pay when adjusted for inflation, and systematically high rate of burnout. And when those workers are public transport staff, are NHS staff, or are teachers in public schools, it is this government who has already been coercing all of them for years on end.

Bob: And the protests among university students?

Alice: Behind every protest is a genocide that both the Tory party and the Labour party actively do, all day, every day, using taxpayers' money while actively ignoring how the majority of this country would like the genocide to end, forever. And I agree with you on one point: all violence is always bad for somebody, so, would you say that the violence that you do not personally get to see are necessarily less horrifying?

Bob: So you call what is done by this government "law-preserving violence"?

Alice: Precisely. Whereas workers' strikes, as well as the making of new work contracts by the employers, are law-making violence. Even the signing of a contract can be violent. Any of you who unfortunately have to pay high subscription fees for our techno-feudal masters, because you want to read papers, watch anime, play games, even simply to keep in touch with friends, would certainly confirm.

Trudy: But you've always got the right not to use google or amazon or microsoft or apple or ex-twitter or any one of the other privatised commons without which your livelihood can and will be affected severely.

Bob: And workers do have the right to strike if they are willing to let their livelihood be affected severely.

Alice: And why do you think the livelihoods of striking workers are always affected? It's because even those workers who simply decide to not clock in for the day and spend their time chilling out in the sun are, in the eyes of the law, already violent subjects. If you live in the UK and there's a strike, but the striking workers are under a different employer than yours, then you're not allowed to join them in striking. If that doesn't imply a negative attitude to the exercising of your legal rights in the realm of habits, I don't know what does. And as soon as you can be framed as violent, any harm that you subsequently receive gets trivialised and ignored. Sure, why care about these striking workers' livelihood, why care about the cops shutting them down in the most cowardly of outbursts, when these workers, though they do not act visibly, are already seen as mobs, already the part-of-no-part?

Trudy: Ooh, watch out, everybody! Here comes another jargon.

Bob: I recognise that one. Rancière. And as long as I can beautifully pronounce the names of the French philosophers, I shall never worry about their thoughts.

Trudy: And you're off topic now, Alice. How could strikes compare to revolutions? I mean, strikes usually don't last very long. I have heard of peasants' uprisings that last a year or several years. And so peasants' uprisings cause more violence than strikes. And revolutions usually last longer than peasants' uprisings. Ergo, revolutions are even more violent than peasants' uprisings.

Bob: Precisely. When does a revolt become a revolution? When does your 21st-century well-organised and voted-for strike become another Big Swamp Village, and your rebellion against the Qin Dynasty is quickly quashed and only becomes slogan fodder for some radically strange people whom you shall never see or hear from, who lives millennia down the line?

(Alice looks at Bob as if through the looking-glass).

Bob: As you asked in the beginning, Trudy, you do need to stop before the revolution begins. Let's cut the branch that might have grown full straight, and burn we must Apollo's laurel-bough.

(Trudy is not really getting the reference here, and falls into awkward silence. Alice is, finally, almost amused.)

Bob: Indeed, and the historian's task is to draw the objective line between those time-stretches and those levels of violence. As an Artist, though, I would like to entertain ambiguities. Maybe there's a bit of Jacobin in every one of us, everywhere, all the time. And that's what's horrifying about the French Revolution. I'm going to explore that in the sequel to my novel, "To Wobble Away from You", where Robespierre's friend, like the one in Henri Béraud's sentimental novel, discovers that he's secretly just like Robespierre, or intend to possess him, or maybe even to be possessed by this bloodthirsty dictator, and so this friend, he falls into an identity crisis ...

Alice: I see that neither of you are listening to me. The Russian Revolution was sparked by the strike of women working in the textile industry. Bob — Dr Kinbote — you clearly do your own research in preparation for your creative output, you know that the revolutionaries in every revolution knew when they were doing a revolution. You don't need to draw the line after the events. That is the one thing that we as non-historians can still very responsibly do. And no, there is no such thing as historians being objective. But, again, this show is not exactly concerned with objectivity, is it?

Trudy: How do you know that it's not just an uprising? Surely, by the time you've guillotined, say, the ten-thousandth aristocrat, you would want to question yourself regarding what you're doing?

(Trudy takes out a lean slice of cake and starts eating.)

Alice: I would indeed question myself, but not in the way you seem to be suggesting that I do. You have a point, Trudy, in that most revolutions have longer-lasting effects than uprisings do. As indeed, in actually-existing socialisms, it was always revolutions, and not uprisings, that could, and indeed managed to, uproot old regimes forever. My question is therefore about the planning of the new regime. Take the French Revolution.

Bob: Have you never heard of the Bourbon Restoration? Napoleon was the most ingenious emperor since Alexander met Hephaistion, but Napoleon lost eventually. He died a prisoner.

Alice: Toussaint l'Ouverture also died while extralegally arrested and kept in solitary confinement by Bonaparte's marshals. Exactly one of these two deserved to die a prisoner. Exactly one of them deserved to die at all, and he's not called Toussaint. If you had sincerely believed the Corsican who lost land and principles, the Tsar-kisser who was capable of neither virtue nor terror, to somehow still be a revolutionary, you would have definitely hated him, you would have been disgusted by him, and you would have titled him a bloodthirsty dictator. And yet you put his ingenuity out of all context, and therefore insult even this ingenuity.

Bob: You're avoiding the question. I'm saying that old regimes can, in fact, come back.

Alice: Anything "can" happen. The entire universe "can" suddenly turn into piles of porous cheese, and nobody would be left to give the good news to the ghost of G.K. Chesterton. Well, except me, I guess. I'll remain while everyone else spends the rest of eternity swimming in their long-owed nutrition. Why, I'm too bitter, too pedantic, to dissolve even among the richest of bacterial cultures.

(Trudy is now choking on their cake.)

Alice: As long as your vision is one that centres threats from without, anything could be seen as the beginning of a butterfly effect. But the effect of the revolution was profoundly felt when the restored monarchy, far from the normative status it used to have pre-revolution, is largely seen as a subversion, as supposed to an extension of the norm. And you can always find your counter-examples, but in both the Russian Revolution where the Tsar abdicated and was later killed out of emergency, and the Chinese Revolution where the last Emperor survived and tried to become a puppet emperor under imperial Japan, you never have a restoration that spans the entire land of the country. The point is exactly to reach for the theories that make such a reversal impossible to even imagine.

Trudy: Are you saying that history has a definitive direction of progress, and that the Bourbons were simply unfortunate in that they happened to be travelling against the tide of the times?

Alice: Nobody is travelling against the tide of times. And there is no tide separate from each of us; every individual is already part of such a tide. As much as no one person can, without the help of entire classes of people — and yes, "classes" plural, for Mao was notable for his emphasis on the collaboration between peasants and proletariat factory-workers and even part of the petit-bourgeoisie — build an entire revolution from scratch, we must also be aware: no one person can be so unfortunate as to be completely independent from the revolution, as someone passively observing the revolution, as someone whom the revolution happens "to". This is what universal equality looks like: from the nobles who had privilege own to lands they barely visited to those enslaved since childhood, nobody could say they had no agency, rights, or responsibilities in a revolution.

Bob: Well tell me what agencies Antoinette had then. She was only a depressed mother —

Alice: A depressed mother who chose to ask the troops of her father's country to quash the army and citizens of her husband's country. She wanted to ensure that she survived and maintained her right as the queen no matter which side won.

Trudy: But surely Robespierre was wrong to demand the arrests of Danton and Camille Desmoulins, who were his friends to start with? I mean, the revolutionary tribunal was not controlled by Robespierre, and the tribunal had the choice to acquit the Dantonists, but even with that possibility in mind, you still wouldn't in your sane mind cause trouble for your friends to have to defend themselves in front of the jury, would you?

Alice: Now you are asking an interesting question! What do you think separates Robespierre's actions from the two of them?

Bob: That Danton sold himself to the British (as if to clean his mouth, he spits right after saying the word "British"), and Desmoulins wrote his newspaper without fact-checking, but Robespierre did neither of those two things — that Robespierre was the "Incorruptible", and he always presented to the National Convention what was evidenced as the truth?

Alice: That is the least of Robespierre's concern. You only need to read Robespierre's speech after the arrest of the Dantonists to say that it wasn't any good action on Robespierre's part that made him think of himself as less gullible, as, indeed, "incorruptible".

Bob: Ah, you admit it then? You admit that Robespierre thought of himself as ontologically untouchable by the law, whatever actual position he occupied within the Convention?

Alice: No. Quite the opposite. Robespierre, at the time of the fall of the Dantonists, was already thinking of himself as equally involved, and equally active in the revolution, as the Dantonists were. And so as long as the Dantonists could be condemned at any moment, so could Robespierre. Neither his past friendship with them, nor his difference in opinion, nor his abstinence from indulgence was focused on, because if there was one thing Robespierre avoided, it was being a hero of the revolution, being a hero atop the Convention, atop all citizens active and passive.

Trudy: Wait, I saw in a film that Robespierre personally asked his men to go to the printers' workshop, where they were publishing Desmoulins's Le Vieux Cordelier, and those men wrecked the workshop, confiscated their copies of Desmoulins's newspaper, and then threatened to arrest the printers...

Bob: Wajda's Danton. The masterpiece of 1983. It makes me fall in love with Polish cinema all over again. One of the most brilliantly threatening Robespierre I have the fortune to have seen in media.

Alice: Ok, watch out for the word "threatening", because I'm about to use it. Robespierre never threatened physical violence against the printers working alongside Desmoulins. That was one of the many factual errors of that film. I'm not a film critic, and besides, Florence Gauthier has already thoroughly sick-burnt the ever-loving sick-burn out of Wajda. But even in such a biased film, one thing was done right: Danton was indeed represented as a nouveau-riche, who was somehow remembered as a hero of the true proletarians. And I think we can all agree on the certain harms — not even the dangers that lurk, but the harms that already is — of hero-worshipping. (Suddenly becoming quieter in voice and less formal in tone) i shall not advice anybody to spit at andrej wajda's plaque, located at the intersection of józefa hauke-bosaka and śmiała streets in warsaw's żoliborz oficerski. i give this address so that our entirely apolitical audience can know they shall not forcefully eject their saliva at wajda's plaque. moving on: I am not here to tell you about what good things Robespierre did. If he was adamant that he did not want to become separated from the people, from the revolution, and seen as someone independent from the people, from the revolution, then I am also adamant that we move on from him. You don't really care about his personal life, do you? You don't have any stakes over whether or not he secretly wanted to retire early and spend the rest of his life learning to cook for his found family and write poems for Saint-Just and Le-Bas to make into operetta-like songs.

Trudy: Indeed I'm getting bored of him.

Bob: So would you say that Robespierre was a successful person, then? As an Artist, I'm of course open to all kinds of definition of the word "successful", even if it's a success at making himself condemnable, and indeed, eventually extralegally condemned.

Alice: Ok, quick-fire then. When you hear the word "successful", Trudy, what is the first image that you see in your mind's eye?

Trudy: Oh, he was a gentleman with the fashion sense of the ancien régime, wasn't he? He had a powdered wig, and wore sunglasses, and had intricate white lace cuffs that surround his wrists ...

Alice: He couldn't afford lace. He wore fine linen. Ugh, this isn't about Robespierre the person though, is it?

Trudy: (ignoring Alice) ... and wore the neatest of breeches, and even his Adam's apple was especially perfumed to have the taste of ...

Bob: The bourgeoisie aesthetic. There it is. Robespierre managed to learn to be a professional lawyer, and he found the support of a well-to-do carpenter, and the ladies who heard his speeches live in the Convention's galleries found him attractive, all because the French Revolution did nothing but make the rich white men who weren't born into noble families gain the rights and privileges of ancien-régime nobles. Whereas everybody else, from the women to the people of colour to the gays to the lesbians to the bis...

Trudy: Why are you saying lesbians as if they are not also women? And gay men being women? Excuse me?

Alice: Ok, the carpet value judgement that the French Revolution was "bourgeois", and therefore unremarkable, is often rather insidious, since... — Bob, would I be correct if I call you a leftist?

Bob: Absolutely. Eat the Rich, and so on and so on.

Alice: So you're a leftist, and from what you have said about the queer and trans community so far, I gather that you sincerely believe in the leftist cause in a broad sense. And yet, you are still not immune to reactionary propaganda.

(Bob almost jumps out of his chair.)

Alice: To claim the French Revolution was, and aimed to only be, a bourgeois revolution, your central argument would have to be that the revolutionaries disposed of one set of hierarchy, only for the purpose of ushering another in. What you've done here, is that you've represented the revolution as a noisy crime that destroyed another crime, and so was flawed in the best case, and meaningless in the worst, insofar as it did not in one swift step go from the ancien régime to fully automated luxury gay space communism.

Trudy: But what if I've wanted just that? What if, here's an idea, jumping immediately into Fullo-auto-Luxo-gay-spa-Commo is good actually? If you are so confident that your platonic vision is going to succeed, then down with the terror! Just bring on the good results already!

Alice: (somehow managing to ignore Trudy) ... And this argument, this "bourgeois revolution" judgement, it depends as much on what the French Revolution was not as on what it was, and so it is as ideological as it is historical. Finally, a good use for the non-historian that I am. it's possible that one gains access to all primary sources and insight to none, and so comes to this very wrong conclusion. And this is where I must warn you, Bob: as much as you've been clever enough to recognise French philosophers, you still need to watch out for the done-your-own-research-and-indeed-accessed-many-primary-sources-but-doing-so-very-poorly pitfall, that writers of historical novels are always tempted to fall into. Because the question is not simply "why did the terror happen" but also "why was the terror a necessary step between the ancien régime and any vision of utopia".

Trudy: And why was it?

Alice: The shortest answer is that for a revolution to succeed you need everybody's participation. You need every citizen to agree on a set of new rights and new principles. Universality, basically. Now here's the difficult part: universality doesn't fall from the sky. It appears like an intrusion. It surprises even the people doing it. So you cannot simply programme an entire country by hitting a button. Those who get hit, I am afraid to say, might as well include yourself.

Trudy: What if revolutionaries cut off the supply line of my local supermarket? Or the electricity to a children's hospital?

Bob: My research has told me that this didn't happen very often in history. Things like a flood or an earthquake might end up doing those things, but revolutionaries have the agency that natural phenomena lack.

Alice: That it is, Dr Kinbote. If your idea of a revolution involves a disruption to the supply line of the most basic of goods and services, you need to ask yourself: why are those supply lines so risky to maintain in the first place? If any temporary flood could claim the electricity of an entire hospital, then the hospitalised patients' lives and livelihoods are being artificially devalued already. Basically though, detractors of revolution-as-a-concept tend to do this: if they see a revolutionary from a peasant or worker background, they dismiss them as jealous losers; if they see a revolutionary from a bourgeois-proper or noble-family background, they dismiss them as people with hypocritical morals; if they see a revolutionary who's not exactly rich and not exactly poor, then they dismiss them as jealous losers with hypocritical morals.

Bob: I don't think this is the show where we analyse why things happen in real life, Alice. Real life is messy and illogical.

Alice: (somehow managing to also ignore Bob) While we could, in a now-clichéd Žižekian move, assert that "robespierre's problem was not that he was too radical, but that he wasn't radical enough", we must not lose sight of how the new-left (derogatory) formula of either "robespierre was an anti-liberal bourgeois" or "robespierre was an anti-bourgeois liberal", both of which Yannick Bosc has already dispelled, necessarily implies reductive identity politics. And the problem with identity politics is that it supposes that a person cannot care about a social issue that does not immediately affect their material livelihood.

Bob: these new-leftists that you speak of, Alice, are they in the room with us right now?

(Alice casts a glance at you, the reader)

Alice: They might as well be. A psychological inconsistence on the part of these new-leftists is that, if the French Revolution really was, as they claim, an unimportant bump near the beginning of the long road of capitalism, and an unworthy prequel to the various revolutions in the 20th century, then these new-leftists themselves would never spend so much time and energy arguing against its memory. In doing this, they basically admit that they're incapable of writing a history of international leftism, without having the French Revolution as a flawed and hopeful first.

Bob: But isn't that just the founding of the version of France as we know it today? I mean, in feudal times you found a state by conquering and looting. Just because the state being founded is a king-less state, doesn't make that conquering and looting any less necessary. Even if you imagine a timeline where Napoleon never lost the last Coalition wars, he'd had to constantly threaten the rest of the crowned heads of Europe not to start the Eighth and the Ninth and the Umpteenth Coalition war.

Alice: Ok, I've already answered earlier why Bonaparte doesn't count as a revolutionary, and now you've also said the word "threaten" one too many times.

Trudy: What's wrong with threatening people?

Alice: Ha, what is wrong with threatening? I'm glad you asked. If you want to threaten some people, you'd have to maintain that those people are guilty, and you'd have to sustain that sense of guilt. You'd have to hang the metaphorical sword above their heads, and ensure that no matter how they repent, how they apologise, how they do their reparations, that guilt shall remain. Even if you want to be extra wholesome, and always forgive your enemies no matter what they've done — and this is not about me, I don't want to tell you whether or not to forgive your enemies — even if forgiveness is granted from your side, the threatening stance remains. You forgive out of your own decision to leave things behind in their flawed status, and not because enough reparations have been paid. Because, let's face it: as long as we see time as linear, a person who is already your enemy is unlikely to ever do enough reparations for you to stop calling them your enemy. If you forgive them, good for you: now they are the enemy that you've forgiven. Forgiven, but still the enemy.

Bob: Forgive but never forget, as the saying goes.

Alice: And this is not just for personal conflicts and whether or not they end in forgiveness. In most cases, the death penalty is exactly such a threatening violence. When a criminal is led to execution, that doesn't really do anything to this one criminal. Because death is something that doesn't happen to you; you're always only observing others die. And if no reparation is ever enough, then paying one's own life for one's crimes would also not be enough. No, executions serve to warn other criminals, whether they're already arrested, or still avoiding arrest: this is your fate, these gallows, and you shall spend the rest of your waking hours fleeing from this. Of course, the death penalty is only one of the more obvious ways through which a state gains monopoly to violence. Prisons aren’t inherently any less threatening. They’re literally there as boundaries to be indefinitely maintained. In the UK, when a person is persecuted, their case says “R versus [their name]”. They’re literally the nobody being reminded of their guilt, because they are framed as enemies of the monarch. Everybody will be able to name the king or the queen, but nobody will ever be able to name every one of the condemned. Such violence, done by the state to the individual person, is precisely the opposite of Terror. It quashes any individual agency, any possibility at clearing one’s name. Hence we can say that the violence that founds a state necessarily threatens, even if that threatening is empty, and even if the person being threatened is already dead. You need only recall the outrage from conservative and not-so-conservative Americans (both Trudy and Bob recoil at hearing “Americans”) when you dare to commemorate _ _ _ _ _ Bushnell.

Bob: I'm against the death penalty. As for prisons, I cannot see an effective way towards reform yet...But that’s not the point. My point is, prisons and executions featured heavily in the vast majority of revolutions, and that’s against my principles. I’d like you to name me one successful revolution where purges and political prosecution didn't happen, where nobody died. Go on, I'll wait.

Alice: I kinda wanted to say that death is a certainty no matter which historical period you look at, but you know, I’m not a historian, so why listen to me? But no, what I really wanted to say is, revolution doesn’t only change whether the king is in charge or a convention is in charge, it changes literally how the enemies of the state are treated. To use the example of criminal prosecution again, those that are executed — and for the records, I do not believe anybody ever deserves to be executed either, I’m just talking about people like the Dantonists — when they perished on the scaffold, it was their guilt that stopped existing.

Bob: So, forget, but never forgive?

Alice: That is the aim. Well, what is forgotten is the hubris of the individual. You remember the names of Danton and Desmoulins and Philippeaux and Lacroix d’Eure-et-Loir, but you don’t remember what kind of self-important embezzlement and fabrications they were up to, and more crucially than that, you don't remember the name of the president over the Convention on the day they were first suspected, on the day they were arrested, on the day they were tried, and on the day they were executed. Take an even more extreme example: everybody has heard about Antoinette, and many have heard of her friend, Madame de Lamballe, who died in the September 1792, when the sans-culottes of Paris executed those whom they believed could collaborate with the very-quickly-approaching Prussian troops. Very few people can remember the names of the people who killed Madame de Lamballe. It’s always how the noble ladies and the gentlemen and the non-binary highborns were cute and cultured and well-mannered and soft-spoken, and they’re contrasted against this nameless mob, and we as modern-day readers are told, again and again, that these nobles knew not why the mob even was there.

Trudy: Could nobles themselves join the revolution?

Alice: Why they could. They had the imperative to. If you're relatively rich and have more spare time, you're likely to be among the first people in your country to be literate. And if you manage to be literate, you can manage to become literary. And then you'd be the first readers of Rousseau and of Voltaire. You could even argue that, since nobles were significant proponents of calling the Estates General, it was the nobles who started the French Revolution. Even though their personal goals ranged from “wanting to do a job outside of their duties as nobles” to “wanting to not pay taxes” to “sincerely believe that the king’s powers should be limited” to “willing to give up their own privileges and commit to the republican cause”, the noble status on its own did not limit anybody from having the agency to act. Literally, there is no such thing as the "target audience of a revolution", because nobody is simply the audience of a revolution. I encourage you to read more about Michel Lepeletier, his younger brother Félix, and the maybe-Dantonist-maybe-Hébertist that was Hérault-Séchelles. As for those nobles who neglect to act, well, they don’t have to repay anything. They just need to be thrown into the void. It’s the individual’s violence against the state that produces this effect.

Trudy: Ok, in the beginning you talked about mythic violence and divine violence. Would it be accurate to say that mythic violence is when threatening, and divine violence is when hitting the target directly?

Alice: Basically, mythic violence = the violence that founds a state. You've got roughly two types of theory of how any state comes to be: the social contract theory, and the theory where you think of the state as the protection of the interest of a particular class. The latter basically states that every state started off by being illegitimate.

Bob: Conquering and looting?

Alice: Precisely. If you apply this to the modern history of France, then the way we talk about Bonaparte largely reflects what we think of illegitimate violence. In short, Bonaparte was more similar to Louis XVI — or, if you're being generous, Louis IX — than he was to the Jacobins he professed to have inherited his politics from. And even if your only measure is body-count, Bonaparte still costed the lives of more French people per year than any pre-thermidor conventionnel ever did.

Bob: But why "divine" violence? What's divine about the (horrifying word ahead) Reign of Terror?

Alice: I'd avoid saying the "Reign of Terror" because, as I have said just now about Bonaparte, 1792 to 1794 was not the height of political persecution. The thermidorians gave way to unprincipled threatening-by-death of the remaining montagnards. The directoire was even less self-organised, and that paved way for Bonaparte.

Bob: Ok, Robespierre didn't want to personally gain supernatural powers, I can concede that point. Even his harshest detractors wouldn't go near that trope. As an Artist, I must be moderate in my criticism, so I won't go near that trope either. What is it that made you, a champion of the Robespierrist cause, use that particular word?

Alice: Ok, you have a point, the name is a confusing one. Out of curiosity, are either one of you religious?

Trudy: Nah.

Bob: Not even spiritual, only high-spirited.

Alice: Great. While I suspect that we are three different types of atheists, what concerns the word "divine" here is not "actually gaining powers beyond the human scope". No, the transition from mythic to divine is like the transition from paganism to monotheism, from powers that reference each other to one power that has no reference for its own power, from powers that be to a power that only emerges at instances where it surprises even itself. The Old Testament is full of examples of laws being used as guidance and not as commands for exactly this reason: you decide without anyone, not even the Supreme Being, guaranteeing your moral purity. Purity itself is already a myth. And I'm afraid that the very concept of democracy is now being used as if it was a synonym of purity, as if was a pagan belief. You hear those twitter users with marble statues as profile pictures singing their praises to "their" Western philosophy. You see the first-past-the-post system being maintained as if it was some ancient tradition. You see the Labour Party quickly devolving into Tory-lite, and somehow by being the lesser-of-two-evils they consistently pat their own backs, scratch their own armpits, and do various other self-inflicted vulgarly pleasurable things.

Bob: I'm aware that we tend to avoid this question, but: How is the storming of the Capitol different from the storming of the Bastille?

Alice: Ok, do you know many names of the people who physically filmed themselves trespassing into the Capitol Building? Do you know the name or pseudonym of the persons who inspired them?

Trudy: I think everybody does now.

Alice: Alright, then, do you know the name of anybody who personally fired glass bottles at the Bastille guards? What about the women who used their femininity as decoy to bypass the guards? Who were personally responsible for ending Jourdan de Launay's whole career, and then his life as well?

Trudy: I don't think anybody knows that.

Alice: This was why I mentioned the part-of-no-part right there. The point of a revolution is not for one person to become a Robespierre, a Lenin, a Mao, a Castro, or anyone else whose black legends we on the left still have to keep dispelling. The point is for us to become the stormers of Bastille, to become the sans-culottes in September 1792. Of course, it's understandable that you have your favourite historical politicians or soldiers or poets, and it's admirable to learn lessons from them. I cannot have enough of Kropotkin, and I'm not even an anarchist. But revolutions are specifically about how the anonymous proletariat rebels against that situation — and this next part is important — by tearing down both the bourgeoisie and themselves.

Trudy: I thought the proles only rebel to get more handouts.

Bob: Or, failing that, we can ask the bourgeoisie to be gentle with us.

Alice: Asking another class to be gentle with your class is nonsensical, because class conflict precedes class distinction. You're at odds with the bourgeoisie even before a dictatorship-of-the-bourgeoisie came into being with the directoire. And indeed, the principle of fascism...

Trudy: Scary word spotted!

Alice: The principle of fascism is not really "eliminating an enemy within" à la antisemitism. No, fascism starts when someone thinks that a strong enough political leader can effectively let the proletariat and the bourgeoisie to coexist while being gentle to each other. In that sense, the number of people subscribing to such a principle is already frighteningly large. You simply cannot treat the class struggle the way you treat the struggle against queer-phobia or against transphobia. The day you end queer- or trans- phobia is the day where we in the queer community shall live in peace and harmony, and the people outside of this community shall also live in peace and harmony. But the day you end class struggle is the day where everybody still is, still lives, but not as their former class anymore. The day you end class struggle is the day where you neither need to have alongside you a revolutionary leader like Robespierre or like Lenin, nor need to become such a leader yourself. Of course, you would still have leadership to ensure that, for example, that power plants and railways can function.

Bob: So why is it that nobody is doing a revolution right now?

Alice: You have not been following the news in Burkina Faso, have you? Also, technically the Chinese Revolution is still continuing. You've also got revolutionary parties everywhere in the Third World...

Trudy: Ugh, I don't want to hear about the Third World. It's against my well-balanced principles to over-intrude into issues of countries that are not my own. Unless it's the US of A. Intercourse that stupid baka country. We're talking about revolution, the fashionable subject, and not the Third World. Your dream of a day of rupture in the form of popular uprising is going to land you in a cultish environment, Alice.

Alice: And I don't want to get into the differences between those who believe in a day of rupture versus those who do not, even though I can talk about how none of the French, the Russian, or the Chinese, at the time of their respective revolutions, predominantly believed in a day of rupture. They had no idea what you're talking about. Nonetheless, let's remember that those three countries are not the only examples. You only need to look at how many countries in the world have done a revolution in the past two hundred years to know that a revolution does not necessarily require any one particular type of religious belief.

(This is where Alsip turns off the telly. The following is Alsip speaking directly to you, the reader.)

Belief. It's easier to define yourself as what you positively believe in, than as what you do not believe in. To say "I don't believe in the ancien régime" is easy. To say "I believe in universal suffrage and the granting of citizenship to all formerly enslaved people" is much more difficult. To say "I don't believe that there was such a thing as the Reign of Terror" is easy. It's much more difficult, and much more effective, to say "I do believe that the anonymous proletariat can and should fight the few who defend a dictatorship of the bourgeoisie, and in this process befriend any petit-bourgeois who are willing and capable to systematically abolish their own privileges".

This is also why simply stating that you are anti-capitalist, if it used to work as practice, now no longer works as a theory. This is also why I take issue with the slogan "Eat the Rich", because such a goal presumes the existence of a certain class that you construct as "the Rich". And as much as I may pride myself on offending individual capitalists, I'd argue that, for me and my fellow Marxists, this cannot be the only tactic. A more radical slogan would concern the much less dramatic, and seemingly much more mundane action of feeding the poor, of doing the simplest thing that is the most difficult to do: establishing order from within the chaos of late-stage whatever-ism. To relish in the excess of destroying capitalism is not the thing that differentiate us from fascists. To go from the liberation from the system to a system of liberation, on the other hand, sets us firmly against the fascists, whose liberation from the system stops at a system of artificially-maintained harmony between classes, a system so brittle it constantly requires war with other countries to obfuscate its internal contradictions.

The liberals (derogatory) who say that the French Revolution was good in theory but bad in practice, who hail the storming of the Bastille but abhor anything that happened between 1792 and 1794, they simply overestimate the power of habits. They deem habits as above all laws. They could even agree that every person has the legal right to unionise, to strike, to revolt, and to demand a change to the constitution of their country. But, they would ask, are we really used to going to such lengths and measures? Are we really allowing the possibility that someone as beautiful as Hérault-Séchelles could be guillotined wrongfully? Are we ready to face something like the war in the Vendée, with such a both-are-worse situation as that of Carrier versus Charette (i.e. the unprincipled Left versus the populist Right)? A Marxist who wants to recognise all history of revolutions (with all the flaws that have been persisting) as their own shall, with much grief in their heart, answer Yes and Yes and Yes.

These very liberals often admire the Dantonists: they want a revolution that can be walked back on. They actively want to cut the branch that might have grown full straight. They want Apollo's laurel-bough to be burnt. To paraphrase No. 33 from Kafka's Zürau Aphorisms: anti-capitalist liberals do not underestimate habits, for they allow their own habits of limiting subjective violence to be violated by their own negligence towards systemic violence, and in so doing, they are like the capitalists that they have been anti-ing.

I would like to say a very Happy Birthday to Louis-Antoine Saint-Just. The time is already 25th August 2024 where I am. This is now the 257th of the Many Happy Returns. This piece is supposed to be all about how Saint-Just resembles a painting by Paul Klee, a painting that Walter Benjamin admired and wrote a significant comment about, Benjamin, whose Critique of Violence much influences my current analysis of the French Revolution and of the Russian and Chinese revolutions. It turns out that, since my degree was in maths and not in history, such a Benjaminian reading-of-Saint-Just is not yet clear to me.

I must note that Benjamin himself actually saw the French Revolution as the violence that founds a state. It was in Žižek's Violence (2007) that the clear equations of "French Revolution = aiming at (though didn't manage to achieve) a dictatorship of the proletariat = the abolishing of the classes of proletariat and of bourgeoisie at once = the boundless destruction of guilt = divine violence" were established.

As I have said before, if I could hypothetically talk to Saint-Just for only a day, I would be sure to say that his Constitution and his strategies and his principled personality are all continuously admired and influential to this day, and yet I would still be very hesitant to describe to him the world that we currently live in. And that was why I came to the realisation that commemorating Saint-Just cannot stop at making memes about him, translating papers about him, or telling those who have been duped by his black legend about How Saint-Just Was Good, Actually. No, I need to start with my own theory-reading.

I've basically put into this piece all the research and thoughts that I'd had since I started regularly reading about the French Revolution in 2023, and even some since earlier. I'll obviously still be wrong about a lot of things, and so for those of you who spent time reading all the way through this piece: I welcome any and all criticisms. Please, just tell me and I'll either edit this piece or do better in the next long post of this kind. and

if I persist while knowing I am wrong, the Archangel of Terror strike me down.

I would like to thank, in no particular order, my mutuals Lin @enlitment, Aes @aedesluminis, Adam @czerwonykasztelanic, Nesi @nesiacha, Kes @sparvverius, Maki @makiitabaki, Claude @18thcenturythirsttrap, Jefflion @frevandrest, Lazare-Petit, and Citizencard @citizen-card, for their patience and encouragement as I write my various frev-related posts and translations. Die Partei hat immer recht.

#frev #french revolution #robespierre #maximilien robespierre #saint-just #louis antoine saint just #frev shitposting #alsip.txt #cw liberal (derogatory) takes #cw misgendering #cw death #cw execution #cw genocide

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mamamittens · 1 year

Text

Oh, Sweet Child of Mine (Pt. 1)

Reader-insert & Whitebeard Pirates

Master Post for series.

Warning: (Platonic) yandere behavior, physical injury, blood, and kidnapping. If any of these make you uncomfortable (especially yandere content), you should not read this or any following parts.

Please block the tag "oh sweet child of mine" if you are uninterested in this story and "one piece yandere" if stories like this make you uncomfortable. For everyone else, please do remember that as sweet/touching as this behavior is or can be, it is deeply toxic and troubling in real life. Anyone that treats you with such disregard in terms of your boundaries or respecting your decisions should not be tolerated.

Please stay safe and have fun.

Word Count: 2,880

Devil fruits in the marines has always been handled a bit oddly. On paper, no low rank has a devil fruit. Because having a devil fruit tends to make even weak humans stronger, even if under highly specific circumstances. But you can’t just promote people because they ate something weird. They have to earn their position. This problem is handily solved by… ignoring the issue entirely.

Strong marines will, eventually, be promoted. So it stood to reason that strong marines with powerful abilities will be promoted even faster.

You were, however, of the opinion that there should be some sort of allowance made for marines that just can’t handle power without it going to their head.

Those people should scrub toilets until they learn at least a bare minimum amount of humility.

Why would you, of all people, have that opinion?

Because you got to watch, in real time, how quickly people given power without earning it lose their damn minds. It was, in fact, your own devil fruit’s power to ‘dial up’ other devil fruits. Just being near you had this effect. No, no one had any idea what your devil fruit was supposed to be called. Apparently, it was one of the few not in any encyclopedia on the subject, so you didn’t even know your own limits by proxy.

If you had the choice to go back in time you would never have eaten that weirdly flat yellow fruit. But you were stupid and hungry and here you were. Babysitting yet another ensign who simply could not handle having stronger powers with any grace.

Ensign Williams had a candle-candle fruit. Basically, a very weak version of the logia fruit flame-flame. His fire would always be weaker, smaller, and easier put out. Until you showed up, wherein he was capable of fairly impressive feats. In fact, it had been a full week and Williams went from being in awe of what he could now accomplish with you by his side to fully up his own ass with his ‘rightful power’. Unfortunately, he was your partner for the time being, so you just had to try and reign in his ass-ness before he burned the town to the ground by accident.

Mostly this involved walking away when he started being a prick to the local townsfolk to remind him that this ‘grand power’ he held was, in fact, only possible with your presence. Trying to physically stop him just got you a bloody nose. So, wounding his ego was the best you could do for everyone involved. Usually, you excused this by a sudden, burning need to pet a dog or cat or sufficiently friendly bird. They, at least, appreciated your presence and efforts.

“I’m going places, you know!” Williams declared in a huff, running up to you as you scratched a dog’s ears. Really ruffling the floppy appendages around as the dog panted and drooled in happiness. “The marines will see that I deserve a promotion soon enough with all the good work I’ve been doing!” You gave him a dry look.

“You depend on your devil fruit too much. What are you going to do when that’s not enough? I won’t always be around, you know.” You reminded him gently, feeding the mutt a milk bone from your pocket as you stood up. “This is the Grand Line. Eventually you’re going to run into a Yonko or something. What then? You think Red-Hair or Big Mom will care about a little fire?”

Williams paled at the suggestion, reality peaking in through his delusion before, with herculean effort, it was pushed back once again.

“And what about you, huh? Your devil fruit is useless for yourself! You’re a weak, useless thing on your own!” Williams sneered. You stared at him, unimpressed.

“That’s what training is for. Which is what I would be doing if I didn’t have to run around with you all the time.” You sighed. The big folks up top wanted to see just how much power you could give a weak devil fruit, likely in preparation to assign you to someone with a devil fruit user actually noteworthy. If there were side effects, they didn’t want an admiral to be the first to face it, after all. Personally, you were hoping for someone like Smoker. Reasonable, experienced, and well known for his skill outside his devil fruit.

Although, you were starting to think this delusional mindset was the side effect. Natural or induced, the people you gave boosts to often had a period of euphoria and increased aggression, narcissism, and short-sightedness. Hard to say since, so far, everyone you’ve been assigned to has been an asshole.

Possibly a marine-specific issue.

“Bring-ring. Ring-ring. Ring-rin—clack!” You answered the bored snail in your pocket.

“Ensign—”

“Fire Fist Ace has been spotted in your area! You and Ensign Williams are to attempt apprehension. No other Whitebeard Pirates have been spotted but be advised there are likely more—possibly another commander. If you see them, flee on sight.” They hung up immediately before you could even respond. Sighing, you looked up at Williams.

He looked strangely pale before gathering himself, a smug smirk quickly taking over his features.

“Hah! See that? They already know I’m going to accomplish great things. This will be only the beginning of my legacy as a marine!” Williams grabbed you arm and started running down the street, looking around like a madman for ‘Fire Fist’, jostling your glasses hard. They nearly flew off when he spotted a column of fire across town and yanked you with him. “Watch as a real marine works, useless!”

Fire Fist was crouched in the middle of the street, pointing at a stand that had fallen over, his back to the both of you. Whitebeard’s Jolly Roger stark against his tan skin.

“—highway robbery prices, you’re out of your mind if you think I’d pay for something broken!” Fire Fist huffed. While it was true you couldn’t see another pirate with him, it was common knowledge that Whitebeard Pirates rarely travelled alone. Especially a commander.

“You sure you wanna do this—”

“Halt, filthy pirate! Your days of piracy are over!” Williams declared boldly. Briefly, you wondered if maybe your superiors had heard about Williams’ behavior and figured sending him after Fire Fist would be the best reprimand he could get.

Even with your help, Williams was a candle-light at the end of the day. And Fire Fist? Fire Fist was a raging wildfire. You could almost feel the heat of his devil fruit in the back of your head. A faint indication that told you just how strong the devil fruits around you are and helped inform you how much power you were giving just by being around them.

Fire Fist looked back at the two of you with a dry, grumpy expression. Curiosity flickering over his features as he took in how amped up Williams was—and how utterly done you were. Fire flickered over his shoulders as he grinned.

“And what is a couple of ensigns going to do about it?” Fire Fist crowed with a mischievous grin, tipping his gaudy, orange cowboy hat back. Williams’ fire flickered over his body, sparks flying harmlessly over you—a welcome side effect of your devil fruit boosting another thankfully—before charging forward.

Three things happened at once.

Williams charged forward to fight Fire Fist. Letting go of your wrist.

His fire flickered slightly from the loss of direct contact with you.

Fire Fist’s own fire flared up at the sudden, unavoidable boost in power.

Confusion washed over Fire Fist as he instinctively noticed the strange change before he dismissed it, charging towards Williams anyway.

You rolled your eyes, pretty sure Williams would get knocked out quickly and leave you with yet another mess to clean up.

A low wine reached your ears, drawing you gaze away from what was mostly an impressive lightshow as Williams kept throwing fire at a man made of fire.

A fat, white dog panted in the shade. Scraggly white fur otherwise clean despite laying in the dirt. A strange, immaculate crescent shaped moustache curved under his nose.

Obviously, between your partner facing a Yonko Commander and a sad dog, your choice of who deserved your attention was clear.

You kneeled down with a smile, pulling out a dog treat from your pocket.

“Hey, cutie, what are you doing? Trying to cool off a little?” You spoke softly, presenting the treat to the very interested dog. You pulled out a bottle from your other pocket and a bowl—specifically for this actually—as you poured some out for the dog. The dog rolled onto his paws and eagerly drank the water, accepting your gentle affection. “You’re definitely not a stray, but you don’t have a collar either. Where are you from, baby?”

Fire and explosions rocked the area behind you. Not that you cared since the civilians ran the minute Williams and Fire Fist lit up. You scratched the surprisingly soft fur and ran your hand down the dog’s back. They were definitely well cared for, whoever they belonged to. Once they were done drinking water they eagerly wriggled into your lap for affection, licking and nipping at your chin.

“Oof! My, what a cutie you are!” You cheered, playfully ruffling the dog’s ears and booping his wet nose as you avoided the eager kisses.

Williams definitely screamed behind you in panic.

“Help me, you useless—SHIT!”

Without looking you yelled back.

“I thought you were supposed to be a ‘real marine’?” You lowered your voice when the dog whined and kissed his nose as an apology. “Sorry, baby. He’s just been an ass all week and I think he could really learn something today. What could a ‘useless marine’ do anyway, hm? I told him he needs to watch it.” You grumbled softly. The pull of a third devil fruit registering to your senses suddenly.

Having been around Williams all week as he showed off was exhausting. Now actively pulling on your power along with Fire Fist and this new person actively made you want to take a nap.

You had yet to figure out how to lessen your own power or at least focus on only one person, so you simply had to deal with it when actively boosting someone from a distance. Part of you worried that boosting stronger devil fruits was going to be even more exhausting than the weak ones you’ve encountered so far. And you might actually be right about that.

“There you are, Stefan. Oyaji was looking for you.” Someone spoke up above you. You startled, looking up at the stranger.

Open-toed sandals and capris with an open purple shirt exposing defined abs and a purple Whitebeard Jolly Roger. The man looked down at you with amused blue eyes narrowed, blond hair poking out from the top of an extreme undercut.

Marco ‘The Phoenix’.

Welp, that’s definitely your sign to run. Casually. So, he doesn’t suspect anything.

Something told you that your bosses would be pissed if the Whitebeard Pirates got a free power boost by ransoming you. If they gave up the obvious benefits of such a prisoner to begin with.

“Oop. Time to go, baby.” You kissed Stefan’s head and darted away, running directly towards the very explosive fight between Fire Fist and Williams. Snagging the back of his collar as you kept going.

“HEY! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING, YOU USELESS—”

“The Phoenix and Fire Fist are here—we definitely can’t take them both in. Time to go!” You explained as you ran.

“No! I can do it! What do you know, you useless bitch?!” Williams flailed, breaking your grip on his shirt before slamming his fist into your face. Heat and a crunch of bones sent shockwaves of red and blood across your vision, sending you to the ground with a yelp. Your glasses bouncing off from impact and cracking.

“Fuck!” You hissed, clutching your nose as you blindly looked around, tears falling down your cheeks. You could make out an impressive explosion of fire somewhere ahead of you through your tears and poor vision. A wobbly white blob trotting up to your side with a low wine and bark. What was probably Stefan licking your arm and pawing at your side in worry.

Steady footsteps clacked along the paved street, a dark shadow falling before you as fire exploded behind the figure.

“That was quite a hit. You alright?” The Phoenix asked as he lowered down suddenly. Glass scrapped against the ground. Your glasses were gently lowered onto your face, bringing him into focus with a hairline fracture and tears obscuring your vision somewhat.

“’M fine—not the first time he’s done that--!” You gasped as his fingertips brushed over your knuckled grasp on your bloody nose. Blue fire exploded around you as the various aches and pains were swept away in an instant. Dizziness rushed to your head at the sudden relief.

You almost broke contact as The Phoenix cursed his sudden, uncontrollable fire, falling back to the ground. But his hands were faster and firmly grasped your shoulders.

After several, bizarrely euphoric moments of bathing in the healing flame, The Phoenix wrangled his powers back under control with a grimace. Blood still covered your hands and face but the injury, as well as any other injury, was gone. He looked at you in surprise and you could only gape up at him.

Having established physical contact, any boost others experienced was gone in an instant. Your ‘pseudo-immunity’ to devil fruits meant that your body essentially acted like it was your power as well. And that meant you got to enjoy a small taste in what it was like to have a devil fruit like The Phoenix’s for as long as he maintained that contact. It was weirdly heady. Sort of freeing to feel your weakness being eaten away under the healing influence of his devil fruit.

Almost to the point of forgetting that this, quite critically, meant that your under-powered partner was royally fucked.

Williams barely stood a chance if you had held his hand through the fight. Without any assistance against Fire Fist Ace, it wasn’t even a question. As much of an ass as he was, he didn’t deserve to be killed.

Worried, you tried to look around The Phoenix to see what was happening. He clicked his tongue, pulling your chin back to look at him. His eyes were narrowed and suspicious, a strange light in his eyes as he gave you a small, chilling smile.

“Now, who are you and what was that?” The Phoenix demanded. You shuddered, noticing how oddly quiet it was behind the pirate.

“M-My devil fruit! It—uhm—affects other devil fruits?” You lamely explained as Stefan tried to nose his way onto your lap. You would have preferred to look at the cute, needy dog, but The Phoenix looked like he was about to eat you. “Makes… makes them stronger around me. O-Or just… touching.”

A cold chill went up your spine as he grinned.

“And you’re not assigned to at least an admiral at all times? What a waste… I guess the marines don’t want to keep you that badly, do they?” He clicked his tongue again. “Well, you’re in good hands now, yoi. Let’s get you cleaned up. Stefan! Down!” He ordered, lifting you over his shoulder as you yelped, scrambling to hold onto your glasses. The town was wrecked behind The Phoenix, Fire Fist cheerily skipping up with Williams over his own shoulder.

“Hey, Marco! Did you see how weird that was!? What do you think his devil fruit is?” Fire Fist asked. The Phoenix turned around with a huff.

“Put the marine down. Got the source right here.” He responded.

“Oh! I take it we’re keeping them? Think Oyaji will mind?”

The Phoenix snorted.

“Oyaji will be ecstatic. Marines don’t know how to take care of people right, anyway.” You were jostled lightly as he started walking, Stefan trotting behind while panting happily up at you. You were horrified and nervous, but the addition of Stefan was helping ease your nerves. “They can boost devil fruits but wasn’t assigned to an admiral, can you believe that? Just a weakling. Imagine if it was someone else that found them, yoi?” You struggled to push yourself up, but was aware that you weren’t getting down unless The Phoenix let you.

Unlike Williams, you knew your limits.

“Hah! Wow. At least Gramps could have trained them up safely. Marines are stupid though, so I can’t say I’m too surprised.” Fire fist declared. Boots stomped on the ground as Fire Fist rounded The Phoenix, poking his head to look at you with a charming grin. “Don’t worry, you’re going to love it here! Ah… and no one will do this again.” Fire Fist grabbed your hands, inspecting the blood and what was still smeared around your nose. His eyes dark with promise as you stared in horror.

Were you being kidnapped for your power or… something else? Because to be honest, it sure didn’t sound like they were too interested in your own devil fruit ability.

#one piece yandere #platonic yandere #reader insert #oh sweet child of mine #whitebeard crew #fire first ace #marco the phoenix #yandere marco #yandere ace

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transmutationisms · 27 days

Note

How do you feel/think about euthanasia as an option provided by medical care for mentally ill or disabled people?

As much as I want to support bodily autonomy in an absolute way and think ultimately it’s a persons choice whether they want to live (i also have first hand experience with the “care” after suicide attempts, which is punishment, not care) and comfortable effective options should be available for that. it also is deeply, deeply upsetting to me, as someone who probably would have chosen to die years ago but found out i want to live — and infuriating, since they make it so fucking hard for disabled people to live, i don’t think making it easier for us to die is the answer.

being disabled feels like a death march from the start. we are isolated, have very little community, were tortured, neglected until we want to die. then it’s like “ok if that’s what you really want :)” as if that wasn’t the plan from the start? it’s just eugenics. not even with extra steps. but they make it think it’s our idea.

how would you reconcile these 2 ideas in like, a grounded materialist kind of way ? if that makes sense. or whatever i am asking your opinion

i actually answered this before but now i can't find it. i agree with everything you've said about the potentially eugenic function of physician-assisted suicide under capitalism; however, i think the problem is the capitalist context and its attendant ableism, not the PAS itself. people will and do kill themselves regardless of the legality, and i believe it's important to offer them as painless and controlled a method as possible, while simultaneously toppling the capitalist ableism that makes this fraught from a disability justice perspective. since we are in the context we are in currently, for now i do also support laws forbidding PAS from being suggested to patients (ie, they must be the ones to bring it up and pursue it) and i think there are ways to build in some checkpoints to the system without excessively restricting people's ability to end their lives. but i do not support making suicide illegal, whether by physician or otherwise.

incidentally, this would also be an issue where you can see how the biopolitical remits to make live and to let die exist coterminously to one another: though the state is more than happy to let disabled people die on the grounds that it views them as economic liabilities, legalising suicide is still not exactly a slam-dunk from its perspective because in general its interest also lies in promoting the continued existence of its healthy [wealthy/white/abled] labouring population. this is the actual material reason why in most jurisdictions PAS is still strenuously objected to by openly ableist, otherwise eugenically motivated reactionaries, and why it's often proposed only for terminally ill patients or with other such extremely narrow eligibility criteria.

#biopolitics

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princess--af · 1 year

Text

Nesting - Prequel - Changbin and Felix

: ̗̀➛ Meeting and working with your boss is fun, and brings along a few new interesting friends.

: ̗̀➛ warnings: smut (masturbation), mentions of corporate life (gross), Felix is a flirt

tags: @y9nabae1 @justayoungandwisefangirl @obeythemasters @julciaqwerty @3rachasninja @bmnyy @licklix @iadorethemskz

Nesting: Part 1 | Nesting Part 2

You had nothing to be scared of.

That was the mantra you had been repeating all morning as you worked through the mountain of emails you always had on a Monday morning. You were used to the “Why didn’t you get this done?” emails, and the “New work came through over the weekend.” ones that always greeted you. What you weren’t used to was an email from the CEOs PA, requesting your presence on the top floor for an important meeting. There wasn’t much more information other than it was just going to be you and the CEO.

You had never really met the elusive Seo Changbin; you had only ever seen him at the one work event you subjected yourself too. He had seemed in such a rush, or maybe it was just his normal speed to only offer brief nods to the various Directors, thank everyone for coming, and hightail it out of there. To be fair, you couldn’t really blame him. You hated large events and only went because your Director had not-so-subtly warned that non-attendance would look negative come annual reviews.

Your only impression of Changbin was that he was handsome and clearly took care of himself well. You hadn’t been aware that he even knew who you were among the hundreds of employees at your office, but apparently you were more well-known that you thought if you had a private meeting with him.

You had only really managed to get through half of what you normally would have by this time in the day, mind too busy on concocting various theories as to why you were meeting with him.

Had you seriously fucked up on a proposal?

Had you accidentally swore in an email to an important client?

Had people complained to HR about your outfits? In your opinion, there was nothing wrong with them. It wasn’t your fault you were blessed with curvy genetics and a penchant for flattering pants.

Before you could spiral further into a pit of worry, the alarm you had set on your phone rang out, jolting you up from your desk in surprise. You didn’t know if you should pocket the device; surely it was normal for anyone in your age range to be carrying their phone, even if it was just into a meeting. You didn’t dwell on it too much, sliding it into your pocket and making the anxious trek upstairs, avoiding the curious looks from your coworkers as you stepped into the elevator. It wasn’t normal for you to be leaving at this time; you were usually chained to your desk until at least 1pm when you’d begrudgingly answer your growling stomach and go find something to eat.

You tried to quell the anxious tapping of your hands against your legs, on the short but seemingly endless trip up to level 26, not wanting to metaphorically get caught with your pants down. You couldn’t go into this meeting expecting the worst. And you certainly couldn’t let anyone push you around for something as stupid as tight pants; you were sure it was going to come up.

The elevator door opened into a quiet lobby, and you could only faintly hear mumbling and keyboards tapping away somewhere in the distance. There mustn’t be many people that work up here. Inching out into the open, you looked around, clearly lost.

“Can I help you?” A monotonous, almost condescending voice, broke the quiet, clearly directed at you. You somewhat recognised the person behind the voice, but couldn’t quite place where you would know them from.

“I’m here to see Mr Seo?” You phrased it like a question, still unsure about the whole situation. It was still so fucking weird. When the man simply raised an eyebrow, you continued. “My name is Y/N Y/L/N. I... have a meeting at 11.”

You clasped your hands together in front of you, shrinking minutely when the corners of the mans mouth twitched, clearly amused at the sight of you.

“Right. He’s down here.” He gestured down one of the many halls that branched off from the main lobby, already walking down it like he owned the place, not even bothering to look back to see if you were following him. You scampered after him quickly, realised that made you look like an idiot, and slowed to a semi-respectable pace, still keeping your distance as you followed him down the hall until he stopped abruptly in front of two heavy looking doors.

The man briefly turned to look at you, giving you a once over, clearly not enjoying what he saw, before turning back to the doors and knocking.

“Y/N for you, Mr Seo,” the man yelled out, making you jump slightly as it echoed through the empty hallway.

You didn’t hear a response, but clearly the guy did, since he gestured for you to open the doors, turning away and hightailing it back towards the lobby.

You did one last round of tapping your thighs; mostly to get rid of the clammy feeling that had persistently been there since you had first seen the invite; before pulling open the door, stumbling a little at how heavy it was. What was the purpose of doors that weighed as much as the average human?

You got it halfway open before you slipped inside, letting it fall shut behind you with a loud thump.

“Oh, sorry. It’s stupidly heavy, I know.”

Mr Seo was sat on a cozy looking love-seat, reading over some absurdly large document. Without looking up, he gestured for you to sit in the armchair closest to him. You followed his direction, perching on the edge of the chair awkwardly, your hands wringing nervously on your lap. You tried not to peek at him or whatever he was so focused on, but couldn’t help the brief look at the document, making out “Contract for Sale” in bold letters along the top; the rest of the writing too small for you to be able to read normally, let alone upside down. Of course he would just be sitting here signing off on some new property; it was probably a weekly occurrence for him.

You didn’t notice he had stopped looking over the document until he cleared his throat, making you jump in surprise, wrenching your gaze away from the document to instead look at his face. He looked amused as he threw the document onto the cushion next to him.

“It’s my sisters,” he offered you after a beat of awkward silence. “I don’t just buy properties in my spare time.”

Well fuck. Could he read minds?

“Of course not,” you whispered in reply.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together in front, levelling you with a friendly gaze. “Please don’t be nervous, you’re not getting fired.” Changbin gestured to the coffee table in front of you both, and it was only then that you noticed another document, albeit way less thick and imposing, facing you so you could actually read it this time. “Your director has moved into another role, and he recommended you to fill his shoes.”

“He... What?” You snatched up the document, not really believing what you were seeing and hearing. “He recommended me? For a director role? But I’ve only been here a short time... Surely there are people more qualified for the role...” Despite what you were saying, you couldn’t help yourself and started flicking through the new employment contract, choking a little when you saw the remuneration section. You looked back up at Changbin’s face in disbelief, trying not to be offended when he giggled at the horrified look on your face. You had never seen so many zeros at the end of a salary offer.

“I didn’t want to pry too much, but I had a look over some of your work and spoke to some other directors that you’ve worked with, just to be certain you were the right woman for the job. I don’t think he could’ve made a better recommendation.” Changbin shifted in his seat, opting to lean back against the back of the loveseat, stretching his legs out in front of him. If you weren’t still in a state of shock, you probably would’ve marveled more over how his suit pants were stretching over his thick thighs, outlining deep rivets of muscle that he obviously worked hard for. “I know it’s a little short notice, but we planned to move Mr Kim into the new role in a few weeks, and ideally we’d like you to shadow him for at least a week to get a feel for the role. It would be great if you could have an answer for me by end of week? I can try to answer any questions you might have, and Mr Kim has made himself available to you as well if you’d prefer to speak to him.”

Letting out a shaky breath, you nodded, looking back down at the contract. God, you’d have to call your parents; they would know what to do.

“Now obviously, you can see we have someone new with us. This is Y/N, she is taking over the director role from Mr Kim. Please make her feel welcome.”

You inwardly cursed at the awkward smile you were giving everyone, mostly likely more of a grimace, nodding your head politely when they all turned to look at you. Most of them nodded back, a few offered you soft ‘welcomes’, before everyone turned back to Changbin.

“I don’t want to take up too much of your time; we just need to go over policies surrounding the interns and graduates that will be starting next week.”

You tuned out, already having spoken about this earlier in the week; you were quite familiar with the policies since you were the one normally taking care of the interns and grads. Instead, you opted to survey everyone in the room, trying to put names to faces to titles and figure out who you’d potentially be working with closely.

In the middle of glaring at a spot on the table as you tried to remember the woman’s name that sat across from you, you felt a soft nudge to your arm, and a notepad being subtly turned in your direction.

Choi Sooyoung. Christmas party. （＾ω＾）

Right. That’s where you knew her from. Apparently the company encourage friendly competition between the staff at parties, and it usually centred around entertainment. Your memory was hazy from the night, but you remember her singing. You scribbled back on the corner of the page;

Thank you ´･ᴗ･`

“Everyone should come up and introduce themselves at some point. Honestly, you’ll probably get tired of us always being at your door.”

Chan had been sat next to you during the meeting, and had waited patiently for you to pack your things up. You had heard of him; you knew he was one of the top producers at the company, and that loads of interns aspired to work in his team, both because he was talented and a great mentor, and also because he was very attractive, and there was nothing wrong with a little eye candy as your worked. You had never seen him before in person, but could see where they were all coming from.

“I really appreciate you helping me. It would’ve bugged me all day, honestly,” you laughed, following him down the hall and towards Changbin’s office; he had asked if you would like to go out for celebratory drinks and dinner after work, and Chan claimed he ‘needed the walk after sitting on his ass all day’. Chan didn’t bother knocking on the office door, opting to push it open, using just one hand and barely any force mind you, gesturing for you to enter first.

“I don’t remember inviting you.”

Changbin was sat on the same couch where you had first met him, but he was joined by a petite blonde boy leaning heavily against his side. The boy offered Chan a sweet and familial smile, before his big eyes flicked to you, looking a little unsure.

“Hey Lixie.” Chan stepped around your frozen body, collapsing into the vacant spot next to the boy, ruffling his blonde hair until it was fluffed up and the boy was whining at him. “This is Y/N.”

A look a recognition flashed over the boys face, shooting you a blinding smile. “Oh, right. I’m Felix! It’s nice to meet you!” He threw himself over Changbin’s lap, holding out a hand for you to shake. You shook it gingerly, a little shocked at how small his hands were. “Are you guys going out? Can I join? I won’t make a peep, I promise!” Felix was practically lying on Changbin now, and had rolled over in his lap to shoot his, boyfriend(?) the sweetest puppy eyes that you had ever seen. “Please Binnie?”

You knew Changbin was nice, but he was usually sporting furrowed brows and looks of pure concentration, and you had rarely ever seen him crack a smile, let alone be sporting a look a pure adoration, eyes and smile soft as he looked down at Felix in his lap. God, what you would give for someone to look at you like that. “Sure baby, you can come. You staying Chan?”

Chan shrugged, kicking his feet up on the coffee table in front of him and slouching further into the comfortable couch. “Won’t ever say no to free food.”

"Why don't I come out with you guys more often?" Felix was about half a bottle of soju deep, and was already resting his chin on his propped up hand, smiling dreamily at everyone sat around the table. "This is great. Free drinks, free food. Free eye candy," he wiggled his brows in what he probably thought was a seductive manner, but actually just made you giggle at the ludicrous expression he was making. "That includes you, Y/N. Not just these stinky boys."

Felix, you had learnt, was incredibly flirty and not at all shy about showing how much he appreciated the 'eye candy' he was blessed with. He had warmed up to you instantly, pushing you into the backseat of Changbin's ridiculously expensive and clean car, holding your hand the entire ride to the restaurant as he talked your ear off about what he had gotten up to that day. He had cuddled up next to you in the booth at the restaurant, sticking his tongue out at Changbin when the man pouted about not getting to sit next to his 'lovely kitty cat'; whatever that meant. When the boys had finished grilling the first plate of meat, Felix had pouted at you until you made him a ssam and hand fed him, periodically opening his mouth for more whenever he had stopped chattering and flirting. It would have made you nervous, your bosses boyfriend flirting so openly, if it weren't for the fondly exasperated look on Changbin's face every time Felix said something particularly dangerous.

"Yah, we're not stinky!" Changbin glared playfully across the table, snapping the BBQ tongs threateningly. "Take that back, you little minx!"

Felix turned his nose up petulantly, moving to wrap one arm around your waist, the other resting just above your knee, sharply tugging until you were practically sitting in his lap. "Never. Y/N is why I'm here. Learn to live with it, hyung."

You felt a hot flush creeping along your cheeks and down your neck, trying to wiggle out of the strong hold Felix had you in, letting out a high pitched shriek when he pinched your leg in retaliation.

"Felix," you warned, not really knowing what you were threatening, but willing to do almost anything to get out of his tight hold. You looked at Chan for help, grumbling when he just offered you a shrug, a cheeky smile, turning back to the grill. You couldn't quite brave looking to your boss for help; how fucking awkward. "Felix, honey, if you let me go, I can feed you more."

The hold he had on you loosened for a second, before tightening back up, the hand on your leg curling around your thigh and tugging your leg up until it was resting on his legs, your sides practically glued together now. "You only need one hand to use chopsticks, Y/N. Don't try to trick me."

The boys across from you laughed, depositing a few pieces of meat and grilled mushroom into your bowl. Traitors.

Felix let out a soft 'aaaahh' sound, chittering happily when you blew on a piece for him to cool it down before feeding it to him. He squeezed your thigh appreciatively with every mouthful, and if he wasn't holding it so tightly and glued to your side, you would've been tempted to awkwardly rub them together. Screw it; you had a hot guy glued to your side, practically moaning in your ear, holding you in places that had always been sensitive erogenous zones for you, you had been drinking and you couldn’t even remember the last time you had been intimate with anyone. You weren’t going to act on anything anyway.

You listened to the boys talk, feeding yourself and Felix every time more food was deposited into your bowl, mostly focused on how Felix’s fingers were mindlessly stroking the inside of your thigh. It was kind of ticklish, but mostly it was fuelling the annoying thrum in between your legs, making you wiggle a bit to see if the feeling would go down.

It didn't.

If anything, it kicked into high gear since Felix felt like he had to tighten his hold on you, effectively pining you down in your spot, small hands tightening to the point that would probably leave faint bruises the following day. For such a petite guy, he surely was strong.

You glared down at the empty bowl in front of you, hoping to god no one noticed the red flush finding its way back to your cheeks. Why couldn't you keep it together. Why couldn't you just enjoy a dinner paid for by your lovely boss like a normal person? Why couldn't you just stop clenching down on nothing like the desperate single woman you were? Why was Felix giggling? What was so funny about your misery that had the boy rubbing his face into your shoulder?

"You're so cute, Y/N," Felix purred, blinking up at you with those big eyes. You startled slightly when you noticed they almost started to narrow into slits, blinking quickly, assuming you just had too much to drink or that the lighting was so horrible that you were seeing things. "I could just eat you up."

"I'm sorry about him."

Chan was helping a giggling Felix back into the backseat of the car. He had launched himself out after you when Changbin had dropped you off at your apartment, pouting and clinging to you like a child not wanting to leave his mother. He had whined at you until you pressed a soft his to his cheek, promising you could have lunch together the next time he came into the office.

Changbin had stepped out at that point, flicking the younger boy lightly across the forehead and herding him back towards the idling car.

"It's okay. He's really sweet." You watched fondling as Felix breathed on the inside of the rolled up window, drawing a heart and winking at you.

"He doesn't actually normally take this well to strangers. I think it's the cat in him that makes him extra cautious," Changbin mumbled, almost nonchalant in the way he had just dropped a bomb on you. "Well, you should get in-Y/N? Are you okay?" You were probably gaping like a fish, but how else were you supposed to react to that.

"Cat? He's a hybrid?"

Changbin blinked at you slowly, very cat-like and probably a habit he had picked up unknowingly from Felix. "Yes... Sorry, I thought everyone knew. It's common knowledge around the office. Is... Is that a problem?" He was asking nicely, but there was an edge to his voice. A "we're going to have a problem if you say yes".

"N-no, of course not. I just... I didn't realise. He... He doesn't display the physical traits? I'm sorry, I'm not very knowledgeable about hybrids," you blurted out, wringing you hands in front of your stomach nervously. This was it. This was the moment you'd get fired. You barely even lasted a month.

"Oh, yeah they don't usually. I'm a little surprised they stayed dormant with how much he was drinking." Changbin had visibly deflated at your words, coming back from his fight or flight response. He went to continue but was interrupted by loud knocking. Felix was knocking on the window, and you could hear his whining even though it was closed and parking on the curb, a good 10 metres away. "Sorry, I better get him home. I'll see you on Monday."

Changbin started walking backwards, gesturing for you to get inside your building, not turning around until you were inside and the security door was safely locked behind you. What a gentleman.

It had been a good hour and a half since you had been dropped home. You had showered, taken a preventative headache tablet, drank two whole cups of water, brushed your teeth, and been lying in the dark for at least 30 minutes. Sleep was not coming to you. Your brain couldn't switch off from the absolute weird way your night had turned.

You expected a few drinks and some food with Changbin, and a relatively early night. Not to be shamelessly flirted with by your bosses hybrid(!), turning you on to the point where not even the blast of cold water in the shower had helped.

"I need therapy," you sighed, reaching blindly into your nightstand drawer for the familiar silicone toy kept there. One orgasm couldn't hurt. You wouldn't even think of Felix. You'd think of one of the male protagonists in a film you had watched recently, or of the weird porn film your university friends had watched on a drunken night meant for studying.

Shucking your shorts off, you slid further under the covers; you lived alone but still felt embarrassed by the loud noises your toys tended to make, feeling like your neighbours couldn't probably hear you and would come knocking at god awful times to tell you off.

Letting out a shaky breath, you switched the toy on, flinching at the soft buzzing noise that filled the previously silent room. Pressing it softly to your clit, you shuddered at the feeling, already a little too turned on for teasing. It had been a LONG time.

You circled your clit lightly, closing your eyes and trying to conjure up an image that would help; anything that wasn't the soft blonde locks and pretty freckles and small hands that were gripping your thigh so tightly just hours before. You let out a groan at the pulse that went through your core at the image, feeling insanely guilty for getting off to the thought of the sweet hybrid. It's okay. He doesn't have to know. No one does. One night, and you'll be over it.

You brought the toy down to your hole, already wet and creating obscene slick noises when you ran the toy through your folds to collect some of the wetness to make the slide easier.

Breathing out deeply, you pushed the toy in, a little ashamed at how easily it slid in, but immediately relieved when you had something to fill you up; you really needed to get laid more.

Shifting into a better position, you angled the toy a little forward, thrusting it in experimentally, the vibrations making your tummy clench and your legs shake as you searched for the spot that would make the guilt end quicker.

You couldn't stop thinking about how Felix had pinned you down so easily, gripping your soft fleshy parts, hiking your leg up onto his lap so you were almost splayed out inappropriately; in public too. You wondered if sex with a hybrid was different than sex with a human; did they let themselves go? Did they embrace their animalistic side more freely? Felix seemed like he would be good and submissive when you had first met him, but the way he had looked at you and wrangled you to his liking make you think he had a wild side that he didn't get to show too much.

So deep in your thoughts, you didn't realise the toy had slid out of your grip slightly, but ended up rubbing directly against the spongey spot inside of you, making you squeal out in delight, turning to bite your pillow to muffle the noise. Getting a better grip on the toy, you rolled onto your side slightly, bending your leg and thrusting the toy inside with a renewed vigour, hitting the soft spot with every thrust.

"Oh god, fuck I wanna cum." You didn't know who you were talking to, you were alone, but you could picture Felix in front of you, keeping his hands to himself as he watch you get off, letting out little moans of his own to goad you on.

It was a little awkward, but you brought your free hand down to your clit to rough tight circles on it, nearly howling with how good it felt. The knot in your stomach was so close to snapping, your orgasm was right there, but you just couldn't go over the edge. You needed something. You needed Felix. You needed him to grip your leg tight, tight enough to leave dark bruises, to push his face into your neck and leave soft kisses there; his lips looked so soft, you just knew they would feel heavenly on you.

"I need you to cum for me Y/N. Pretty please. Then I can fuck you and make you cum again on my cock. Please Y/N. Please cum for me."

You could practically hear him saying it, and it surely set you over the edge. Turning your face completely into your pillow to muffle the loud groans that left you, you kept thrusting the toy inside, clenching and pulsing down on it and making it slightly difficult to push and pull, but you weren't too keen on being empty just yet. The fingers on your clit at stopped, gripping tightly at the sheets under you instead as you shivered your way through one of the best orgasm you had had in a while, legs shaking and chest heaving with the effort it took to keep you awake.

Yep. You definitely needed therapy.

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dozyrogue · 6 months

Note

TUBBO LITERALLY TOLD SUNNY TO CALM DOWN ON THAT, AND THE FANDOM MADE IT "canon" THAT FRED WAS A STEPPARENT. TUBBO LITERALLY PUT A HARD STOP ON THAT. AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH

exactly. sunny calling fred a step-parent was about the same as calling bad her accountant. it was just make-believe. she's allowed that fantasy because they're just a little girl who wants a bigger family but that doesn't make it real and if anything it made tubbo more cautious about the whole thing.

#....i would like to apologize im not yelling at u im yelling at all of twitter actually

this but also shading the inconsistent standards of the wiki. i know they're fan volunteers but everything on there gets treated like canon even when it's clear the author has included a bunch of personal biases. we need more media literacy in this fandom.

Like at the time sunny was suffering badly she felt like her brothers and sister where leaving her behind. She felt like they didnt care about her. She heard ramon excitedly talk about how happy pac makes him and how now his family is bigger because of him. And she wanted that!! She wanted a bigger family, yeah she lovers her pa but she jsut wanted a bigger family

So yeah its totally understandable why she said that shes literally a baby. And tubbo would always put sunny first if it was up to him i think he wouldve kept sunny and fred far away from eachother if they ended up dating simply because he didnt want to lose her. But yeah its another reason why he was being super cautious

The fandom ABSOLUTELY needs more media literacy. Like i remember when the wiki for fred changed to "sunnys stepfather" and blacked out lol. Ended up on the moon no clue why.

I think it also has little to do with the fact people will make tubbo the butt of the joke, in my opinion at least. Like no one would be mad if we get some things wrong cuz hea just a silly lil guy.

Like its hard to get a unbiased fan to help with things like that but a dude can dream.

#qsmp tubbo #tubbo #asks #i just dont get the appeal of being a liar #lol let me lay down or something

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imreallyloveleee · 1 year

Note

Where do you think it all went wrong with Riverdale?

honestly, part of me is like, the show's over and nothing but fandom matters. so who cares?

the other part of me loves to complain about Riverdale and will continue to do so until the day I die in the parking lot of Michael's Diner in Montgomeryville, PA at the age of 86. so, long-winded answer under the cut

I'm tempted to say it's the s4 b*rchie kiss. It was so wildly out of character for both Betty and Archie that it's laughable. You know how you can tell when something is just blatantly OOC with no justification? They...don't justify it. They find ways to dance around any interaction that might offer clarification. They mute the reactions of the characters who should be devastated by it. And then they jump ahead 7 years so it's easier to just handwave it away as something that happened a long time ago.

but the thing is, I did keep watching after that. I thought: okay, at least we should get an exes-to-lovers arc out of this, which is one of my favorite tropes. there is no way they would spend 4 seasons developing Bughead as this loving, supportive, communicative, sexy, and almost-unbelievably-compatible couple just to tear them apart and never do anything with that dynamic again. maybe it'll be even sweeter seeing them come back together after so much hurt and longing.

boy was i wrong!!!!!!!!!

so, the episode that actually made me stop watching for good, with the exception of some standalones like The Jughead Paradox and the finale, was the s5 musical. that was when i realized that this team of writers was 100% willing, maybe even eager, to completely drop storylines they themselves had been building over the course of a season - do a 180 with all of the characterization and relationships - and then act as though the buildup they wrote never even happened.

in this case, i'm specifically talking about the Bughead reunion storyline they dropped in s5. i'm not going to pretend like it was a GREAT buildup - and it was mostly on Jughead's side, Betty's character in s5 was basically an emotionless misery bot that had sex sometimes - but it was there. Jughead told Tabitha he had unresolved feelings around Betty. that's followed by an entire episode that lays out Betty & Jug's time jump relationship, and how Jughead still believes she's the one who saves him from himself. they work on a case together, they start opening up to one another. Jughead's so worried about her he can't eat.

and then...you know what happens.

(i'll also note here that there was random bts stuff that strongly indicated the musical ep storyline had a drastic last-minute rewrite: lili tweeted a blue dress, suggesting the song with that line was meant for her character; RAS said cole had to do last-minute recording sessions; supposedly crew members have confirmed this was the case, too. since none of it's 100% confirmed you can take it all with a grain of salt, but i believe it.)

it was so fucking insulting as a viewer to give my time and attention to a show made by people who would not only randomly drop the threads they set up, but torpedo them altogether, and then behave like the fans are the ones somehow at fault for expecting a story that actually follows through on its own emotional and plot beats. we're just shippers, so our opinions are dumb and biased! it's just a tv show, so who cares! get over it!

so, i stopped watching, because i knew they would continue to write without any thought or respect for their characters or their audience, and therefore inevitably write themselves into another corner. and, shocker, i was right. they did it again, whisking everyone away to the 1950s because actually resolving any of the scenarios they set up was ToO hArD. why bother when you could just make every single character Righteously Angry and Incurably Horny all the time, lecture the audience about social issues that have already been mainstream progressive for the last several decades, and call it a "love letter" to your fans?

#WHEW ok anon idk if this was what you were looking for but it's what you got #hopefully this has fully exorcised my need to Go Off against the creators of this show but you never know!!#my capacity for bitter resentment is apparently endless when it comes to this show #rd negativity #riverdale #anti b*rchie #anti j*bitha #just in case #anon

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tamtheshihan · 1 year

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Jin & Xiaoyu in Tekken 8

This is a couple I’ve wanted for years and its safe to say Tekken 8 may just give them the room to be an actual couple once and for all. If you are obsessed with this fighting game franchise as much as I am and have been waiting as long as I have, Jin and Xiaoyu are a ship that in my opinion should have sailed loooooong ago. Xiaoyu is the sunshine and Jin is the one in need of that sunshine.

Their relationship seems to be more grounded and cohesive this time. No longer the delusional and obsessive teenager chasing the handsome and mysterious bad boy, but now as two young adults who respect one another whilst realizing and understanding underlying feelings and the role each plays in the other’s life.

Now before I get to it, I am fully aware that there are millions of people who are against them being a couple. “Oh Xiaoyu’s annoying, Jin doesn’t care for her, JinXiao shippers are delusional”, YADA YADA. Be that as it may, I am 100% behind Jin and Xiaoyu. This post is not for you!

Its shaping up to be Jin and Xiao as endgame and here’s why… Get comfortable because it’s a long one…

Starting off, Japanese men are not the most romantic and are considered shy in those kinds of contexts- as most Japanese people are. Japanese people are not big on pda and being straightforward. Commonly seen in manga and anime. Protagonist in most cases will literally do everything else in a story before worrying about their relationship- telling the girl or guy how they really felt. And it is usually the very last thing we get, if we get it at all. Creators/writers will hint at certain things subtly and you usually have to be aware of it. It’s a staple in Japanese storytelling and Tekken is no exception. It’s a fighting game people, so fighting is the main focus while something like romance is typically placed on the backburner.

With that said, Jin is yet another example of this. He crosses me as the type to be very loving but not in a showy kinda way. I’m certain Jun showered him with love and affection. Her very existence is love and affection. She is mama Kazama- Jin’s whole heart which was taken away from him very early. So being caring and affectionate is something we all know Jin is capable of doing. It’s just that his life took a course that changed him in a way that he needed to adapt to. The mishimas and the devil gene are no place for the kind boy who was raised on the almost remote island of Yakushima. Never having to deal with anything even close to his life after meeting Heihachi. I say this to not right any of his wrongs but to say that you can become a product of the things you go through in life.

Jin is capable of a lot but had to put a lot on the backburner because he was dealing with a situation that was thrown onto him. He didn’t ask for any of it but it was time for a boy to become a man. He no longer had Jun’s kind and touching words, but rather memories of her precepts and warmness to guide him, a grandfather whom he became to trust betrayed him in the worst way, and a father who could care less of his existence.

Xiaoyu on the other hand, a cheerful and caring young lady who wants nothing but to be there for Jin- someone she seen the good in and became a close friend to. She knows that Jin has only become the way he did to cope with the never ending pain and sadness, having to force away everyone and everything he cares about because he fears he would bring them nothing but harm. Jin was once a kind and sweet guy as Xiaoyu stated. Jin cares for Xiaoyu. He cares A LOT. I feel that he cares as much as he can in a way that he can given his situation. I don’t think I want the person I truly care for to be around me in moments were I lose control of myself either. Trust me, Jin has all the emotional components as the next person, he just doesn’t have the space to show it.

Xiaoyu isn’t an idiot. She understands this and catches what Jin throws. Jin’s life was a hard contrast to Xiaoyu’s fun loving, amusement park going life. Sometimes the best way to get through to someone is to communicate in a way they can understand and this time around she knows what has to be done.

And there are things that Jin is fully aware of. He knows that Xiaoyu will follow him to hell without a second thought. He knows she will come looking for him at the drop of a dime and wouldn’t even consider the harm she would face in pursuing him. HE IS FULLY AWARE of how much he means to her. Which is why he puts that distance between them. Why he disappears without a trace, why he keeps his hardships to himself. He knows Xiaoyu will go to bat for him quick. But he cares for her so much that he doesn’t want her getting caught up in his mess. Jin believes that he doesn’t deserve the love and consideration Xiaoyu gives him but he still cares. His self-hatred is what holds him back from believing he’s a proper member of society. The devil gene thoroughly labels him as an outcast who doesn’t deserve a second shot at life and he doesn’t try to hold onto that hope. So something like a relationship or friendship means nothing if you can never truly have it-and to him- as long as the devil gene exist, none of those things could ever be.

He feels as though he has to deal with everything on his own- end his family’s mess and end the bloodline. Jin always seems ready to give his life away because he feels the world would be better off without him. He looks at himself as an abomination, an existence not of this world. He invalidates how he really feels for what he thinks is appropriate for the situation. He calls it like it is. How can you smile, be a friend, or even have a relationship when you are a ticking timebomb and could ruin everything in the blink of an eye?

He's aware that Xiaoyu is going to give it to him straight, cut no corners. He knows she wants the best for him. He knows she’ll tell him that what he thinks of himself isn’t true. He knows that she can read him like a book. He knows she truly cares.

Their special interaction in Tekken 8 is long overdue. It shows exactly what their reunion should be. An abundance of emotions that look almost impossible to interpret. Xiaoyu- happy, relieved she found her man, but also with restraint trying to approach the situation another way, and there’s Jin- sheepish, unable to face Xiaoyu, not sure how she feels. Awkward but both push forward to paint a better picture together this time around. He knows she knows all the things he’s been doing and she knows that he knows but wants to move forward and be able to aid him in the fight. He’s always been much more softer in tone and demeanor with Xiaoyu. He calls the girl “Xiao”for goodness sakes, and in Japanese society people don’t usually do that unless they are really close and have a bond. She calls him “Jin”, no suffix just Jin. She even came out and said that "an exchange of blows can be revealing". Now if that's not obvious...

Sometimes love comes at the right time, and you have to be ready. The love was definitely there, feelings were definitely mutual, they were just shown very differently. In a lot of ways they just had to get themselves together and figure some things out. Besides the romantic part, Jin and Xiaoyu did a lot of growing up. I mean a lot. Look at those two. Xiaoyu LOOKS more mature. SHES A WOMAN NOW. Jin LOOKS certain in his actions and seems to have much more confidence and resolve. This is a man and a woman. I believe they are ready this time.

In a lot of ways Xiaoyu is what Jin needs- that reassurance, that support, that sunshine, that stick beside you type of thing.

And with Jun officially back, Jin’s life will definitely brighten up but with Xiaoyu included… That’s the ideal situation for me!!

I can go all day on these two but in conclusion, Jin and Xiaoyu are a pair that is definitely hard to come by and one of my favorites especially in games. It doesn’t make any since how long I have waited for an interaction between these two where they finally appear to be on even footing, on the same page, and know what they want.

#tekken #tekken 8 #jin kazama #ling xiaoyu #jin x xiaoyu #jinxiao

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hyunjinbiased-blog · 3 months

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Hell-A Love part two

Five years before the zombie outbreak that turned LA into Hell-A, Y/N left his sisters place after an argument with her husband,

Now he's back, why even he doesn't know. His sister has new friends who are immune to the virus, and her ex Sam B is back on the scene. After being hurt by LA and Hollywood before can Y/N find a home with his sister again and possibly a lover?

A huge thank you to my good friend @brunos-wife360 for helping me out with this and for allowing me to take inspiration from her Slayer x Reader fics.

Also, Ijust wanted to say

Hello readers, this is my first ever series here on Tumbler, so I'm a little nervous about posting.

I decided to give writing a go as there's not a lot of Dead Island 2 fics on here, let alone FtM reader fics.

As long as you don't fetishise FtM trans people, then I don't care if you are cis (female or male) or if you identify as female. You can read my work as long as you know that I am FtM and I write for FtM readers.

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Trigger Warnings

Use of the T slur(don't know if that is the correct term but I've only ever known it as the T slur)

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Michael's POV

I was sitting in the games room, everyone else was somewhere in the house doing their own thing. Suddenly the door to the games room slammed open and Y/N walked in. Without saying a word I poured him a drink.

"Thanks Michael" he said before taking a long sip. I could tell he wanted to talk about something but I didn't expect him to start crying.

"Y/N, what happened?" I asked him as I took a seat next to him.

"Emma came into my room to bring me food and we got to talking about why I left" he said after taking another big gulp of his drink. He paused for a moment before continuing "we got into a fight about why I left and I stormed out of my room to come and talk to the only person in this house who gets me".

Y/N's POV

*flashback*

I had just come home from yet another interview regarding the movie that I was starting in, this was the first movie I would be filming without my sister since the start of my acting career.

Michael was beside me, being PA for both Jaunt siblings ment that if one of us had an interview he had to be there to make sure things ran smoothly. Not that my sister seemed to care about him, constantly yelling and demanding he do the impossible.

Andrea was waiting for us in the living room, my sister and her husband were nowhere to be seen which I took as a good sign.

"So, how did it go?" Andrea asked as I sat down next to her.

"Well let's see, instead of asking me about the movie and the character I play, he asks me if I can hear my sister and Robert having sex, what my opinions are on OMAN TO KILL and I quote "feel about being an openly out trannie in Hollywood" so it went about as good as it could have I suppose" I responded while Michael rubbed my back to comfort me.

"Why should your sister have anything to do with YOUR movie? You were so excited to be able to star in BAD ANGEL," Andrea said as she got up and began to pace before coming over and hugging me "I'll go and get started on dinner Y/N, I'm making your favourite, Emma and Robert can put up with it tonight".

After Andrea left I let out a long sigh before turning to Michael, "why did my movie have to be released a month after OMEN TO KILL? Why am I constantly being compared to my older sister? I thought that maybe staring in BAD ANGEL would be my opportunity to leave my sister's shadow but no" I said as tears started to fall from my eyes.

Without needing to ask, Michael pulled me into a hug. We sat like that for a while until Michael pulled back a bit before speaking "I don't know to be honest with you, I don't know why but I do know this, you are not your sister, you are kind, open with how you feel and in my honest opinion a better actor than her. Y/N, you are amazing and this movie is yours, not Emma's, yours. So I want you to remember that and just know that this interviewer was an ass, but you have other interviews to do and I know for a fact the one you have tomorrow will be better than the one you had today."

●●Present time●●

That's the thing with Michael, he's always known what to say when I'm upset. It's like he knows what I'm thinking and feeling before I do.

As we sat next to each other at the bar, the door to the game room opened, and one of my sisters new friends walked in.

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Taglist

@brunos-wife360

@morgana-artt

@amdaspoon

#dead island 2 #dead island 2 x reader #bruno dead island 2 #dead island 2 jacob #dead island 2 bruno #dead island 2 amy #dead island 2 carla #dead island 2 dani #dead island 2 micheal #dead island 2 ryan #trans reader #trans author

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beatrizamante · 6 months

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The Fernweh Saga by @lacunafiction

Name: Lara "Raider" De Armas (she/her)

Personality: Sincere - Cautious - Friendly - Optimistic - Merciful - Shy

Traits: Head - Independent - Resistant - Believer

Past Affinity: Astronomy

Primary Ability: Extra Sensory Awareness

Past Susceptibility: Healing

Job (if mentioned): Astrophysicist / Physics Researcher

Social Dynamics (for both books, so far):

Bee

It was another "Winescope" Saturday night. That was the nickname Lara gave to the Saturday nights she'd call Bee, alongside her friends from the Observatory's Lab, and they'd discuss silly things, tell funny stories from the workplace while "getting alcoholed up" with good wine. She'd always invite Bee with the biggest hug and the hugest smile on her face.

She was still flush from laughing about some silly story when the mail came in. Somehow, something was different. She read the mail with the same efficiency and calm she'd do with a particularly difficult academic book. The bright smile on her face died slowly. The flush gave away to a pale tanned face. There was a distant look in her eyes.

Later that day, when she apologized to her friends and said an emergency occurred, Bee stood there. They wouldn't leave her without understanding and supporting their friend. Lara would always tell them they are the sweetest person in this world.

She explained the content of the letter, trying to give a very fragile smile to sooth them from any worries.

And now, after they came to help her with her load and everything happened, she'll take their load off of them.

She'll protect Bee with her life. And she dares anyone to try and hurt them. She shouldn't put them in this position in the first place. It's her fault.

It always is.

I'm sorry, Bee. You are an amazing person.

if(tentative_ro = "Beckett") {

You're my best friend. I won't jeopardize that.

But know that you are loved.

}

S. Dorran

It was weird seeing S again, after such a long time. Lara has vague memories from her childhood. Maybe too much information can do that to one's mind, alongside trauma.

But Lara does remember fondly of their reading nights at Turn the Page. And she'd always smile when S spoke up their opinions in class. It's something she really admired about them.

Even with their taciturness, she'd always love to talk with them about any subject. They were always filled with wonder on how things worked, just as she was.

That didn't change. They are the same quiet, extremely smart person she remembers. And she still can talk about any subject with them and just have fun talking.

She hopes they like her as much as she adores them.

Thank you for looking out for Pa. I don't know how I'll ever repay you, S.

if(tentative_ro = "Silas") {

What is this? Why do I want your company so much? This is normal right? RIGHT??

Don't look at his lips, Lara!

}

R. Verner

Lara could never understand exactly why R took an interest in her. They were an heir, and she wasn't a competitive child by any means. But the competitions were really fun, and something she looked forward to.

Funny that they didn't know how to react when she proposed a hug challenge. Huh. She'd study that reaction later on. If R wanted to call her a "rival", she didn't mind.

But she did call them her friend. She was really shy during the debates, though. R could have some sense and try not to mess with her so much. But she adored that in them too.

It was interesting seeing them again. They said they've waited for her? They seem so much more patient with her now. She'll never be able to figure them out completely, will she? Lara hopes R didn't felt so alone as they look now, behind all the teasing smiles.

She can't pick everything apart in the lab to try and understand them, not with people she cares about.

I'm sorry for leaving in such a difficult time, R. And I'm sorry you got hurt. I'll hunt down whoever did this, so they'll never have a chance to do it again.

if(tentative_ro = "Reese") {

Oh... Oh... OH...! Was that a "date"? Nonononono, my biggest love is the lab. My biggest love is the lab... his eyes are so blue and - LABLABLAB }

J. Corvin

JJJ, Lara missed you so much! So much. She missed all their nights reading comics and days just enjoying each other's company. Her memories from bike rides around lakes, of them cooking together with their mother or just basking in the sun eating oranges are so soft.

She missed their quiet company that would come alive whenever she was near. They were there with her when she discovered her passion for the stars. They learned to use a telescope together, and they would do Math marathons to learn more about charting while hiding under blanket forts.

She'd always pester them about everything going on her mind. And she insisted that they got the puzzle chrome part first, but they'd always put her first.

Something changed. There's something so guarded and angry about their posture now. Detective work must be so heavy on them. She wishes she could help ease their burden.

There are still softness in their eyes when they meet hers. But also there's a distance that she can't fix.

She can't fix everything. That much is clear. But it hurts. They never got her letters. That's why they have this cold anger whenever Pa is mentioned?

She should have tried harder. It haunts her the image of J following Pa's truck. Lara tried to reach out, but her hands only met glass.

if(tentative_ro = "James") {

This crush is old. Very very old. I'm not someone that has crushes anymore. So, ignore it, Lara. Don't look at his shoulders, or how his hands could -

I SAID DON'T LOOK.

}

Mal

Oh, who is this? Did Lara meet him before? She doesn't remember him from her childhood memories. But then again, her memories are... off...

What is this man? He knows so much, behind those enigmatic eyes. Why does she feel naturally pulled towards him? Lara doesn't understand... But she likes that he's kind. Even if it must hurt to smile like that all the time.

She wants to understand. He looks like so much more, a real... puzzle. She loves puzzles.

He does seem to enjoy giving her little jumpscares, because she is always jumping whenever he appears. Was very kind of him to bring her some tea after the forest search. It was a taxing night.

And he has a very interesting nickname! Curious... what an observing and unnerving man. Charmer, huh?

Let me in, I can help you if you wish so, Mal.

if(Mal_Romance = true) {

He looks really good. Haven't I noticed it before? Not that I usually do, but... Wait, why am I looking? It's disrespectful!!

He has a very beautiful smile when he's genuine, I wonder what would be if I ki-

PositivethoughtsPositivethoughtsPositivethoughtsPositivethoughts... WHY DO I FEEL LIKE THIS? AHHHH

}

Annnd I did a playlist for her. Yeah, I feel in an RPG rn.

About the Game and Lara herself:

First of all, I'd like to say a big thanks for @lacunafiction for this wonderful story. I'd give 139823274763254 positive reviews in every available platform because this story is awesome, eerie as hell, mysterious and romantic too.

If you guys have any interest in an amazing IF, I'd recommend Fernweh saga. I might be a little addicted right now and I did intend to start using this blog for something, so this something is going to be to recommend wonderful IFs <3

You can find the first book alongside the Patreon in this post: https://www.tumblr.com/lacunafiction/705620629743976448/some-homecomings-feel-more-like-rude-awakenings?source=share

Much love for this amazing author (*whispers* marry me, Aelsa) <3

Second, I'll gush a little about my little poor meow meow of a Dodo.

I just love how personalities are well written in this game , and that is what made me write this wall of text in the first place. The narrative is very fact-based, and something that I really loved, so I decided to make my MC a Head-oriented person with a science job, very unaware of her own emotions, but very observant and caring about others.

It's a nice juxtaposition for me.

Someone that is fiercely independent (believes the "teamwork makes the dream work!", tho), but is very shy and sweet.

Someone that is very head oriented, relies heavily on facts, but is incredibly friendly -a Dodo- (I love that in book 2 you have more joking options that are not so based in snark. Don't get me wrong, I love snarky humor and is greatly written here, but somehow the "... A metal mistress?" gets me every time <3)

Someone that is highly cautious, but oh boy, she is resistant as hell. She'll NOT bow down to anyone (except her Uni professors) and she'll face any fears head on. Whoever dares to hurt her or the people she loves will get hunted. But in a cold and calculating way.

I loved the Extrasensory Awareness, and it's even better that it is an *instinct*. Again, for someone who heavily relies on facts, it's funny to me. "Why do I feel like this????"

I didn't give Lara abandonment issues because she believed that her Grampa was trying to not lose her too. Even if in a very unhealthy way. She did fill her life with science and stars, building it up around the profession she fell in love with when a child. All thanks to J. It's a string that links her to her past. But she thinks that's all she can bring to the world. And she fear how coldly she can assess things, how unattached she can be with her own emotions when she is under pressure..

She's a moderate believer. Well, she couldn't exactly discount the walking tree, when it was walking right in front of her. That, my friend, is a fact.

Guilty gnaws at her. She feels guilty for bringing Bee here. She feels guilty for leaving J and R. Guilty over S being so perturbed about the city borders. Guilty about her whole family, who had to suffer such horrific deaths while she still walks this world. That's why she fills her life with her job. A starry sky is a graveyard of stars, is it not? Maybe they are watching over her.

And she is angry. Oh boy, she is livid. Who the fuck thinks they can do whatever they want with the people she loves? No one can mold her into a clay sculpture and expect her to just cave. She built her life mostly alone, and she'll not have that.

And overall, it's just very interesting to me to see Lara, a nerd, lab addicted scientist, who is deadly curious to understand everything in this world to be in this eerie place filled with mysteries and people she adores, falling in love for the first time and NOT KNOWING HOW TO COPE WITH IT.

She'll be the only MC that I'll play in this game because I really loved her personality. But if I had to choose a main RO, possibly it would be Mal because of the scientist X mystery idea. I chose all 5 of them, tho. MUAHAHHAA

And well, she is based on Lara Croft, as is abundantly clear. She is a very intelligent and curious woman, who goes to great lengths to discover mysteries and is very protective of the people she cares about (Jonah <3). This one, tho, is way softer than Croft <3 Aah a pin for her in Pinterest <3 https://br.pinterest.com/badgirlcs/lara-raider-de-armas/

#aelsa if fucking amazing #the fernweh saga #i'm a little obssessed #can't blame myselft #look at the ro's and tell me i'm being too much #I have to go on class #but read the books #seriously #gushing over all the ros here #aelsa #marry me

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