#I took a some things I thought would be interesting and contrary to human culture and tossed them into the courtship
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To Capture A Demon's Heart
Mammon lovers I bestow upon you my apology fic. Please, rise up and come get your boy.
I fell for him a bit more writing this frfr
Pairing: gn!reader x Mammon (romantic feelings heavily implied, no established relationship, but don't you worry - you're working on that)
TW: Mention of Lucifer's punishments, Uhuhuh awkward discussion of infernal courting behaviors, mentions of violence, lmk if there''s anything else to add, ty!
Word Count: ~5,000
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On the rug before you lay two options: “The Wicked Woes of Demonessa” or “To Capture a Beating Heart”.
You flip over both DVD cases to skim their synopses, fingers trailing over the printed leads in all their infernal glory. You snort to yourself at the crossroads Asmodeus has supplied you with and wonder which would be better: an all-demon romance or a demon-human romance?
Ah-actually, the question should be: which would be easier to convince Mammon to watch with you?
The answer, as always, is neither. But that won't stop you from trying.
You shake your head, a smile pulling at your lips at the thought of how he'll react to your movie selection tonight. He's late, but with good reason, so you'll forgive him. Punishment by Lucifer is punishment enough.
You kneel up from your position on the floor, rubbing out the pins and needles that had started to form. When all feeling returns to you, you reach under your bed to drag out the thick faux fur blanket Mammon had gifted you for your birthday this year. Custom-made, a pattern of your favorite hideously-cute zombie iguana plushies are plastered across the golden spread. You push your face into the fabric, its velvety softness tickling your skin, and inhale. It smells of the same smoky cedarwood that sticks to his skin.
You toss it onto your bed and climb up after. One-by-one you adjust your pillows so that they rest upright against the mossy wall and face the TV. You take care to put more support on your side, anticipating he'll eventually stop resisting and cuddle up to you as he often does. When you're finally satisfied with the distribution, you hop off the bed to snatch your wallet from the table nearby. You dig inside until your finger bumps into what you're looking for; a golden grimm coin.
Both titles are appealing enough that you're impartial to either, so you'll just do a coin toss. You're more interested in the cute expressions Mammon will show you tonight anyway.
You flip the coin off your thumb, catch it in your palm, and lay it flat on the back of your hand. You lift your palm and grin - it's head. “The Wicked Woes of Demonessa” it is.
A knock sounds at your door.
"Hey, Human, It's me. Open the door!" You hum to yourself, bending down to pick up just one of the DVDs. You stash both your wallet and “To Capture a Beating Heart” into your backpack and plop it into the chair farthest from the bed. You look over your room one more time and nod before walking over to open the door.
There waits your pouty demon, hair all mussed up with arms crossed over his broad chest.
"Some nerve you got, making me wait!" He huffs. You flash him a toothy smile, tugging him inside by his elbow and shutting the door behind him.
"Happy to see you too, Mam." A light flush rises to his cheeks.
"Y-yeah..happytoseeyatooidiot," he grumbles. "Did'ya pick out a movie yet?" His eyes skitter away from you to appraise your set-up.
Dimmed fairy lights, honey-scented candle sticks lit on golden candelabras, and the golden pendant he'd gifted you during your first year in the Devildom rests proudly over the collar of your pajama shirt. Everything is intentional. Everything is for him.
"Sure did!" You saunter over towards your bed and bend over to pick up the DVD case from off the rug. You go to open the case, but a lack of following footfalls distracts you. You look over your shoulder to find him fidgeting in the middle of your room.
You frown. "What's wrong Mam?"
"W-what's that smell?" His eyes flicker to and fro, scanning your space for the source.
"Uh, well I lit some scented candles. If they're too sweet for you I can turn them off, no problem." You toss the case onto your bed before heading for the coffin-shaped bookshelf in the back. You pick through a small black lace basket filled with spell tools you're borrowing from Solomon.
You forget sometimes how heightened their senses are compared to yours.
"You don't gotta go making a big deal out of it. A little sweetness ain't nothin' to the Great Mammon." He chuckles loud and proud, but you catch the way he clenches his fists at his side.
"It "ain't nothin'" if it bothers you, Mam." You admonish. You finally find the candle snuffer and lift it out of the basket. "Your comfort is my priority, alright?"
He sputters, eyes wide, and you shoot him a soft smile as you move over to the first candelabra. "Really, it's no trouble."
Before you can snuff out the first candle stick, a firm hand wraps around your wrist. "Nah, s'fine. I..I like it." Your heart does a little flip at the admission, but as you glance down at the back of his hand you frown.
"Aw, what happened here?" Your free hand traces the indentations pressed into his skin. They aren't too deep, but they seem a little aggravated.
"Tsch," he releases you to shove both his hands into his jacket pockets. A slight crinkle catches your attention as they settle into the tight space, but you'll worry about that later.
"Hey, none of that. No hiding." You place the snuffer onto the table and turn to him. You hold out your hands, palms up, and wait. Mammon can only shuffle his feet and avoid your eyes for so long.
"He's getting all creative now! Damn sadist."
You purse your lips and sigh out of your nose. Lucifer only had his brother's best interests in mind, but his methods could be awfully draconian at the worst of times. You'd seen in the group chat this morning that Mammon had tried to sell photos he sneaked out of Diavolo's private chambers. You haven't a clue of how he got past Barbatos of all beings, but you don't put it past him, he certainly is one of the most driven individuals you'd ever met. Undoubtedly, Mammon tested his luck and crossed several boundaries, but your heart aches for him. He's always hated sharing the weakest parts of himself.
"We don't have to talk about it. Will you just let me help you out a bit?" You bat your eyelashes when he finally meets your gaze. He scoffs and shrugs his shoulders.
"Can't keep your hands off me, can ya?" You quirk a brow at him, a knowing look on your face. You start to lower your hands slowly, purposefully.
"That's alright, Mam. I wouldn't want to force you." Before your hands can drop to your side, he clutches them in his own.
"Who said anything about force?! See," his hands squeeze your own, "all good to go." You drag your thumbs over the knuckles encasing your own.
"Go ahead and sit down, I'll join you in a sec." You gesture to the bed and your heart does happy little flips when he gravitates straight to the zombie-iguana blanket.
"Ya still got tha damn thing?" The question comes out soft, too soft, that you wonder if it was for you to begin with.
"Course I do. My first man gave it to me!" You can't stop yourself from laughing at the way his shoulders shoot up to his ears.
"Y-yeah," he attempts to catch himself as you walk back over to the bookshelf and dig into another basket, "It was a hassle to get it made, so don't go lettin' anybody else mess with it."
"Don't worry," you tease from the other side of the room. You can't resist the opportunity to rile up his greed, "I only take it out for our movie nights."
Sparing his dignity, you don't look up from the basket as you hear him choke a bit. When he calms down you grab the lotion-salve you'd made about a week ago, good for healing any minor wounds. Smelling of bergamot with hints of lavender, it's your proudest achievement thus far.
"Actually, speaking of our movie nights...," you stand and make your way over to the bed. Already, he's shoved off his jacket and shoes, making himself at home among the pillows. As your eyes scan his toned arms you're reminded that you quite literally have a model in your bed.
"This is the first one we've had in a while, huh?" He spreads his legs as you come closer, signaling for you to sit in between them. As you join him, his eyes soften and he holds out his hands for you to take. You're humbled by the trust he places in you.
You squirt some lotion into your hand and rub your palms together to warm it up before you reach for him. He sniffs the air and sits up a bit.
"The hells that?"
You cock your head. Does he really not like the smell this time?
"You mean the lotion?"
"Yeah! Did Asmo give you that? I don't want that flowery shit." Ah, the real issue isn't the lotion itself . Rather, that another demon may have given it to you. Despite the laugh begging to spill forth from your lips, you manage to cool your expression.
You slowly massage the cream into your skin, biting your lip at the low warning growl that leaves him. You just had to be sure. "No, Mam. Asmodeus didn't give this one to me. I made it myself." His posture relaxes considerably.
That is, until you open your mouth again.
"But, if you don't like the smell I can go give it to him. He'd probably like it, right? I can go real qu-" You don't get to finish your sentence as his hand grasps the front of your shirt, tugging you forward until you're trapped in his arms.
"Ya ain't goin nowhere." Goosebumps prick at your skin in response to this growl. It's not a warning. It's daring you to try your luck. You move quickly to return his embrace, smoothing your hands over his backside to reassure him. "You're stayin' here with me, understand?" Warmth flows through you from head to toe.
"So, you don't find the scent completely and utterly repulsive?" Your hands trail upwards to massage his shoulders, pushing and prodding the tense muscles. He flinches, but doesn't stop you.
"Ah, hold on!" Something clicks as he snaps back from you, holding you back by your shoulders. "Nobody said anythin' about being repulsed! Who said they're repulsed? Not me!"
"Oh, good!" You pull his hands off your shoulders, dropping them onto your lap as you reach over for the lotion. Again, you warm it up between your hands. "Then just sit still, alright?"
He goes down quietly, too quietly, that you make sure to watch his face for any discomfort as you reach for the first hand. A touch to his skin surprises you. His hand is rougher than you expect, but you mask your curiosity and don't hesitate to place your hands atop his. The last thing you want is for him to recede into himself when you've finally gotten this far into whatever is happening between the two of you. You can ask about the rough calluses on his palm another day.
You start with the lines indented over his fingers, carefully kneading the skin as he hisses under his breath. His eyes, a blend of ocean and golden sun, remain transfixed on where your skin meets. But, his face is marred by a deep frown that makes your blood run cold. Did you overstep somewhere?
"What's running through your mind?" You work your way onto his palm, tenderly rubbing the faded scars littered across the expanse of skin. The lotion can't heal something that has already come to pass. Nor can you, but you'll hold him here for as long as he'll let you.
A sigh leaves him. "Don't go treatin' me like I'm fragile. I'm supposed to protect you, got it?"
He's right, he's not fragile. Beneath the glamor he's taut, tough skin, with sharp fangs and leathery wings that could tear you to shreds. But, he's also the same demon who seeks you out for comfort after punishments or a big loss at the casino. The same demon who sits through horror movies if it means he'll have an excuse to spend the night with you. The demon who would truly do anything you asked of him - and that's not a power you wield lightly.
You pat his hand with a smile to let him know you're finished and hold out your hands for him once more. You'll let him decide if he wants to continue.
"Hey, don't you dare ignore me!" Plopping his hand into yours immediately defeats the tough tone he's put on. You start from the top and repeat the motion, fingers to palm. A rush of boldness overcomes you as you press into the callouses. You adore this demon. You wish he could see himself the way you see him.
"I know you're not fragile, Mam." You finish up the massage, but don't let go. You watch as the indentations gradually fade into even skin. "But, you're precious to me. I treasure what's precious to me. You get that, don't you?"
Your stomach drops as silence greets you. At the very least, you think, it's a good sign that he hasn't pulled his hand away from you. You drop both of your hands into your lap and fidget with his fingers.
"You mean that?" You never knew Mammon's voice could sound so meek.
You lift your eyes to his, grasping his hand tightly between your own. Wide eyes, mouth parted, and brows furrowed. Even like this, he's a vision.
"I mean it, Mam."
At once, his cheeks are aflame. "I-you!" He stammers. A laugh rips from your chest, relieved that he didn't a) run out of the room or b) hide away from you. You want to tease him more, but you hold back. Instead, you reach over to pick up the DVD from off your comforter and savor this milestone between the two of you.
"Ready for the movie?" You ask, getting up from the bed.
"Huh? Oh that, yeah, yeah." He seems a bit dazed.
"You feeling ok?" You lean over, lifting your hand to feel his forehead, but his hand catches yours before you reach him.
"I'm fine! The hell we watching anyway?" You use your free hand to show him the DVD cover. The two demonic leads stand before each other, hand in hand, leaning in for a kiss under the title.
"The Wicked Woes of Demonessa?!" He sounds exasperated. "W-where'd you get that junk?! We ain't watching that!"
"What, why not?" You pout, giving him puppy dog eyes.
"That's some mind poison! All it's good for is rottin' ya brain." He snarls, but you know you've got him. A little nudging is all he needs.
"Oh." You sigh, purposefully. "Well, if you don't want to watch it with me, I'm sure Beel or Mo wouldn't mind." "Like he-" "Or-" You counter before he can start running his mouth. "We can watch another movie I borrowed as a back-up."
Mammon eyes you suspiciously. "What other movie are ya hidin', human?"
You have to be a little evil in this back-and-forth or you'll never get anywhere. So, you shuffle over to the TV stand and grab the unopened DVD case resting next to the DVD player. You show him the cover and watch as he immediately recoils.
"ARE YA CRAZY?!" He shrieks. A myriad of ghosts with tormented expressions erupt from the house that rests above the title that reads: The Horrible Haunting of Hollow Hill Manner.
"What?" You ask like it's not the most peculiar and pointed selection to ensure you two watch your movie of choice this evening.
"What?" He mocks your casual tone. "Who're ya borrowin' that from?"
"Satan." Your smile comes easy. "He recommended this one, it's a murder mystery that takes place in a haunted house. Apparently, it's based on a true story."
"A TRUE WHAT?!" He throws the fur blanket over himself, leaving only his head submerged.
"Mammon," you snort, "you're literally one of the most powerful beings in existence. Fourth most powerful in all the Devildom."
You can't see his chest puff up, but you know him well enough to know it does.
"E-exactly!" He exclaims. "I can take on anything. Some cheap old trick movie like that won't scare me, nuh-uh, it'll just be a snoozefest."
"I see," you smirk, "then some cliche romance flick shouldn't be too bad, right? Wouldn't want you falling asleep on me." Hook, line, and sinker.
You pay Mammon's complaints no mind as you open the DVD case and pull out the disk. You pop it into the DVD player, thrilled you get to watch a classic demonic romance unfold. You've been curious for some time now about how romance in the Devildom differs from the Human Realm. The plot seemed entertaining enough, but really you were curious about the customs. You wanted to woo him on his terms, in a way he couldn't blow off as some human schtick.
You press play and pad back over to your bed. He's pouty, so you decide to sit next to him and hold out on getting under the blanket with him.You'll wait until the mood passes and give him his space.You can feel his stare digging into you as the opening soundtrack plays, but you manage to keep your focus on the screen. For a couple of minutes you two sit like this.
"Why're ya bein' like that?" He accuses.
"Like what?" You snap your head to him, eyes widening as you see him sit up, blanket falling off his shoulders and into his lap.
"Distant." He huffs, looking away from you. "Y-you said you treasure what's precious to ya, right?"
Your heart is about to fucking explode. You don't waste a minute, wrapping your arm around his and tugging at him to face you.
"You looked upset, so I wanted to give you your space." You utter, softly. "Would you be ok if I joined you under the blanket?"
He scoffs, lifting the blanket up and over you. "Like ya even hav'ta ask." Earlier in the night than you've anticipated, he cuddles into your side with his head resting on your chest. You can't read his face from this angle, but a subdued purr rumbling through him assures you he's comfortable.
You two sit like this throughout the first half of the movie. It's an interesting premise concentrated on the love between a demon of nobility and a commoner of great strength who has been hired to train the noble in the art of war. Later on, it's revealed that the commoner's unprecedented strength is due to them being an illegitimate child of a Great General of the East. The noble's father, a Recordkeeper, has hidden away documents proving the commoner's lineage at their father's request. Thus, they come to the castle under the guise of an instructor and soon find their plans disrupted when they begin to fall for the Recordkeeper's heir.
Your curiosity is piqued as displays of what you presume is affection come onto the screen. "Hey Mam, I thought they liked each other, so why are they wrestling like that right now?"
It's a more violent display than you expect, but you're entranced as their jaws snap, teeth are bared, and claws dig into skin. The leads throw each other against any surface within the weapon storehouse, stopping the other before they can plan an escape. You look down at Mammon to find him hiding his face into your shirt, the tips of his ears tinged red.
"It's a show of strength." He mumbles into your shirt.
"A show of strength...," you repeat thoughtfully, "is that common in courtship here?"
Mammon groans, hiding further into your shirt. "I don'wanna talk about this. Don't they teach ya shit like that in your Demon Studies course or somethin'?"
"Unfortunately, no. The topic has never come up." Demon Studies has solely focused on social, political, and institutional relationships within the Devildom. Nothing interpersonal as far as you can remember.
"What?! Well they should, some silly 'ol human isn't gonna just pick up on that."
"Well," you drag your fingers through his hair, "think you could enlighten me?"
He peeks up at you with a glare. "Whad'ya wanna know?" The topic seems sensitive, so you tread lightly.
"Could you tell me what a common courtship is like here? You don't have to be detailed or anything. Like, are there steps?" Most of the romance movies you've seen during your time here have been pirated by Leviathan from the human realm.
Again, Mammon hides his face from you. You are about to suggest you two move past the topic when he finally speaks up.
"Yeah. Yeah there are steps." You stay silent, but keep running your hand through his hair.
"Y'noticed how the noble started sendin' letters? Or how once they got a response from the sword swinger they started includin' trinkets or whatever with 'em?" A moment of silence passes and he peeks up at you. It hits you that he's waiting on you to respond.
You smile bashfully. "Oh, yes! Yes, I noticed."
He huffs. "It started then. Goin' all out with gifts, tryin' to impress each other like lunatics."
"Are trinkets usually given?" You ask.
"Mm," he hums, "yeah, but gifts are as varied as demons. Some prefer other things: food, poems, flowers, the heart of your greatest enemy, buncha stuff."
"Huh-" Did you hear that correctly?
"The heart of your greatest enemy?" You parrot.
"What, ya sayin' humans don't do that anymore?" You shake your head.
"None that I've met at least." You don't doubt that humans have done it at some point in time, but it sounds more like some distant wartime practice from the Middle Ages or earlier.
"Still happens here. It's a show of strength and dedication, proof ya can kick any ass that comes threatinin' your potential mate." He seems to be relaxing more and more as you delve deeper into the topic.
"So, the wrestling...?"
"Show of strength. They're pretty equally matched, even though the lovebirds run in different circles. Makes 'em decent partners at least." You feel your mind expanding with the revelation that this scene is way deeper than you've realized. Despite the commoner's standing, they've been in control for most of the wrestling match.
"Ooooh!" You take a minute to ponder.
"So, demons won't usually go for someone weaker than them?"
"Bingo."
You wonder what this means for you two. You certainly aren't as strong enough as a demon, and especially not as strong as the Avatar of Greed.
You lose your train of thought as Mammon sits up more to face you, poking you in the forehead.
"Doesn't mean they never will." You relax your face at his touch, you hadn't realized it was scrunched up so much.
"It's not all about how tough ya are. It's 'bout how they make ya feel too. A courtship is pretty serious stuff, you don't pursue somethin' that intense with just any old schmuck."
Mammon's eyes follow your hand as it reaches to fiddle with the golden pendant he gifted you. In the middle lies some gemstone you can't find in the human world. It's clear with specks of gold and blue. He blushes and coughs into his fist.
"If it continues after that, it gets pretty serious pretty fast. Ya start scentin' each others stuff, which is a pretty ballsy move."
Your eyebrows jump up at this unexpected development. "Scenting...?"
"Yeah, puttin' your scent out so they know who ya belong to. No human nose is gonna pick up on somethin' subtle like that, but it's there." Wait, so does that mean-
"Is the house scented? Can it just be anything?" Mammon looks at you as if you've just grown another head.
"Huh?! No!" Embarrassment warms your cheeks.
"Why would we go wastin' energy like that? That's crazy. If anything is scented, it's intentional and nothin' time consumin'." You shrug your shoulders.
"Ah, ok. I didn't know." You fiddle some more with the pendant, looking away from him.
"Ack, no don't feel bad!" His face is just as flushed as yours, but he continues. "You didn't ask anything stupid. There's no way ya could've known!" You can't stop the giddy grin that pulls at your lips as he attempts to comfort you. You face him again.
"So, what happens next? If you're already doing something like that, aren't you practically together?"
"Practically, but not officially." He grumbles. "Buncha kids go around scentin' each other thinkin' they're in love. The scent fades as fast as the feelin's." He runs a hand through his hair with a sigh.
"It's official when ya make it official. A spoken agreement between partners. No bullshittin'."
"That's it?" You try to sidestep the microscopic lens of human tunnel vision, but a spoken agreement feels less official than marriage in the human world. Joint assets, joint families, and rings as proof of being claimed.
"Whad'ya mean "that's it?"?! All and everything you really feel. Ya gotta say it and ya gotta mean it. It's a bindin' contract that's a bitch to ever try and break." It clicks for you then. A demon's word is binding.
"Like a pact, but for romantic partners?"
Mammon ponders for a moment before he nods. "That's not too far off. Little more goes into it, but it's complicated." The lull that comes after feels like the end of the conversation, so you take your chance.
"Mammon, has anyone tried courting you before?"
"Hah, of course!" His grin is as smug as it always is. "Who wouldn't want to take a chance to be with The Great Mammon?" He laughs to himself, but you wonder-
"Have you ever accepted an attempt?" You're curious.
"Uh-" The question catches him off guard. "Y-yeah. A handful of times, but it never went anywhere." You're a little disappointed, but you swallow down your pride. It would be more concerning if he'd never tried to find love throughout the milleniums he's lived.
You shift your line of questioning. You'd rather focus on the present and this momentous opportunity lined up before you.
"So, say I were to get you something. What would you like?" You've never seen his head whip around so fast, truly inhuman speed as he jumps back from you and slams into the headboard.
"The hell, MC?!" His face, ears, and what you can see of his neck, everywhere is flushed at your implication. This is just as embarrassing for you, but you feel emboldened by the security of your room, the sweet scent of honey in the air, and the declarations of love coming from the movie that still runs in the background.
"What about a pendant to match mine? Would you wear something like that if I got it for you?" You've come so close. You won't give up now.
"W-why would I want somethin' like that?" You know it's a deflection. He wouldn't have stayed with you, here and now, if it wasn't. But, you're tired of it. You only want it if he wants it too. No bullshitting, right?
"Nevermind then, Mam. Don't worry, I won't get you anything. I don't want to make you uncomfortable." You reach for the remote that fell to the floor during all the commotion. "We don't have to finish the mo-"
You squeal in shock as Mammon throws himself into you. It's enough force to knock you back onto the pillows sprawled all over. You're speechless as he hides his face into your neck. He's never gotten this close to you.
"S'fine." His grip on you tightens. "A matching necklace, s'good."
You can't contain yourself. "Mam, look at me."
He hums but doesn't move.
"Mammon, look at me." You're gentle with him as you cup his cheeks.
"Seriously, you would accept it?"
"Now you're just bein' cruel. I said it's good, didn't I?!" You can feel the sting of tears building. You don't think you've ever been this happy.
You rub your thumbs over his cheeks. "Hey, Mam?"
"Whatd’ya want now?"
"Can I kiss you?"
In an instant, you're pressed back into the pillows, Mammon's lips on yours. It's not fireworks like humans talk about, nor the clashing of fangs as demons might do. It's tender and filled with a longing buried deep within the soul. It's messy. It's unexpected. It's perfect.
You pull back to catch your breath and are touched by the unshed tears in Mammon's glassy eyes. It seems the sensation was mutual.
"I love you, Mam."
You can figure out what this means for you two going forward tomorrow. You can ask about the callouses on his hands or for the stories of hardship behind the scars. You can discuss where courtships went wrong for you both, talk through your communication struggles, and love each other openly without fear. You're just so happy, really, that he'll let you love him.
"I love ya too, MC." He settles back into your arms, and you two lay there for some time, movie all but forgotten.
It's when the credits roll that Mammon shoots up, rushing to grab his jacket.
"Ah, shit!" He digs into his jacket pockets, pulling out a couple bags of hellfire twists. Your shared favorite movie treat.
"I meant to give this to ya earlier. So, ya know, we could have a snack during the movie." You chuckle at him as he rubs the back of his neck.
"We still can. Ever heard of ``To Capture a Beating Heart”?"
#For the purposes of this drabble you have a TV in your room and yes Levi did let you borrow it because it’s an older model and you know he’s#Absolute king shit Leviathan ty for hooking your brother up#I fr did a coin toss for this one and it was heads#so sorry to those who might have been interested in the plot of to capture a beating heart#I listened to the Born to Die Album Paradise Edition for the entirety of this#Off to the Races screams Mammon and I will not be persuaded otherwise#I took a some things I thought would be interesting and contrary to human culture and tossed them into the courtship#Also hello everyone I did not expect anyone to read or enjoy my things and I'm so very happy to share my little musings with you all#mammon obey me#lucifer obey me#obey me barbatos#obey me diavolo#mammon x reader#reader x mammon#obey me x reader#obey me reader#obey me reader insert#obey me#obey me one master to rule them all#omomtrta#mammon x mc#obey me mc#mammon x you#mammon x y/n#demonic courting#courting rituals#obey me satan
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Heroes Become Vilians
“You either die a hero or live long enough to become a vilian.” - Harvey Dent
Are all of my idols secretly a piece of shit? The first time I thought it, Tiger Woods. He was unassailable before Thanksgiving, 2009. A family man, the ultimate competitor on the course and a shy mogul off the court. He was a serial cheater? What?!
I remember reading the story about Tiger being in the club with Jeter and Jordan and asking them how they are so good with the ladies. Jordan told him “Tell ’em you’re fucking Tiger Woods.” Apparently, he took that to heart. It was sad to see a sports idol’s fall from grace before my eyes. Since then, in the age of cell phones and surveillance, it seemed that there was no chance to hide who you are, that everything would come to light eventually. That gave my a false belief that people were who they said they were, or else, surely, evidence of the contrary would have come to life. For Tiger, cultural redemption was possible, and he achieved a decade later. I hope there are more of these happy endings for our fallen icons, but I doubt it.
I’m from the suburbs of Chicago. When I was 16 I moved to Las Vegas. I knew my stay in the west would be temporary, that I was a midwestern kid at heart. I rejected the RVCA shorts and Vans in favor of Midwestern college t-shirts and beat Nikes. I embraced everything and everyone out of Chicago. Prominently; Derrick Rose, Obama, and Kanye. I was in line for a movie date in 2008 when my brother called me and said he was at the same hotel with 2 extra tickets to see Kanye. We shuffled over to watch N.E.R.D. and Pharell open for Kanye on the Graduation tour. I heard the dude next to me rap “Good Morning” and knew I had to learn every word too. Kanye was the greatest living artist, and my connection to home. Yeezus dropped my first year out of college, the newness and wildness of that album matched where I was at in life, and I was home, in Chicago. When I lost my uncle and heard “Waves” I was moved to tears and listened on repeat for weeks while I grieved.
Then I bought tickets to the Life of Pablo tour that turned out to be fake. I haven’t enjoyed any of his new music since then. His passion moved to apparel. I waited online for Yeezy’s that I could never get my hands on. My guy was now the guy. He was in LA, married to a Kardasian, with Adidas. He became more manic and unpredictable, harder to defend in the name of geniusness. Somewhere along the way he became unrecognizable from the Kanye I thought I knew. Then he descended into politics. Trump was the last straw and I’m sad to see the state he remains in today. Plenty of people were there to capitalize on him when he was healthy - Kim, Adidas, Gap, labels, fellow artists. Those people should be the ones to help him thru whatever he is dealing with. Instead, he’s been cutoff. I’m sure some of them made genuine efforts, but when someone is going through it sometimes you just gotta let them go through it and stay present for when they become open to change. See Steve-O supporting Bam Margera. I see nobody at his side today. It makes me sad. Sad that he disappointed me and so many of his fans. Sad that he can’t be helped. I hope there’s a redemption arch out there for him, it’s tough to see it now. One things for sure, there is not more defending him in the sake of “Genius”, the man is an idiot with a microphone. I was duped.
I talked about Elon Musk at my Grandma’s memorial. She’d always made an effort to talk to me about what I was interested in, sending me clips from the Newspaper in the mail, the last one she sent was about Tesla. In 2017 I read Tim Urban’s blog about Elon. In college, Elon thought about what he wanted to do with his life, using as his starting point the question, “What will most affect the future of humanity?” The answer he came up with was a list of five things: “the internet; sustainable energy; space exploration, in particular the permanent extension of life beyond Earth; artificial intelligence; and reprogramming the human genetic code.” That seemed a noble guiding principal for a genius to take on, and boy did he ever take it on! Paypal, Tesla, SpaceX, Neuralink, OpenAI. Any questions?
The reasons to admire Elon are obvious. The reasons to doubt him started to rack up starting in 2018 when Elon offered to help some kids stranded in a cave in Thailand. Elon didn’t know what he was talking about and when an engineer told him so, he responded by calling the guy a pedo. He won the defamation case, but watching a “Genius” step outside of his area of expertise and be get put in his place is a great way to see his true character. What we saw of Elon was not pretty - he jumped right to name calling, like Trump. The trend continued. He begrudgingly bought Twitter after an illtimed and misinformed decision to make an offer backfired on him. He did this to rid the rules of the platform and bring back “free speech”. But he had no idea what that meant, he started blocking accounts that went against his personal code (being nice to kids). When he empowered a professional, Yoel Roth, to take on cleaning up the app by banning accounts and removing content, he ended up burning out and resigning. Elon then posted a selective screenshot of his 2016 dissertation in an effort to have his mob of fanboys call him a Pedo until his family had to flee their home. He’s made a lot of stupid decisions and, in my opinion, ruined my favorite (and only) social media tool. I left the platform shortly before he took total control, knowing full well the toxicity that would enter the conversation, and be amplified by the algorithym. He has used social media to champion right wing politics. He has poisoned his own platform with disinformation from his own account, tweeting to wonder if an assault against Paul Pelosi was perhaps some weird homo assault. Then he bans accounts that post his whereabouts and welcomes the aforementioned Kanye back to spew Anit-Semetic hate.
The company that made him rich, Tesla, was built off of energy rebates that were the results of environmentally aware Democrats, that he now wants out of office. The people that bought those cars, also mostly environmentally aware Democrats, like me, are no longer interested in being affiliated with Elon. Teslas value is shrinking as competition mounts and he continues to sell off Tesla shares to pay for Twitter. He has meddled his way into the war in Ukraine, providing Starlink Internet access to Ukraine, at his own expense while also publicly encouraging for a resolution to the war by annexing Crimea via a “Vote”. His Starlink efforts are noble. Of course, this can all have a lot to do with his ties to China where Tencent owns 5% of the company and sales relect ⅓ of their overall revenue. Whatever concessions are made to accommodate Russia will be the starting place for China when they invade Tawain. I don’t believe this is a guy trying to solve the worlds issues anymore, this is a desperate man just trying to solve his own problems. But no longer is he the scrappy startup trying to change things. Tesla, Twitter, and SpaceX are all market leaders. No longer is he an excentric innovator, he is a CEO. Act like it, assface.
I was always a Coach K guy. My fandom started with Jay Williams. JJ Reddick. Greg Paulas. I was a believer that Coach K was molding young men at Duke, not just players. Everyone that went to Duke came away better for it. Kyrie Irving seemed like another one of those guys. His 1-year run at Duke was quick - appearing in just 13 games. But he was part of the brotherhood. He was one of my guys. Watching him in the finals with Lebron: the best below the rim finisher of all time, hit one of the biggest clutch shots in NBA history. He seemed like the perfect running mate for the rest of LeBron’s career - until he decided he wasn’t. He asked for a trade to create his own legacy and boy did he. Alienated the Cleveland fanbase that drafted him, poisoned his Boston Celtics team, committed to them, then left in free agency to join Durant in Brooklyn. There he sacrificed 18 million in 1 year by not getting vaccinated and not playing. His future is up in the air but the total could top $100 Million. All to spit in the face of scientists and say “I know better”. He topped that by spreading Alex Jones disinformation and Jewish conspiracy theories the next year. He admits to getting his education on YouTube and obscure Documentaries. I wish Kyrie would’ve stayed at Duke long enough to learn how to make a bibliography, fact check, maybe read a couple of actual fucking books.
Tiger, Kanye, Elon, and Kyrie duped me. They made me believe they were one person based on what I was seeing and when the curtains got pulled back that their true selves started to show, they were not people I would support, let alone embrace and look up to.
There’s a lot of talk about showing your true self in the world. It started with Trump. When the Access Hollywood tape came out, it gave Trump and all the assholes in our country the balls to finally say fuck it and start taking that personality online, if not into their social lives. There they finally felt seen and heard, they were getting together in echo chambers, spewing their hate and disinformation to the delight of their fellow idiots. Before that, people with fucked up beliefs kept them to themselves, but now, they could find each other, they could form groups.
What were the results? I wasn’t the only one duped; Trump. Q-Anon. Tucker Carlson. Majorie Taylor Green. George Santos. The right has had their fair share of people posing as “one of them”. The truth comes out eventually. Kanye finally revealed himself. Elon pulled back the curtains. Kyrie took his idiocracy to Instagram.
I’m glad that these people finally feel free to show their trueselves to the world. I’m happy to turn my back on them as soon as it’s clear that our values do not align. But I cannot help but feel duped. What happened? What changed? Were you always an asshole? Did fame and money change you? Whose next? I live in fear that one of my unassailable icons will become the latest example. LeBron? Steph? Barak? Adam Sandler? Please, not the Sandman.
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Pedro Pascal: “I already took all my drugs very early. In middle age, a hangover is not an option ”
When he was approaching 40, he resigned himself to having sporadic papers that would allow him to pay the rent. But playing Oberyn Martell in 'Game of Thrones' changed his life and opened the doors of 'Narcos'. Since then it has not stopped. Now he's the villain from the blockbuster 'Wonder Woman 1984'
JUAN SANGUINO
THE ANGELS OCT 2, 2020 - 3:19 PM EDT
The first big opportunity of his career was presented in 2011, when he participated in the pilot episode of Wonder Woman for NBC, but the network discarded the series and Pedro Pascal returned to his main occupation: casting castings to play the criminal of the week in the Law and order of duty. “That cancellation was a disappointment, of course, I wanted to work. I did not care if it was something good or bad, I just wanted to work, "he recalls today from his home in Los Angeles during a virtual conversation with ICON. Now Pascal plays the villain of Wonder Woman 1984 , one of the blockbusters destined to return audiences to movie theaters .
How can you not believe in fate? The boy who broke his arm twice playing Indiana Jones has ended up becoming the favorite hero of the kids (the bounty hunter in The Mandalorian ), his parents (Agent Peña in Narcos ) and, well, everyone's. world (Oberyn Martell, The Red Viper, in Game of Thrones ). When Pedro was little, the good guys were always white and the bad guys were Russian, Arab or Latino. The Wonder Woman 1984 villain , however, is a white billionaire played by a Chilean.
“The film is set in the United States of the eighties, which were marked by capitalist greed. It was a tainted concept of evil. Stripped of humanity, but still absolutely attractive and alluring. People who dreamed of being rich and successful had to be salivated. It is true that at that time villains in the cinema projected a xenophobic image. Now the white man can finally be the bad guy, ”explains Pascal.
Some already compare his character, Maxwell Lord, to Donald Trump because of that muck in this mud: Reagan's glorification of rogue moguls in America turned guys like Trump into aspirational role models and glamorous stars. “Trump was not the core of inspiration for my character, on our costume designer's board were Gordon Gekko [Michael Douglas on Wall Street ], American Psycho's Patrick Bateman and other suckers in expensive eighties suits. All those millionaires who hid despair, unbridled ambition and terrified masculinity ”, he clarifies. If Pedro Pascal sounds like a socialist infiltrated in Hollywood it is because that is exactly what he is.
“When Reagan was elected, many people around me were frustrated that the worst forms of capitalism were winning. In my home, with refugee and socialist parents, conservatism was not demonized but it did go against what was important to my family, ”he says. Pascal's father, José Balmaceda, was an Allende supporter doctor who saved the life of a priest wounded by Pinochet's militia .
The priest was later tortured and ended up confessing the name of his savior. When the police went to look for Balmaceda at the hospital where he worked, he took his wife and the newborn Pedro and jumped over the wall of the Venezuelan embassy in Santiago de Chile to request political asylum. That's why Pedro ended up growing up in San Antonio (Texas), in a socialist home but in Reagan's land. A Chilean with no memories of Chile who was called Peter in high school.
At the age of 20, Pascal was in Madrid working as a go-go and keeps good memories. Here she is wearing a Prada sweater. Photo: Danielle DeGrasse-Alston / Realization: Warren Alfie Baker
The Chilean-born but US-raised actor wears a Paul Smith sweater and suit. Photo: Danielle DeGrasse-Alston / Realization: Warren Alfie Baker
Pascal has never left the immigrant mentality behind. Even his father, who came to open a practice in California, always lived in terror that at any moment everything could vanish. “It doesn't matter who you are, how much you are working or how much you get paid. Deep down you always think that each job is the last one ”, confesses the actor. Maybe that's why he didn't dare move from his Red Hook, Brooklyn, hovel to a house more suitable for a Hollywood star until filming for Kingsman 2 and Narcos was over . Nor is it that he had spent more than an entire week at his house since, in 2014, Game of Thrones made him the guy most people would want to party with.
Pascal knew right away that Oberyn Martell, the Westerosi rockstar who always seemed willing to fight or fornicate with the same bravado, was going to change his life. “I had done a lot of castings for friends' plays, for copier factory ads or for very serious independent films that no one was going to see, while I watched how many characters that I had been about to play changed the lives of others. actors. And thanks to my experience and maturity, I recognized the potential of Oberyn. I understood who he was and who he could be ”, he presumes.
The actor found out about the audition when one of his acting students told him that he had taken the test but had been discarded because of his youth. Pedro snapped up and must have thought, “What would Oberyn do?” So he recorded a video on his phone and sent it to his good friend, actress Sarah Paulson . She passed it on to her good friend actress Amanda Peet and this one to her husband, David Benioff, one of the creators of Game of Thrones . The rest is the history of television and headaches: when he informed the Narcos producer that he was available to play Pablo Escobar's pursuing policeman, he accused him of making a spoiler for Game of Thrones: If Pascal had a free agenda, it is because Oberyn was going to lose his fight against La Montaña . He couldn't imagine, of course, in what way.
Part of that electric, lively and hedonistic energy of Oberyn comes to Pascal from the summer (that of 1996) that he spent in Madrid, where in addition to studying he worked as a go-go in a disco. That stay was transformative because the actor realized that he had had to adapt his identity all his life with each new move, but in Madrid he felt effortlessly at home. “I was 20 years old and I liked it so much that I almost moved. My main language is English, I have an American accent and I can pass for white. But in my house there were many cultural differences with respect to the outside world and I remember that when I was 20 years old, when I came to Madrid, I felt very comfortable in my own skin in a way that I had never felt anywhere else. I guess I was not aware that I had spent my childhood and adolescence learning new ways of adapting, connecting, learning, and pulling. On the contrary, living in Madrid was organic and easy for me. I made friends right away and I felt supported, ”he recalls.
By the time he was 40 Pascal was resigned to being an actor with enough odd jobs to pay the rent. According to him, his aquiline nose was a bad nose by Hollywood standards. Far from being offended or frustrated by this typecasting, he was looking forward to it, if it translated into a new check. “It is very strange to develop a fantasy as a child, to have the opportunity to turn it into a hobby, then some studies and finally transform all that into a career. That is the bet. But my dream of becoming Leonardo DiCapriodied. He died dozens and dozens of times. So to move on he had to accept that, at best, he was going to be an actor with a job. That was already a triumph, "he says. "Also, I accepted that I was not qualified for anything else, I had no more skills: I had put all my time, my energy and my concentration in being an actor and the rest in living life and having fun."
That absence of vanity lives on today, even when he's been involved in large-scale projects for five years without stopping. After Game of ThronesHe has made eight films, of which seven are action blockbusters. The wave of fame came to him when he was no longer expecting it but when he was well prepared to ride it. Still, every workday is a surprise and she acknowledges that what amazes her most about Hollywood is the sheer physical stamina that people have. “Sometimes a project can look like building a city, with all the hours, all the work and all the energy it requires. Some people have better stamina and can get by with little sleep. That is an interesting contradiction: all the people creatively involved in a film have a special sensitivity and at the same time have developed a very tough skin and energy to go through the physical experience of shooting it, ”he admires.
Then Pascal switches to Spanish (the language he uses to confess intimacies) and explains, in a few words, that he is old for this shit. “I thought I had all the energy in the world and now, in my 40s, I see that ... wow! There are times when I don't know if I will be able to reach the goal, because my energy is not at the necessary level. But I always take it forward ”, he guarantees. Maybe that's why people get so high in Hollywood. Pascal responds between laughter and again in Spanish.
“I already took all my drugs very early. It is something that is already too much in the past, and in middle age a hangover is not an option. No, no, no ”, she assures. What if the other hangover, that of the wave of fame, runs over you? “I was a good waiter. Not at first, because they fired me many times, but I ended up getting the hang of it, ”he jokes. If the Hollywood thing doesn't go well, you can always put drinks again. But for now Pedro Pascal is the personification that the American dream , although sometimes it takes a little longer to materialize, really exists. Even Ronald Reagan would be proud.
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On the topic of Book!Edward Hyde
Or rather: The topic of his existence (or lack thereof).
Browsing through the J&H tag, I’ve seen a lot of book readers be spiteful of every single adaptation of the character and its pop culture version because it misses the moral of the book: That Hyde and Jekyll were just one and the same, and that Jekyll was the one doing all the bullshit that went down and that Hyde was just a mask to keep his reputation intact.
Most of these rants go on to imply or outright accuse of any author doing the split personality take on the plot to have never actually read the original book, or that Edward Hyde never existing is something that the book leaves loud and clear, something irrefutably canon.
Having read the book too, I’m here to say: Yes and no. You could read the book and still get a “two character, one body” impression from it. Allow me to explain...
While the plot of “Jekyll is Good, Hyde is Bad” is truly bullshit and the very thing that the original novel rips into pieces, whether Hyde could be considered to have a will of his own is a little more ambiguous and it can actually be interpreted either way.
Note that I’m using the word “will” and not “personality”: Hyde is still Jekyll, they both have the same personality, but while Jekyll is a rational human being, Hyde is Jekyll but without the strings of societal norms, morals and impulse control holding him down.
Book readers who go by the take that Hyde never existed also claim that the book is very clear that the changes brought by the formula are just external: Jekyll is completely himself the whole time and “Hyde” is just a mask.
And this is true... At first. Depending on how you interpret Jekyll’s unrealiable narration, “Hyde” actually slowly develops something of a will of his own as Jekyll’s evil nature, given a body of its own by his dumb experiment, continues to develop.
Here’s a fragment of how Jekyll describes the experiment and the very first transformation:
“That night I had come to the fatal cross-roads. Had I approached my discovery in a more noble spirit, had I risked the experiment while under the empire of generous or pious aspirations, all must have been otherwise, and from these agonies of death and birth, I had come forth an angel instead of a fiend. The drug had no discriminating action; it was neither diabolical nor divine; it but shook the doors of the prisonhouse of my disposition; and like the captives of Philippi, that which stood within ran forth. At that time my virtue slumbered; my evil, kept awake by ambition, was alert and swift to seize the occasion; and the thing that was projected was Edward Hyde. Hence, although I had now two characters as well as two appearances, one was wholly evil, and the other was still the old Henry Jekyll, that incongruous compound of whose reformation and improvement I had already learned to despair. The movement was thus wholly toward the worse.”
“Edward Hyde” (who at this point still doesn’t truly exist as his own being and it’s just a mask for Jekyll to use) is evil because Henry Jekyll himself is evil. But while Jekyll-as-Jekyll has good personality traits as well as bad, Jekyll-as-Hyde is just everything that Jeyll finds evil about himself and nothing else. This paragraph also states very clearly that Jekyll’s intentions were never good.
If this was the only instance in which anything along the lines of “two characters as well as two appearances” was mentioned, then yes, there would be no room for debate on the whole “Hyde is just a fake identity and nothing else” because there wouldn’t be evidence of the contrary. It would be clear text.
Except that Jekyll, unreliable narrator that he is or not, also gives us evidence to support the theory that Hyde, while still not being a completely separate split personality on his own right, does develop a certain awareness of himself and a will to act somewhat separate from Jekyll’s.
Of course, this all still falls on Jekyll’s own fault, and even if we consider Hyde as something of an alter, he’s still nothing but the scapegoat that Jekyll uses:
“The pleasures which I made haste to seek in my disguise were, as I have said, undignified; I would scarce use a harder term. But in the hands of Edward Hyde, they soon began to turn toward the monstrous. When I would come back from these excursions, I was often plunged into a kind of wonder at my vicarious depravity. This familiar that I called out of my own soul, and sent forth alone to do his good pleasure, was a being inherently malign and villainous; his every act and thought centered on self; drinking pleasure with bestial avidity from any degree of torture to another; relentless like a man of stone. Henry Jekyll stood at times aghast before the acts of Edward Hyde; but the situation was apart from ordinary laws, and insidiously relaxed the grasp of conscience. It was Hyde, after all, and Hyde alone, that was guilty. Jekyll was no worse; he woke again to his good qualities seemingly unimpaired; he would even make haste, where it was possible, to undo the evil done by Hyde. And thus his conscience slumbered.”
Something all book readers will be familiar with is that Jekyll’s narration uses “I” when writing about most of Hyde’s actions, while also mentioning both Henry Jekyll and Hyde on third person. Jekyll tries to dissociate himself from his crimes this way.
But... Whether also done by Jekyll to still reflect guilt from himself or not, the text also refers to Hyde as having a nature of his own, albeit one irreversably connected to Henry Jekyll’s own hidden desires.
“Between these two, I now felt I had to choose. My two natures had memory in common, but all other faculties were most unequally shared between them. Jekyll (who was composite) now with the most sensitive apprehensions, now with a greedy gusto, projected and shared in the pleasures and adventures of Hyde; but Hyde was indifferent to Jekyll, or but remembered him as the mountain bandit remembers the cavern in which he conceals himself from pursuit. Jekyll had more than a father’s interest; Hyde had more than a son’s indifference. To cast in my lot with Jekyll, was to die to those appetites which I had long secretly indulged and had of late begun to pamper. To cast it in with Hyde, was to die to a thousand interests and aspirations, and to become, at a blow and forever, despised and friendless. The bargain might appear unequal; but there was still another consideration in the scales; for while Jekyll would suffer smartingly in the fires of abstinence, Hyde would be not even conscious of all that he had lost. Strange as my circumstances were, the terms of this debate are as old and commonplace as man; much the same inducements and alarms cast the die for any tempted and trembling sinner; and it fell out with me, as it falls with so vast a majority of my fellows, that I chose the better part and was found wanting in the strength to keep to it.”
There’s a clear divide here, with Jekyll and Hyde having something of a different outlook on life, something that outright doesn’t make sense if we are to consider Edward Hyde as just Jekyll’s alias.
Something to note here is that the divide between the two personas is not of a moral nature, but something much more mundane and selfish: To Henry Jekyll, his social status is everything, and his main drive to keep transforming into Hyde again and again is to enjoy a life of sin without repercussions. To Hyde, said social status can go to hell for all he cares, but still keeps the ruse because his concealment is ultimately necessary for his continued existence, something that the narration will go back to later.
After this point of the book, which is when Jekyll goes to sleep and wakes up transformed on his other body the next morning, the doctor becomes scared and goes cold turkey for two months, having decided to stop being Hyde forever and return to a normal life. It doesn’t lastlonger than that: Hyde returns not because he takes control, but because Jekyll turns himself into Hyde on purpose once again, by his own free will.
“I do not suppose that, when a drunkard reasons with himself upon his vice, he is once out of five hundred times affected by the dangers that he runs through his brutish, physical insensibility; neither had I, long as I had considered my position, made enough allowance for the complete moral insensibility and insensate readiness to evil, which were the leading characters of Edward Hyde. Yet it was by these that I was punished. My devil had been long caged, he came out roaring. I was conscious, even when I took the draught, of a more unbridled, a more furious propensity to ill. It must have been this, I suppose, that stirred in my soul that tempest of impatience with which I listened to the civilities of my unhappy victim; I declare, at least, before God, no man morally sane could have been guilty of that crime upon so pitiful a provocation; and that I struck in no more reasonable spirit than that in which a sick child may break a plaything. But I had voluntarily stripped myself of all those balancing instincts by which even the worst of us continues to walk with some degree of steadiness among temptations; and in my case, to be tempted, however slightly, was to fall.“
Something fun to note here: Jekyll describes Hyde, and/or himself when he’s Hyde, as being comparable to a child. First by merely noting that Hyde’s body is younger than Jekyll’s, then by comparing him to a “son” and Jekyll as the “father”, and now comparing the murder of Danvers Carew to a child breaking a toy.
Speaking of the murder, Jekyll is 100% guilty of it: Even if Hyde was a completely different being with his own traits and goals, which he is not, Jekyll would still be responsable by virtue of willingly going through the transformation again like an idiot.
That being said, the text continues to give Hyde some semblance of personality:
“Hyde had a song upon his lips as he compounded the draught, and as he drank it, pledged the dead man. The pangs of transformation had not done tearing him, before Henry Jekyll, with streaming tears of gratitude and remorse, had fallen upon his knees and lifted his clasped hands to God. The veil of self-indulgence was rent from head to foot.“
From this point on, everything goes to hell: Henry Jekyll is relieved that now that Hyde is a wanted murderer, he now has no choice but to stay as Jekyll and leave that sinful double life of his finally behind (”Jekyll is the Good half” my ass!). But, surprise surprise! He starts to transform unwillingly, and now he needs to constantly drink the potion to stay as Jekyll.
Fun fact: Do you remember which thoughts are the ones that trigger the first unwilling transformation after the murder?
“I sat in the sun on a bench; the animal within me licking the chops of memory; the spiritual side a little drowsed, promising subsequent penitence, but not yet moved to begin. After all, I reflected, I was like my neighbours; and then I smiled, comparing myself with other men, comparing my active good-will with the lazy cruelty of their neglect. And at the very moment of that vainglorious thought, a qualm came over me, a horrid nausea and the most deadly shuddering. These passed away, and left me faint; and then as in its turn faintness subsided, I began to be aware of a change in the temper of my thoughts, a greater boldness, a contempt of danger, a solution of the bonds of obligation. I looked down; my clothes hung formlessly on my shrunken limbs; the hand that lay on my knee was corded and hairy. I was once more Edward Hyde.“
The thought that he, too, was just like any other man. Something that his Hyde half knows as a fact, but that Henry “I’m superior than all these lazy peasants around me because I’m rich... I mean, because I have active good-will” Jekyll considers undignified, and therefore, cruel or evil. O Sweet, sweet Victorian hypocresy.
And it is from here on out that the narration acknowledges Edward Hyde as being his own character somewhat, somehow, at least as part of Jekyll’s conciousness.
After the transformation and the visit to Lanyon:
“My reason wavered, but it did not fail me utterly. I have more than once observed that in my second character, my faculties seemed sharpened to a point and my spirits more tensely elastic; thus it came about that, where Jekyll perhaps might have succumbed, Hyde rose to the importance of the moment.”
“Then I remembered that of my original character, one part remained to me: I could write my own hand; and once I had conceived that kindling spark, the way that I must follow became lighted up from end to end.“
“He, I say—I cannot say, I. That child of Hell had nothing human; nothing lived in him but fear and hatred.“
“When I came to myself at Lanyon’s, the horror of my old friend perhaps affected me somewhat: I do not know; it was at least but a drop in the sea to the abhorrence with which I looked back upon these hours. A change had come over me. It was no longer the fear of the gallows, it was the horror of being Hyde that racked me.“
It’s curious how Jekyll’s narration uses “I” when looking back at Carew’s murder, and yet it is just from here on out that he’s oh so repulsed by Hyde than he uses He/Him pronouns for him.
And, most of all, when he has locked himself up:
“The powers of Hyde seemed to have grown with the sickliness of Jekyll. And certainly the hate that now divided them was equal on each side. With Jekyll, it was a thing of vital instinct. He had now seen the full deformity of that creature that shared with him some of the phenomena of consciousness, and was co-heir with him to death: and beyond these links of community, which in themselves made the most poignant part of his distress, he thought of Hyde, for all his energy of life, as of something not only hellish but inorganic. This was the shocking thing; that the slime of the pit seemed to utter cries and voices; that the amorphous dust gesticulated and sinned; that what was dead, and had no shape, should usurp the offices of life. And this again, that that insurgent horror was knit to him closer than a wife, closer than an eye; lay caged in his flesh, where he heard it mutter and felt it struggle to be born; and at every hour of weakness, and in the confidence of slumber, prevailed against him, and deposed him out of life. The hatred of Hyde for Jekyll was of a different order. His terror of the gallows drove him continually to commit temporary suicide, and return to his subordinate station of a part instead of a person; but he loathed the necessity, he loathed the despondency into which Jekyll was now fallen, and he resented the dislike with which he was himself regarded.”
And what immediately follows is my favorite part of the book:
“Hence the ape-like tricks that he would play me, scrawling in my own hand blasphemies on the pages of my books, burning the letters and destroying the portrait of my father; and indeed, had it not been for his fear of death, he would long ago have ruined himself in order to involve me in the ruin. But his love of life is wonderful; I go further: I, who sicken and freeze at the mere thought of him, when I recall the abjection and passion of this attachment, and when I know how he fears my power to cut him off by suicide, I find it in my heart to pity him.”
This petty behavior of supposedly destroying and vandalizing Jekyll’s stuff to spite him is mentioned yet again just a few sentences later,along with the following line:
“This, then, is the last time, short of a miracle, that Henry Jekyll can think his own thoughts or see his own face (now how sadly altered!) in the glass. Nor must I delay too long to bring my writing to an end; for if my narrative has hitherto escaped destruction, it has been by a combination of great prudence and great good luck. Should the throes of change take me in the act of writing it, Hyde will tear it in pieces; but if some time shall have elapsed after I have laid it by, his wonderful selfishness and circumscription to the moment will probably save it once again from the action of his ape-like spite.“
This assertion from Jekyll that, as far as he’s concerned, he will be already dead when he transforms for the last time, is what closes the book:
“And indeed the doom that is closing on us both has already changed and crushed him. Half an hour from now, when I shall again and forever reindue that hated personality, I know how I shall sit shuddering and weeping in my chair, or continue, with the most strained and fearstruck ecstasy of listening, to pace up and down this room (my last earthly refuge) and give ear to every sound of menace. Will Hyde die upon the scaffold? or will he find courage to release himself at the last moment? God knows; I am careless; this is my true hour of death, and what is to follow concerns another than myself. Here then, as I lay down the pen and proceed to seal up my confession, I bring the life of that unhappy Henry Jekyll to an end.“
If taken at face value, these lines actually paint Edward Hyde as being somewhat able to think his own thoughts and do his own actions, while still just being the childish, “ape-like” part of Henry Jekyll’s mind. Emphasis on childish, not evil, the evilness is all on Henry. Edward Hyde is still nothing but Henry Jekyll’s psychological scapegoat, and the one that Jekyll technically leaves behind to deal with the mess he himself created by “dying”.
I’m not trying to get more people to interpret the book this way nor am I saying that the ”Hyde is not real and Jekyll is a lying bitch” take is actually wrong, because it is not. I’m just pointing out the book could actually be interpreted differently by different readers, and they’d still have sentences in the book to back their interpretation on.
Now, if we could all stop hating and throwing shade on every content creator out there who “got the book wrong”, that’d be peachy.
#let people have fun. its not that hard.#the strange case of dr. jekyll and mr. hyde#edward hyde#henry jekyll#dr. jekyll and mr. hyde#literature#gothic lit#this came out longer than I thought it would be
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I transcribed and translated Pedro’s interview from GQ Germany for all of us. I tried translating as good as possible but bear with me, English is not my mother tongue. By @sixties-loser
Pedro Pascal, the star from “Game of Thrones”, “Wonder Woman” and “The Mandalorian” talks about becoming an adult, film, fashion, corona – and a painful surgery in the exclusive GQ interview.
It seems almost eerie how empty the streets of LA are in the sunshine. Meanwhile a new normality seems to be coming to Europe, most people in L.A. are still cutting their own hair. Many have not seen their friends for half a year. The pandemic is out of control. The reaction towards it too. Inviting someone into their garden for a “distance drink” can cause the same distress as suggesting to switch spouses.
Therefore, it was particularly surprising that Pedro Pascal immediately accepted. He accepted the drink, not to switch spouses. He is one of the rising stars and newcomers this year – if it wasn’t for corona sending the whole film industry into a forced vacation, there would most likely not have been time for said drink. After having his skull crushed in “Game of Thrones” followed the lead role as a DEA agent hunting Pablo Escobar in “Narcos” in 2015 and now he is stepping towards big Hollywood films. From the 1st of October onwards the Chilean-born actor will be starring in the blockbuster “Wonder Woman 1984”. Moreover, the second season of the “Star Wars”-series “The Mandalorian” on Disney+ starring him as the lead is going to air in October this year – but he will be underneath a helmet. Well, we all are under a helmet in 2020 in one way or another. We want to meet the man who a few years ago still worked as a waiter in New York, whose parents were political refugees who found asylum in Denmark and settled in Texas and whose son one day signed up for a theatre group in High School.
Then, the cancellation! While we were in the middle of fixing up the house and the garden for the drink with Pedro and organizing the fashion shoot, which was not easy considering the safety measures in L.A., his management called with an unfortunate message: Pedro – no, not sick with corona – had to get emergency surgery because of a damaged tooth and was lying in bed with a swollen face that was hindering him from speaking and taking pictures. The sun is shining onto empty streets. And our empty garden.
A few days later he nonetheless arrived at our front door without a swollen face but still with threads in his mouth. He was not chauffeured by a limo-service but he came with his own car – he even picked up his make-up artist. He is helping her carrying all of her utensils into the house and declares: “I’ve got time today!”. What a celebrity! It seemed like we did not want to ask him how he made it to the A-List of Hollywood but he wanted to ask us how we made it to the A-list. Pedro Pascal! Yes, what kind of a celebrity?
Pedro Pascal: Sorry for messing with your plans. The surgery was an emergency.
GQ: Really? We were wondering whether the swelling wasn’t the product of a secret visit to the plastic-surgeon. Apparently, they are drowning in work because of the quarantine in Hollywood.
PP: I have to disappoint you. A few days before our appointment I was rushing to the hospital with a fractured tooth and the worst pain in my entire life – a hospital in which treats people with severe cases of corona. I was unable to reach any dentist! Right in front of the parking lot a specialist called me back. The pain was hell despite the ten injections I got. The doctor said I was not an exception because a lot of people are grinding their teeth because of all the stress.
GQ: What are you most afraid of at the moment?
PP: How the government is handling the pandemic is worrying me more than the virus itself. This shortage of intelligent management of the crisis is a moral shame. The leadership crisis in this country is turning us all into orphans – destitute and abandoned.
GQ: How did you spend your time over the last few months?
PP: I spent it with frozen pizza and sweatpants in Venice Beach. I live in a rear house that’s in a family’s garden. Actually, there are a lot of good takeout places nearby but for some reason I just love pepperoni pizza from the supermarket.
GQ: That does not really sound like movie star-lifestyle. What does it feel like being suddenly stopped from top speed to zero?
PP: Regarding what is going on around the world one should hold back one’s own mental turmoil. I would be lying if I was saying that I am not disappointed. The whole team put a lot of heart and work into the production of “Wonder Woman 1984”. We had a lot of fun on set. I wished to travel around the world and introduce the film with the same lively energy.
GQ: You come from a politically engaged, socialist family that fled from the Pinochet-regime in Chile. What do you remember from that time?
PP: My sister and I were born in Chile but I was only nine months old when we first found asylum in Denmark. From there we quickly came to San Antonio in Texas where my dad started working as a doctor at the university clinic.
GQ: Texas is not known as a socialist utopia. How did you assimilate?
PP: San Antonio is not a Cowboy-town but very diverse with big Asian, black and Latino communities. I remember it as a romantic place, culturally open. The culture shock only came as we later moved to range county in California. There the atmosphere was suddenly white, preppy and conservative.
GQ: How were you received in California?
PP: I’m still ashamed of the fact that I did not correct my classmates when they kept on calling me Peter. I am Pedro. Even if I didn’t grow up in Chile the country and the language are still a part of me. I was very unhappy in that environment. However, I was fortunately able to go to another school close to Long Beach where I felt more comfortable. Through the theater group at that school I found my way.
GQ: Were you able to visit Chile as a child?
PP: Yes, when my parents made it to the list of expatriates that were able to travel to Chile without consequences. First, there was a big family reunion and then my sister and I stayed there for a few months with relatives while my parents went back to Texas. They likely needed a break from us. They got us when they were very young, had a buzzing social life and my mother was obtaining a PhD in psychology.
GQ: Was your mother a typical young psychologist who wanted to apply her theoretical knowledge at home?
PP: You mean, whether I was her guinea pig? For sure! I remember strange tests and sittings that were disguised as games where someone was watching me react to different toys. I cannot have been older than six but I was already aware of the dynamic. My favourite thing was being questioned about my dreams. That was a wonderful opportunity to come up with fantastic stories.
GQ: Was that your first performance?
PP: Of course! My mother worried about my strong imagination because I was living in my own fantasy world rather than reality. I hated going to school. I was always categorized as the troublemaker. At one point, the topics at school became more interesting and my grades also went up. There are so many kids that are unnecessarily diagnosed with learning disabilities without considering that school can be abhorrent. Why is it so accepted to be bored in class when there are so many stimulating ways to convey knowledge?
GQ: Considering al that has happened this summer around the world: Do you believe that we can seriously demand social change now?
PP: I Hope so. After lockdown, the first time I went out was to protest for “Black Lives Matter” on the streets. The energy was peaceful and hopeful until the police provoked severe conflicts. Nevertheless, we cannot run from problems like we used to this time and we cannot distract ourselves from them either. It seems like the pressure of the pandemic led to a new clarity: We cannot go on this way.
GQ: The “Wonder Woman 1984” Trailer revives the optimism of the 1980’s. From today’s point of view, it seems almost nostalgic.
PP: That’s right. You really are happy for two hours. The director Patty Jenkins created a film full of positive messages. We shot in Washington D.C., then in London and Spain – this sounds like I am talking of a past time.
GQ: Do you miss traveling?
PP: I’m just now realizing the privilege of just packing up one’s stuff and being able to fly anywhere. An American passport used to guarantee unlimited travel. And that’s why it the small radius of our lives is actually unimaginable. Over the last years I often retreated for a break after shootings because I was constantly on the move and overstimulated. My friends were already complaining I had become too comfortable. We all took social contact for granted and are only realizing now how dependent we actually are on human contact. Over the last weeks I often longingly thought about all the parties and dinner invitations I declined.
GQ: In L.A. people spend more time at home or nature than in other metropolises that are more geared towards public life. Could this city become your second home after New York?
PP: My Real Home are my friends. I have been a nomad since I was little and I do not have a place where I have put down roots. Up until not long ago my physical home was a place in between departure and arrival. Therefore, it was something I did not want to complicate through the accumulation of stuff. On the contrary: Without having read Marie Kondo’s book I have freed myself from excess baggage over the last few years and I lived relatively minimally.
GQ: Is there nothing you collect or something you just can’t throw away?
PP: Books! I even still have the literature I read when I was a teenager and when I was in college. Recently, I stumbled upon a box full of old theatre manuscripts and materials from my time at the New York University. I also cannot part from art easily, just like I cannot part from lamps or old photos. On the other hand, I can easily get rid of furniture and clothes.
GQ: Do you remember roles that were really only completely defined through the costume?
PP: Yes, I am particularly thinking about “Game of Thrones”. At that time I understood for the first time what it meant to be supported by a look. This is thanks to the costume designer Michele Clapton. She created very feminine robes and brocade coats for my character that nevertheless looked masculine when worn and I felt very sexy in them. Of course, Lindy Hemmings power-suits and Jan Swells bleached hairstyle for the tycoon-villain in “Wonder Woman 1984” were very important as well. At first I did not really see myself in the role because the cuts and colors of the 80s do not really fit my body. I’m more the 70s type.
GQ: Do you incorporate those inspirations into your personal wardrobe?
PP: In my free time I choose comfort over a cool look these days. Sometimes I miss the times when I expressed myself through a certain style. It is hard to imagine that I went to Raves as a teenage in the 90s; I was a real club kid with ridiculous outfits: overalls, balloon pants, football shirts and a top hat, like in Dr.Seuss’s “Cat in a Hat”. Later in New York I was hanging out with a group of people that felt it was very important to have a certain style. The fact that I am basically only wearing sweatpants everyday is actually tragic.
GQ: whoever plays roles in comic book adaptations becomes a bodybuilder and eats ten chicken breasts a day. You don’t?
PP:My body would not agree with that. It is hard enough to stay in shape normally. When you’re in your mid-forties you have to live with a lot more discipline. Up until before my tooth-incident I worked out with a trainer in my garden multiple times a week to keep the quarantine body in check.
GQ: Apart from the personal trainer, are you in a steady relationship?
PP: I am not ready for that yet. Maybe at some point I will be but until then I’ll let it be. I can’t even offer you absurd corona dating stories.
GQ: What would annoy you the most if you were your own roommate?
PP: I can be quite controlling. I have to conjure all my humanity to prevent myself from going through my entire film collection. When I don’t want something I cannot keep it to myself or be passive-aggressive, I always have to take it to the frontlines. Other than that, I tend to have tunnel view: when I am not feeling well I cannot imagine to ever feel better again. I have trouble relativizing my emotions or to wave off problems. Method-acting would really not be for me. This is why I try to only work on projects that feel good, where there is mutual support and encouragement.
GQ: When we were trying on the clothes earlier you spoke of a lack of self-confidence. How does that get along with a career like yours?
PP: Isn’t it interesting how these characteristics and circumstamces relate? Self-worth comes from inside but it is also influenced by what society values because we often internalise the public gaze. I have lived in New York for 20 years, I studied there and made a living by working as a waiter until my mid-thirties because the theatre and film jobs I got did not pay the bills. There were so many times I was almost there. The disappointment of having missed the perfect role or opportunity by a hair’s width can be crushing. When should you give up and what is plan B? That is a question that is not only on many actors‘s minds but also on many others minds who struggle for a living – no matter how much potential they have or how close they seem to be to the top. We are seeing now how our narrow definition of success destroys society. At the same time, we are realizing that where we come from and the color of our skin still decide whether we can exist with dignity.
GQ: What are the positive aspects of a relatively late success as leading-man?
PP: I feel like I can decide over my own life without the pressure of having to accept projects or to have to present a certain identity on social media. This is for sure also because I am a man. Regardless of age, Women have to try harder to stand out.
GQ: Life always consists of risk management – now more than usual. For what would you risk losing something?
PP: Generally, when you never risk something you might never get ahead. That is for friendship, love, work and creativity. I have to be ready to take risks for the things that really matter to you.
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Peter Parker - Fluff Alphabet
This was requested by so, so many people I lost count. After the last Tom Holland Fluff alphabet, you all wanted one about Peter, so here it is! I hope you like it, it’s been quite hard to do.
Affection (PDA, how they are in private…)
Peter isn’t too shy, neither a fan of PDA. At the beginning, he’s hesitant in what boundaries you have and what do you feel comfortable with, so he would let you start any kind of physical contact like taking hands or hugging in public.
He loves brushing his fingers against yours, not really touching but playing this game of who will give up first and take the others hand. If you’re on a date or just walking around, sometimes he just grabs it to pull you closer to him or farther from the driveway, and keeps them that way. He isn’t a huge fan of wrapping his arm around your shoulders, mainly because he isn’t that tall and it’s uncomfortable. Your waist feels too possessive to him, so he is happy with taking your hand.
In private, Peter has conflicted feelings. While in public he always enjoys having you around, because it gives him a sense of comfort, sometimes in private he needs his own space. Maybe that day you’re wearing too much perfume, or your sweater is too itchy on the outside. His senses dial up to eleven some days, and you know to give him his space.
You sit each other on one side of the bed, Peter with his earphones and his eyes closed. You entertain yourself with homework or some show until Peter feels better, trying to do as little noise as you can. Then, when he feels good enough, he’ll crawl closer until laying his head on your lap and burying his face on your stomach, hugging you close. You’ll run your fingers through his hair and, usually, he falls asleep for a while.
Baby (do they want a family?)
On the contrary of popular belief, Peter is mostly against having a family. He knows being Spiderman is hard, and from the relationship he had created with Tony knows that Pepper is constantly in danger.
The part that he hates the most about himself is the one he loves too; being Spiderman. If by any chance it puts you in danger, he will beat himself at night because of it, and will even try to break up with you for your own good.
So, when kids are on the table, he thinks he has his answer pretty clear. He loves you more than anything though, and if you ever bring up the conversation, he would present his hesitation about children as just an opinion, not something definitive. Peter is all about getting settled with you, and he’s not sure if once he has his life sorted out things won’t look different, so as a definitive answer, Peter isn’t sure about kids.
But family is not only about kids, right? Peter Parker likes to imagine himself with you for the long run, in a small but cozy apartment with maybe a cat and a big window to watch sunset together. When he talks about it with you, his eyes light up and his hands move around to motion his excitement.
He guesses he would like any kind of family, as long as you’re with him.
Cuddles (how and when)
Peter is really shy at the beginning, because he’s not sure you want to cuddle as much as he does. He’s kind of touch starved, and not by any means is May’s fault. She hugs him as much as he can – but she works a lot and for a long time, so sometimes he gets lonely and needs physical contact.
You notice how much he loves cuddles when he’s hugging you and rubs his nose in the crook of your neck, wrapping his arms around you for a long time. Or when he doesn’t hesitate to tangle around you when you’re standing close. Then, one day you’re making homework together and he’s so sleepy that he can barely hold his own head up. You’re both sitting on your bed, your back to the wall and him in front of you. When you notice his eyes dropping, you propose laying for a bit. And Peter doesn’t have self-control when he’s tired, so he just lays his head on your chest and snuggle you.
Since then, cuddles is a must do. Lazy make out sessions are his favourite part of you, when you’re just laying on him, lips locked together, and his arms around your waist. His favourite position is when he’s tired from patrolling or life in general and he lays on top with you, face hidden on your neck and one of his legs trapping yours.
Dates (what are dates with him like?)
Dates with Peter aren’t ‘couple dates’, as much as you try. He wants to make it romantic for you, to take you to fancy restaurants or strolls around the parks. But for such a smart boy, he’s sure clueless when it comes to date planning. It’s up to you to plan some cute, romantic dates, because the one he chooses are the chaotic.
One time, he took you to Central Park to eat ice cream, watch people fall with their skateboards and feed the ducks. He chose his cleanest white shirt and some trousers, wanting to impress you but also be comfortable. It went well, for the most part – until one of the ducks got too sassy with him and he decided to chase him away, which only got another ten ducks chasing him around the park. His shirt got ripped from one sleeve and one of the ducks actually rammed its beak on his forehead, which ended in you sitting with him in the hospital waiting room as May laughed from afar.
That’s why he lets you do all the planning, and won’t complain with anything. He loves to try new things – like couple workshop or a new sport. As long as you’re together and there aren’t any ducks around, he’s happy.
Entertainment (how do you spend your free time)
Memes.
There is no other way to describe how you spend your free time, because that’s the only thing you do. Besides doing what any teenager does – homework, endless time of phone and hanging around with his friends – Peter and you spend a lot of time watching shows and films that are interesting for, as Tony would have said, the pop culture.
Peter likes to listen to music while playing board games, and that turned out to be a game of your own. You put a random track on your phone and, just saying the decade of the song and letting him hear the first seconds, he has to guess. You’ll try to beat each other records all the time.
You’re used to doing your homework together. Actually, you have a schedule for it. After leaving high-school, you go to one of your apartments to do your homework or just make out in bed lazily while forgetting about last day assignments. If you’re hooked up to some show, you’ll see a few chapters and then, he’ll walk you home or walk around your apartment for a while, to clear your heads.
It’s not hard to entertain yourselves because Peter is always trying his best to make you happy.
Feelings (when did they know they loved you?) + Love (who says it first, how many times) + Romantic (little details or non-verbal ways of saying I love you)
Peter being Peter, he probably knew from the first moment he met you. He’s a boy who feels too much and too quickly, so he was sure he was in love with him as soon as the first word left your mouth. That didn’t mean he said it out loud, but he could always show you.
It started by simple things, like he waiting for you at the end of the day to walk you to your house, then walking back to his. His apartment was on the other side of Queens, but still he refused to let you walk alone and not hear of how your day had been. On your way, he makes sure you walk on the farther spot from the driveway and lets you talk about whatever you want to.
Peter is not the type of boyfriend who gets mad easily, but as everyone else, there are sometimes where misunderstanding happens and you argue. His only real rule about your relationship is that he won’t go to sleep until you’ve solved everything, even if it means walking to your apartment when you argue at night. He doesn’t have any problems apologising, so usually your arguments aren’t long.
Another little thing he does is to give you flowers every now and then. May raised no granted-idiot, so he’s always making sure you feel appreciated. Once in a month, on Ben’s anniversary, he’ll pick a rose from the flower shop and give it to you or leave it in your locket, with a cute note or just a heart.
So, when did Peter know he loved you? He hasn’t always been good with admitting things, but from the moment he looked into your eyes, he knew he had fallen for you.
Gentle (kind or rough)
So this is about to get a bit sexual, just a fair warning.
Peter Parker is the definition of kind and gentle, always making sure he’s holding back with you and treating you as if you were made of gold. He wouldn’t, by any means, try anything rough with you in bed, because he isn’t sure how good he can measure himself in bed.
But
But
He might not want to try it with you, but with him it’s a different story. It’s hard for him to say it out loud at first, because he has always heard that men are supposed to be the dominant ones and take control in bed. Besides, he’s a superhero; so he thought it would just be wrong to be a sub, because that’s what society tells him.
You learn it one day when you’re making out in the couch and, by pure chance, you grab the back of his hair – which you had been talking about before that was a bit too long – and pull it so that he get his face out of your neck and you can meet his lips again. The sound that leaves Peter’s lips shouldn’t be qualified as human, more like divine.
Since then, Peter is more open about it with you. He likes when you’re kind of rough with him, like straddling his hips and pinning his hands, or grabbing his hair when he’s eating you out. He feels like it’s from having so many responsibilities all the time; Spiderman, the avengers, the patrolling and living with just his aunt. That, sometimes, it’s fine to let someone carry the weight of the things.
But truth is Peter Parker is totally a sub. Thanks for coming to my ted talk.
Holidays (favourite place)
Peter doesn’t have much money to go on expensive holidays, but he’s a simple guy when it comes to destinations. To him, wherever you can be together is fine; but if he can choose, he’s a montain type of person.
A cabin in the woods, a walk hearing the animals, or just laying in the middle of nowhere looking at the stars. The beach is great, but most of the times it means overcrowding and too much heat. Peter doesn’t do well with neither of those things, because he overwhelms easily and doesn’t like too much the heat. The mountain holidays are quiet and not too hot, and with the possibility of using a river or a pond.
That’s where his favourite part is. Your first holidays together were to a snowed mountain, where you spent a whole week. You skied together, made some snowmen, and drank hot chocolate. One day, you decided to explore on your own and discovered some thermal waters in a private property. After looking around for a bit, you discovered the place was empty and – for the first time in his life, he swears – you jumped over the fence and decided to try the thermal waters.
Since you were in the snow, you didn’t have any swimsuit with you, and when Peter realized he was ready to walk back to the hotel; but then, he looked behind him and saw you strapping off your bra, and he flew out of his clothes. You stayed there until your fingers wrinkled, your back against his chest and his arms around you. The memory was so good that he always forgot the part when the owner of the place appeared and you had to grab your clothes and run naked through the snow.
From that moment, Peter likes to make sure that wherever you’re going has close some safe river or pond to spend a few good hours relaxing there.
Impression (first impression)
Short imagine ahead!
Peter shifted, once more, in his seat. The coffee shop he had chosen to finish his essay was the less crowded in queens, and he knew well enough because it was the sixth coffee shop he tried that afternoon. The place, decorated as if you were in the fifties, wasn’t too big, just ten desks around the counter, which was in the middle of the room. When he had entered, he had thought the best place to concentrate was the corner of the coffee shop, just besides the window and behind the wall, so that no one would disturb him.
He had been working just fine, happy with his decision and with the result of his work; until, of course, he had finally looked away from the 10 pages essay to the lower bar on the screen, and discovered that he could barely see the white bar of the battery. He had blinked, trying to see where it had gone, and when he looked at the clock, he kind of understood.
For more than two hours, he had been camping there, with his creamed coffee and two brownie cookies. As much as he had carefully picked up the place, he hadn’t picked up a seat with a socket. That left him with short two minutes to find one before the computer shut down completely.
Panic rose to his throat when he discovered the coffee shop wasn’t empty anymore, but quite full. Peter emitted a small whine and gripped the end of his plug harder, trying to find a solution to his problem.
So, when he saw one, he didn’t stop to think; just grabbed his bag and ran towards the desk by the other window, where a socket peeked out. He almost crashed against a waitress and stumbled over a desk, and when he finally reached his destination, he was sure everyone was staring at him.
2%
Peter all but threw himself to the ground, only being careful of leaving the computer on a steady surface before crawling under the desk and plugging in. He gave it a few tries until it finally clicked, and he heard the comforting noise of his computer charging.
“Uh, that was close”
The voice above him emitted a small chuckle that reminded Peter that he had sprinted across the coffee shop and that was sprawled in the floor, under a table which was occupied. He wondered if staying there forever, or until the stranger left, would only add to his embarrassment. Peter could already feel his cheeks heating up and a lump on his throat that mean stuttering. Gathering every inch of confidence Peter Parker ever held, he got on his knees and crawled back.
“Yeah, I was doing my last Spanish assignment, and I would have lost the whole thing if the computer shut down” Peter explained as he finally got on his knees. “Sorry for –“
The confidence left as a pile of dust in the wind when he finally saw who was sitting on the desk and where his computer had landed. You were already looking up at him with a small, shy smile, while holding his computer hands and trying not to let it touch your lap, which was covered in whatever was in the now turned over cup on the desk.
“I hope you get a good grade” you said when Peter maintained quiet.
Normally, Peter didn’t do good when a girl was in front of him, unless that girl was MJ or May. Even worse if that girl was cute and had a beautiful smile, that was making Peter’s stomach jump in circles and to his throat. If you add that to having thrown her cup on her lap, and having crawled under her table like a possessed demon, it meant that Peter was no longer a working human being but a ball of anxiety and awkwardness.
“I’m so sorry” Peter rushed suddenly, reaching for the box of napkins on the desk. “I’m so – damn, I didn’t look where I was throwing the computer. I thought – I thought there wasn’t, you know, anything there. This is –“
You barely had time to prop up the computer before Peter was shoving the napkins on your lap, bending down between apologies, and pressing them against the wet patch on your lap. It was hard to interrupt him when he looked at the verge of tears, so you decided to save him from a little embarrassment and said nothing as you held up his computer and he attempted to dry your pants.
Eventually, he decided to follow the wet path with the back lack of pressing his open palm to your right breast. You swore he almost stopped breathing, just looking at you with the most panicked eyes you had ever seen. Instead of throwing him off or screaming at him for being a perv, you just chuckled again.
“I’m Y/N”
Jealous (protective or overprotective)
Peter being Spiderman is protective of you, of course. He’s always worried about something happening because he hasn’t been careful enough into keeping his identity hidden. He makes sure to separate as much as he can his alter ego and you, not wanting you to be involved with anything he has to deal with.
But that’s not the kind of protectiveness we’re talking about.
On the contrary of what people think, Peter Parker is a bit jealous. He tries not to let it show, but he’s like an opening book. If someone gets too close to you, and he sees that they’re just a bit too nice, the pout appears on his mouth. He stares from afar with his arms crossed and furrowing his eyebrows, not doing anything. But no matter how many times he promises himself that you know how to handle things and that you love him; eventually, he just gravitates.
He appears by your side eventually, as if he was a magnet. He doesn’t touch you or say anything, just stands by you looking miserable. If anything, the only thing he manages to you is to grab the end of you tee or the hem of your trousers, listening to the stranger talk.
If they get too aggressive or it’s obvious that you’re not comfortable, he doesn’t have any problem is stepping in and walk away with you, giving glares to who he left behind. If not, Peter will just stay glued to you until they left. And then clingy Peter is awaiting with a whole lot of cuddles and kisses.
Kisses
Like, lot of cute kisses in the nose and small pecks when you’re together just SO CUTE CAN YOU IMAGINE
Love (who says it first, how many times)
Look into Feelings
Memory (favourite memory together)
Peter groaned deeply as the annoying sound of the alarm filled the peaceful silence of the morning. He had been awake for a while, just laying with his eyes closed and enjoying the only time of the day his senses were asleep. That was why, when he reached for the alarm clock, his finger didn’t made contact with the hard surface, but with soft skin.
He opened his eyes, startled for a moment, to be met with your scrunching face. You said something in your sleep and battled his hand away, turning your head towards him and relaxing your face again.
Memories of last night, when you had stayed over for the first time ever and he had, finally, taken the step, took over him. He made sure it hadn’t been all a dream by lifting the covers and looking at his naked body. A smug smile broke into his face and he had to press his hand against his mouth not to giggle out loud.
After almost a year of dating, he had gathered the courage to ask you to spend the night with him. May was out of town and you had been studying until late; with the excuse of being Friday, he had asked you to stay. And one thing had led to another, and now he was waking up with you by his side.
It felt as if his heart was finally mending itself, all the hurt he had received through the years disappearing, making room for the utter and pure love he felt for your sleeping form beside him.
“Stop staring” you muttered, and opened one eye. “It’s creepy”
“Oh” Peter felt his cheeks reddening. “Oh, I didn’t – I’m sorry, uh, I just… I’m sorry, I –“
“I was joking” you chuckled, and turned on your side so you were facing him. You smiled lazily, and he hesitantly returned it. “Mh”
“W-what?”
His insecurities rose up when you just stared at him, not saying anything. Even if you had assured him last night multiple times you wanted it too, he had a hard time believing it was really happening to him; so he was ready for rejection.
“Didn’t think someone could be so handsome in the morning” you said, already drifting off sleep again. You missed how Peter chocked on air and his eyes widened until they almost fell out of its pockets. But you weren’t finished. “Didn’ think I could love someone as much as I l’uv you”
You words were slurred and not even a second later you were asleep again, the morning sun that was seeping through the window not bothering you. Peter actually had to remind himself to breath. All the guilt he had felt for forgetting to turn off the daily alarm last night dissolved when he thought what he got in return. Without thinking much, he bent down and pressed his lips against your forehead.
Peter laid back and closed his eyes too, pulling you close with a smile on his face that wouldn’t go away soon.
NO (something they won’t do in your relationship)
There are the typical things we all know Peter Parker wouldn’t do in a relationship, because he’s a gentleman and a sweetheart. Wouldn’t do anything he thought you wouldn’t like, wouldn’t force you into doing anything he likes, or wouldn’t ever make you stay with him if you were uncomfortable with his identity.
But if there’s something he refuse to do, is to go to your apartment after Spiderman. Even though you understand you’re not equipped to take care of him if he’s hurt, as much as Tony is, there are times when patrol goes smoothly and still he doesn’t end in your apartment.
You face him a few times and the answer is always the same; that he left his backpack on alley that was too far from your home, that he was hurt and needed Tony to help him, or simply that he wanted to check the suit in the Stark Tower. The truth is, Peter is afraid of leading some bad guys to your place; and even when you live together, he makes sure to change in an alley on the other side of town and enter in a different building, in case he’s being followed.
It started when May’s apartment was broken into a few years ago, when neither of them were there. Someone destroyed almost all of their things and moved all the furniture, not stealing anything. Peter had been thankful that he had carried his suit on his backpack, but he still knew why it had happened. May knew it too, so she decided to let Tony take care of the security.
From then, he’s afraid that something bad will happen to you if Spiderman’s is seen in your block. He goes through great lengths to avoid it, and if it means keeping you safe, he’ll walk a few hours more.
Orange (favourite colour and why)
It’s quite obvious, but Peter has three favourite colours. Red and blue are the ones people think about when they ask him this question. But his other favourite colour, less known, is gold.
It reminds him of the day he was saved by Iron Man when he was a kid, how everything he saw was a flash of red and gold who praised him and left. Since then, he had had an obsession with shiny things, and when Tony gave him the new iron spider suit, he swore he could faint.
Gold is also the colour Queens has when the sun is going down, when he’s sitting in the tallest rooftop, watching the view above. It reminds him of happy places, where the world was safe and the only thing Spiderman was needs for was to walk old ladies across the street and rescue lost cats.
There is one special memory that he loves about this colour. When he came back from the snap, he felt like he wasn’t himself. He didn’t sleep, he couldn’t keep up with school and he was reckless when it came to patrolling. Tony’s death haunted him every step he took, so he turned away from everyone and everything.
After a heated argument with you, when you ambushed him in his apartment since he had been avoiding you for two weeks, you decided to take a break. He hadn’t expected it – and it left him crushed; but he didn’t do anything to solve it. For a few days, it was like that, until a patrol gone wrong put him into a hospital bed. He woke up with May, Pepper, Happy, Ned and you watching over him worriedly; so he broke. Peter told you everything he had felt since the snap, how he felt misplaced in a world that had gone without him – even though you were snapped too – and how he couldn’t sleep because he was afraid of the dark.
That night, he was released from the hospital, he went to his bedroom, ready for another sleepless night, when he found a box on the bed.
I’m sorry for not asking you how you were doing sooner. Call me when you’re ready to talk. Luv u.
Peter opened it with wet eyes and discovered a small, star-shaped night light that emitted a low gold glow when it was turned on. Peter didn’t make the same mistake twice – and when he recovered from the emotional tears, he called you and invited you over.
Since then, the gold light was resting on his nightstand, reminding him that no matter how dark the day was, you were there always.
Parents (how is their relationship with your parents)
At the beginning, is bad. Even though Peter tries his best to impress your parents, everything that can go wrong in the first meeting happens.
Your parents were waiting for you in your porch when Peter and you appeared in the driveway in his car. He had refused to take one of Tony’s care, wanting to show your parents how he was able to provide for himself; and it lead to a disaster. The boy was nervous enough to care about his strength, so when he stumbled to your door to open it for you, he ripped it off its hinges. Peter held the piece of metal for a few agonising seconds until your father asked if you had really travelled in that car. Peter tried to explain how it hadn’t been dangerous, with the door in his hand until you put a hand on his shoulder, and gave him a soft smile.
Once inside, Peter stuttered, sweat, and rambled during lunch, almost blurting out every secret he had. He threw his fork two times because of how bad his hands shook and called your mother ‘sir’ when he thanked her for the food. She ended up thinking he was adorable and chuckled, but your father was a different story.
It took him a few years to finally accept Peter, who every time he saw your father paled and searched for your hand.
Quirks (worst habit they have)
It doesn’t matter how many times you, May, Tony or even Ned tell him, Peter is unable to quit and you’re sure he doesn’t even try anymore.
You noticed for the first time when you were laying on his right, cuddling him as he tried to study. In an attempt to distract him, you grabbed his hand and started playing with him, and discovered that the skin around his fingers was raw. He tried to brush it off saying that it wasn’t that bad, but from that moment on you notice how Peter has too often one of his hands on his mouth, munching on his fingers as if they were a gum.
He does it because he’s always nervous, and because he used to do it with his lips and ended up with some serious problems. You try to stop him as much as you can, but he always manages to sneak a few seconds from your gaze and you catch him biting his thumb while looking into the nothing.
Romantic (little details or non-verbal ways of saying I love you)
Look into Feelings
Sad (how does he cheer you up)
Peter hurts with you. You remember how he told Tony that if May panics he freaks out too? Well, it’s the same.
Highschool can be stressing sometimes, and everyone breaks down because of it eventually. So when Peter opens the door of his apartment one day to you looking miserable, his day crumbles too. He looks at your wet eyes and the only thing he can think of is trying to get you not to cry, by repeating ‘please don’t, please don’t cry’ while tearing up himself. You end up breaking down on the door of his apartment and Peter hugs you without closing it, making some of the neighbours peek out of their own.
When you’re upset, he will cancel anything he has planned, even lab sessions with Iron Man. It’s not like he’ll just drop everything for you – but that’s exactly how it is.
About cheering you up, Peter tries his best to make you happy again with whatever you like, from watching a movie covered in blankets in the couch or dressing up and walking around the city.
Trickster (jokes, pranks…)
Pranks are not his style, because he always feels too bad about them after. Sometimes, he’ll pull a little one on you after overthinking for too long if you would be upset for it. Jokes, however, are a different story.
With just looking at him for more than two seconds, you already know Peter Parker is a dork. He wears t-shirts with science puns and tells the worst jokes on the world. He’ll be sitting in the canteen with Ned, MJ and you and he’ll just blurt something like ‘you know, I might make some horrible science puns, but only periodically’. There is a rank of Peter’s worst science puns that you’re doing with Ned, trying to figure out how long will it go until he stop.
Underestimated (what surprised him the most about you?)
- honestly, I can’t write about this because Peter Parker thinks you have put the sun on the sky and adores you for everything you do, no matter how small it is -
Vaunt (how much do they show you off?)
Too much, but no one can be angry at him, because he does it without noticing. It’s not the typical ‘hey look, that’s my girl and she’s the most beautiful one’. More like ‘I did a test today and Y/N smashed it’.
May had endured enough dinners with him to know he was whipped since the moment he crawled under your desk that day in the coffee shop. Even though he thought he would die while telling her, he spent a good hour describing every little detail of your face and admiring how nice and cool you were. Since always, Peter Parker has rambled his way out of conversations, so he keeps doing it; but just with you.
He could be talking about how he saw a shell at the beach and gave it to you for hours, explaining why and how. If you’re into some club – sports, robotics, decathlon – Peter will be always the first one to be there, on the first row with a bright smile and hands on his lap. Your classmates always tease you because he looks like a excited puppy watching his owner.
If there was a peak of Peter showing you off, was the day of homecoming. It didn’t matter if you wore a fancy dress or some plain pants; he’s shaking with excitement the whole way there, barely keeping his eyes off you. And when you’re in line for the photo, you bet he did the iconic Will Smith pose with his wife, opening his arms and just pointing at you, as if you were the most shinny star in the sky.
Wedding (do they want one and how they want it)
Peter’s decision to marry you wasn’t something planned, as mostly everything that happens on his life. Of course, he knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you and that he loved you no matter what, but a wedding was something… not important for him.
That’s until you’re close to finishing college and Peter is hit by the idea of marrying you. Probably, it’s May who puts the idea there, after talking to him about it for ages; but he had always been good at ignoring her. Until you’re sitting on your shared apartment’s couch trying to find something appropriate to wear for your graduation. Peter still has another year in college, since the degree he’s in is a bit longer than yours, so he’s just sitting cross legged and looking at the options you’re showing him.
As much as it pains him, you don’t have enough money to afford a expensive dress, neither you want the help of Pepper Potts, who have threatened to leave an envelop with the money on your mailbox. That’s why you are looking in some second-hand online shop for something cute; and that’s why you see the weeding dress. There are a lot of clothes there, from pyjamas to some erotic underwear, but Peter only has eyes for the dress.
You click on it as a joke, telling him that if you find nothing you wouldn’t mind wearing it. From that moment, Peter can only imagine you wearing that dress and walking down the aisle, with a bouquet of flowers and probably sneakers. He can’t count how many nights he spent looking at the ceiling with a goofy smile on his face, imagining how all of it would be.
So, on the day of your graduation, without any more plans than just the ring on his left pocket, he bent down and popped the question, forgetting to give you the ring until a few hours later.
XX (something you’re the only one to know)
It hurts him to no end that you know it, but there is nothing he can do. You know about his weakness, about his nightmares and about how he can’t sleep when all the lights are out. You knew about his secret the first, about the real version of his trip to Germany and about everything he did on patrols. He had never kept secrets from you; except one, that got discovered on fateful day.
Peter, at your persistence, was teaching you how to put up a computer in his room, guiding you through the steps and not interfering unless it was necessary. He had been sitting on his bed while you were occupying the desk, casually scrolling through his phone while you worked.
It came one point when you needed a part that was on the other side of the room, and since you were holding the thing together, you couldn’t move. You asked Peter to bring it to you and he got up, not missing a beat. What he didn’t expect was the horrendous monster that was resting on it.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise – those things came from the trash, and in there animals were very common. But when Peter faced the spider, he was surprised. So surprised, that he screamed and jumped away, sticking itself to the ceiling in a second.
You turned around in time to see how the poor thing, scared by Peter’s noise, had crawled away. With the back luck to find the wall and deciding to move upwards. You almost laughed when Peter stumbled to the ground in his way away from the spider.
For a week, you kept reminding him how he didn’t hesitate in crawling out the window and leaving you there to kill the spider, finding him thirty minutes later on the top of the building. And he hates it, so much, that you know that Spiderman is afraid of spiders.
You (they talk about you)
Peter was sitting on the familiar grass like every Saturday of every month, his arms wrapped around his knees and a bouquet of flowers on his right. The chilly air of October made him look at the clock once more. Even though it was getting late, Peter looked back to the front and smiled again, returning his line of speech.
“Y/N is, uh – she is, everything you told me. When you talked about Mss Pott, you had this special look in your eyes, and I guess I have the same. You told me that… after Liz and I broke up, you told me that there was someone there for me. I think – Mr Stark, I know she’s the one. She has this – this laugh, it’s so, so beautiful. The best sound I’ve ever heard! She’s just, beautiful, and she’s with me, which is quite amazing. And, she isn’t freaked out by, you know, the whole spider thing – honestly, I think she would support me even if I quit, you know”
He stopped himself and wondered, once more, if the man in front of him would be disappointed with what he was about to say; but only found Mr Stark kind eyes and encouraging smile, and he knew he was taking the right decision.
“I’m thinking about quitting. For a while. I mean, Spiderman would still save the neighbours, you know? But just – sometimes. When needed, not on daily patrols” Peter explained, noticing how there was a familiar, circular weight on his pocket. “I’m gonna ask her to marry me. I know I said I didn’t want family, that we’re too young. But – we’re finishing college, and I don’t want to imagine a world where she’s not besides me… So, tonight, I have everything planned. I hope it goes better than the plan in Europe”
Peter knew his plans didn’t always go like planned. He had thought about it multiple times, and still he had his doubts if it was the right moment, or the right decision. The wind picked up in the lonely cemetery and Peter smiled, feeling as if Tony was really there with him.
“May says Ben would be proud of me, and Pepper says that the proposal would have been a disaster if you were alive, because you would have talked me into doing something really dumb” he chuckled, and looked at the flowers. It was time to go. “I hope she says yes, Mr Stark. I really hope so”
With a last, treacherous tear that always managed to escape, Peter got up and touched for the last time the cold stone of the grave.
Zzz (how do you sleep; probably include a visual)
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Forbidden starfruit
Wanted to write a little one shot, plotless porn... so here’s part 1/5 :)) Some plot wiggled itself in, oops. I just wanted the reader not to be a goody two shoes, couldn’t find any fanfics, so I wrote one. Classic story. Y/N is not evil, but definitely on the morally grey, leaning dark side. Seduction to the grey side if you will.
Spam me any ‘seduction to the dark side’ stories with OC/reader tho, Poe, Kylo, anyone. I crave MORE!
Summary: Poe meets a stranger in a bar. They bang.
Warning: uum the no pants dance. sucking the oyster.
EDIT: AHAHAHA OMG the paragraphs didn’t paste in order!!! FFS... fixed it now >.<
Probably ooc, probably some wrong tech/lore. Wrote for fun.
I like mood boards.
The bar was packed, the music loud and energizing. People were either chatting on the margins, tables full of drinks, or enjoying themselves on the dance floor. Poe checked the time again, remembering to keep his expression relaxed. The informant was almost four hours late, something must have went wrong. Or he'd changed his mind, or perhaps he never existed. It was not everyday that they received intel about the First Order from a supposed deserter - the possibilities were endless and the factors unprecedented.
Everyone thought it might be a trap, but the chances for it were dwindling by the minute. Surely if this was some kind of ploy something would have already happened by then. He took another short sip of his drink - his second cup of ardees already - trying to stall for as long as possible. His eyes wandered over the crowd again, a small smile forming on Poe's lips. It was nice to see them having fun, aliens and humans alike, no worries of the oppressions of the First Order. Or the constant pressure for duty in the Resistance. He felt like he could be a part of that, in a simple pair of trousers and a white T-shirt he could pass as one of the party goers and pretend, for just a selfish moment, that he was carefree.
A flash of red caught his attention and he turned his head, dismissing the previous heavy thoughts. The source of the vibrant color was enticing, the silky fabric of her crimson dress hugging all the right curves as the woman made her way to the opposite side of the bar. Skin glistened in the brighter lights from behind the bar. Two drinks were placed before her and he noticed she was accompanied by another woman, the pair clinking the glasses and gingerly sipping on the neon colored liquid.
Her friend whispered something in her ear and she turned towards him, piercing eyes meeting his for a split second, landing straight on him as if guided by some unknown force. It lasted but a moment, the two women giggling between them the next.
"Something caught your eye, Black Leader?" Poe let out a small sigh and shook his head ever so lightly. He was not supposed to answer and in fact, they were not supposed to use the channel at all, except for an emergency if the whole operation had turned out to be a trap. Chatting about a stranger in a bar did not sound like an emergency. Still, a silly smile played on his lips. How long had it been since he'd done something so... mundane, like going out drinking and meeting a woman who was not also his colleague in the resistance. "Heads up, she's coming your way."
Poe panicked for a moment. He was on a mission! Even if the chances of the informant coming were close to none and at that point and they were about to call it a day, he was still on duty. For about another 15 minutes maybe. The woman could spook the mole, or worse, get caught in some twisted First Order plot that made him waste time and credits in a bar on some nondescript outer planet... Ok, there was probably no evil plot and a beautiful woman was drawing closer.
"Hi. Mind if I sit?" She gestured to the stool beside him. Her voice was smooth and pleasant and she seemed to strain a bit to be heard over the noise. She was pretty, but there was something more to it, something in the way she stood tall and proud, those sharp eyes, playful and wise at the same time.
"I'd be a fool to refuse." Her smile widened and she sat gracefully on the cushion, his eyes immediately drawn to her backside. He snapped them back to her face, but the all-knowing smirk on her plush lips told him he did not go unnoticed.
"I'm Y/N." He reached to shake the outstretched hand, her skin soft against him, but she had a good grip, not as delicate as he'd imagined. His name passed his lips before he could think of an alias, or a reason to use one.
"Poe." He could almost hear Temmin's scoff on the other end of the comms, even if they hadn't been turned them on.
"Nice to meet you, Poe." She almost purred his name and he had to remind himself that they were on a Resistance mission. Focus! "Now tell me, who had the audacity to stand up a guy like you?" He raised an eyebrow, but before he could ask she continued. "I saw you coming in a while ago. Was mustering my courage to come over, but you looked like you were waiting for someone. Didn't want to cause any trouble." Somehow he doubted the last part. He couldn't place the mischievous little glint in her eyes.
"Not used to being the one to make the first move?"
"On the contrary. I've learned in life you have to seize what you desire." Her eyes traveled slowly across him, right hand playing with the rim of her glass.
"You risk someone else stealing it from right before your eyes. Like I'm doing right now, I suppose. Your date missed the chance, and here you are with me instead."
"Turned out in my favor I'd say." He let his own gaze wander, from the soft features o her face, down the curve of the neck and all the down her low cut of her dress, the valley between her breasts exposed to him.
"We shall see. We've barely met after all, but the night is young." It really wasn't that early anymore, midnight was just hours away. "Tell me about yourself, Poe."
"What would you like to know?"
"Are you a local? You don't look like it, though." There was that look in her eyes again, playful but observant, not letting anything escape her.
"I'm not, I'm from Yavin."
"Long way from home." He shrugged, sipping his drink to give himself time to find an excuse. He'd already given his real name, probably shouldn't follow with 'Resistance pilot' right after.
"I'm a freighter pilot."
"Ah, hauling goods across the galaxy. You must have seen so many place!" He was not expecting her to be so enthusiastic about it, but he welcomed the attention. For once someone was interested in just him, not the star pilot of the Resistance.
"You wouldn't believe half of them." She scooted over, or maybe he just thought she did, wished it so, but she felt closer nonetheless, lashes fluttering as she fixed him again with her eyes. Her voice was low, like they were sharing a secret, despite the music still blasting around them in the bar.
"Well, what it the strangest place you've seen?" He tried to quickly excluded some of the more famous ex-Empire location and obviously Resistance related ones, but truth was he'd only ever traveled for his work. It was fighting the First Order here and looking thought jedi sites there, endlessly searching for a trace of the Luke Skywalker, one day after the next, it was always related to the conflict between light and dark.
"Probably Telos. The sheer determination to build up a chunk of a planet just to keep it together... it was an impressive sight, motivating." She hummed nodding her head.
"I've always wanted to travel and see everything. So many different ecosystems, cultures, creatures... I get a little sad when I think I'm never going to be able to discover them all."
"You travel a lot then?"
"When the job allows me." She paused and bit her lower lip, drawing Poe's eyes like a magnet. "I'm a glorified errand girl, but I get away with some little excursions." She leaned a little closer still, he could see a faint scar right below her eyebrow, easily missed with a trick of the light. He could feel the genuine excitement in her voice. "I strayed a bit off course once to this planet in the Belderon sector, Lola Sayu. Don't think 've seen anything quite like it... half of it is missing, blown up ages ago, but the atmosphere formed around the missing part, encapsulating it. It made this giant ball, yellow and purple mashed together.
"The Belderon sector? What were doing all the way there?"
"Ok, ok, I strayed a lot off course, like a week maybe, but I just had too see it."
"Seize what you desire..."
"Exactly! We only have one life and we never know when it might end. I plan to make the most of it." Poe stared at the woman for a long moment. She was bright and smart and oh, so beautiful - it was more intoxication than his long forgotten drink. A mouthful of fresh water after days in the desert, her view of the world, simple but joyful, gave him a surge or energy, of hope. Temmin's voce in his ear was low, but the words were exactly what Poe needed to hear.
"You deserve a break, Poe. Our contact ain't coming and we are to leave only in the morning. See you at the ship tomorrow. Black Two, out."
He wasn't sure who leaned in first, but one moment her hand was on his thigh and the next his own hands were cradling her closer, pulling her off her stool and onto his lap. His senses were assaulted all at once, the loud music, the sweet taste of her mouth and the flowery perfume he hadn't notice before. Her lips were soft but the kiss was relentless, both devouring one another, her body pressed so close to his.
She smiled, a little curve of her lips that stirred things in him, that promised passion and a reckless abandonment, and took his hand to pull him along. He craved for more, more kisses, more skin, so he followed without a second thought. She skipped across the street and they hastily made their way to her room on the first floor, stealing kisses in the doorway and on the stairs.
He pressed her against the door as she was locking it, her ass pushing back deliciously. His mouth fell on her shoulder, hands going up her sides, slightly pulling on the fabric of the dress, making her body shiver in anticipation. The damn thing had to come off. Her arms lifted as if thinking the same, so he backed up and pulled the dress over her head with ease. His fingers traced the expanse of her back and hooked on her lace thong pulling it slightly. With a small gasp she turned, eyes dark with lust, only in heels and the flimsy little piece of red lace. Poe couldn't remember a time he had been more turned on.
He kneeled and lifted her leg over his shoulder with little warning. She gasped as his fingers traced the lace, already seeping wet and ready. The thong was pulled aside and his mouth was on her, sucking and biting eagerly, his tongue circling her bud, lapping at her flowing juices. She moaned loudly, her fingers twisting in his hair.
"Not fair..." She panted from above, but her hips bucked towards him. He smirked and pushes a finger inside her, then a second, lifting his head to look at her. She was gorgeous, ragged breaths and knees trembling as he pumped his fingers vigorously, thumb stroking her clit. The obscene sound of her moans and dripping pussy filled the small room, tantalizing. He got up, mouth clasping over a nipple and she arched her back pressing to him, head rolling back against the door as the walls clamped over his digits. Poe backed up barely an inch to look her in the eyes as he brought his fingers to his mouth, needing to taste her one more time. She let out a straggled breath, half sigh half moan and roughly pulled on his T-shirt. "Clothes off. Now."
"Yes ma'am." He was happy to oblige, his dick straining in his boxers, already damp with precum. His clothes flew off unceremoniously, their hands bumping as they both pulled on the fabric, rushed to unzip his pants and pull down his boxers. Hand on his chest, she backtracked him until his legs hit the bed then pushed him on it. Her hands traced up his legs, crawling in between them, eyes never leaving her prize as she laid kisses up his thighs, nails scraping at his skin, closer to where he needed her the most. He took hold of her upper arms and spun them around so she was caged beneath him.
"Not fair." She breathed out a moan as his dick rubbed against her folds. He wanted her, needed her like air.
"Next time."
"Deal." He pushed inside her in one swift move, rougher than he intended, but she let out the most erotic sound he's ever heard, a loud and lewd groan, ringing in his ears as her body purred. Her words slurred from her pretty little mouths in short breaths.
"Shit, Poe, you're driving me, insane." She had no idea what she was doing to him. His mouth was on hers again, drowning her moans as he rocked his hips, plummeting in her core. Her shaking arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer like her life depended on it. He hooked one arm beneath her knee and pulled her leg up, spreading even more, going even deeper. It was raw and desperate, passion in its purest form. Her nails dug at the skin on his back, his name chanted from her lips like a prayer as his rhythm turned merciless. Thank the gods he'd told her his real name. He buried his head in the crook of her neck, nipping and sucking at he tender flesh.
Her eyes rolled in back of her head and his entire body shook above her as her pussy milked his dick with greed, clamping around him like a vice. Their breaths mingled, their skin sleek with sweat, but tingling still. With the last sliver or power he had, Poe rolled on his back and pulled her with him, her leg slipping over his, her hand on his chest. He was still in a daze, but looking at her she was not better, eyes half closed and unfocused, her fingers drawing lazy patters on his chest. He remember bringing her hand to his lips before falling asleep.
He woke up first, Y/N still curled over him, hair sprawled on the pillow behind her. She had pulled a silky sheet over them some time after he passed out. He smiled, lips pressing gently on the top of head. He pulled her closer, almost not believing she was real. She stirred, letting out a contents little sigh, but didn't wake up.
Poe enjoyed the feeling of her in his arms a moment longer, his brows more furrowed by the second, his lips pressed in a thin line. He had to go soon and he didn't know when he would see her again. His hand trailed the smooth skin on her back, not wanting to leave the bed, taking in every detail of her beautiful face. When the sun had finally fully risen there was no more time left.
He went to collect his scattered clothes, his mind running a mile a minute, thinking of how to tell her he was actually in the Resistance, wondering his she will react to him lying about his work, about his identity, but most importantly if she would want to see him again. Gods, he hasn't even left her room yet and he was already dreaming of when he'd hold her in his arms next. Poe smiled, he felt like a teen again, the only care in the world the affection of his lover.
But the world was cruel and he was not a silly boy back on Yavin. He found his T-shirt thrown all the way near her side of the bed and as he bend down to retrieve it, the holopad on the nightstand beeped loudly three times before a robotic voice boomed in the small chamber, the dark figure projecting from it chilling his blood.
"Y/N, I assume the traitor has been dealt with already. You better be on the Supremacy when I arriver to continue our training. You have an hour." Poe's breath caught in his throat, his mind so overwhelmed it first went blank then exploded with the possibilities and implications. The idea that he'd spent the night with one of the First Order's top assets... Did he steal something off him? Had it been a trap?
His eyes fell on the holopad again, the blinking light showing she had a message. From fucking Kylo Ren! She was training with Leia's kid, she was dark side.
She was evil.
But she couldn't be, could she?
Poe was so lost in thought he didn't even hear her as she stretched in bed behind him, the yellow glint in her eyes catching in the morning sun as her gaze fell on him.
Chapter 2 >
#poe dameron x reader#Forbidden starfruit#poe dameron#poe dameron fanfiction#seduction to the gray side#facfic#star wars#i need help
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wasteland, baby! | kol mikaelson - chapter ten
Summary: Kol makes a deal with the Hollow to revive the first woman he ever loved. Unfortunately, it doesn’t go as planned.
Trust’s Note: Please like and reblog! I hope you enjoy. I added some Rebekah and Aniya content for y’all <3
Word Count: 2,708
Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten
❝ kiss me on the mouth
and set me free ❞
TO BE CLEAR, Aniya Grover had never been talented at confrontation. Quite the opposite, really. Growing up, she’d been caught between her mother’s culture and that of the Vikings. Regardless, they’d both valued two traits in a woman: submissive, and quiet. She wasn’t to speak unless spoken to, not to act even when acted against. She was meant to cook and bear children for her husband -- something Rebekah had always rebelled against. Aniya, however, had learned to give into these ideals; and it was now, in the twenty-first century, that she was learning to lose them.
Aniya looked up at Kol, staring daggers at him from across the dining table. It had been several hours since they’d left the diner and returned to the Abattoir. Aniya had left first, refusing to say her goodbyes after nearly murdering the witch that suggested Henry’s sacrifice. It had been Kol that stopped her, claiming that she ‘was only trying to help.’ It was then that she left without another word. Kol followed shortly after.
When they returned, Kol called for his siblings to have a family meeting in the dining area. He excused Hayley and Hope, and gave Freya an open invitation despite not having met Aniya when she was alive. The two sat across from each other in the dining area, the air growing thicker with each second. Finally, they heard the sound of heels clicking against the pavement, and internally let out sighs of relief as Rebekah took her place next to Aniya.
“Now, what might this be about?” Rebekah asked, pushing her chair in. “Have you come to ask for a custody agreement, Kol?”
Kol smiled tightly at her, eyes crinkling at the edges. “I’ll have to say ‘no’ to that offer, sister. I wouldn’t want to run off with your only friend. After all, no one else seems to like you.”
“Yes, well, at the very least, I have a friend,” Rebekah pointed out, a sickly sweet smile on your face. “You haven’t had a friend since the 1800s.”
“1700s, really,” Niklaus cut in, taking his seat at the head of the table. He smiled smugly, and folded his arms in front of him, blue eyes glimmering with delight. “I’m afraid he was daggered for most of that century.”
“That reminds me, I haven’t had the chance to return the favor,” Kol sneered and stood from his chair. Aniya’s brows furrowed at the harshness of his voice -- the way he seemed to growl the veiled threat at his half-brother. Slowly, she began to feel the weight of a thousand years on her chest. Whatever human version of Kol Mikaelson she’d loved had died centuries ago, and she began to wonder if all her suffering had been the result of pining after a person that no longer existed. If perhaps returning her memories would do more harm than good.
Subconsciously, she reached hand up to touch the ring around her neck. Kol noticed and glared.
She watched as Elijah placed a calming hand on his brother’s shoulder, suggesting that he take a seat. Kol clenched his jaw at his elder brother, but obliged, sitting back in his chair. Elijah nodded and took his place between Kol and Niklaus. He took a moment to adjust his appearance before giving a polite smile. Even this Elijah seemed foreign to her. More confrontational and protective, compared to the mere child he’d been before. He was well put-together, calm and a perfect mediator; and, in Aniya’s eyes, a perfect stranger.
“So, what did we need to discuss?” Elijah asked, looking around the table. Rebekah and Niklaus shrugged in unison, and it occurred to Aniya that Henry’s life would mean nothing to the Mikaelsons so long as they had what they wanted. It would be Rebekah who would be most eager to have her memories returned to her, and Niklaus who would want Vihaan resurrected and return to -- somewhat -- mortal life.
“It seems that Kol and a New Orleans witch have found a way to return your memories,” Aniya spoke slowly, watching for negative reactions among the siblings. Elijah and Niklaus had reacted the fastest, their eyebrows furrowing in confusion at her statement. Rebekah’s eyes widened as she turned her attention to the young witch. Aniya continued, “As well as a way to resurrect my brother.”
“Kol, the last thing we need to do is be involved with the witches again,” Rebekah spoke quickly.
“The witches have lost their link to their ancestors, and are being forced to practice Earth magic. They are at their weakest, meaning they will be willing to deceive and manipulate anyone who is foolish enough to play into their games,” Elijah explained. “In case you don’t remember, they were willing to sacrifice four teenage girls not ten years ago.”
“As if we’re any better,” Kol shot back. He paused for a moment, his gaze flickering in Aniya’s direction. “If it hadn't been for you and Freya, Davina might still be alive."
"If it hadn't been for me and Freya, the Mikaelson family line would have been murdered before your very eyes," Elijah corrected. "You may have loved that girl, but she was not your family."
Rebekah placed a hand on Aniya's hand, which had been resting in her lap. "That's quite enough from both of you. I'm sure there's a way Aniya can return our memories without having to confide in the witches."
"On the contrary, I have heard of her brand of witches less than a dozen times in my immortal life," Kol argued. "She refuses to practice magic unless provoked, so we aren't even sure she can do simple spells--"
"You do not speak for me," Aniya cut him off, narrowing her eyes at him. She turned to the Mikaelsons, wringing her hands as she spoke. "I possess an offensive magic. It's a finite source, depending on the state of my health in order to be put to use. As of late, I have combined it with defensive tactics, in which I essentially use nearby resources to protect myself against the attacker."
"And what the bloody hell does that have to do with memory erasure?" Rebekah questioned.
"It seems that when I was sacrificed, all traces of my brother and I's existence was wiped off the face of the Earth," Aniya responded. "According to Kol's little witch, I can return your memories by erasing the memories of others."
Nik spoke up finally, though his face remained blank as he processed the information. "And why would you need the help of New Orleans witches to achieve this? We have a witch, too. One who is not hellbent on returning to power at this very moment."
"Our dear sister practices earth magic, Nik," Kol said with a sickeningly sweet smile. "She's only practiced sacrificial magic once, she's barely familiar with the concept."
Aniya raised an eyebrow at his behavior. "Why are you so willing to hand me away to them? I'm not a New Orleans witch. They have no motive to help me."
"Their motive is that they are indebted to me, and this is their way of paying it off," Kol said with a shrug. "It only cost a few dark objects."
"You're interested in our marriage," Aniya stated. A light scoff left her lips and she crossed her arms over her chest. It had only taken a few short years of friendship to learn when Kol was lying. She'd recognized it in most of the Mikaelsons, outside of Niklaus. Each time, she'd been kind about it. Smiled politely and calmly asked for the truth. She took no interest in doing so now.
If he'd simply asked, she might have shown him the memories herself. It might have hurt his head, the way it had done the night before, but at least then she might have been able to prevent the wall of ice building itself around her chest. Not only as a result of Henry, but of his doubt. She wouldn't need a grimoire to teach her the spells she'd spent eighteen years memorizing. She wouldn't want it.
In her later years, her father began to teach heavier sacrificial magic. Spells to return or take away memories; to ensure the misfortune of an enemy; and spells to take a life. Her father had never taught her to return it, stating it wasn't the job of a witch to interfere with the will of the god's. It had been a pathetic excuse, of course, but she and Vihaan had kept their mouths shut.
"And you're interested in a human," Kol remarked. "How did he know about Tyaag witches? Perhaps he's a New Orleans witch himself."
He hadn't been. Henry Pearl had been perfectly human -- a tall, gentle mortal. He wouldn't have survived living in the village a thousand years ago, and she was afraid he wouldn't survive now. Perhaps she should have said goodbye after all.
Kol watched the pendant that hung from her neck, its velvet ribbon covering the darkened scar she'd refused to heal. She might have gotten hurt if she'd tried to return the memories on her own, and there was no telling whether she would know where to begin. Every time he so much as thought of her within Death's grasp, an aching pain seemed to spread through his body. Some part of him would have rather died than see her get hurt, and he was no longer sure how to fight that side off.
Turning his attention to his brothers, Kol pointed out, "You two are being ridiculous."
"And you are being reckless," Rebekah snapped. "I want my memories of Aniya back as much as you do, but I am not willing to risk the life we've built for Hope. Are you?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he clenched his jaw and turned to walk out of the room. Rebekah let out a sigh and stood behind Aniya's chair, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"I'm not sure why, of all people, you chose to marry one of my brothers."
Aniya nodded, a look of defeat crossing her face. "He's the meanest boy I've ever met."
Elijah and Kol made their way out of the dining room after saying their farewells to the two girls. Rebekah accepted a forehead kiss from Elijah before taking her seat next to Aniya, a gentle smile forming on her pink lips as dark waves fell over Aniya's face. "Let me know when you want me to plait these. I'm sure you're quite famished after a night out with my brother."
"Quite," Aniya chuckled. "He was never like this."
Rebekah's smiled dimmed a bit. "No, he wasn't. I suppose it's a difference between who you are and the person you need to be in order to survive; and in the presence of Niklaus, whilst running from Mikael and fighting bloodlust, we all changed a bit. Tell me, have I always been this way?"
"Yes. I did admire you," She admitted. There had been a time during a bon fire, where she had chosen to stay indoors and help the women prepare food, while Rebekah stood outdoors and sat by the cattle. "Your father should have considered you a Viking."
"I am sure I have always been a Viking," Rebekah said with a small laugh. "I can't think of other people that traveled around the world on ships; but then, we were running from our father, so I suppose we were more pirates than anything."
Aniya's lips turned downward, her gaze falling to her hands. "The years not have been kind to you."
"They were not, but what of you? A thousand years of sleep?"
"Of nothing."
She recalled having woken up to nothingness. She was met with a cold, dark silence, as if someone had locked her in an endless room and shut the lights out. She remembered waiting for Vihaan, who'd been killed two minutes earlier, and screaming when she realized he wouldn't come for her. She could recall the pang in her chest, and the sobs that had wracked her body as she bargained with the gods to bring her back.
She'd been given someone who would observe her silently, capture all of her habits and flaws and loved her despite. Someone that had gotten lost in all of her features, and it had been ripped away from her. She'd been given a taste of freedom with each Mikaelson. Even little Henrik had been a chance for her to escape into a life she would never have: one where she might have raised a child.
And she'd been left with nothing.
After a moment, Aniya reached for Rebekah's hand shut her eyes, opening her mind to the Original. Rebekah fell into the void, and a few moments passed before her sight was able to adjust to her environment. She blinked, and notice a frail Aniya sitting a few feet away, her arms holding tightly onto her knees as she stared at the ground. She appeared to be the same way they found her: covered with dirt and dried blood. The blonde pursed her lips at the sight, and pulled her arm away from Aniya.
"There's no need to worry now," Rebekah assured her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're immortal. I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."
-
"WHY AM I HERE?" Aniya huffed as she stood at the gates of Lafayette Cemetary. Kol had promised her a milkshake. "Nik and Elijah agreed that we weren't to seek help from New Orleans witches."
"Nik and Elijah are not my fathers," Kol remarked, pushing the doors open. He stood and held it for her, causing her to stare blankly at him. "All of your problems would be solved if you did two simple spells. Both of which you would have aid in, if you only asked."
"They threatened Henry."
"And they shred the soul of my former lover. Everybody makes mistakes."
"Then why trust them?"
"Because we haven't a choice in the matter, and at worst, we double cross each other," Kol said, as if it were obvious. "I am well-versed in the art of massacres."
"Lovely. All the more reason to trust you," Aniya muttered and begrudgingly took a step into the cemetary. She hadn't returned since the night she was resurrected, though the Mikaelsons had dealt with the Hollow shortly after. They's done something with a parallel dimension or Geminis -- truthfully, Aniya never paid much attention to Nik's coffee chats.
"I feel caught," Kol snickered as he walked alongside her. He looked down at the shorter girl, his eyes barely glancing at the path in front of him despite the graveyard's sharp turns.
Aniya scoffed at his response, taking a moment to think before asking, "Do you want to know what I honestly think of you?"
"What?"
"I despise you."
It was his turn to scoff. "You despise me. Why do you despise me?"
"With every chance you have to do the right thing, to be kind and selfless and caring; you are nothing but conceited, selfish, and miserable," She listed, despite the mocking look painted across Kol's face. Aniya rolled her eyes at his response. "I feel sorry for you, I really do. I just wish you'd bear it better."
"Well, you wouldn't understand, now would you? You've never had to watch who you thought was the love of your life, truly die."
Aniya stopped and turned to face him. She analyzed his every feature, his brows twitching in anger and eyes filled with spite as he looked back at her. His lips were somewhat pulled behind his teeth, as if baring them at her in defense. Even his posture looked as though he were ready to pounce, despite the fact that they'd only had a verbal argument.
She smiled tightly at his statement, fingers reaching for the old wedding ring before she remembered the previous night. "No. I'd move on if I couldn't be loved. I suggest you do the same."
#Kol mikaelson#kol imagine#kol smut#kol angst#kol mikaelson imagine#kol mikaelson x reader#kol mikaelson x oc#kol mikaelson fluff#kol mikaelson smut#kol mikaelson angst#nathaniel buzolic#nathaniel buzolic imagine#nathaniel buzolic angst#nathaniel buzolic x reader#the originals#the originals au#the originals imagine#the originals smut#the originals fluff#the vampire diaries#the vampire diaries au#the vampire diaries imagine#the vampire diaries smut#Legacies#Legacies AU#legacies imagine#the originals headcanons#kol mikaelson headcanons#the vampire diaries headcanons#rebekah mikaelson
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Love Syndrome
Member : Wonho X reader
Genre : Fuff, some angst, some smut
Synopsis : A girl obsessed with Neurology takes an experiment on dating Hoseok, who has no idea this is a joke to her. Her experiment will turn against her when she’ll actually start falling in love...
You weren't like the other girls. Maybe this will turn out to be one of those memes online but no, you truly meant it. As a kid, you despised dolls and castles, pink and unicorns. You showed a great interest in mechanics, cars (mostly destroying them and notice their parts), puzzles and balls. Truth be told, you were proud of yourself and how independent you grew to be. Your friends were crying every once in a while for that hottie blondie who broke up with them, while you did your best at comforting them. Relationships were an unnecessary drama, one you did not want to take part in. You’re fine the way you are! An academic career is in front of you, traveling the world and finally, being what you always wanted...a woman of logic, of sense, of credibility. No drama, no annoying clingy boyfriends, no crying sessions. No. No. No. You know what's best in life and that’s what’s your way.
Your friend Val was over for support. There’s been a month since she broke up with the ex and still can’t let go. After hours of fake sentimentalism, you’ve had enough.
“You know what...I’ve got the perfect solution for you.”
Val raised her teary eyes and looked curiously to your side.
“You can get a dog! Yes that’s perfect, I should’ve thought about it sooner,
“okay thank you for trying to make me laugh but it’s not helping.”
“This isn’t a joke. it’s a real solution and a much more practical one than me just telling you sweet nonsense of ‘comfort’. Dogs, when in contact with humans, release a chemical in our brain called oxytocin, just like when you are with your partner. Instead of having the side effects and ups and downs of a relationship, a dog is much more devoted and drama free. Boom, you’ve got double win.”
“I swear sometimes I feel like you’re Sheldon from Big Bang theory in a female form.”
“Thank you for that compliment but I am not as good as the flawless mastermind Sheldon himself is.”
“You know what, Ima leave before we fight, the least thing I’m looking for is this.”
“Okay fine but think about it.”
You said as you made your way to the door along her. Val grinned and left without a second word. I mean you were right, even you thought of adopting a cute poodle. It’s much better than ‘adopting’ a boyfriend. Plus dogs are always happy when they see you. Maybe a dog is a good idea.
You checked the watch and it hit you.
“Damn, I’m late!” you exclaimed and took your purse heading out of the door.
----
‘When in love, you experience a rush of hormones to the brain — including oxytocin, the “love hormone,” the “pleasure hormone” dopamine, and sex hormones like estrogen and testosterone. ‘
You aren’t the type to believe in coincidences but if they exist, this can’t be one. Out of all those subjects, did they have to talk about love’s effect on the brain today? Unbelievable. But interesting at the same time, no wonder everyone’s so invested in this called ‘dating culture’.
“Y/N, we’ll be in the cafeteria downstairs. Don’t be too late.”
“I won’t I promise.”
The proffessor looked at you intensely. You noticed and moved your head upwards.
“Actually I’ll close the class! Sorry about that but I have my lunch break.”
“Ah totally. I’m so sorry Mr.Jones for ‘eating your time away’” You laughed at your own pun and he did too.
You slow-run to the exit and the moment you reached the door, you collided with someone and your books fell to the floor.
“Oh I’m sorry I can’t believe I’m so careless at times.” his voice, a sweet sound contrary to his muscular physique.
“No, it’s my mistake actually. I wasn’t looking straight, per usual.” he laughed and colected your books.
“I mean, you didn’t have to.”
“It’s the least I can do for bumbing into you like that. My Hulk self should be a little more careful since I might knock out someone.”
You laughed genuinely after a long time. He noiticed and smiled in satisfaction.
“So, you’re studying Neurology?”
“Ugh? Ah yes I do! It’s very interesting. Some might find it boring but it’s so exciting to learn about the wonder our body, our mind is.”
He was staring at you in awe. Probably thinking of you as a terrible nerd. Judging by his looks, he seemed the gym guy, totally off your valley.
‘I’m sorry. It gets boring for some.”
“No. Not at all. I admire those that are so passionate with what they’re doing. I would just like to add something more to your sentence.”
“...and what’s that?”
“the wonder our body, mind and soul is.”
Normally you’d think of it as lame. Actually it was cheesy but he is a pleasant surprise. It was unfair to judge him based on his looks after all.
“I guess.” you answered semi-sure.
“Now you might excuse me but I gotta go. It was nice talking to you.”
“Bye” you waved cringing at the silly child-like act.
----
The library was surprisingly empty for a uni with so many students. You took advantage and went there to study further for your upcoming exams. Suddenly a voice interrupted your train of thought and you were this close to cursing.
“Hey!” someone shout out in excitment, earning himself agressive shhs from the few students sitting there. He murmured a sorry and came your way. It was the guy that bumbed into you a couple of days before.
“Hey” you answered as quietely as possible.
“So..” he said obviously nervous by his hand movements and red tint on his cheeks.
“I forgot to tell you my name and that was rude, wasn’t it?”
You didn’t answer because it wasn’t rude.
“I’m Hoseok.” he extended his arm for a hand shake.
You felt his pulse rising to dangerous vibrations. He was nervous for sure. Maybe you’re reading into it too much...
“Nice to meet you Hoseok, I’m Y/N.”
“You know I feel sorry to interrupt you but I’d like to offer you a drink, as a way to apologize.”
“You don’t have to! It wasn’t anything disastrous.”
“Is that a no?” he asked with puppy eyes, eager for an answer. You didn’t want to let him down, plus he seemed like a nice guy.
“You know what, let’s go but I’ll pay for my drink.”
“I insist.” you smiled at his stubborness.
----
“So..” Hoseok said while stirring his coffee.
“yees..” you answered looking back at him with curious eyes.
“I was thinking...if you’d like us to grab a snack/drink from time to time.”
You nodded hapily. You wanted a new friend especially when it’s someone as good and funny as Hoseok.
“Ah yes totally! I’d love to be your friend. You’re so funny and all!.” you replied and touch his arm playfully.
Hoseok sighed and his face seemed a bit dissapointed.
“Oh so you view me as a friend?”
“Yes...isn’t that what you wanted too?”
He moved closer and took your hand in his. It was a brave move and even tho his eyes were uncertain, his body language said otherwise.
“I mean, actually dating. You and me, more than friends.” he said and left your hand, letting you to decide on your own.
This came out of nowhere. You weren’t expecting this to be said so fast but here he is, right in front of you, asking. Hoseok had every charateristic a girl would want. Funny,smart and what seems like high levels of testosterone judging by his muscular body and prominant jawline. But, you didn’t know if this was enough. Relationships aren’t for you and you don’t want to take time off your studies. You don’t even have feelings for him in the first place. You don’t have feelings for anyone, they are pointless attempts of nature to make you birth offsprings and save the specie from dissapearing.
He studied your face for any expression that might suggest your answer but there was none. You were lost in those rapid thoughts and didn’t know what to do. When you finally came out of it and saw his pleading expression you shouted out
“YES” you bought your hand in front of your lips to shush yourself.
Hoseok smiled the brighest and most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen. His eyes were sparkling in hapiness and felt relieved to hear you, his cheeks rosy again. His beauty made you forget, the horror you just said. Did you just said...yes? How can you do such a thing? You don’t even have feelings for him.
You sighed and he noticed.
“Don’t feel pressured. We will take things as slowly as you want them to be.”
Little did he know that wasn’t it.
“Ah thank you Hoseok for being so understanding. Now I gotta go because … I gotta go. See you later.”
“Talk to you later” he said
“Oh and I forgot, can I have your phone you know...”
Typical couple things
«Yes» you said and wrote your number down.
----
“What do I do when we walk side by side?”
You asked Val while holding a notebook in your lap, making small marks to study later.
“Just be natural! Don’t study for a date too”
“How can I be natural? I’ve got no idea what’s up with all this dating thing you guys do like it’s breathing or something. I will watch Netflix series once you’ll leave, those stupid crybaby ones, to find out more.”
“Ugh, okay you hold his hand too? maybe?”
“hold..his..hand..too..” you repeated while writing it down. It’s not that hard after all, unless he takes things further which he said won’t be happening.
“Now you can leave or you can leave because I’ve got very important things to do.”
“Very important aka watching Netflix.”
“Exactly” you nodded while laughing.
“okay I’m not gonna stay any longer either you know...i’m prone to crying.”
“Yes I know plus your PMS makes things even worse, I mean it’s normal you know with all those chemical and hormonal imbal...”
the sudden sound caught you off guard, Val really didn’t seem like the type that wanted to learn. You sighed loudly and moved to the couch. You truly made a mess. You didn’t want to hurt him with saying no, but if you say no now, it’ll hurt him even more. It’d be best if he didn’t have feelings but according to his body language and days he’s been exposed to your pherormones, he is in and deep. It might be beneficial tho, it’s not the most humanatarian idea but you can make the best out of a bad situation. Maybe, if you live through a relationship, you’ll be able to grasp why it means so much to others. An experiment.
It won’t hurt anyone, right?
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February 4th, 2021 – In Which Soren Contemplates Righteous Anger and Attempts but Mostly Fails Spectacularly in Not Stepping on the Toes of Passive White Evangelical Culture
“Be angry, and do not sin;
ponder in your own hearts on your beds, and be silent. -Psalm 3:4 (ESV)
While Captain America is my favorite superhero of all time, I feel a kinship with Bruce Banner. A well-meaning and mild man who ends up with this tremendous burden and a need to keep his cool or he transforms into a giant with no control over his destructive rage.
It may be a bit trite but there is a scene during the climactic battle in the 2012 Avengers movie that hit home to me. It is where Captain America says to Bruce Banner, “Now might be a really good time for you to get angry.”
Bruce Banner turns and gives Captain America a sad smile and says, “That's my secret, Cap. I'm always angry.”
I relate to that, it is hard for me to be content when there is so much injustice in the world. The list is endless but all of it makes me angry. It is frustrating to see politicians poison legislation that would help people, just because the politician can. It’s upsetting that Evangelical Culture has managed to dig itself into such a hole of racism and willful ignorance that I honestly think a significant number of churches will not recover and sadly that is a good thing.
It is exhausting to always be angry and having to keep it in check, especially around people I love but fundamentally disagrees with. I’m not angry with them, I am angry at misinformation and how social media has been used as a propaganda machine.
A major factor of what helps me not be angry with them personally is because they honestly believe the same thing about me as I believe about them, that I have been misled by propaganda and that social media has caused me to become misaligned with my morality and convictions.
Apart from Nazis carrying weapons and are out to harm others, it is important to remember that we must be angry with the ideas and not the person. I say this as someone who has become increasingly angry at how out of touch white evangelical culture is with the rest of the world. Trust me, there are many choice words I would like to say while angry but there is a good reason to force myself to keep cool and not blow up.
Studies have shown that attacking people for their views causes them to double down. In some instances, it will cause them to become even more extreme and adopt more toxic viewpoints. Political points and religious ideology are wrapped up in a person’s self-identity. For the mind, this is a sacred place that it does not take kindly to be trespassed upon or attacked.
If we are not careful with our words and fight only the fights that need to be waged, we run the risk of pushing people further into the Q-Anon and fascist black holes many are circling. Some fights must be waged and those need to be used with cold logic and warm love, not a hothead from feelings of being insulted.
To tie this back into these verses, anger is not a sin. Somethings are so heinous that it would be a sin to not become angry about them. This Psalm is not advocating for us to have cold hearts, on the contrary, we need to feel and empathize with the pain people are going through to meet them where they are and not be a patronizing white savior.
I find it interesting that in one of his letters, Paul quotes part of the above passage:
“Therefore, having put away falsehood, let each one of you speak the truth with his neighbor, for we are members one of another.
Be angry and do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger and give no opportunity to the devil. “-Ephesians 4:25-26
I look at anger as being potential energy. In science potential energy is pent up energy just ready to be released. The energy can be released in a variety of ways, but it should be noted that the energy itself is neither good nor bad, it simply is. The splitting of the Atom can lead to fueling a nuclear reactor or fueling an apocalypse of nuclear war.
Anger is much the same way; we have a choice in how we use this fuel. No other human being or spirit entity can overwhelm our God-given right of freedom to choose. It may be difficult to choose to do the right thing but failing to do so is still making a choice.
In this above passage from Paul the Greek word for truth that Paul used was “alétheia”, this word means more than simple honesty in conversation. This word is about the very concept of Truth itself as given to God by divine revelation.
I do not know about you but that blows my mind.
Paul is commanding us to live with their neighbor (and Jesus kindly pointed out we are all neighbors) in a way that is Divine Truth in their words and action.
Right after this command, Paul tells us to be angry but not sinful. That if we are offended then we should not hold a grudge but instead center ourselves on the Divine Truth we’ve been given.
What happens when you put these two concepts together?
At all times and with all people we should present ourselves in a way that shows we are broken creations on a journey, that we are humble enough to know we are still learning, and that compassion is better than winning some frivolous debate. If we have a conviction about a moral principle or law then we should live our Truth so that people see our character, so that when we do disagree, we can do so in a positive way.
So much of this depends on the person you are engaging with doing so in good faith. And there is every chance you end the conversation still disagreeing Vehemently.
It frustrates me to no end that white evangelical culture for the most part is ignorant or simply apathetic towards the issue of race, poverty, and criminal justice reform.
But, they are human too, with their thoughts, feelings, and convictions. I was in their shoes a decade ago before my life took a series of dramatic turns that put me on the ground to see firsthand how broken the systems governing our lives are.
They lack the experience that caused me to abandon the concept of Jesus is Republican. Most people lack the imagination to put themselves in another’s shoes, so many of them can’t grasp why I have become who I am.
Even with the frustration that arises from conversations, I will not be bitter or let their inability to see my point of view deter me.
#Soren Speaks#post of a textual nature#Blog#Psalms#Christian#Christianity#faith#hope#love#Psalm 3#Ephesians 4#theology#biting off more than I should in this#oh well#let things blow up#boom
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The 100: 7x03 False Gods
Although I liked this episode less than the first two episodes of season 7, which were great, especially 7x02. I quite enjoyed False Gods for what it was. This seems to be an unpopular opinion in the fandom, which mostly hated it for what it wasn’t. And I get it - Bellamy has been missing for almost 3 episodes (even though it’s not even been 2 days since he left Sanctum), Clarke took a back seat here, and the new SciFi Anomaly storyline is far more interesting than the power struggles in Sanctum. Plus the A plot of this episode was problem-of-the-week, another potential nuclear meltdown - of a reactor we didn’t even know about before.
it feels like a setup/breather before we get to the real story. Yes, it's high time the storylines finally converge and Clarke and the others learn that Bellamy and others are missing, and get involved in the Anomaly plot. I guess I’m more patient than most, and it helped that I already knew this would only happen in the next episode.The biggest problem of this episode is probably that it didn’t address what was happening in the other storyline, for the benefit of all the viewers who are watching this weekly, don’t necessarily think about the show’s timeline and aren’t aware of the fact that it’s been a little over one day since Bellamy, Octavia, Echo and Gabriel went to research the Anomaly Stone, that there’s absolutely nothing surprising about the fact they haven’t come back yet (people were absent for similar periods of time in season 6 even when they went to a less distant location), that there is no reason whatsoever for Clarke and others to think that there are any other threats on the moon or any other humans outside Sanctum, and that there are no radio signals or mobile phones they could use to call them before they get back. And that, if she doesn’t have reasons to think Bellamy is in danger, it’s not OOC at all for Clarke to not be whining about the fact that he left with his girlfriend, his sister and Gabriel to do research instead of stay and help her as a co-leader in Sanctum, while she is also grieving her mom... Actually, you know what, I do have a problem with people criticizing Clarke for that. But I do see why a mention would help the viewers get a sense of coherence, that both this and the previous episode belong to the same story.
But at the same time, this episode delivered some of the things many fans have been saying they wanted to see: it was focused on the characters who have been there from season 1, Raven and Murphy (and Emori, who has been there since season 2 and has had the most long-lasting relationship in the show), it gave Raven an arc and character development and put her in the situation to make “impossible choices” and understand how Clarke has felt so many times (something that many were asking for after her season 6 characterization), it, put an end to Madi being a Commander, and let Clarke grieve for the loss of her mother for another episode.
Raven's storyline was still really engaging and the scenes in the reactor intense. And damn it, I liked Hatch, even though he was in just two episodes and a few scenes. He stole the show and made me really sad when I realized he was definitely doomed. I knew from the trailer that Nikki would beat the crap out of Raven, but I didn't know why. A lot of people thought Nikki would just be a straight-up villain like McCreary, but instead, she's given a good reason to feel the way she does. And it was high time the show addressed the fact that the Eligius prisoners are looked down on as second class people or barely people. Sure, they are murderers and thieves and not nice people, but that doesn’t make it OK to see them as barely human, as Eligius Corporation did when they were going to leave them to die as expendable.
This is probably leading to the friendship between Raven and Clarke getting stronger again. Other things this episode seemed to be setting up:
future conflicts in Sanctum: SheidhedaRussell (SheidRussell? RussellHeda?) getting more control, while Clarke and others have no idea about who he really is, while the Eligius prisoners are going to be led by a very angry Nikki;
Clarke has a continuation of her story from 7x01 and gets a kind of closure to her grief over her mother. She gets to say that she cannot lose anyone else, a very obvious setup for learning about Bellamy’s (and others’) disappearance. At first, this made me roll my eyes a little bit - it’s not like this is a new motivation for Clarke. She is always trying to save her people, and anyone who isn’t aware how important Bellamy is to her, has not been paying attention. But then it struck me - the show was doing extra work to set up Clarke being ready to leave Madi in Sanctum without looking like a ‘bad mother’ - and for that purpose, she now 1) knows Madi is not a Heda anymore and can breathe a sign of relief that Madi can be a normal kid now, 2) has no idea about Sheidheda, and 3) has started to trust Gaia enough as someone who could take care of Madi.
This time it’s Luisa's voice saying "Previously". It looks like they're having a different cast member say it at the start of each episode (Eliza in 7x01, Marie in 7x02).
James wasn’t losing any time, did he. It’s been just a little over a day since they came from the ship, and he’s already hooking up with a girl from Sanctum. And the show really did the horror trope of a couple that goes to a secluded place to hook up and dies.
There is a nuclear reactor in Sanctum? We go to another planet moon, and again the same problems, just as Indra said.
The opening titles ended with a new shot of the mansion and the grave next to it - this is presumably what Abby’s grave will look in the future. At the moment, it’s a heap of rocks with flowers over them. (Maybe it's meant to be Kane's, too - they don't have either of their bodies, though Abby did die on Sanctum and they could at least bury her clothes.) Contrary to what many fans thought, Clarke burying Jake’s ring was not Abby’s “funeral” - the funeral had already been held, so the answer to the often asked question “why weren’t Madi, Raven, Jackson, Murphy etc. there", is - they were, when the funeral was held. Clarke just went later, alone, to bury the ring, the remembrance of both her parents. With the grave being so close to the mansion, Gaia saw Clarke coming to bury the ring and then came to talk and bury the Flame.
It’s good that Clarke has another confidante/budding friendship, someone to talk to in her increasingly small circle. But I’m not sure that Clarke and Gaia managed to connect that much over grief - because losing a parent and losing your religion are very different kinds of loss. Clarke doesn’t even have a religion and doesn’t have that kind of experience.
I love the way the show acknowledged that everyone knows Clarke will always be the first one to risk her life to save everyone - and Murphy knows it. But the plot mechanics ket Clarke away from this storyline (because Murphy and Emori had have it) - Indra said Calrke had her hands full with Russell’s execution, even though it wasn’t clear why she’d have to be the one to organize it (especially since Indra herself seems to be capable of dealing with the politics) and Clarke didn’t look too busy the rest of the episode.
I’m glad we’re done with the plot of Madi being Heda or having to pretend to be Heda. Although I’m sure this will haunt her still, because she has memories of other Commanders - including Becca and Sheidheda, and she may find it the easiest to recognize SH, because she knows him better than anyone.
I completely understand why Clarke wasn’t going to let Madi order Wonkru members to perform such a dangerous task - she doesn’t want to let Madi feel responsible for sending people to their deaths, feel the same guilt she did, but at an even younger age.
Gaia telling the truth both was and wasn’t the right thing to do - morally right, but with potentially terrible consequences, if no welders had been found. Here’s a song for her by one of my favorite bands. On the other hand, Raven lied to people in the name of necessity and the greater good of them all, and achieved her goal but ended up sending people to their deaths, and felt the consequences of lying.
One revelation I really liked is that the guy from Sangedakru thinks of the infamous Dark Commander as “Sangedakru’s greatest champion”. That feels a lot more realistic than the idea that all Grounders hate him and think of him as a monster - even though their culture is based on war and killing, and we’ve seen other Grounder leaders (Queen Nia) be just as ruthless. Sheidheda being from another clan helps makes sense of Indra’s story from 6x13 of the time SH “took Trikru” and was going from village to village and killing everyone who refused to kneel. I’ve been wondering for a long time what exactly Heda were commanding before Lexa united the clans. I suppose they were trying to command, but clans were still divided and preferred Hedas from their own. And it seems that Sheidheda was also trying to ‘unite’ the clans, but not by negotiations! Of course he is considered a monster by people from all the other clans, whom he was killing and torturing and trying to conquer, but is still remembered as a hero by his own clan. Of course. That’s how it usually goes.
Small moments of Sheidheda enjoying the fact he’s corporeal again - from touching his own arms to eating a cookie - are a nice touch.
I like the fact that Sheidheda is smart and much sneakier than the pompous Russell was. He had to be smart to be able to manipulate the AI in the way no other Commander could, not even Becca, its creator, ti isolate the other Commanders, get control of Madi, and later download himself to Russell’s mind drive. SH was also using the captivity to read some of the books he’s found and apparently gain some technical knowledge about Sanctum,
Delilah’s parents are finally back. I don’t think we had seen them since they killed Priya. And Trey (the annoying “adjustor” who was brainwashing Jordan) can go f(ck himself. Really? Blaming Delilah’s parents for avenging her death?
I’m still unsure where exactly the show is going with Jordan. His brainwashing will have to be addressed at some point. It may not have been fully successful - he doesn’t think of the Primes as gods - but it was sure enough for him to stop despising them as murderers and to start believing their BS (and even to form some sort of attachment to Priya). If he weren’t brainwashed, he’d be spending time with Delilah’s grieving parents, rather than the people who worship her murderers. Right now, the show is playing it ambiguously, so some people may even forget about brainwashing and just see Jordan as a gullible naive guy (which he is, of course, he grew up just interacting with his parents) or as Jordan sees himself, as a moral compass/substitute for his father. Someone should tell him that Monty was never naive and knew when it was necessary to fight and kill, even though he hated it and tried to avoid it. Maybe realizing that he’s been manipulated by the Devout and by SH will be a wake-up call.
Jackson has had more character focus in S7 than he had for seasons - the mild doctor now wants revenge for his mentor-mother figure. Good to see more focus on his and Miller’s relationship, including their arguments. What Jackson said about Miller seems to have hurt Miller, who’s still feeling guilty for his role in the Blodreina regime. Maybe this Mackson disagreement contributes to Miller deciding to leave, to prove something to himself, and save Bellamy this time, since he didn’t do it in season 5.
Memori continue to be adorable. and we learn that Raven having no respect for her friends’ privacy is a recurring thing. Another snippet about the life on the Ring.
There was one line that didn’t make sense to me. Raven to Murphy: “Go do your job, be Emori’s moral anchor”. What?! Isn’t it usually the exact opposite?
Speaking of couples - Hatch called Nikki “Honey bunny”. That has to be a Pulp Fiction reference. Raven got the job done here, but I feel like Hatch’s death will have dire consequences for the possibility of peace in Sanctum. Both because he was the more optimistic and tolerant one, willing to expect good and to try to work to earn respect, and because Nikki is now going to be even angrier and more extreme. And just like we had different views about Sheidheda among the Grounders, here we see different views among prisoners about McCreary - Hatch calls him a jackass he won’t miss, but Nikki thinks he would have fought for the rights and better treatment of the prisoners. (I wonder what any of them have been told about Diyoza.)
“Welcome to the world of grey”
A few more words about Raven’s storyline -
One thing that bothers me about this storyline is the idea that this is the first time Raven is in the "world of grey". I guess the writing staff Murphy doesn't remember that time when she tried to give him to the Grounders to be tortured and killed in Finn's place for a crime Finn committed. She also tried to get Clarke to kill Lexa and start a war over Finn in that same episode, basically to sacrifice a bunch of people for him. There was also that time when she tortured Lincoln with electric shocks to save Finn. Or that time when she was withholding medicine from the dying people, including a dying child, because of rationing. Or the time when she was ready to turn the plug on 283 prisoners in cryo sleep. Or when she gave Echo an OK to kill Shaw, her ally, in season 5.
But all this got forgotten because she's never before had to deal with the consequences of her actions. Lincoln didn't die, the others stopped her from turning over Murphy and Finn gave himself up, Clarke opted to mercy kill Finn and do what's best for everyone instead, Murphy stole the meds and gave them to Abby so the child was given the medicine but died anyway, they didn't have to - and then couldn't - kill the prisoners in their sleep, Echo did not kill Shaw...
There were also plenty of times when Raven gave others the responsibility - like when she decided Clarke needed to make the list of 100 people who'll get to survive Praimfaya in the Arkadia as shelter (while passively aggressively bashing her at the same time, which was weird: "I'm in charge of rationing, but deciding who lives or dies is your specialty"), and then Clarke got blamed for it.U
Now, the writers (going by Jason's recent interview where he said that Raven had never done anything morally wrong in the first 6 seasons) seem to have forgotten about it - which I guess is why they wrote her as a self-righteous moralizer in season 6 - unintentionally making her really hypocritical. Which I hated, because she used to be one of my favorite characters, but became quite hard to like in season 6.
The way I see it, it’s best to ignore ridiculous BTS statements of the writers when those statements don’t match canon. I’m all for “Death of the Author” in that case, at least. If we just ignore it, Raven’t entire arc starts making more sense. Maybe they had some weird idea that they were writing her as the moral compass of the show in season 6 (but people who have acted as a moral compass usually don’t say things like “I’ve never done anything wrong in my life!” and refuse to acknowledge their own mistakes), but I’ve always interpreted Raven’s behavior in S6 as lashing out - she was hurting and lashing out, because she had been betrayed by her substitute mom Abby in the same way and for the same reasons as her real mom; she also felt betrayed by Clarke; and then she lost Shaw, the one person who would have put her first, so she felt she had no one left who would. (Though she did get better later in the season, making up with Abby, acting less judgmental and making up with Clarke. )
This is either the show course-correcting her earlier characterization, or fixing a long-standing flaw - Raven’s tendency to be harsh and judgmental to others, which had already been there before season 6. This was seen in this episode, too, from some of her disparaging comments to Murphy, to her contempt for the Eligius prisoners (not that this isn’t understandable, with the fact that she had been tortured by McCreary’s men).
So this feels like an important step in Raven starting to face the world of grey she often tried to see as black and white, and for once be in a situation where she has, almost directly, caused people’s deaths, by decisions she made on her own.
(The show also seems to be course-correcting a few other things about Raven: she looks more like her old self, she has gotten back some of her snark, and the show is showing her disability more - after having largely ignored it for the last couple of seasons.)
To be fair to Raven, she did not know from the start that she was sending Hatch and others to their deaths. She had assumed at first that the task would be dangerous, but not lethal. When she realized it was, the men were already irradiated, and it was necessary to fix the reactor so it would not kill everyone. The bigger problem was that Raven had lied - because she did not respect these people enough to give them an opportunity to maybe volunteer while knowing what the danger was. I think that Hatch, at least, still would have. He did prove smarter than she thought but realizing what was going on, while she was still lying to them that they weren’t going to die in minutes, and, contrary to what she had assumed - he did still want to fix the reactor, in spite of knowing he’d die, to save someone he loved. Raven also showed a similar disrespect towards Murphy - locking him inside to get the job done. It feels like this is something that has never been fully resolved between them - the fact that Murphy was a POS in season 1 and crippled Raven, but also, that she was fully prepared to give him to the Grounders to be tortured and killed in Finn’s place. I feel like this is going to make her start thinking differently and maybe give people the benefit of a doubt.
I knew Nikki was going to beat the crap out of Raven from the trailer, but I didn’t know what her reasons would be. It felt like Raven herself almost wanted this as punishment, because she felt guilty, and would rather take a beating than comfort (”Don’t touch me!”) And I’m sure Raven can understand how Nikki feels, since she has lost Shaw so recently, and Finn before.
I liked Hatch’s conversation with Murphy and the parallels Murphy could see there - Hatch and Nikki were another Bonnie and Clyde-style thief or rather robber duo.... except it went too far and they became murderers. Which Memori were not... but Murphy was a murderer even in season 1. In season 6, Murphy died and thought he had gone to hell for his sins, so it must have resonated with him when Hatch replied that, no, he wasn’t looking for redemption, because “There is no making up for it”.
Body count: James (RIP to yet another Arker from Wonkru, though we first met him in 6x02), his Sanctum girlfriend, and 4 Eligius prisoners including Hatch (which means that 32 remain).
Rating: 7/10
#the 100#the 100 7x03#false gods#the 100 season 7#raven reyes#john murphy#emori#clarke griffin#gaia kom trikru#sheidheda#jordan green#indra kom trikru
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The opportunities we may take
(The picture was a comission i ordered from a friend. Check her out -> Fantasiamin_art on instagram)
Sinbad x OC
Soulmate AU
Part 9
Oh, beloved Sindria
---Kingdom of Sindria, Harbor---
Salome looked attentively over the sandstone-colored harbor as the ship was maneuvered under the hole in the cliffs, that surrounds the whole island. Unlike in Dalmasca, however, the interior of the island did not seem to end in another valley, but in the form of an ascending mountain on which a huge city was built. Above at the top of said mountain, the castle of Sindria was majestically enthroned, which she had already seen from the sea from afar. Several houses standing close to each other were spread out on the slope of the hill and it seemed that many buildings had already added more floors to accommodate the increasing population.
With a racing heart, Salome leaned against the railing and tried to grasp all the details at once, but no matter where she looked, it seemed like she was discovering a new and interesting facet every time. On the left and right of the banks, some fields stretched in the distance, which were cultivated by hardworking farmers. With the king's huge ship, they crossed paths with fishermen who drove their small boats back ashore and smaller ships on which the navy conducted their patrols. Beaming with joy, people stopped their tasks to wave when they recognized the king's Vessel, which was sailing past them. Sinbad, who stood next to her, returned the gesture of his subjects and smiled contentedly. He was completely in his element as he stood there with a proudly swollen chest against the wood of his ship and looked down at the people who were cheering him on. There was a lot of activity on the docks. People who were doing their daily work, freighting goods or checking the logistics could be seen on every corner.
Even before the ship had begun to enter the harbor, fanfares sounded from afar, which made the people aware that their king had returned.
Guardsmen in the colors of Sindria lined up on the widest of the stone-build jetties, keeping the curious and delighted in habitants of the island at a distance as the ship slowly docked. The people cheered with bliss and waved to their king to euphorically welcome him. Yamraiha, Masrur, Ja'far and Sharrkan gathered around Sinbad, who was still smiling next to Salome. With heads raised high, they smiled down at the people at the harbor as they flanked their king and remained silent. With a hint of awe, Salome's attention went to Sinbad again, hoping to see what made people love this man with every fiber of their souls. At the sight of his soft look and the joyful inhabitants of Sindria, her heart contracted painfully for a brief moment. That was what this man had worked for all these years. Here in front of her the perfect proof unfolded that the Rukh had been right. He had built this place with the help of his companions to create a place where people could live in peace. It was fascinating how various the traits of the different people who resided on the island looked like, a clear proof that this country has become a new home for all these people, no matter where they originally come from.
So many rukh fluttered around Sinbad and these lands as she had only known from Solomon's temple before. It was a sight that calmed her immensely as it was one of the few things that made her feel more familiar in this unknown situation. With a mild smile on her lips, Salome watched the little golden birds gather around her frame to greet her warmly. Excitedly they circled the young woman's body before changing their trajectory to fly around the man next to her as well. Sinbad's and Salome's eyes met as she watched some of the rukh fly past his face and she was surprised to find that his attention had already been on her. Several seconds they looked at each other, without saying a word. Uncomfortably touched by the attention, Salome tried to take a few steps back, knowing that an unbelievable number of people could watch the two of them look deep into each other's eyes for a few moments. Before the young woman could slide between Masrur and Ja'far, Sinbad's hand shot out to stop her.
"Stay by my side, please.", he asked gently, placing his hand on her back, turning her around to the crowds and pointing forward.
"I would like to introduce the rest of my generals to you right away!" Added Sinbad after he also turned back to the front. He didn't seem to care that half of Sindria could see how familiar they were with each other, despite the fact that they had only known each other for a few days. While some dockers started to place the plank to let the people off the ship, four imposing people lined up in the middle of the square to greet their king with a salute.
Sinbad had already told her about his remaining generals a few days ago, so it was easy for her to distinguish them from one another without having seen them beforehand. Just as Sinbad had said, one of them was a huge blue-haired man with a headband in his hair. He also wore blue clothes that reminded her of the attire of the northern tribalmembers. Judging by his looks, this had to be Hinahoho from the cold north. Beside him was an equally tall man who looked more like a lizard or a dragon than a human. Immediately Salome thought of her brother and remembered what Malik had explained to her about assimilation. Drakon, Sinbad had called him with a certain warmth in his voice a few days ago. According to the King's statement, this man was one of his oldest friends and came from the same homeland as himself. A young, blonde girl sat on the shoulders of the dragon-man, who jumped down gracefully, before standing up in front of them. In addition to the two people described above, she looked almost like a small child. Salome was certain that this had to be Pisti, the youngest daughter of the Queen of Artemyra and also the youngest member of the generals. Despite the imposing shapes of the other three members, the last of the eight generals actually fascinated her the most. It was a red-haired young man, probably under 20, with red chin-length hair, whose bangs covered one of his eyes. But it was his appearance that captivated her so much, because he was wrapped in silver armor, the high-quality metal of which she knew was only mined in a certain place. Involuntarily, Salome's fingers wandered to the eight-pointed amulet, which was resting openly on her chest. The metal from which the piece of jewelry was made also came from that place and so it was of course not the first time that she saw a knight from Sasan. As withdrawn as the people of Sasan were, they had cultivated an intimate friendship with Dalmasca long before she even saw the light of day for the first time. Because of their two strong religious foundations, both cultures have always met each other with the greatest respect in the past and had shared their knowledge and goods to a certain extent. It was said that long ago, they have shared the same beliefs, maybe even shared the same roots but over time both cultures evolved individually. Salome had been very young when she first caught sight of the Knight King, Darius Leoxes, when he was negotiating with the high priests about their continuing friendship. This young man reminded Salome of the king of Sasan and she was dismayed to find that the knight's sight made her feel a little wistful, but she tried not to show it.
"The knight from Sasan ... Spartos was his name, right?" Asked the young woman and looked at Sinbad questioningly. The latter nodded and cocked his head before answering: "Yes, that's right. Why do you ask?"
"Just because... it's a little strange to see an emissary from Sasan. I met the last one a few years ago. Knowing how long it has actually been... Well!", Salome explained carefully, shrugging helplessly.
It felt strange to leave the ship next to the king, while Salome felt several looks at Sinbad and herself. She couldn't help but hear the whispers of people speculating who the young woman was at their king's side. Some claimed that she had to be a princess from a distant country who would now serve as another vassal under their king. Others laughed at it and reminded their interlocutors that Sinbad was a womanizer and that she was probably just one of his affairs. Maybe she was the newest member of his harem? But only she, Sinbad, his generals and her brother knew that none of this was true. She herself didn't know what exactly to do next to him, only that time would reveal it at some point. Nevertheless, the speculations made her extremely uncomfortable and it did not help that Sinbad led her to his other generals, as if it were natural that his hand should rest on her shoulder blades. Suddenly the gesture felt incredibly intimate, despite the fact that he had done this very often in the past few days and she had never minded it before. On the contrary, she had often initiated physical contact by putting a hand on his arm, or something similar. But she had to keep in mind that this man was a king and not a long lost friend whom she had finally found again. If she took it seriously, they didn't even know each other well enough, and yet the connection they shared suggested that it doesn't matter at all. The incredulous looks with which the unknown generals looked at her made Salome feel even more insecure. It was like they were facing a ghost, and even if she could understand their reactions, it didn't make her situation any easier. Shyly, she raised her eyes and slowly let them roam over each individual, being careful not to look the Sasan knight in the eye, knowing that this would violate Sasan's rites, her being a woman and all. Drakon, the man who looked like a lizard, was the first to catch himself and let his gaze wander to Sinbad, step in front of him and then fell into a low bow.
"Welcome, my king! We are glad that you came back safely!" He announced, breaking the silence with a surprisingly cultivated voice.
"Ah, Drakon! My friends! It's nice to be home again. I hope there wasn't too much of a problem in my absence?" Sinbad greeted his friends and slapped Drakon on the shoulder with a brotherly clap. A mild smile spread on the dragon-man's features before he shook his head and cleared his throat: "Not in the least, my king!" Drakon replied calmly before his eyes shifted discreetly to Salome. Nodding contentedly, Sinbad followed the man's gaze as his hand moved from her shoulder blades to her upper arm to pull her a little closer to his side. Clearing his throat as well, Sinbad pointed with his free hand at the young woman, who looked up at Drakon with wide eyes. "May I introduce you to Salome and her brother Malik? Salome, Malik, that is Drakon, Hinahoho, Pisti and Spartos.", the king introduced the two parties to each other as if they weren't being watched by countless people. Malik had stood behind Salome on the left and bowed his head respectfully, while Salome gave a slight curtsy and lowered her head in greeting.
"I-It is a pleasure to finally meet you!", Salome appreciated formerly as she smiled shyly at his remaining generals.
It was Pisti who moved next and looked at Salome with wide eyes. "Wow, you look the same as in the moving pictures of this blue thingy!" The young girl said in surprise as she looked up at the young woman. The young general approached Salome without shame and reached out to poke her arm on which Sinbad's hand rested.
"Looks like you're real this time, eh? But you don't look older at all." Pisti stated grinning before her eyes swung to Salome's brother. Pisti's expression slowly changed from curious to excited as she examined the man closely. Before anyone could react, the young girl started and jumped towards Malik. "Oh my God! Are those things on your back, wings? Can you fly with them? I love to fly! I want wings too! Are they real?", the girl squeaked and tried to grab Malik's wings, who took a lunge to the side and skilfully avoided her.
"Oi, stop that!" Malik grumbled, while he dodged her again before suddenly an arm wrapped around Pistis middle, as she was jerked over Hinahoho's shoulder, to stop her shenanigans.
"Let me down, Hina!" The girl whined as she kicked her legs and drummed her little fists on the back of his thick neck. The tall man didn't seem to be impressed, however, and gave the two newcomers a warm smile as he rubbed the back of his head with his free hand. "Nice to meet you, Miss Salome, Mr. Malik," he nodded before turning to Sinbad, who watched this scene with a fond expression on his face."My king there are carriages ready. How about moving this conversation to the castle?" "Ah, yes perfect. Come on, Salome, you're driving with me. The faster we are in the castle, the faster I can show you around." Sinbad replied enthusiastically and started to pull Salome to the carriages. Reluctantly, she glanced at Malik, who shrugged unobtrusively before she turned back to the king.
"Shouldn't Malik and I first see to find a place in an inn?" Asked the young woman uncertainly, almost tripping over her own feet when Sinbad suddenly stopped. Confused, he lowered his head towards the young woman and raised his eyebrows.
"An inn? How so?"
She let her gaze wander around nervously, to find that the generals looked curiously at her, as well. Clearing her throat, she shrugged helplessly and looked again at her brother, who stood silently beside her and crossed his arms over his chest. Well, he was not a great help at all.
"We need a place to stay, don't we?"
She was surprised to find that Sinbad's hand on her upper arm stiffened somewhat before he reluctantly releasing it, only to reach for her hand and smile at her brightly. "Of course you and your brother will live with me and the generals in the castle.", he replied matter of factually. Speechless, Salome raised her hand to her lips and started to shake her head in denial. "But ... we can't accept that!"
Sinbad, however, also shook his head: "I insist!", he replied before heading back towards the carriages, pulling Salome behind him and turning to Ja'far, who was following them: "Ja'far, as soon as we are back in the castle, I want you to have the two best available rooms in the Purple Leo Tower prepared." Salome watched uncertainly as surprise appeared on most of the faces of the generals. Ja'far, however, just nodded and seemed to be planning what he'll need to do, when they finally arrived at the castle.
.
.
.
The whole trip to the castle, Salome had looked out of the window curiously in order to get even more impressions of Sindria, ignoring the feeling to cause inconvenience. If she hadn't been so tired from the adventurous journey, she would have asked to explore the streets of Sindria on foot. This was something Sinbad had probably been able to read from her facial expression, because he had offered her in the middle of the trip that he would like to take her on a tour around his city within the next few days. He told her about the bazaar and the different districts as he went through the places he wanted to show her first. It was nice to see how enthusiastic this man was when it came to the country he ruled.
Sinbad and his generals had withdrew for the time being after showing Malik and her which rooms they would move into. They had planned to hold a short meeting to bring each other up to date, so she had been told that she should rest a little until dinner was ready. She would be picked up, the maid had promised, but the longer Salome had stayed in her pompous chambers, the more uneasy the silence had made her until she had finally fled out of her new room. In search of a place to get some fresh air, she had started walking back to the guards, who had been posted at the ground of the tower to ask for an exit. Relieved that she was given further help, she followed the man's descriptions and luckily found herself now at the entrance to one of the gardens. Taking a deep breath, Salome took slowly one step after another until her sandailed feet touched the grass. In silence, she let her surroundings take hold of her by letting her gaze wander over the flora of the small garden. The various flowers, bushes and trees were adapted to the somewhat warmer climate of Sindria, but she recognized some plants that she had also grown in Dalmasca. With a slightly calmer breathing, she strolled past the bushes and flower beds, running her fingers over the taller plants, to let them tickle the flesh of her tips. A bit further away, under one of the tall trees stood a big rock that seemed to be a memorial stone on closer inspection. It was standing on a paved surface that had been covered with various colorful plants, to decorate the ground. A stone bench stood a few meters in front of the structure. Upon closer inspection, this little garden looked far more private than she liked and she couldn't help wondering whether she was even authorized to enter this place. But why would have the guards otherwise described her the way to the nearest of the gardens if this place had been of limits for her. Rejecting the thought, Salome stepped closer to the memorial stone and began to read the names that had been engraved on it. Only then did she notice that some rukh flew around the structure and seemed to caress it gently.
"Vittel ...
Mahad ...
Mystras ...
Rurumu ...
Serendine", she had read aloud some of the names, which adorned the smooth surface of the high-quality stone in artistic writing. A feeling of melancholy overwhelmed her as she watched as the rukh followed the rhythm of her voice. It was like she should have known these people in another life. As if she had a chance to count all these people among her as acquaintances if she would have taken the oppurtunity in the past. Sadly, Salome sat down on the stone bench and silently imagined what kind of people they had been, whose names were immortalized on this structure. Unconsciously, the young woman glided her fingers around the bracelet in which her Djinn, Alexander, was resting. Reluctantly, she bit her lower lip before silently speaking to the Rukh:" Would you tell me something about those people?", she asked in a whisper. The golden birds reacted immediately and began to mingle with those who followed her around, before they readily shared their knowledge with her. She listened for a few moments until she suddenly heard heavy footsteps behind her. "Ahh, there you are. Sin and your brother were very upset when they didn't found you in your chambers!"
Startled, Salome whirled around and got up hastily to move away from the memorial stone.
"I'm sorry ... I didn't want to be curious and be a burden to you!", Salome apologized, as if she had been caught stealing the last cookie from the can. Ashamed, she looked up at the rough-looking man from the northern tribes, who had put on a surprisingly soft look on his face. "You didn't do anything wrong. Calm down, Miss Salome." Hinahoho replied soothingly as he got closer to the young woman. He peered from her to the artful structure before settling nonchalantly on the bench. Witha deep sigh, he stretched out his long, muscular legs before resting his arms on his knees.
"The stone is engraved with the names of those who once gave their lives in the struggle to create a peaceful Sindria.", said the man in a smoky voice, without Salome asking him about it. The young woman silently listened to the huge man, who was circled by some of the Rukh. He didn't seem to notice them, which indicated, that he wasn't some sort of magician.
"My wife ... was one of them, you know?" he added, his eyes gaining a sad glow before he laughed a little humorlessly. "I don't know why I told you that now. Actually I normally don't talk about it.", he muttered, eyebrows drawn together as he rubbed his neck awkwardly and took a careful look in her direction. Swallowing, she looked back as she clasped her hands over her chest.
"Rurumu..."
Salome murmured her name hesitantly before closing her eyes and listening to what the Rukh whispered in her ear. She didn't notice how Hinahoho's eyes widened when she said the name if his deceased wife.
"She knows that you still mourn today and it hurts her a lot..." Salome began to say carefully. Her heart was racing, maybe out of fear that she was going to make him angry, but she couldn't help but follow the rukh's request.
"I-if she could, she'd hit you on the head for continuing to live in the past. Like hitting you with a... ehm well, a Rurumu-chop...? knocking some sense into that... head of yours." She recited quietly and blushed as she tried to ignore how Hinahoho inhaled sharply. Squinting her eyes even more tightly, Salome did not notice how Alexander's vessel lit up on her wrist, while the Rukh began to fly wildly around her, as if to confirm her statement.
"She... says that she loves you very much, but she has been part of the flow for a few years now and she asks you to keep your eyes on the future without regret's!" She continued to recite while tears rose into her eyes, that squeezed through her narrowed eyelids. Salome didn't know, why she was starting to cry, but the words that tumbled out of her, made her unbelievably sad. Was it her own sadness? Or was it the feeling that the rukh conveyed to her? Startled, she opened her turquoise eyes, when two huge callused hands gently closed around hers. With wide pupils, she looked at the Tribesman kneeling in front of her.
"Is that what the Rukh are whispering to you? Is she here with us?" He asked incredulously. Sinbad must have informed his generals of her abilities, because Hinahoho looked excited but seemed not to be surprised. Judging his heartbreaking look, he believed her words, wanting to know what Rurumu wants to tell him.
Salome nodded cautiously as she bit her lip.
"She is ... very proud of you. How excellent you are at bringing up your children...Always watching that they are showing their good manners. How you helped to build this place that you have all dreamed of building ...How you manage to stick together and give each other strength.", she whispered, watching compassionately as the rough-looking man's golden eyes became glazed with unshed tears. Sadly, she looked away, toward the entrance to the garden. The kings adviser stood there next to Sinbad, staring at her with a fixed look. If she didn't saw his lower lip trembling slightly, she would have thought that Ja'far would've want to blame her for saying something like that. But his own eyes glazed somewhat after he heard her following words.
"She is so incredibly proud of how much you all grew and for never giving up! Actually they all are... They... will allways be here beeing a part of the flow, that watched over their beloved sindria and their familys"
All three man looked at Salome in awe, keeping their silence as the rukh fluttered around her in love.
#magi#Sinbad#sinbad magi#magi labyrinth of magic#magi kingdom of magic#sindria#Adventures of Sinbad#sinbadxoc#sindrias generals#sinbad no bouken
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Hearts Warm and Bright
~~~~
This is a short story for @purplerose244 for the @toa-secret-santa event. Surprise! I was your Secret Santa. I saw your post about sweaters and just had to incorporate it.
(Also thank-you to @archaeopter-ace who created the reference I used for the Akiridian writing)
Now without any further ado:
~~~~
~~~~
Krel knocked on the Domzalskis’ front door with some sense of trepidation. He wasn’t sure what to make of the humans’ different little “holly-day” traditions but… the festivities were part of his friends’ cultures so he was determined to at least try to enjoy them. That aside, he’d never really had a chance to be properly part of a festival without his status as a royal affecting it. It might be fun.
The door opened and a blast of warm, sweet smelling air hit him. Steve grinned widely from the other side of the doorframe.
“ ‘Bout time you got here! We were starting to think you’d gotten lost in one of your nerdy science things.”
“They are not ‘nerdy’,” Krel grumbled.
“Yeah, sure… Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Steve rolled his eyes. “Did you bring anything for the party?”
“The Blanks made some cookies?” Krel offered. “I hope it will appease the Santa Claus?”
Lucy and Ricky called out cheery greeting behind him.
Steve snorted and looped an arm around his shoulder.
“Get in here buttsnack.”
Krel shoved half-heartedly at the appendage wrapped around his shoulder, with only two hands at the moment Steve had the advantage.
Inside the house was decked out in lights and plant pieces. A large tree was standing upright in the middle of the living room. It was of the non-leafy variety that Krel thought he had heard the humans call “pines”.
The Coach Lawrence and Steve’s mom were already there talking to Nana and Toby. They turned to look in his direction as the cold air from outside reached them.
Toby’s face split into a wide grin.
“DJ Kreb is in the house!” He hollered and made his way over.
“Of course,” Krel said waving back. “The house is definitely preferred with how cold it is outside.”
He didn’t know how humans had lasted so long with their heat requirements. He looked over Toby curiously noting that he was wearing different garments than usual.
“What is that?” He asked pointing at the odd thick shirt Toby was wearing with his own name on it.
Toby blushed slightly.
“Nana makes Christmas sweaters for the family… and Dr. L and Jim,” He explained smoothing down.
“Oh!” Krel said. He thought for a moment and then did ‘fingerguns’. “Crispy.”
Toby groaned. “Not you too.” He grabbed Krel’s hand. “Come on! We’ve got presents to unwrap and cookies to eat and then I am beating you at whatever game Uncle Fin sent me this year.”
“Unlikely, but you have my interest.”
Krel followed him over to the couch, releasing this transduction on the way over. It was much more comfortable to have all four arms.
Once they got there they were all handed wrapped boxes containing presents and got to work. Krel thought it was a little odd to go to all the work to make the packaging look pretty only to destroy it, but he could appreciate the fun of the surprise.
From Steve he got a remote controlled car, from Toby an assortment of human sweets, from the Coach a set of weights (unnecessary with his new ship/house’s training deck but he appreciated the thought), and from Barbara Lake an adventure book. The winged troll, Strickler, gave him an odd piece of technology he didn’t recognize.
“I’m told you enjoy solving puzzles of the technological sort,” He said with a wink and gave no farther explanation.
After that there were sweets and games, contrary to Toby’s boasts, Krel managed to beat him twice at the new video game before the short human won a round.
Krel’s cheeks almost were hurting from smiling by the time Nana pulled him to the side.
“Can I help you with something?” he asked.
Nana gave a little chuckle at that and patted him on the shoulder.
“You’re such a dear,” She said and then handed him a box. “I have one more gift for you.”
Krel eyed it curiously. The wrapping paper was white with the little red and white mint candy hooks on it. After a moment of hesitation he started to tear it off. Inside was a brown box and inside that was something made out of cloth. The texture resembled the garment Toby was wearing.
“It’s a ‘sweater’, right?” He asked hesitantly as he unfolded it.
“Yes, dear.”
He pulled out the blue-black material to get a better look at it and stilled. It had four arms. Not only that but on the front of it, above a little depiction of a tree, was his name in both English and Akiridian.
There was no way it came from a store. Krel opened and closed his mouth a few times before getting words out.
“You made this? For me?”
Nana smiled and nodded.
“But Toby said you only make these for family,” He protested even as his hands tightened protectively on it.
“I do, but there’s far more to family than just who you’re related to,” Nana said with a wave of her hand.
Toby had drifted away from the others while they were talking to stand next to her. He shifted from foot to foot and wrung his hands.
“I um…” Toby hesitated. “I told her about what happened to your parents and I know what that’s like. Well not exactly! But I lost mine when I was little and… Well with you on Earth and us being friends I thought that maybe…”
He broke off flushing and looking uncharacteristically awkward.
“What Toby-pie is trying to say,” Nana said, mercifully choosing to finish the explanation for him. “Is that you have a home with us as well.”
“I…” Krel didn’t know what to say.
He stared down at the sweater in his hands and felt wetness swell in his eyes. It was a funny trait that came with constant use of transductions, a very human trait. He swallowed and hugged the gift close to him.
“I’d like that.”
Toby whooped and hugged him. Krel let out a startled laugh and returned it. A moment later he felt Nana’s arms wrap around both of them. This was nice, he thought.
He had a second to relax into the embrace before Steve’s loud voice broke through his warm haze.
“Group hug!” The blond oaf hollered.
“Hey!” Toby whined as he was squished between them.
Krel tried to glare at him, but couldn’t quite manage it. He might grumble and get annoyed sometimes but loved his dumb humans.
Eventually they all pulled apart to return to their various revelries of choice. Krel took the moment of opportunity to slip his sweater on. It fit perfectly. He ran his fingers over it reverently as he savored the warm feeling in his chest.
It was strange…
He had wanted to make his mark during his time on Earth (And he had in both big ways and small ones) but somehow, despite destroying and asteroid and defeating a tyrant-turned-god, it was the friends that he had made he was most proud of. He knew he wouldn’t be here forever, he was still King and one day he would have to return to Akiridian-5 to rule, but he couldn’t help but think that this odd little town on a planet he had once complained of as a “boring mudball” would always be home to him.
#Tales of Arcadia#Trollhunters#3below#3below fanfiction#krel tarron#toby domzalski#Tobias Domzalski#nana domzalski#steve palchuk#Fluff#let the boy be happy#christmas#toa-secret-santa#secret santa 2019#purplerose244#gifts#I will crosspost this to AO3 and Fanfiction on Friday#I'm a bit to tired to do that tonight#I got it done in time though!#Merry Christmas!
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Project Compass 13
Read Along on AO3 Here
<< Previous Chapter << >> Next Chapter >>
This time: Ezra experiences a sympathetic vision. Thrawn has had enough.
Next Time: Ivant and Un’hee and data that could change everything.
-/
The glass Ezra was holding slipped from his hand and shattered on the marble tile, water splashing everywhere. Not more than five seconds later, Thrawn came through his door, as if expecting there to be enemies surrounding him on all sides. When there were not, he stopped his advance. Ezra stood completely still, palm and fingers curled as though he were holding the glass broken on the floor.
“Bridger?”
He didn’t move, didn’t seem to hear Thrawn speaking. Thrawn took another step forward, and the sound of his feet against the tile made Ezra jerk, then crumple. Thrawn darted towards the Jedi, grabbing him before he could bash his head on the marbled floor.
“Ezra, answer me,” Thrawn commanded, voice crisp and icy. He shook the young man, watching as his eyelids fluttered. His body seemed to have broken out in a cold sweat, his entire body seeming to draw tight and fearful, as if expecting blows. “Ezra!”
An attendant appeared in the doorway behind them, likely also hearing the commotion. “Sir-”
Blue eyes blinked open, holding Thrawn’s glowing gaze with obvious effort. His eyes were trying to roll back as he spoke. “He’s after you,” Ezra said with a body-wide shudder. “They knew about it. They want...”
“Who?”
“I heard it,” He murmured, losing the fight to remain conscious. “Your brother-” He started to say, before going limp. Thrawn exhaled, considering the similarities between Navigators and Jedi. He’d never seen a Jedi have a vision - apparently it wasn’t exceedingly common amongst Jedi - but if his thoughts were correct, there was only one Ezra’Bridger could be this unconsciously afraid of.
He rose with Ezra in his arms, giving the woman who had responded a cool glance. “Is Thrass in his office at present?”
“Sir, I don’t-”
“Is he?” Thrawn snarled, more of a command to answer than a question. The woman snapped her mouth shut and nodded once. “Clean this mess,” He indicated of the glass.
“And the human?”
Thrawn’s tone was acerbic. “Certainly there are other guest quarters in this monstrosity of a home, yes?”
-/
“Still, the emperor wants him alive,” Ar’alani said. She stroked her chin. “Based on the information we’ve received Karyn Faro, we know that the Empire is not strictly winning their war with the rebels. The Grysk, however, likely do not.”
“That he’s wanted alive says something,” Thrass agreed.
“He was the best commander in the Imperial Navy,” Captain Ivant murmured. “Everyone knew it, they were just a bunch of Xenophobes. Thrawn had plans to defeat the insurgents without the use of their superweapon. If they don’t have another plan - hell, even if they did,” He mused, “Thrawn would be Palpatine’s best option to stomp out the rebellion.”
“And what of his offer to help the Grysk defeat us, Captain?” Thrass’s gaze lingered on him, waiting for what would be their most informed response.
“It’s a possibility. They’re a lot alike,” Ivant supposed. “Maybe they’d team up as long as it took to defeat and enslave us - killing us would be too kind,” He mused morbidly. “But they’d eventually turn on each other. The question is how much of the galaxy they’d wreck in the process.”
“It is not a possibility we can entertain. Not in any capacity,” Vah’nya said firmly. “I do not wish-”
A firm knock on the door gave them all pause. Thrass frowned. That was not the knock of an attendant. Nor would any attendant bother the head of house in the midst of such a meeting without fearing for their job, but more importantly Thrass’s ire. No, it could only be one person.
“Brother,” Thrawn growled, voice raised. “Open this door.”
“Well, this is about to get interesting,” Thrass said mildly. “Would anyone like a drink before I let him in?”
“We cannot-”
“Do you think he’s going to leave, Admiral?” Thrass made a face as he spoke. “What’s wrong? Did your pet Jedi have a meltdown?”
Vah’nya closed her eyes, seeming to focus. Her breath caught. “Yes, that’s right, he did,” She said softly to Ar’alani. “I should have considered this. He’s spoken of the Emperor to me. Mitth’raw’nuruodo-”
More banging, far more insistent this time came at the door. Thrass continued to pour his glass higher than was socially acceptable, then kept the bottle in hand as he made his way to the door. “You’re making a scene,” The elder brother threw his voice as he stopped in front of Vanto, pouring the human more. “Calm yourself or I will leave you out there to carry on.”
“You will do no such thing,” Thrawn intoned harshly. “I know-”
Thrass threw the door open before he could continue, not willing to risk whatever confidential item his younger brother had no-doubt uncovered. Thrawn’s eyes flashed in visible fury. To his left and right, but several paces back, stood all of the attendants that serviced the wing. He nodded to them politely, ignoring his brother for the moment in lieu of handing the closest one the empty bottle. “Take that for me please,” He said, almost kindly. “You’ll have to forgive my brother. He’s having a time.”
“Mitth’ras’safis.”
“What?” Thrass tipped his head down, as if the centimeter and a half he had on his sibling was a far greater height. “You wished to be allowed in and I am doing so, against my better judgement.” He stepped back and beckoned Thrawn. Once Thrawn had two steps into the office, Thrass closed the door behind him.
Vah’nya stood, turning to face Thrawn. “Is Ezra alright?”
“Go to him, Navigator,” Ar’alani instructed when Thrawn stared her down in response. “We will be fine here.”
Vah’nya looked just to the right of Thrawn’s left shoulder, where Ivant stood. He gave a nearly imperceptible nod. “Listen to the Admiral,” Ivant said. “It’s fine.”
The Navigator could tell there was an icy - and likely cruel - retort on Thrawn’s tongue. She’d never seen him truly angry before. Though, she considered, perhaps that wasn’t the best word to describe him. There were other things that afflicted him. Anger was a good mask for them. Most others might not see through him, but those gathered in this room did not need the gift of Sight to see through Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s facade. She dipped her head to him and left without another word, grateful to slip away from the hostile tension that gripped the syndic’s office.
“Sit,” Thrass bid his brother, indicating the seat the Navigator had left. “You’ve made enough of a scene.”
Thrawn did not. “The Jedi just had a vision in of a plot involving the Emperor-”
“Sit down,” Thrass’s voice was clipped. “Please,” He added tensely.
“-and all of you knew of it.” He turned to face Ivant last. There was no indication of his plans to heed his brother’s request.
The human crossed his arms and stared him down. “We just played the recording,” Ar’alani said, drawing his attention. “If the Emperor is as powerful of a sorcerer as the Jedi proclaims-”
“None of you have any idea of the Emperor’s supposed power,” Thrawn said, voice sharp and full of icy disdain. He looked back to Ivant. “Not in the way I do.”
“So we’re supposed to tell you everything?” Ivant asked.
“It is to do with me, is it not?”
“It’s to do with the entire Ascendancy.” Ivant pressed, stern. “Hard pressed as it may be to hear, Mitth’raw’nuruodo, this is not about you.”
“On the contrary,” Thrawn said, levying the full weight of his gaze at the Captain, sharp and bitter, “I know for certain it is.”
“How so?”
“The Emperor will want me back. He is losing the war, is he not?” He looked briefly at Ar’alani and Thrass, then focused the whole of his attention on Ivant. “I achieved unrivaled results.”
“Would you like to go back?” Ar’alani asked him. “It didn’t seem to be your desire when we finally retrieved you. It might upset your Jedi friend.”
“I do not wish to serve Emperor Palpatine. I wish to serve the Ascendancy,” Thrawn growled. “A task I am hardly doing at present,” He added, fighting for control over each and every word.
“And for good reason,” Thrass interjected. “You’ve practically come unhinged, brother.” He motioned to Thrawn, indicating he should consider his appearance, both physical and mental. “And these are not exactly peacetimes, as I’m sure you’ve realized.”
“Unhinged? I am one of few who understands the dangers we face in their entirety.”
Ar’alani exchanged a meaningful glance with Ivant before rising. “Syndic.”
“What?” Thrass snapped, never breaking the heated glare he exchanged with Thrawn. It had been two decades too long. Thrawn needed to be put in his place, and he had absolutely no problem doing so.
Ivant opened the door to the hallway. “Let me handle this,” He said.
Thrawn straightened more, looming as he faced the human. “Now you wish to speak with me, El’ivan’to?” He drawled the Wild Space native’s name with the Chiss pronunciation. Whether it was meant to bait the Captain went unsaid, but Vanto didn’t so much as flinch under pressure.
“You are making a fool of yourself,” Thrass said, then regarded Ivant, warning him, “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
Ivant didn’t look terribly bothered. In fact, his face remained expressionless, his eyes hard. “It’s fine. This is a long time coming, I think.” He motioned to the door. “Syndic, Admiral, if you would.”
Ar’alani nodded. “We should check on the Jedi as well, seeing that we are to blame for triggering him unnecessarily.”
They cleared out, Thrass giving Ivant a lingering look as if to say it was his funeral if he chose to invoke his brother’s rage alone. But Thrass forgot that Thrawn was not some unknown beast to him. This might be the closest he’d ever seen the Chiss to angry, but he knew better. This volatile mood wasn’t one single emotion. It was a build-up of many emotions and situations. Thrawn had been forced to spend the majority of his time with beings less than half his age for months, trying to reassimilate to a culture and people that had changed drastically since he’d left. This was good, Ivant thought, squaring his shoulders and pushing himself up from his casual lean against the wall. It was about time Thrawn expressed something. Anything, really.
“We aren’t the people we used to be,” Ivant told him, when the door snicked shut and they were truly alone. It was the only indication Ivant had given to show he recalled the conversation they’d had weeks ago, in Thrawn and Ezra’s shared quarters. The Captain gestured to the space between them, looking almost… unimpressed. “Start talking.”
Thrawn smiled. It was predatory. Eli remembered this and braced for the inevitable, conversationally unrelated question he suspected would come. And it did. “What is Project Compass?”
Ivant laughed. Then, he switched to Basic and said, “It’s everything you sent me to the Ascendancy to achieve, Sir,” He drawled, provoking the Chiss with the same tactic he’d tried on Vanto no more than minutes earlier. His eyebrows went up, however, inviting further questioning. Welcoming it, even. “It’s hardly a secret.”
Thrawn didn’t bite. With his usual calm clicking into place he queried, “Is it not? The Navigators seem to think so.”
“I’m sure. We select and study candidates of the highest aptitude, when it comes to their abilities. It’s a bit easier to get them to acquiesce to tests when you explain to them they’re of far higher ability and importance than their colleagues.”
“You lie, Captain.” Thrawn’s voice dipped in something that might be disappointment, if it wasn’t undercut with barely restrained fury. Ivant watched Thrawn attempt to work it out, studying his own motions, his breaths, his face and chest for discrepancies. He knew there were none. If he were the person he had once been, he knew being able to go toe to toe with Thrawn would have been a proud moment, would have left warm satisfaction curling in his gut. Now, he hardly gave it a thought. Still, anyway, Thrawn protested, “Your eyes give you away.”
“They don’t,” Ivant replied, his face blank as if he didn’t care one way or another if Thrawn believed him or not. He was just as capable of redirection as Thrawn was, but he knew better than to draw it out and risk a miscalculation. He didn’t underestimate Thrawn, even in a state like this. So, he opted not to meander around the point, and instead told the truth. “The Grysk tortured that out of me.”
It was a low blow. Lower than any the once-Imperial Eli Vanto ever struck. Thrawn reeled from it, caught spectacularly unaware. There was no witty comeback, no continued assault from the Captain. He stood still, assessing Thrawn silently without so much as an indication of his intent, no emotion crossing his face. It proved his point. Thrawn couldn’t read him.
And it made Thrawn sick to his stomach, revulsion and self hatred flaring through every synapse. It had been because of him, the Navigators had informed Ezra. But it was more than that. His choices had put this man here. And he had to bear the consequences of that. He was responsible for making this man what he’d become and for all his suffering along that path.
“Stop that.” Ivant said after a moment, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of Thrass’s desk. He took the one Vah’nya had left and waited for Thrawn to take the other to his left. “You’re not some god, you know.” He raised the glass of whiskey to his lips and took a pull of the drink, then set it down decidedly to the right of the coaster Thrass had set out for exactly that purpose. “This ain’t all on you.” Thrawn looked at the tumblr for a moment, but then the Captain spoke again, drawing his gaze. “Is Project Compass really what you want to know about?”
Thrawn considered saying yes. He did wish to know what Ar’alani’s plan was, what this project was that a non-Chiss was obviously so instrumental in achieving. But that was information he could get from other sources. Vanto’s words rang in his head. They really weren’t the same people they had been, before.
“Was,” Thrawn paused. Considered. He wondered just how Vanto saw him in this moment, but knew that in this instance, pride could not matter. “Was I to blame for your capture?”
Ivant leaned back in his seat. He picked up his glass, studying it. “Abstractly, you could say so, yes.” He shrugged. “You were among the reasons I took the mission in the first place.”
“You were aware of what I did. My actions-” He frowned. “I do not understand.”
Ivant met his gaze, choosing not to comment about the mixed feelings he saw there. “The way I see it, the Emperor forced your hand. He was just as xenophobic as the rest of the Empire, you were too smart for your own good, and you were loyal to your own people, first. He was paranoid, and you flagged yourself as an enemy. He burns through an awful lot of allies for a man trying to expand his empire.”
“If not the Chiss, the Grysk,” He mused. Like pawns in a game of galactic chess. “They believed you knew where I was,” Thrawn realized, seeing the connection. “You knew they would capture you.”
“I did know,” Ivant confirmed. “But they suspected Vah’nya had the information instead of me. I’m just a hireling, remember? I thought you sent me here because I was good at math.”
“Then why-”
“She didn’t have the information to give them. Only two people knew where you were. The Admiral, and myself. She took the fleet on the course you were on, and I made it known I was attempting to rescue you on a mirror of that path.” He smirked. “It was a good plan. By the time they figured out I was the one with the information, they’d shown me all their cards and the fleet was in the wind.” He shook his head.
“I was not worth that.”
The captain dispelled the thought. “It wasn’t just for you. There were plenty of good men and women we served with aboard the Chimaera. Good people who deserved to live.”
“Good people who will never know who saved them,” Thrawn said. “The Grysk would have slaughtered at least half of them, and enslaved the rest.”
“I don’t need the recognition,” Ivant said. He steered the conversation back on course, revealing, “The Emperor promised the Grysk a reward for capturing you and bringing you back to the Empire. Aid,” He revealed, “To defeat the Chiss.”
“Then, or now?”
“Both.” Ivant tapped the pocket he’d put the datacard in. “We found this transmission on the ship Ar’alani took with help from Bridger. They want to break you. The Emperor’s power is strong, of that there is no doubt. The Navigators dream of him from time to time.” He shook his head. “But he is not invincible or absolute. And you will not be going back, even if you wanted to.”
“I do not.”
“I know that, Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”
“Thrawn,” The Chiss said. “I would prefer it if you called me Thrawn.”
“As you wish.” Ivant’s gaze narrowed, his brown eyes searching Thrawn’s for something. If he found it, Thrawn couldn’t be sure. His voice was cool, but not unkind. “We are on the precipice of civil war,” He said, and Thrawn didn’t have time to think about the way Vanto considered himself a Chiss, the way he so naturally said ‘we.’ “I realize you wish to be in command, and frankly, I don’t blame you. But there is a reason for the Admiral’s decision to keep you assigned to Bridger. She and I expect you to honor that assignment.”
“As you said,” Thrawn interjected. ���We are not who we were before.” It wasn’t a true acknowledgement, hardly a guarantee that Thrawn would not revolt against the decisions of his superiors, but it would have to do.
“No. We are not,” Ivant agreed, his voice fierce and earnest. Once again, he held Thrawn’s gaze. “We have to be better.”
Thrawn’s breath caught in his throat, the wardrum that was his heartbeat seeming to thunder in his chest, faster than before. He realized, possibly for the first time, that Eli Vanto was speaking to him as an equal. And he was, unlike any who had come before, Thrawn thought. Vanto had evolved beyond Thrawn’s wildest expectations and hopes. He had come here of his own choosing. Had made difficult choices and persevered on his own merit. Had proven everyone who ever doubted him wrong.
And, Thrawn realized suddenly, sharply and of his own volition: He was in love with this man. It was not some pandering thought of an overly-attached Jedi, nor the convoluted plot pushed upon him by scheming Navigators. Truly, he was in love with Eli Vanto. He wanted to get to know this man better, wanted to understand him down to his most minute elements. Flesh and bone, heart and soul.
#thranto#eli vanto/thrawn#eli vanto#mitth'raw'nuruodo#ezra bridger#mitth'ras'safis#ar'alani#vah'nya#sw fanfiction#my writing
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“Americans live in a fantasy world”
Your autobiography is called "Chasing the Light." But did you find the light you were looking for?
That was the case when I was 40. At least the light of success, when “Platoon” became an absolutely unbelievable success. That was a "Cinderella" story of "Rocky" dimensions. Here we had an unknown B-movie that was shot in the Philippines for little money and then it became a monster hit all over the world. Before, the entire Hollywood community had rejected me, now suddenly the studios welcomed me again with open arms.
But the times when you moved the world with your films are long ago. Do you regret that?
No, because I’m happy and satisfied. I've made enough films and that took a lot of energy. There’s currently no topic that burns under my skin. I only did “Snowden” four years ago because I wanted to raise public awareness of the issue of the surveillance state. I thought that was my responsibility. But I wasn't as enthusiastic about that film as something like “Platoon.” Making a movie takes a year or two of your life. At 74, I have no motivation to shoot anything without great ambition, just for the sake of filmmaking. Besides that, Hollywood isn't interested in me anymore anyway. And I ask myself the question: does Hollywood even still exist?
Why wouldn't it be there anymore?
Who makes real films these days? Everyone works for television, where the average rules because all projects are trimmed down to the lowest possible denominator. There is more bureaucracy; decisions about projects are made in committee. The script development is the worst of all - it’s not called "development hell" for nothing. None of this goes with how I made films. They were outside the norm. I don't think a [company like] Netflix would understand. “Snowden” could only be made because the start-up funding came from Germany and France.
Are there really no subjects that you can warm to?
I would have liked to film the legal investigation of the My Lai massacre in Vietnam. It was a great story. But that didn't happen because negotiations were going on in the years after September 11th and a story about American soldiers creating bloodbaths among civilians didn't go over well. And my Martin Luther King project didn't work out because I wanted to address his infidelities as well, and his estate administrators objected to that.
How about a Donald Trump movie?
At the moment it doesn't make that much sense because his story is always evolving. Apart from that, so much has been written about him that I don't have much new to contribute. Ultimately, he's just a con man and a narcissist.
But in view of the upheavals he created, he would be an ideal film protagonist.
Frankly, he hasn't done any permanent damage yet. Yes, he has no morals. But did George W. Bush have any? He's no-good and from my point of view, he was by far the worst president we've ever had. He was a mediocre student who dodged Vietnam and still got the red carpet rolled out. As president, he was a pushover who pretended he was strong and then led us into a devastating war in the Middle East from which we have not recovered to this day. We have not yet recovered from the anti-terrorism legislation of the Patriot Act.
How do you see Barack Obama in comparison?
He proclaimed lofty intentions, but during his presidency whistleblowers were persecuted, bombing and drone attacks escalated. The point is, we are trapped in a system that we cannot break out of.
What kind of system do you mean?
One shaped by the conservative ideology of the military establishment. When Kennedy wanted to abolish this and establish a more peaceful policy, he was pushed out of the way. We are a militaristic society that has a cult of guns and military worship. The trillions we spend on our defense budget have ruined our country. We consider ourselves the strongest in the world, which I think is a fallacy. I myself have repeatedly denounced the machinations of the military, not least in my autobiography, in which I go into all the lies of the Vietnam War. We never admitted to ourselves how many of our soldiers were accidentally killed by our own forces. We told the lie that we didn't kill civilians and we lied to our taxpayers that we could win this war. The whole concept of victory was fucked up - right from the start of the war. Unfortunately in the USA far too few people dare to challenge the military. You need guts for that.
Despite all of your anti-war films and US-critical documentaries, not much has apparently changed. Are you disaffected?
Indeed I am. I would like to believe that I’m doing something good with my work. I also know that a lot of people have responded positively to it. Only at the government level nothing changes. Perhaps this is due to the deeply rooted aggressiveness of American society. When I go to Japan, I don't see any weapons. I experience a completely different culture that is characterized by mutual respect. They don't shoot each other in the street. You, in Europe, learned your lesson from World War II, which unfortunately did not become part of the American consciousness. We live in a fantasy world made up of video games and war films. People have no realistic idea of the nature of war. That's why we have no qualms about it.
Does that mean Americans should look to the rest of the world, rather than the other way around?
Yes, I would say that. Too many people in the US have no historical perspective. They live in Disneyland or on a golf course. They’re just fighting to move forward economically. That is their only thought. But we need some kind of world awareness. The people in Europe and Asia are much more educated and savvy. It's not just about making money [to them].
And how was it with you? You're an American too, and good money can be made with films.
That's why I never went into the film industry. I chose this route because I wanted to tell stories. Little did I know it was going to be a billion dollar blockbuster business. That wasn't good for cinema anyway, because films that say something about our society fell behind.
Have you never thought of emigrating? Your mother was French and your wife is a native Korean. Your last film was funded with European funds.
Of course I have. But I was shaped by America, I grew up and went to school here. And it's not as catastrophic here as it is sometimes portrayed by the media. I prefer to try to make things change. There are still many good people here. It’s worth fighting with them for a better America. And I'm also someone who believes in a happy ending.
Let's say you never developed this critical awareness. Then you could have had a much easier life. Would that be tempting to imagine?
Absolutely not. The average American lives in a world full of pain, he just doesn't understand it because he’s spiritually dead and only interested in material things. Such an existence is hell on earth. Of course, all these problems were tough to deal with. That's why there’s so much pain in my autobiography. But without that pain, I would’ve had a useless life. But as it is, my existence has a meaning - spiritual, political, social.
Do you remember the first time you volunteered for a noble cause?
It was at school. I was around ten then. There was a boy in my class - physically awkward, otherwise awkward and not particularly well educated. And he was bullied by the rest of the class. He was all alone and I felt sorry for him. So I stood up for him, which was not well received. As a result, I became an outsider too. That gave me my first good insight into how human society works.
But in the film industry, haven’t you been tough and struck some blows?
On the contrary. As a Vietnam veteran, I couldn't cope with society for a long time. I felt like a savage. That's why I consciously tried to be particularly careful and civilized with people. I should have talked to some of the experienced people. In this industry, people misbehave all the time and so, as a newcomer, I was really taken advantage of by people who had no such moral inhibitions.
You still seem relatively gentle and prudent. How did you manage to maintain that demeanor despite all the negativity that was beating down on you?
I've been studying Buddhism for almost 30 years and that helps me find inner harmony. But I’m not a person who scourges myself and walks around in a hairshirt. And I can't complain either. I had a good life.
You will never give up, even if you are no longer passionate about filmmaking?
No, there are so many other things that interest me. I keep doing my documentaries. We should each make the most of our life, to become more aware. It's a big responsibility. And we shouldn't say to ourselves: “It doesn't matter.” Otherwise we would live in a state of nihilism, and that doesn't work.
-Rudiger Sturm interviews Oliver Stone, Augsburg General, Oct 18 2020 [x] Translated.
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I Have no Sweetheart but You (Arthur Morgan x F! Reader)
I’m back on my yeehaw bullshit baybee! Find on AO3!
Escapes don’t come often for Arthur - the weight of others’ expectations fall heavy on his already bad shoulders. Though he bears these burdens (as always) with a slight gruff and a spur of his horse as he goes wherever he is needed or told. On occasion it’s both.
But when he finds himself with a moment of time to call his own, he uses the luxury of choice to spend it with you. There aren’t enough hours in the day he can give to you, but he tries his best despite that shortcoming.
Patience is a virtue, and you are the human embodiment of that sentiment. You never complain, even when he is gone for weeks at a time. His basis for comparison isn’t vast, but he considers himself lucky whenever he catches an earful of the caterwauling Molly directs at Dutch most evenings.
When you hear the rhythm of his horse trotting into camp you are there to greet him with a warm smile, like clockwork. Your embrace bridges the gap between you, making him feel like he was never really gone at all. Arthur doesn’t consider himself eloquent like all those fancy romance novelists, but he thinks you feel like home.
It comes as a surprise when Arthur asks if you would be so kind as to accompany him to the Saint Denis. Your answer is yes, of course, but you hadn’t expected him to make such an offer of his own volition. Usually when he talks about the aforementioned city (to which he considers to be the bane of civilization) his choice of vocabulary is quite...colorful.
You tease him, asking what this stranger has done with the real Arthur Morgan, and he gifts you a hearty laugh. You’ve softened his rough edges; your jests are not taken to heart and he is not crippled with self-doubt. He appreciates this carefree atmosphere you provide, it gives him room to rediscover himself after years of molding who he was to fit certain schemas.
Tit for tat - he promises he won’t tell a certain Mr. Morgan of this illicit encounter; he saw you from across the way and was instantly captivated by your beauty. His heart took over any sense of rationality - he had to have you. He reminds you of the highbrow men you grew up around in the very city he detests, the only difference here is that he’s being genuine. That, and he’s a wanted outlaw. But you choose not to busy yourself with that minuscule detail.
You cast your hand over your chest dramatically, feigning offense. “Why, you beast! What kind of woman do you take me for?” Despite abandoning the life of a high-society woman almost a decade ago, the mannerisms are not forgotten. Arthur isn’t the only one trying to grow from past projections.
Arthur smiles sheepishly, dropping the act, and apologizing for offending his dear lady. He offers you his hand which you gladly take, finding a secure place around his arm. “Just wanted to treat ya to somethin’ nice is all,” he admits as he leads you to his Thoroughbred at the precipice of camp.
He knows you would never concede with the notion, but with all this time away he feels as if he’s been neglecting you. After years of watching John act a fool, dancing around the responsibilities of being a husband and father, he fears he might be looking in a mirror sometimes. What he wouldn’t give so you could have some sense of normalcy in an otherwise hectic life. You always gently remind him normal is rather drab, and his anxieties are temporarily assuaged for the time being.
Calloused hands take ahold of your waist as Arthur effortlessly lifts you onto the back of his horse. The action is unnecessary, he’s aware, but he relishes touching you whenever he can. You know this all too well, and gladly accept his assistance. And they say chivalry is dead.
Arthur finds his place behind you, urging the mare away from quiet campgrounds and towards the hustle and bustle of Saint Denis. He’ll put aside his disdain - you deserve time away from the dirt and debauchery despite your insistence to the contrary.
The ride is peaceful, dusk begins to grace the sky with brush strokes of pink and orange. Clouds nomadically drift along the horizon as Arthur passes the time with languid kisses to your cheeks and the side of your neck. With privacy comes his unrestricted affection. His stubble’s tickle is a more than welcome feeling against your skin.
Smog-riddled skylines of Saint Denis remind you both of your quickly approaching your destination; factory smokestacks paint the picture of civilization’s impending “progression” - much to Arthur’s chagrin. Dirt paths transition into cobblestone-riddled pathways; the steady clop of his horse’s hooves distract him from these unseemly surroundings.
He’s out of his element, he knows this, but he can survive an evening amongst the real wolves. Men in tailored suits with overly coiffed hair claiming to be peddling this and that, all in a pathetic attempt to further their life by ruining another's.
Do your worst - he’s never faced a problem that couldn’t be solved with a bullet from his Cattleman.
In front of him, you look around in a way he could only describe as nostalgic. Despite the foul memories, he can’t take away the fact that this was your home. Arthur wonders when was the last time you freely wandered these streets.
Mentally kicking himself, he doesn’t think he ever bothered to ask. His line of work focuses primarily on the day-to-day and very rarely on the when, where, and why. You understand this.
He recognizes that you don’t miss the lifestyle - a girl raised to become a rich man’s parlor piece. But maybe there’s something here, amongst the glitz and glamour, that a piece of you yearns to be a part of again.
It happened with Mary, who’s to say history won’t spare him from its vicious cycle of repetition.
He briefly entertains the thought, but it’s properly discarded and replaced with the sensation of your hand on his. You squeeze it gently, silently affirming you’re happy to be here - with him.
Joys of civilization be damned.
The sign for La Bastille Saloon is alight for the evening, bulbs twinkling faintly as they prepare to rival the stars above. Arthur hitches his horse before holding his hand out to you for the second time that day. You regard his choice of dining with a tilt of your head and a smirk. A jest of some sort most likely dancing on your tongue already.
“La Bastille? Monsieur Morgan, très bonne!”
Arthur looks at you, befuddled. ��T-tray bone?” He could be well spoken when he wanted to be, but Arthur wasn’t very cultured per se. You had to give him credit for trying though, the poor dear. A light peck on his lips will suffice. He certainly appreciates it.
“It’s French,” you explain, which does nothing to alleviate his confusion.
“I’ll take your word for it princess,” he chuckles dryly as he lowers you from the saddle.
“Merci,” you continue to tease, playfully sticking your tongue out at him. He guffaws at your impishness as you head for the saloon- tit for tat.
La Bastille exudes old-money sophistication. A place of luxury meant only for those born into the lifestyle. Posh men and women bid you both bonjour as Arthur leads you inside by the small of your back. He pays them no mind - this is a foreign game and he has no interest in learning the rules.
The setting sun against the stained-glass windows casts an array of dulled colors against the polished wooden floor. It’s a pretty sight - Arthur momentarily feels at peace.
Obnoxious chatter about local politics and the burdens of the wealthy reminds him of where he is. While it can be nice to see how the other half live, it quickly becomes grating. He needs a drink.
In standard Arthur fashion, he pulls out your chair and you settle into a small table with a streetside view. You lean back against the plush velvet, smiling to yourself as Arthur walks briskly to the bar for a well-needed whiskey.
It’s a wonder he manages to catch the eye of the barkeep at all. There’s some washed-up socialite squawking in his ear about the city’s imminent regression into an uncivilized ruin. An attitude Arthur can agree with, though he wishes it would happen sooner rather than later.
Arthur finally gets his opportunity to order, and promptly returns to your side with a flute of champagne in hand. Your eyes light up, thanking him sweetly as you take the glass. He grins, agitation washed away as he sits down across from you. With your company always comes a sense of relief; the crosses he bears feel lighter.
He extends his glass towards your own and your smile only widens. You lean forward, elbow perched on the table with your chin in your palm. “What would you like to toast to, Mr. Morgan?” You ask him coyly, idly swirling your drink around. Again he responds with genuine, albeit rare, laughter.
“How about,” he pauses to mull over his words. There’s a list of things he’d like to celebrate, to verbally reaffirm he’s grateful for. Living to see another sunrise, the gang and their health. But ultimately he decides to go with-
“Us.” It’s the one that feels right.
You’re beaming at this point as you raise your glass.
“To us.”
The two of you officially start the evening with a harmonious clink.
***
“A-and I told the purty lady tha’ Micah, the s-slithery snake, had said some ‘ungentlemanly’ things bout’ her.” Arthur emphasizes aforementioned things with air quotes. He takes a generous swing of his whiskey and proceeds with his drunken tale. You’re hanging onto his every word.
“She practically had STEAM coming out er’ ears when she got to the bastard. Slapped him s-SO hard, Micah blacked out! Went down like a sack o’ b-bricks!” Arthur exclaims. You squeak in surprise before taking a less than dainty sip of your fifth helping of champagne. You’ve lost count for your cowboy.
Arthur looks side to side, checking if the coast was clear. “Now don’t go tellin’ nobody darlin’ but,” he hunches over the table and whispers, “I lied to that gal. I jus’ wanted to see her mess Micah up somethin’ fierce.” You put a hand over your mouth to contain the onslaught of giggles that wrack your chest.
“Arthur! Tu es un coquin,” you chide playfully. He responds to your “scolding” with a chuckle of his own - you had taught him some French over dinner. He had to admit he found the language rather beautiful. Or maybe it was you speaking it that he found to be beautiful. He quickly concludes it was the latter.
A lively tinkle of piano keys suddenly catches Arthur’s ear. The pianist plays a jaunty tune with a gusto that has him tapping his foot in tandem. He never thought much of those fancy records Dutch played, but there was an undeniable wonder that live music encapsulated. “Well would ya listen to that darlin’,” he says with an impressed whistle. You’re clapping along softly as well, delighted with Arthur’s childlike fascination.
“I used to play you know,” you say with a swell of pride. While almost nothing in your youth was learned voluntarily, you are grateful for your musical prowess.
The sillies come back full swing when Arthur’s eyes widen and his mouth gapes in awe. “You used to tickle the ivories?!”
“I dabbled,” you shrugged nonchalantly, biting your lip to refrain from grinning madly. “Piano and violin.” Arthur looks at you like you’re otherworldly. Your cheeks are heating up from the intensity of his gaze.
“Darlin’ you,” Arthur is rendered speechless for a beat, “you are incredible.” His sincerity is palpable, it practically sweetens the last drops of your champagne. Your blush spreads when his hand finds yours, softly tracing your knuckles with his thumb.
You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear shyly. The more delicate sides to Arthur’s nature are reserved for you (and occasionally Jack). But regardless of your exposure, you still feel the fluttering of your heart like that of a lovesick schoolgirl. “Arthur,” you say his name so melodically each time, he can hardly believe it belongs to him.
He interrupts you (unintentionally) when he notices you’ve both topped off your drinks. “Oh! It looks like we’ve run dry,” he pushes himself up and gathers up both of your glasses. “I’ll go fetch us some more.” You reach for his arm, hoping he’ll let you pay for this round. He’s old fashioned, in a good-hearted way, and simply won’t hear it.
“Now you just stay here and keep our seats warm, princess,” he says with a quick kiss to your cheek. Arthur swaggers away before you could try to get smart with him. You opt to blow a raspberry at him instead.
You turn to the streets outside your window. Evening had cascaded into night, the end to yet another day. Shop owners had closed up and were hurrying home to their wives, beggars to their respective allies. Everyone seemed to have a routine, a place to be. You were born here, yes, traversing these streets countless times as a girl. Yet now you felt like nothing more than a ghost - a mere drifter.
How passing strange.
“Goooood evenin’ ladies and gentlemen!” Arthur’s booming voice pulls you from your thoughts. You whip your head around to find him standing atop the saloon’s grand ebony piano. His quest for drinks apparently abandoned, as evident by the two empty glasses left on the stairs. You’re no match for the giggles this time around.
The bar is eerily silent. Everyone directs their attention at Arthur, expressions ranging from horrified to absolute bewilderment. The ex-starlette nested by the bar actually looks amused for the first time all night. An unsure pianist holds a crisp dollar bill from Arthur as he awaits further instructions.
“I wanna sing a ditty for that,” he points to you, “pretty lil’ peach o’er there!” All the women look to you, wanting to satiate their morbid curiosity and practically shaking from secondhand embarrassment. How would a lady respond to such an inebriated act of buffoonery?!
You’re certainly no caliber of lady they’ve ever seen.
Much to their surprise, you’re positively radiant during Arthur’s pleasantly uncharacteristic address. He very much was the type to speak softly and carry a big stick. But with the help of some liquid courage, he’s publicly showcasing his devotion like the fool in love he is. It’s a good look for him. Arthur smiles from ear to ear, blowing you a kiss. He turns back to the pianist and nods, being counted in by a few gentle chords.
“I have no sweetheart but you, dear. You are the one that I love.”
You audibly gasp at his choice of lovers’ ballad, a sensual tune that had many a young girl dreaming wistfully about romance. While Arthur’s rough, low slurring isn’t what the composer had in mind, the allure isn’t lacking. A few of the previously judgmental women (though they would never admit it) seemed to turn envious at the attention you were receiving. Some unlucky husbands were definitely in for it tonight.
You pay the pettiness no mind, you’re too focused on your own personal performer.
“Close to my heart I would hold you, there where the roses once grew. While in the silence I told you, that I had no sweetheart but you!”
Arthur feels strangely lighter, unburdened by his role in the gang - in the world even. Pinkertons, Cornwall, Dutch, it all fades away. There’s just you and him - a man and a woman in love. Simplicity has never sounded so divine.
“Say that you always will love me. For I have no sweetheart but you.”
You’re already cheering before Arthur can bring his song to a close. It encourages a handful of others to also applaud, paired with some catcalling from a certain regular near the bar. Arthur has never been fond of being the center of attention, but right now you swear he’s thriving in the spotlight.
He’s reveling in it, until he isn’t.
Arthur is swaying atop the piano, his balance leaving him as all that alcohol finally takes its toll. He’s an imposing fellow, but the cruel mistress called whiskey can knock any man down. Literally.
The pianist pushes away from the piano, fearing not just for his nerves but now his physical well-being should this cowboy collapse on him.
To Arthur’s credit, he doesn’t.
“Thank yew and g’night, Saint Denis,” he says woozily just before he falls to the floor with a hard thud. You yelp in shock as you shoot up from the table, knocking your chair over in the process. Saloon patrons don’t know who to watch at this point. Arthur, flat on his back mumbling dreamily to himself. Or you politely shoving your way through a throng of people to reach him. They soon decide to return to their own evenings, having been involuntary participants in your own for long enough.
You take a quick detour to clumsily toss a few coins the bartender’s way. At this point, a bed for the night is not a choice but the only option. Arthur decides he must be the luckiest man alive as he sees not one, but two of you heading his way.
#vic's fics!#red dead redemption 2#rdr2#arthur morgan#arthur morgan x reader#i love one (1) cowboah#he's so soft and deserves all the kisses
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