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not-krys · 1 year

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The Traveling Adventures of Mister Fox and Miss Mouse

Few days ago, I was playing a FMK style ask game with @lorei-writes. One of the choices was who I would take a six hour train journey with. And, after I had given the other two choices some thought, Mitsuhide got the train ride choice. After that, the image of traveling in the old American West with him sparked in my mind.

And I tried my best to steer myself away from thinking too much about that concept bc time and energy levels wouldn't allow to make something completely coherent and complex.

And yet here we are, still thinking about an Old West traveling story with Mitsuhide.

Might as well see where this thought leads us.

Warnings: raw, unedited writing. Haven't done a whole lot of research into the old American West so details are bound to be incorrect. Reader will be referred to with she/her pronouns and other feminine aligning terms (Miss, missy, etc).

My Masterlist!

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No one has ever said that the life of a detective was ever a glamorous one, especially when a man needed to put food in his belly and a roof over his head. Mitsuhide Akechi was also no stranger to the odd job he didn't care for but needed the cash it provided.

This current job, well, it may have just taken an interesting detour.

Back east, a sleazy gentleman had come to him to find and return his runaway bride, an oil heiress whose family he managed to swindle her out of. He knew this type and, quite frankly, didn't want to take the job because of it, but with the threat of bankruptcy of his business over his head, he had no other choice.

Instead, he took the job of recovering this runaway heiress, finding her trail laughably easy to trace. A common trend of runaway brides had started when the government started offering handouts to whoever wanted to move out west to desert and mountain country, hoping to settle it more with American citizens. Women were especially needed as schoolteachers, so it was his first thought of where he could find his runaway heiress.

Luckily (or unluckily), his hunches were rarely wrong.

He soon found himself on a train bound westward, sitting a few booths down from a young woman with a deep purple bustle dress, her white collar high on her neck and her hat decorated with sprigs of lavender. She matched the description the sleazy gentleman had given him so perfectly, it almost tore his blackened heart that he had found the girl so quickly.

But, he didn't have the time or luxury of moral dilemmas when money was on the line.

He then saw the young woman being boxed in by two other gentlemen, likely either hired by the same sleazy gentleman that had hired him or opportunists seeing a woman alone and sought to take advantage of her. Either way, he wasn't about to have his quarry taken from under his nose, especially not by amateurs.

"Please," he heard her meek voice, trying to be brave in spite of her terror, "m-my husband will be back soon, so please leave."

A perfect opportunity, Mitsuhide thought, as he grabbed the untouched dinner from his table and walked towards them.

"I don't see no diamond ring there, missy," the scoundrel smirked, "you best not be lying to me about no husband-"

"Sorry I'm late, dear." Mitsuhide said, sliding the plate of food in front of her. "The cook was busy with all the orders, and I'm afraid the waiter said they just ran out of your favorite chardonnay."

The girl turned to him, her face still nervous, but glad that someone was helping her.

Her companions, however, were not as pleased.

"Who are you?"

"Why, I'm this wonderful woman's husband." He said cordially. "The meat hadn't been cooked to the way the lady liked it, so I went to get her a fresh one."

His voice dropped lower in the next beat.

"Now, may I ask what business you gentlemen have with my darling wife?"

His hand moved subtly to his belt, brushing back his white overcoat slightly to reveal the holster and pistol at his side. The holster, decorated with stitched bellflowers, gave a not so subtle hint of who he actually was.

The boys paled.

"J-just saying hello, sir."

"Y-yeah, just saying hi, sir. N-not looking for trouble or anything."

"Good," said Mitsuhide with a smirk, "I hope you enjoy the rest of the trip, gentlemen."

The boys moved away from the lady's booth, grumbling but knew when they had been beat. You sigh with relief.

"Thank you, for stepping in."

"No trouble at all, Miss Mouse." he tipped his hat. "They shouldn't be giving you any more problems."

"…'Miss Mouse?'"

"Sorry, just came to mind when I saw you trembling."

You turned your face away, cheeks turning a light pink.

"Is it really that obvious, how nervous I am?"

"A woman travelling alone rightfully has every reason to be fearful." He took the opportunity sit in the seat across from you, giving a small push to his plate of food towards you.

"But, that's your-"

"I lost my sense of taste years ago, Miss Mouse. Complex flavors that are in likely there are wasted on me."

"Still, you need to eat too, Mister…?"

He paused, weighing his options of using his real name or coming up with a fake one on the spot. You would likely figure it out once he seized the opportunity to take you back east regardless, but, luckily (or unluckily), you just giggled and finished your own sentence.

"Mr. Fox."

"Mr. Fox?"

"Yes, if you insist on calling me Miss Mouse, I feel you should be able to take your own medicine, correct?"

Mitsuhide chuckled.

"Very well. Miss Mouse, may I introduce myself as Mr. Fox, a westward-bound traveler seeking opportunity in the wide, wild world?"

You giggled again.

"You introduce yourself well, Mr. Fox. I'm an up and coming teacher moving to the West. The Oda company is hiring in California and with my grant, I'll be ready to start my new life soon!"

A bullet couldn't have hit his heart harder. She was giving him the usual excuse for why runaway brides run from bad marriages these days. His hunch was, unfortunately, becoming more and more correct.

"A teacher? That sounds exciting. All the way out here for a teaching job."

"Y-yes." You turned your face away, looking at the passing scenery. "The Oda company pays well. They're even giving me housing and everything."

"Sounds like you're all set for life, Miss Mouse."

"Yes, yes, I am." Your voice trails off, still paying more attention to the passing scenery.

Mitsuhide turns to look out the window as well, seeing the grassy greenery and pale blue skies passing at a leisurely speed.

#krys's adventure's in fanfiction #ikemen sengoku #mitsuhide akechi #ikesen mitsuhide #old west travel au #may or may not have cracked open cowboy casanova by carrie underwood while writing a good majority of this #bc I had a country phase when I was young #and I still have the biggest soft spot for cowboy casanova #it has nothing to do with this story #but I felt like y'all should know that #damn this has opportunity of getting longer and I hate it #not another long form fic when I'm still trying to finish Second Glance #Mitsuhide coming in once again to steal Hideyoshi's thunder lolololol

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variousqueerthings · 6 months

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SO Hungry Earth/Cold Blood happening. I understand what these episodes are saying and doing and I quite enjoy a fair bit of them -- I think they're overall quite underrated in this season in favour of flashier episodes, however the politics aren't quite all there

I think this episode is one thing if you haven't seen classic!who and another perhaps if you have... slightly. mainly in the sense that it's essentially telling the same story as back in s7/Jon Pertwee's era, so there are comparisons to be made about what it's choosing to add to that story

back in that story ofc the Brigadier killed the Silurians that existed there, and in this one the Silurians are pretty antagonistic...

sexism rank objectification (female character is ogled/harassed/turned into a sex joke by the doctor and/or a lead we’re supposed to root for and/or the camera): 6/10

sexism rank plot-point (lead female character is only there to serve plot, not to have her emotional interiority explored): 5/10

interesting complex or pointlessly complex (does the complexity serve the narrative or does it just serve to be confusing as a stand-in for smart, this includes visually): 8/10

furthers character and/or lore and/or plot development (broader question that ties into the previous ones, at least two of these, ideally three should be fulfilled): 6/10

companion matters (the companion doesn’t always have to be there, but if the companion is there, can they function without the doctor– and overall per season how often is the companion the focus or POV of the story): 3/10

the doctor is more than just “godlike” (examines the doctor’s flaws and limitations, doesn’t solve a plot by having it revolve entirely around the doctor’s existence): 9/10

doesn’t look down on previous doctor who (by erasing or mocking its importance, by redoing and “bettering” previous beloved plotpoints or characters, etc.): 10/10

isn’t trying to insert hamfisted sexiness (m*ffat famously talked a lot about how dw should be sexier multiple times, he sucks at writing it): 9/10

internal world has consistency (characters have backgrounds, feel rooted in a place with other people, generally feel like they have Lives): 8/10

Politics (how conservative is the story): 6/10

FULL RATING: 70/100 (if I can count….)

high ratings on the whole!

OBJECTIFICATION: Overall not too bad + there are several interesting women in this, of which the only one who's got any sexy-related jokes made about her... is Amy

so they step out of the Tardis and the Doctor announces Rio, except they accidentally landed in Wales, and therefore Amy is wearing... NOT a miniskirt, but minishorts. because she dressed for Rio (as if she would have dressed otherwise according to show-canon)

this is then the source of several jokes about how she's not dressed for the weather, because she dressed for Rio. Otherwise, pretty chill

PLOT-POINT: Amy's feelings are not really central to the story... until the end....... at which point Rory is swallowed by the crack and Amy tries desperately not to forget him, but of course she does

now this is of course where we're at subjectively with Amy/Rory, but I don't buy their relationship, which went from pretty bad to ride-or-die without any real reason for Amy's change of heart (or indeed Rory believing in it) -- when we see her trying to remember Rory they put in scenes of their past, there's not really... much to show. because the show hasn't given them real moments. one of the "bits that establishes their deep love" when she's trying not to forget him is when she was so uncomfortable being associated with him on a romantic level that he had to pretend to be her brother

However if we look at before that/assume they are deeply in love. there's an interesting thing that's happened where Rory really wants to protect Amy and is angry that the Doctor "allows" her to be in danger (both in Venice and here), but then of course it's Rory who ends up dead and forgotten

that's kind of sad. bit sexist, because again, Amy is not a part of this journey that Rory's having, but the underlying Stuff is sad

also camerawork: for some reason we're not really following Amy through the grief she feels about Rory dying, when she's screaming at the door, the camera is on the Doctor's face. it's the Doctor watching Amy lose her fiance, not... Amy....

COMPLEXITY: it's quite simple, sets up the conflict and then the denouement, and it's really mostly about how people react to the situation more than anything

CHARACTERS/LORE/PLOT: we get a continuation of a plot from 1970, which is fun! and reintroduces the Silurians. the crack returns at the end, it seems to be stalking them... wonder what that's all about (I say, pretending I don't know)

character dynamics... eh, not so much. the main Thing in that is that Rory is killed, but there's not much of Amy and Rory before that on the whole, or Amy and the Doctor, or indeed the Doctor and Rory

COMPANIONS MATTER: Amy gets captured and then she escapes and then she gets captured again and then they let everyone go and then she sits at the table to talk about the future of Silurian/human alliances, and she's definitely not qualified and for some reason the director thought that her putting her head in her hands didn't make her look bored and out of her depth, and then they run away and Rory is killed and she forgets because of the crack in the wall *deep breath*

Rory for his part is... there. and then gets killed/erased

the other characters in this episode are the weight -- the people who have opinions, who have ideas, who make decisions (for good and for bad), who are emotional anchors, etcetcetc. Amy and Rory aren't really important to it, they could just as well not be there, but for the ending which could have been inserted into any episode

“GODLIKE” DOCTOR: definitely just a guy! we love that! and he makes a few mistakes (takes his eye off Elliot the kid), and apologises, and really just wants everyone to get along!

PREVIOUS DOCTOR WHO: It directly talks about the previous time Silurians and humans met and says that the humans killed them, which... yeah, is what happened. I don't think it necessarily needed more than that, especially considering they're different people to the ones they met before

"SEXINESS": Are we free at last? of witty sexiness? (maybe that's just Chibnall). Lost a point for Amy's final line though

INTERNAL WORLD: I quite like the Silurian set-up. it's especially fun on top of the previous episode, giving the Silurians more scale across the earth

the human characters also feel connected and interesting and like their dynamics matter

POLITICS: listen, they're talking about... sharing the earth. which they both have claim over. I think it has very good intentions, but its issue lies in the fact that I'm watching it in 2023 and it's therefore quite simple. but I believe in its beliefs! I like that it's trying to explore this. but yeah, it doesn't quite manage stick the landing

I think some of the experimentation storyline has uncomfortable AF connotations, especially considering the Doctor is like "well as long as you're only dissecting live adults and storing the young in a slowed down life-cycle so you can study their growth, that's good guy science"

also Amy being like "what about all these places that are deserted" and talks about places that have historically had indigenous people living there... but then Amy shouldn't have been there to begin with

I really like the characters who very consistently are like "lol no, we don't like humans/Silurians" and their minds aren't changed and they do indeed fuck it up at the end

the Doctor telling Elliot "let it be known, this planet is to be shared." this episode literally takes place in the 2020s. fascinating. what to do with all this. I'm not sure the episode quite knows

FULL RATING: 70/100 (if I can count….)

SO ON THE WHOLE: where this episode does good is on the other characters. I'm a big fan of them. It's a part of the world-building, which generally works for me, and is further cemented by being a loose continuation of a classic!who plot

where it doesn't work so well is the companions, who don't really fit into the story and are just tagging along and aren't given emotional dynamics that then lead into the supposed tragedy of Rory dying

the politics have both good and bad elements, but on the whole I like what it's trying to do, even if it doesn't quite manage it

also noting that Amy seeing herself in the future doesn't track with hers and Rory's eventual actual fates, I believe.... but I guess M*ffat can get away with it because everything is unfixed

#im watching nu!who #im watching eleven who #the measurement #the hungry earth #cold blood

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shkspr · 3 years

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hi. on your post where you may or may not have ended on 'moffat is either your angel or your devil' did you have maybe an elaboration on that somewhere that i could possibly hear about. i'm very much a capaldi era stan and i've never tried to defend the matt smith era even though it had delightful moments sometimes so i wonder where that puts me. i'd love to hear your perspective on moffat as a person with your political perspective. -nicole

hi ok sorry i took so long to respond to this but i dont think you know how LOADED this question is for me but i am so happy to elaborate on that for you. first a few grains of salt to flavor your understanding of the whole situation: a. im unfairly biased against moffat bc im a davies stan and a tennant stan; b. i still very much enjoy and appreciate moffat era who for many reasons; and c. i hate moffat on a personal level far more than i could ever hate his work.

the thing is that its all always gonna be a bit mixed up bc i have to say a bunch of seemingly contradictory things in a row. for instance, a few moffat episodes are some of my absolute favorites of the rtd era, AND the show went way downhill when moffat took over, AND the really good episodes he wrote during the rtd era contained the seeds of his destruction.

like i made that post about the empty child/the doctor dances and it holds true for blink and thats about it bc the girl in the fireplace and silence in the library/forest of the dead are good but not nearly on the same level, and despite the fact that i like them at least nominally, they are also great examples of everything i hate about moffat and how he approached dw as a whole.

basically. doctor who is about people. there are many things about moffats tenure as showrunner that i think are a step up from rtd era who! actual gay people, for one! but i think that can likely be attributed mostly to an evolving Society as opposed to something inherent to him and his work, seeing as rtd is literally gay, and the existence of queer characters in moffats work doesnt mean the existence of good queer characters (ill give him bill but thats it!)

i have a few Primary Grievances with moffat and how he ran dw. all of them are things that got better with capaldi, but didnt go away. they are as follows:

moffat projects his own god complex onto the doctor

rtd era who had a doctor with a god complex. you cant ever be the doctor and not have a god complex. the problem with moffats era specifically is that the god complex was constant and unrepentant and was seen as a fundamental personality trait of the doctor rather than a demon he has to fight. he has the Momence where you feel bad for him, the Momence where he shows his humility or whatever and youre reminded that he doesnt want to be the lonely god, but those are just. moments. in a story where the doctor thinks hes the main character. rtd era doctor was aware that he wasnt the main character. he had to be an authority sometimes and he had to be the loner and he had to be sad about it, but he ultimately understood that he was expendable in a narrative sense.

this is how you get lines like “were the thin fat gay married anglican marines, why would we need names as well?” from the same show that gave you the gut punch moment at the end of midnight when they realize that nobody asked the hostess for her name. and on the one hand, thats a small sticking point, but on the other hand, its just one small example of the simple disregard that moffat has for humanity.

incidentally, this is a huge part of why sherlock sucked so bad: moffats main characters are special bc theyre so much bigger and better than all the normal people, and thats his downfall as a showrunner. he thinks that his audience wants fucking sheldon cooper when what they want is people.

like, ok. think of how many fantastic rtd era eps are based in the scenario “what if the doctor wasnt there? what if he was just out of commission for a bit?” and how those eps are the heart of the show!! bc theyre about people being people!! the thing is that all of the rtd era companions would have died for the doctor but he understood and the story understood that it wasnt about him.

this is like. nine sending rose home to save her life and sacrifice his own vs clara literally metaphysically entwining her existence w the doctor. ten also sending rose with her family to save her life vs river being raised from infancy to be obsessed w the doctor and then falling in love w him. martha leaving bc she values herself enough to make that decision vs amy being treated like a piece of meat.

and this is simultaneously a great callback to when i said that moffats episodes during the rtd era sometimes had the same problems as his show running (bc girl in the fireplace reeks of this), and a great segue into the next grievance.

moffat hates women

he hates women so fucking much. g-d, does steven moffat ever hate women. holy shit, he hates women. especially normal human women who prioritize their normal human lives on an equal or higher level than the doctor. moffat hated rose bc she wasnt special by his standards. the empty child/the doctor dances is the nicest he ever treated her, and she really didnt do much in those eps beyond a fuck ton of flirting.

girl in the fireplace is another shining example of this. youve got rose (who once again has another man to keep her busy, bc moffat doesnt think shes good enough for the doctor) sidelined for no reason only to be saved by the doctor at the last second or whatever. and then youve got reinette, who is pretty and powerful and special!

its just. moffat thinks that the doctor is as shallow and selfish as he is. thats why he thinks the doctor would stay in one place with reinette and not with rose. bc moffat is shallow and sees himself in the doctor and doesnt think he should have to settle for someone boring and normal.

not to mention rose met the doctor as an adult and chose to stay with him whereas reinette is. hm. introduced to the doctor as a child and grows up obsessed with him.

does that sound familiar? it should! bc it is also true of amy and river. and all of them are treated as viable romantic pairings. bc the only women who deserve the doctor are the ones whose entire existence revolves around him. which includes clara as well.

genuinely i think that at least on some level, not even necessarily consciously, that bill was a lesbian in part bc capaldi was too old to appeal to mainstream shippers. like twelve/clara is still a thing but not as universally appealing as eleven/clara but i am just spitballing. but i think they weighed the pros and cons of appealing to the woke crowd over the het shippers and found that gay companion was more profitable. anyway the point is to segue into the next point, which is that moffat hates permanent consequences.

moffat hates permanent consequences

steven moffat does not know how to kill a character. honestly it feels like hes doing it on purpose after a certain point, like he knows he has this habit and hes trying to riff on it to meme his own shit, but it doesnt work. it isnt funny and it isnt harmless, its bad writing.

the end of the doctor dances is so poignant and so meaningful and so fucking good bc its just this once! everybody lives, just this once! and then he does p much the same thing in forest of the dead - this one i could forgive, bc i do think that preserving those peoples consciousnesses did something for the doctor as a character, it wasnt completely meaningless. but everything after that kinda was.

rory died so many times its like. get a hobby lol. amy died at least once iirc but it was all a dream or something. clara died and was erased from the doctors memory. river was in prison and also died. bill? died. all of them sugarcoated or undone or ignored by the narrative to the point of having effectively no impact on the story. the point of a major character death is that its supposed to have a point. and you could argue that a piece of art could be making a point with a pointless death, ie. to put perspective on it and remind you that bad shit just happens, but with moffat the underlying message is always “i can do whatever i want, nothing is permanent or has lasting impact ever.”

basically, with moffat, tragedy exists to be undone. and this was a really brilliant, really wonderful thing in the doctor dances specifically bc it was the doctor clearly having seen his fair share of tragedy that couldnt be helped, now looking on his One Win with pride and delight bc he doesnt get wins like this! and then moffat proceeded to give him the same win over and over and over and over. nobody is ever dead. nobody is ever unable to be saved. and if they are, really truly dead and/or gone, then thats okay bc moffat has decided that [insert mitigating factor here]*

*the mitigating factor is usually some sort of computerized database of souls.

i can hear the moffat stans falling over themselves to remind me that amy and rory definitely died, and they did - after a long and happy life together, they died of old age. i dont consider that a character death any more than any other character choosing to permanently leave the tardis.

and its not just character deaths either, its like, everything. the destruction of gallifrey? never mind lol! character development? scrapped! the same episode four times? lets give it a fifth try and hope nobody notices. bc he doesnt know how to not make the doctor either an omnipotent savior or a self-pitying failure.

it is in nature of doctor who, i believe, for the doctor to win most of the time. like, it wouldnt be a very good show if he didnt win most of the time. but it also wouldnt be a very good show if he won all of the time. my point is that moffats doctor wins too often, and when he doesnt win, it feels empty and hollow rather than genuinely humbling, and you know hes not gonna grow from it pretty much at all.

so like. again, i like all of doctor who i enjoy all of it very much. i just think that steven moffat is a bad show runner and a decent writer at times. and it is frustrating. and im not here to convince or convert anyone im just living my truth. thank you for listening.

#sorry if this is repetitive or makes no sense or if i got some details of the show wrong #i simply couldnt be bothered to put too much effort into this post #lest it become a research paper and take me several weeks to answer #anyway thats all my opinions #dw #ok to rb

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1ddiscourseoftheday · 3 years

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Thurs 10 June ‘21

DREAMS DO COME TRUE and fanfics do come to life, how lucky are we? Seriously though, cooking show Louis AND footie Louis in one day, have we finally crossed out of the dark timeline and into some kind of blessed AU?! Louis is doing a COOKING SHOW (well, a little cooking video), and even better- it’s one of those things where he tries to recreate a recipe on his own for the camera! Full Time Meals is part of Marcus Rashford’s campaign to end child food insecurity in the UK. Celebrity chef Tom Kerridge makes easy meals from cheap ingredients for folks to follow along with, so Louis shouldn’t have too much trouble- good for him, though maybe not quite as entertaining for us, but this is one step closer to Celebrity Bake Off, keep dreaming big and crossing those fingers! Kerridge will post his recipe video on Sunday, and then Monday they’ll post Louis making the same thing. The preview pic is just long ass hair everywhere OMG. Put on a hairnet, hippie! NOT ONLY THAT I guess he is still at the studio, but hey that just means more video for us and not only that, today’s fan videos are of Louis kicking a football around- look at him GO!- with CHILDREN, goddddd. TOOO much, truly excellent.

My Policeman filming officially wrapped, and Harry took a fan pic in London (with a fan called… Harry!) Harry (Styles) is wearing his “louie” shirt (hey I didn’t name the thing okay it’s literally called that) and carrying his blue bandana in his back pocket (on the left, relevant if hanky code, probably not relevant if he was just carrying it for hay fever symptoms or whatever.)

Liam assured us that the Vegas entrepreneur dinner will be very fun and (in his underwear, hello) said that he loves his discord and he did a live chat about Lonely Bug and NFTs. He said, “lonely bug is my inner child,” there will be LB merch- “very limited toy drop might add clothes don’t know,” that the new song has “very very bright lyrics,” and said both that his knee is sore and that his knee is much better thanks, how very Liam.

And in a (these days rare for me) dip into fandom discourse, I see writer Kaitlyn Tiffany is back making the rounds of blogs for her book about the 1D fandom and how craaaazzzy larries are; BLOCK HER. Her tumblr url is kaittiffany (EDIT SJDKJFKS she has deleted since this morning OK THEN but she will be back again; I’m leaving this in for next time as we definitely haven’t seen the last of her, plus you know I went to all the trouble of writing it.) A book actually reporting on this complex and somewhat unique fandom objectively from a place of interest and curiosity would be fascinating and totally worthwhile… but sadly this REALLY ain’t it. She has made it clear she has no intention of actually writing about the intricacies of this fandom, only in finding material to bolster her already decided upon thesis about the ‘clinical paranoia’ and conspiracy theorizing of young women online. Her entire premise is based on her own preconceived bias, and she came here to find things to support her premise rather than coming up with it based on what she saw (not to mention it’s totally dated at this point, she really missed the cultural moment on that) and she has no interest in hearing what we have to say, only in pathologizing to support the sensationalist brief she probably got a publishing advance for and finding things to pull out of context to make her already decided on points. Anyway she wrote the intern- who had not blocked her to that account, oops- offering the ‘choice’ between one of our posts being quoted in her book with or without a name attached GEE THANKS SUCH GREAT OPTIONS; once she sees anything she wants to pull out of context, you can’t do anything about it (this is a public platform), so just block her so she doesn’t see it in the first place.

Hey but since we’re not getting an actual balanced book about the fandom maybe someone should write a companion book to hers analyzing the psychological phenomena of antis! Hey publishers, I can throw around buzz words too plus unlike her I know what I’m talking about as an actual member of this community, check it out: I propose an analysis in the aftermath of the Trump era of ‘othering’ in online spaces and how certain fandom groups operate as a socially acceptable entry level location of practice in demonizing a peer population which can act as a gateway to normalizing the othering of other cultures, races, etc. In this essay book I will address how fans experience peer validation and support to egg each other on in bullying other people because those people have been coded as Other and Wrong and because their community reinforces the idea that attacking other humans is Good Behavior and that normal constraints and ethics are suspended when people need to be Made to Understand the Righteous Truth and that any means justify that end, and how that carries over into non-fandom life and is dangerous as hell. Now THAT’S timely, DM for deets about where to send my advance!

#I have read AT LEAST two fics where Louis has a blog recreating recipes why have I seen no fic posts triumphantly circulating today?#authors this is your moment HYPE YOURSELVES #10 jun 21 #my policeman filming

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rjhpandapaws · 3 years

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Bad to Work With

Ch 3: Things to (Never) Learn from Hindsight

//Going to preface this with the fact that I didn’t mean to write angst, it was supposed to be fluff

Gavin wasn’t one to learn from his mistakes. A considerable feat considering the sheer number of mistakes he’d made just in recent history. He would suffer the consequences and come out on the other side only to make the exact same mistake or one that was worse. Hindsight wasn’t something he benefitted from. He looked back on most of his mistakes with the knowledge that it would only be a matter of time before he did it again. Up until recently he wasn’t a victim of situational regret. This was one of the few times he wished he could go back and undo something. Not so much the night itself, that wasn’t what he had come to regret; but the elevator ride. If he had managed to keep his mouth shut for once in his life he wouldn’t be staring down yet another coffee cup adorned with a sticky note. It was a different cafe this time, they always were. It seemed like whenever Gavin left his desk there would be a coffee waiting for him when he got back. This was the first one he had ever gotten that was waiting from before he’d arrived.

It wasn’t even that it was bad coffee. These niche cafes Richard was finding had amazing drinks. Gavin had even gone to some of them on the weekends. The thing of it was that he had a system despite the fact that his desk looked like a bomb had gone off. Richard didn’t know what the system was and he would set the cups in whatever open space was available and then leave. On the few occasions Gavin didn’t notice them in time they wound up getting knocked over. When they fell it was either onto the other papers or into his computer terminal. The papers were usually salvageable; but he was pretty sure Silas was ready to murder him. He probably had it plotted out and everything. Gavin sighed quietly and picked up the foam cup. There was no logo on this one, so he found it safe to assume it was from one of the newer cafes in the area. The sticky note on the other hand was short and simple. Gavin would have even dared to call it sweet if it were from anyone other than Ricard. He stuck his note to his monitor like had with all the others and settled in at his desk for another long day.

The issue was Gavin was almost endeared by it. He hadn’t been in a romantic relationship since high school, and no one had ever tried like this. Not for him anyway. It was making what was left of his resolve wear thin. Richard had learned exactly one thing about him and ran with it. The level of emotion to it all was what had Gavin on edge. He didn’t do feelings because he wasn’t good with them. It was less draining to just have a night with someone and then go their separate ways. He’d never had to resist his own wants like this. He avoided repeats for a reason, he wasn’t about to change that. He wouldn’t let things get beyond coffee. Except, as he waited for his computer to boot up he texted Richard.

Me: Thanks for the pick me up. Coffee Supplier: Of course, I’ve been meaning to try out that cafe for a while. Me: It’s pretty good Coffee Supplier: Definitely. Coffee Supplier: Have a good day Gavin. Me: Thanks, you too

It was the first time he had actually messaged Richard. He had saved his number to be polite, but never planned to actually use it. He hadn’t expected to have a normal conversation. It was nice in a way.

That’s where it should have stopped, would have stopped if Gavin had been stronger. The short text conversations became just as routine as the coffee and sticky notes. They didn’t really talk about anything meaningful, and made a point not to talk about work. It was almost like talking with Tina; if there wasn’t that unspoken something hanging over them. The temptation lingered, as it always did. The easiest excuse to use was that Richard was his superior. The truth of it was that Gavin was scared. The last time he had loved someone he wound up burned with his heart in pieces on the floor. He’d been younger and dumber then, but he still wasn’t sure this was a risk he was willing to take again. So it stayed small. Limited to brief conversations at work, notes passed through coffee, and text messages when they had the time. He stopped keeping the notes on his monitor after Hank had asked about them. They had their own desk drawer now. If he kept these things compartmentalized he could pretend that he wasn’t slowly being pulled in. Gavin was short sighted, so at the time it had seemed like a full proof plan. Out of sight out of mind, that sort of thing. Even though he knew ignoring his problems only made them worse. Just this once he hoped it would work.

It turned into a bad week. The kind when he was just praying to make it to Friday. He made plans with Tina to meet up at Eden on Friday night. He just wanted to have a night to let go for a while. Be someone else. Monday was fine, but Tuesday marked the start of everything going wrong. It started with his computer crashing; it wasn’t coffee related for once, and things kind of stock piled from there. The heat went out in his apartment complex, and then his car decided to finally die on him. He had ignored the Check Engine Light for too long. He was at the point that if anything else went wrong this week he was going to fucking lose it. Friday, thankfully enough, was his half day. He wasn’t in the office long enough for things to go wrong. He worked through the morning and pulled a disappearing act the moment the chance arose. He planned to sleep for a while before meeting up with Tina at Eden and then leaving with a stranger. He had things he wanted to forget, and blue eyed problems to ignore. Eden was packed, like it always was on Fridays. Business types and the lucky public who could manage the cover charge were all out to get relief from their weekly boredom, and Gavin was right in the middle of it. Dancing with strangers and accepting any drinks that were offered to him. Anything to take his mind off of his problems. Especially the blue eyed one that had been haunting him recently.

He was in the sweet spot. Just past too drunk to give a shit, but not absolutely wasted yet. Which also meant that he was just beyond sober enough to recognize the steel blue eyes of the person he was dancing with. That they were the same eyes he was drinking to drown out. All he was concerned with was how well they fit. In any other circumstance the fact that this felt so familiar would have been cause for alarm. He was a little more sober by the time they managed to stumble out to a cab. Not enough to care, but enough to confirm that yes, this was something he wanted to do. Gavin was more caught up in the moment than he was concerned with the mild prickle of familiarity in the way this man said his name. He chalked up the ease with which he was unraveled to desperation. Anyone could be an expert in Undoing Gavin Reed if he was desperate enough for an escape. Tonight happened to be one of those nights and every red flag was excused and brushed aside in favor of chasing the pleasure. They were a problem for Sober Gavin. He would have the rest of the weekend to deal with them.

Consciousness came back to him slowly, like it always did after a night of drinking. He was rested and contentedly sore in ways that meant he had followed somebody home. Whoever his companion had been, they weren’t one for cuddling. He rolled over and found himself alone. It was slow to sink in that this particular room was a little too familiar. Once the thought made it through the haze of his hangover Gavin cursed under his breath. His memories of the club were hit and miss at best, he remembered dancing with strangers and drinking more than he probably should have. There were stern blue eyes sprinkled into them here and there. Gavin had done a repeat. That moment of clarity was accompanied to the door of the room quietly opening. From the look on Richard’s face he clearly wasn’t expecting Gavin to be awake yet, “Oh. Good morning.” “Hey.” He replied groggily as he sat up. There was a stretch of uncomfortable silence as Richard set Gavin’s now clean clothes on the bed. He gave him a onceover before retreating from the room like the devil himself was on his heals. It made Gavin feel sick to his stomach. He had definitely fucked up this time.

He got dressed slowly and tried to figure out what to do. Apologize was the obvious answer. But for which thing? All of them? The list of things he hadn’t done wrong was probably shorter at this point. When he finally gathered the courage to leave Richard’s room he was met with the strong smell of coffee. This was the moment of truth. “Your friend Tina says you owe her fifty bucks.” Richard said without looking at him, “And if you ever leave without talking to her again she’ll take your coffee money.” Gavin flinched, “Sorry you had to deal with her. Sorry for everything really. I didn’t mean for this to happen.” “Which ‘this’?” He asked as he turned around with two mugs of coffee and held one out to Gavin, “Sleeping with me again, or being so drunk that you didn’t notice who you were with?” “All of it.” He admitted and held the mug with both of his hands like the warmth would protect him from his mistakes, “From the first time till now. For the text messages. Everything.” “Did you even mean any of it?” There was an emotion to Richard’s voice that Gavin didn’t want to dwell on. He was being given an out, and he wasn’t about to pass it up.

If he were a better person he would have been honest. Instead, he set the mug down and reached for his phone. “No.” He said as he stood. He didn’t look at Richard as he walked to the door, “It’s been fun though.” When the apartment door clicked shut behind him there was an air of finality to it. Another mistake he wouldn’t learn from. There was no coffee on his desk on Monday morning. Things were finally back to normal, so he didn’t understand why it felt so empty.

#A Guide to Bad Business Practices AU #AGBBP #Bad to Work With #BWW #reed900 #dbh gavin #dbh nines #dbh fic #dbh

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mc-critical · 3 years

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Hello, I just found your blog and I like it very much, it’s very interesting to read!!!. My question is : what is your opinion on Ahmed and Kosem’s relationship? Do you think he truly loves her? What do you think about him seeing other women? And what do you think about his relationship with these women (Mahfiruz, Katerina, Gulbahar and Yasemin).

Thank you for liking my stuff!

I think that, just like Süleiman, Ahmet loves Kösem in his own way. It's not as toxic or problematic or often questionable writing-wise as Süleiman's love for Hürrem, but it still has both its ups and downs that make it interesting to explore.

Ahmet and Kösem is perhaps the love story where the writers made the most effort to mask the possible worse aspects of. It could even be considered actually romantic at points, with their amazing first scenes in the gardens and the amazing chemistry of Ekin Koç and Anastasia Tsilimpou, the beginning sense of wonder and "mystery" it started out with.... when she first met him, Anastasia didn't know he was the sultan and put all her trust in him - a certainly good first impression. Ahmet himself is also very far from Süleiman's direct endeavors and tests of loyalty, he tries his best to be respectful in his own way, despite that he fails to do that a bunch of times. That's why it's easy to miss the darker aspects of the relationship at first and it could be perceived as probably the only thing in the franchise that is remotely close to a "fairytale" of sorts.

However, when the curtains start to fall slowly, but surely, we come to realize that while, say, Hürrem learns to want what Süleiman wants, to be fully loyal to him and to cave to his demands just like he often caves to her own, Ahmet and Kösem as characters have entirely different values and needs throughout their whole relationship. The fact that Ahmet wanted Anastasia because of a picture, without him having ever met her, is incredibly telling: he has created an ideal of her in his own head from the start and he wants to consistently maintain it. When he's with her, it's as if he's living his own dream, his own perfect world that has place only for him and that young girl. (that's why the garden is so symbolic: Ahmet calls it a place of solitude, only for himself almost immediately after the audience is introduced to it; also that line from him: "The world is on one side, Kösem - on the other." - quoting by memory again, but the meaning is the same) Their world views gained from their past and present environments begin to clash from the moment she finds out he's a Sultan - she wants to desperately go back to her family, both because all of them are still alive and her free spirit that cannot bear to live in this golden cage. Ahmet doesn't let her go also because he lacks the understanding of this desire: he has grown in the strict Ottoman system and having people like Anastasia stay in the harem forever is something he finds perfectly natural; for him it's unthinkable to stand against it. But despite of that "minor offense", Ahmet's idea of Anastasia's "purity" and "perfection" was working for awhile, with her seeming to meet his expectations and slowly warm up to him. But the real truth is way stronger than your own made-up lies. Anastasia's pleas to let her go only get stronger until they reach their climax with her attempt to escape. And you know what? If it weren't for her contrived, yet convenient excuse to come back to him, he would've lost her. Helplessly, in a blink of an eye, he would've lost her, due to what she sees as sheer ignorance from his part. And when she gains her own bit of agency later in the season and becomes Kösem, when she develops and realizes the actual stakes of the game, beginning to play it herself due to survival by default and the will for revenge, Ahmet's "perfect picture" breaks apart and that apparently hurt him so much, he stayed mad at her for quite some time. This wasn't the person he knew and loved anymore, this was an entirely new, reborn woman. He didn't seem to love and respect her for the virtues she actually possessed, but for those that he had imagined her to always have in his head. That is another, more "subtle" level of toxicity than with Hürrem and Süleiman, but it's still toxicity, that's why this relationship is far from healthy and the "beautiful, but quirky" dynamic it sets the impression of.

Kösem's view of Ahmet is very interesting and complex, writing-wise. I actually don't think she grew to love him as much. The place she forcibly got in made her feel very limited by him mostly, since he was the reason she was here in the first place and he was calling the shots in terms of her future (whether she would visit her family or not?). What made her become a bit affectionate wasn't fully him himself, but rather the oh-so-prominent theme of adaption in the harem. She wanted to escape so desperately, but there were so many happenings and situations during the time she was in the harem that just demanded for her to get used to everything. So when Iskender gave her the chance to escape, she as become used to the harem's environment so much, she felt unsure of herself outside of it. Her return was out of necessity rather than love and even her standing up to the people when Ahmet was sick was done out of necessity, too (like I elaborated in another ask about Kösem). I'm not saying that she didn't feel any affection whatsoever, but the affection she felt for him was easy to let go of (E25: "Today I didn't marry only Sultan Ahmet, I married the country!"), because I don't think Ahmet did his best efforts to understand her and I don't think Kösem felt completely comfortable around him, all that contrasted with Kemankeş in S02, who according to her, understands her better than anyone ever could.

Ahmet loves Kösem, because even after his perfect picture with her was broken and his anger and denial and refusal to accept it passed, he did try to make things better. What I loved most about his dynamic with Kösem, is his open honesty with her that continued till the end. There have been scenes where they seemed like true companions, especially their beginning one in E21 with all the kids gathered around them. I loved that despite of his mistakes, he did try to set things right. There was this sudden protectiveness that activated in him when Kösem told him the truth about the death of his father and why she acted the way she did and that could mean she now became something of a "cinnamon roll he just protect" and that is certainly a flawed mindset to have in many aspects, but that showed he could actually care for her beyond his idealistic perspective of her.

Am I okay with Ahmet having other women? Honestly, I'm glad that MCK lowered the concubine arcs to a minimum and with the way they did it, it doesn't offend me as much. I would even love some of them to be more developed for a change, because they did turn out to be solely drama tools, thanks to their lesser episodes and MCK's different themes as a whole, that basically did their purpose and left, instead of stretch out and outstay their welcome and that is just the other extreme in a bad disguise.

I won't talk about the relationship he had with his other women as much, because they just aren't fleshed out. I would've liked to see more of Ahmet and Mahfiruze: I believe he was way more decent with her than say, Süleiman was with Mahidevran, and their scenes weren't half bad. Too bad that would've demanded Mahfiruze herself to be fleshed out more as a character and the writers to give her more of a place in the narrative. Katerina was present only for an episode (or was it two episodes?) and we don't have as much conclusions to drive here. We only have his mild infatuation with her and... that's it? We have no idea what Katerina actually felt or how their dynamic would play out in the long run. We can only speculate. Gülbahar, by contrast, also had the least screentime of all his women who have comparatively minimal screentime, but her exploration in S02 helps us gain a better idea of how it went between them. I have the impression that she was the least favourite concubine of Ahmet's, ever. She did succeed to get pregnant and have a child, but it probably was a one and done thing and she didn't seem to get any other grasp of manly affection since then. Which is why, along with them taking away Bayezid from her by exiling her, she was so focused on scheming for one particular goal and this became what defined her. But then again, that is still a speculation in my part. Now, with Yasemin we have much more on-screen chemistry and interaction: that relationship felt very similar with what Süleiman thought of Firuze - infatuation, massive infatuation, but still not love, because just like Firuze, Yasemin also gave him poison and we don't know how much the poison affected his psyche, along with the sickness it brought upon him. These relationships have the opposite problem MC's concubine arcs had: these women were all unfavored or favored very temporarily in the span of an episode or two, which made them very stale and lacking in material.

Lastly, while MCK in its entirety, isn't very big on love stories, Kösem and Ahmet's relationship still had an evolution throughout S01, even if that evolution was more "condensed" than the others similar to it. It still remains the most fleshed out love story in the show, along with Kösem and Kemankeş's, and it was a very important part of the story that helped shape much of the narrative that succeeds it.

#magnificent century #magnificent century kosem #magnificent century kösem #magnificent century: kösem #sultan ahmed #kosem sultan #kösem sultan #ask #elenahoward

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orsuliya · 3 years

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Guess what, it’s time for more married!Awu/XQ headcanons, part 2 of who knows how many. Beware of the sappiness!

Once it becomes clear that Xiao Qi and Awu have wildly different ideas about educating children, the denizens of Ningshuo Fortress draw a collective breath. Amusingly enough, it never comes to an all out fight like the one people have been expecting… but still a rather interesting time is had by all.

See, there is no doubt that raising a legion of soldiers is as much out of question as raising a glasshouse of tropical flowers… or root vegetables. That much everybody – from Ah Li Ma to Tang Jing who were both asked to consult on the matter – can agree on. The devil lies in the details. Reading and writing is paramount, but is calligraphy really necessary? Sewing is obviously a must for all, but is fanciful embroidery? Every child should be competent with at least one weapon, but ought they also learn to play instruments, even those with no particular talent for it? At least rudimentary drawing is useful all across the board, no argument to be had there.

The problem is not that Awu and Xiao Qi cannot find a compromise in each of those cases – they absolutely can. Or rather they could... if they were not so careful of offending each other. There comes a time when Xiao Qi blurts out that a princely education is no guarantee of a clear mind or an honourable heart… and then spends the next day or two being strangely apologetic. Which Awu certainly notices, for all that she has no idea what might have caused this sudden development. Yeah, that comment didn’t really register, at least not in the way Xiao Qi fears it did. And yes, Zitan is that much of a non-entity in Awu’s mind.

At the same time Awu might have been dancing around certain subjects, loathe to admit that her husband’s writing is sufficient for the purpose, but would absolutely prevent him from pursuing any kind of serious career in civil service. And since they want their kids to have options, maybe they should think about employing a calligraphy master after all.

Don’t worry, they come clear on both issues! What else are their nightly hug-discussions for, if not resolving potentially painful matters in a relaxed, constructive and mutually satisfying manner?

______________________________

Why would Awu be dancing around certain subjects related to Xiao Qi’s level of education? It’s not like he was ever particularly sensitive to such matters as class difference, right? No sign of inferiority complex there, that’s for sure. Well…

When Awu and Xiao Qi were preparing to leave the capital, Asu made an entire production out of his sister’s upcoming departure. Ningshuo, for all that it may be paradise itself – if one listens to the locals – is rather… provincial, right? No decent wine to be had, no silks, golden bathtubs, first-class inks, high-quality perfume or incense and if there is one decent guan to be had out there, then Turnip will eat his own most decorative one!

Not that Turnip ever comes out and says that Ningshuo is his idea of hell, but still. There is a reason why Xiao Qi prefers not to take part in this whole packing rigmarole; he wouldn’t want to distress his brother-in-law too much… or rather more than he already does at court. Awu takes this brotherly care with good humour; Asu is Asu and it’s true that he would never be able to make it in Ningshuo, but they’re very different Wang breeds and she has no doubts that she will absolutely thrive once there.

The thing is that once they settle in Ningshuo, Xiao Qi starts making those little comments. Nothing really overt and really, they’re made in jest more often than not… But it’s concerning all the same. Self-deprecation is not a good look on Awu’s husband! Well, it totally is, but there are much better ones, so it’s time to stage an intervention.

The next time Awu hears that a Princess like her could have never imagined she would be forced to toil in the field, she snaps. Not like they were toiling anyway – marking out the best pastures is hardly a back-breaking work! So what does she do? Well, first she waits until the evening… and then she immobilizes her husband. True, he may still try to get up while she’s in his lap, but this way he would be forced to take her with him! It’s truly diabolical.

As her second step she asks – very seriously – who is always right in their household and is it true that it’s Princess Yuzhang. Prince Yuzhang, unaware that he’s entering a trap and also rather distracted with what’s in his lap, admits that readily enough.

If Princess Yuzhang is always right, declares Awu, and I am Princess Yuzhang, then what I say must be the absolute truth. And what I say is that you are a silly, silly man. There is nobody else that I would ever wish to call my husband and nowhere that I would rather live but here, by your side, building a future for us and our children. Why, I wouldn’t exchange our current life for any crown and I am something on an expert on those.

It works rather well, that’s as much as I will say on the matter.

______________________________

They do end up employing a calligraphy master for the children. And a painting master. And a slew of other masters as some of the kids get older and develop specific talents. Besides, there is nothing that says they need to limit their educational efforts to their own legion. Ningshuo’s population is booming and there is no better time to found a school or twenty for local children.

Of course most established scholars are very used to comfort and not really used to long trips. In short order, Ningshuo becomes the number one destination for young adventurous men of letters, most rather lacking when it comes to illustrious family background. But they are not the only ones interested in moving to Ningshuo: a good number of respectable old masters also decide to do so.

Turnip Wang tries to warn his sister that she’s playing host to a whole host of dangerous free-thinkers, some of them openly critical of this whole idea of monarchy. Oh, the horror! Awu simply looks at her harried sibling with a perfectly straight face and says that she hasn’t noticed any danger other than the danger of having exceedingly eloquent dinner-companions, which sometimes means that food grows cold before anybody even starts on it. Xiao Qi is very pointedly suppressing a smile in the background.

______________________________

Xiao Qi and Awu are that unbearably cheesy married couple who remains staunchingly and embarrassingly in love even after twenty, thirty years of marriage. And they have absolutely no qualms about public displays of affection. Which leads to some rather amusing moments while at court, but that is an entirely different story.

Now, their kids – both bio and adopted – think it’s the bee’s knees that their parental units love each other so much… but could they tone it down? Just a little? Would a tiny smidge of dignity be totally out of question? There is nothing fundamentally wrong with Father picking Mother up… but must he do it in the middle of the courtyard? And let us not even speak of farewell hugs. And the teasing. Oh, the teasing!

It gets much, much worse once the kids grow up and start pairing off. See, only now do they start to realize what some of their parents’ little quirks actually mean. And most of them mean that Awu and Xiao Qi – grey hair and all – are not that far removed from a pair of newly-weds. More that one son-in-law gets absolutely flustered – some into speechlessness – by the ever-powerful hearteyes. For some reason daughters-in-law deal with this situation much better, although approximately every second one develops… certain expectations.

______________________________

Awu and Xiao Qi do not get it on nearly as often as those poor horrified kids might think. That is they do get it on quite a lot! But it’s far from the only way of marital closeness they enjoy.

The first time Awu and Xiao Qi take a bath together establishes a routine that lasts for the rest of their lives. Dressing and undressing is Awu’s time to be petted and made much of, but bathing? Ooooh, that’s a wholly different matter.

That first time they get into a tub together it’s actually Awu who sits behind Xiao Qi and starts washing him. At first he is more than a bit bashful about it and tries to turn the tables on her, but she is relentless. Finally he starts to relax and once Awu gets to washing his hair, his state can only be described as utter contentedness. There might be some neck kisses and soothing scratches to be had as well, both of which only draw him deeper into a dreamlike trance.

After the water grows cold, Awu dresses them both in soft nightime robes and leads Xiao Qi, still pretty out of it, to bed. Not to have sex, mind you. Just to lie down and breathe together, as close to each other – bodily and mentally – as it is even possible. I am not saying that Xiao Qi cries at any point… Well, of course he cries! It is the first time he’s been treated with this kind of overwhelming tenderness; experiencing such absolute depth of care and love for the first time is an earth-shattering experience for a man who had known so little of both in his life.

They take care to repeat this experience at least once a month; after the first several times Awu no longer has to propose taking a bath together. The first time he actually asks? Her heart grows two whole sizes from sheer pride.

#the rebel princess #monarch industry #Awu and XQ headcanon time #I am so sappy it's getting embarassing #do I care #no not really and it's all your fault anyway #you evil nonnies with your evil asks #you know who you are #I am but a victim and so cannot be blamed for anybody overdosing on pure sugar

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 3 years

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Resol’nare - Part Seven

A/N: This part has a lot of bits that I have been excited to share. There are a lot of pieces of my own HCs in here, as well as a few plot hint crumbs that I’ve had fun developing, so I hope you guys enjoy this one! (Also sorry it was late- we got power back late last night and I was too lazy to post after making dinner. oops. Don’t worry, I already formatted eight so this won’t happen again next week) Also, also... Fennec and Boba are fun to write :)

*this story will regularly be using words in Mando’a. for a good list of references click here.*

Summary: The Mandalorian makes the journey back to Tatooine to take care of some things back at the covert after his run in with Navina on Nevarro. More is revealed about the goings on in the upper levels of Boba Fett’s complex, we learn what he and Fennec are up to, as well as a little more about how things are run below. And we finally hear what Bo-Katan has been itching to tell him.

Warnings: descriptions of violence, death, talk of manipulating kids (if you’re unsure feel free to ask)

Word Count: 5.6k

Tatooine.

The suns were sinking into the Dune Sea by the time he pulled Peli’s rental speeder into one of the hidden bays at the rocky base of Fett’s palace complex. There were three other occupied spaces, leaving just the one to his left empty. A quick scan of the vehicles that were there told him immediately who wasn’t. Fennec. Hers was the easiest to recognize. She had painted it a heavy matte black, accented with a weblike design of crisscrossing red lines. It wasn’t inconspicuous but she didn’t want or need it to be. If one of her targets saw her speeder and made the connection, it was already too late for them to turn and run. She liked knowing that they felt some modicum of fear or at the very least panic in the seconds before she struck, and he couldn’t blame her. They had it coming.

For too long the scum that she and Boba were after had run nefarious crime rings that preyed on scared, young kids with nowhere else in the galaxy to turn. It was how they’d both ended up in their line of work, Boba swept into a life of violent instability in the aftermath of his father’s death, and Fennec developing a kind of admiration and a misplaced feeling of owing her employers for rescuing her from being sold to a brothel as a child. The slime had wasted no time in manipulating her, taking that gratitude and twisting it into something ugly and sinister, crafting her into a sniper, a trained, leashed killer, trading one horrible outcome for another. By the time she realized how trapped she truly was, the price on her own head had climbed so high it had very nearly gotten her killed.

He winced thinking back to when he’d found her crumpled form in the sand. His thoughts had flashed so quickly to Grogu, to getting back to where he was and ensuring his safety, that he had only given Fennec a cursory check for any signs of life. Had Fett not been tracking the Mandalorian in search of his father’s armor, the woman would have died there in the desert. But the grizzled wanderer had found her, and saving the assassin from the brink of oblivion had given both of them a second chance. Fennec had been freed from the things that held her feet to the flames, and Boba had been given a reason to care for someone other than himself. He may have never been in any real peril on Tatooine- Not even in that pit if how I’ve seen him fight is any indication of how he handled that Sarlacc- but two souls were saved that day regardless. Though they worked as a pair and while Fennec deferred to Fett at first, she gave him her loyalty because she chose to, not because she was made to, and he gave her his respect because she had proven herself to be just as resilient as he was.

Now, having taken the palace from the Hutt crime family and rooted out their presence on the planet, the two child killers turned vigilantes had started working on the galaxy’s other crime rings. Their sights were currently set on the Black Sun syndicate, and they had been working on picking away at one of their strongholds in Ord Mantell City, dispatching those who gave them no new information immediately, and freezing and bringing anyone who might have something useful to share back to the complex on Tatooine. Karga and the Bounty Hunter’s Guild on Nevarro had even been helping them, and more than a handful of the Mandalorians from the new covert had offered their assistance as a way to repay Boba and Fennec for providing them the space. Yes, they were taking the law into their own hands, but he had seen time and again how easily the New Republic could be made to look the other way, so he had no personal or moral objections to what they were doing.

And so far they had brought three children under the age of thirteen back to the covert. The kids were being held captive as leverage so that the Black Sun leaders could keep control over their parents, often threatening them with things unspeakable should they refuse to do what their bosses required of them. The youngest was no more than five. After they’d been fed and tended to by the Healer and given a place to rest in the tunnels below, Woves one of the Mandalorians he’d first met on Trask, had set out to get in touch with the guardians of the rescued children. Since joining the cause to unite the clans, Axe had become increasingly interested in participating in educating and caring for the covert’s children, even assisting the Instructor in teaching new sparring techniques or sharing the perspective of someone who had grown up on Mandalore when it came to more cultural or historical lessons. Though he’d tried to make contact multiple times using the information that he had on the children- only their names and home planets- just the two older boys had been claimed by living relatives.

The smallest, a girl barely reaching the top of Woves’ boot, didn’t seem to have anyone anywhere. Though he continued to try to locate the child’s kin, everyone knew it was only a matter of time before the Armorer was presiding over the gai bal manda, the man who had once been one of Bo-Katan’s most feared fighters kneeling in front of the entire Tribe and swearing to protect and raise the child as a warrior, as a member of his clan. As his own.

Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad. I know your name as my child. Grogu.

He felt a tug in his chest, just behind his rib cage as he dismounted the speeder, those big round eyes blinking at him from beneath that wrinkled green forehead and those over large ears filling his thoughts before he could guard himself. With a sigh, he wished for what could have been the hundredth time that he had been given the chance to take that vow, swear those words… Raise my son.

Slinging his bag across his body and ensuring that the Darksaber’s hilt was clipped firmly to his belt with one hand, the other went to one of the leather pouches at his waist. Without needing to look, he pulled the small silver ball from its designated spot, spinning it twice between his thumb, index and middle fingers. We’ll see each other again. I promise. The metal sphere slipped smoothly in his gloved grasp, the object giving him comfort. It was something tangible, a link to the thing he carried in his heart for the child that had upended his entire world. Bo-Katan might understand Woves’ choice if she… He let out another breath and tucked the ball away. But all she can see is Mandalore.

The sharp-eyed, orange- haired heiress was not too keen on her former companion’s sudden calling towards child rearing, but swearing an adoption vow, promising to care for a foundling, was such an integral part of Mandalorian beliefs, of The Way, that she knew better than to try to talk him out of it. She would lose any credibility that she had as a leader if any of the others caught wind of that. She still had Reeves, and Hast, one of the few that had made it off of Nevarro, had also volunteered to help her search for other hidden coverts and lone stragglers in the far reaches of the Outer Rim, on the quiet, often overlooked planets in the Mid Rim, in the corrupt and crowded cities of the Core Worlds. And if she wanted more help I’m sure there are others who would go.

He cringed, tilting his chin down to glance at the innocuous looking object knocking against the beskar tasset covering his left thigh with every step towards the tunnels he took. If she wanted, I could… He reached across his body to wrap his hand around the sword's grip. It still felt strange. Unnatural. I could order others to join her mission. Dropping it as soon as the thought crossed his mind, it hit the beskar beneath it with a loud clang that echoed in the dark passages that connected the speeder bay to the main hall. Leadership in a fight, in a battle, in negotiations, while all still outside of what he would have chosen for himself, were things that he could get his head around. But making demands? Setting punishments and enforcing laws? It was the things that ran in that vein of what it meant to be the Mand’alor that gave him the most pause now that the Armorer had assuaged some of his other doubts regarding the title that had been thrust upon him, unwanted.

Thing after thing. Loss after loss. Responsibility after responsibility. That had been his life for nearly four decades, and it didn’t seem like his burdens would be getting lighter any time soon. For the first time since he left Nevarro two days before, he thought of the woman he’d run into there, whose stolen vambraces he was bringing back to be reforged. Navina. Though he’d only spent a few hours with her he had picked up the impression that difficult trials and heavy hardships followed her wherever she went, too. He wondered if that was uniquely Mandalorian, or if there were others who understood the same level of loneliness that sometimes came when such strength was constantly required of a being. She had spoken of her clan; of losing her mother and being separated from her father and the foundling that her family had taken in, not knowing after all that time if they were still alive. He knew the odds and she seemed clever enough to know them, too, and though he had sympathy for her, it also made him feel less like he was alone in struggling to carry an ungainly load. I have to remember to ask the others about her father… Harsa. That was the name.

There were several things he had to do on this trip, asking about Navina’s family name just the latest addition to the list. After promising the Armorer on his last visit that he would begin training with the Darksaber, he knew that he would be spending at least two sessions with the Weapons Master, learning how to wield the legendary black blade. We’ll start with the beskad, though. He was firm in that and he knew that no one would argue with him. He wanted to check in with Fett, make sure that the arrangement was still working and that the man didn’t need anything from him. He had no doubt though, that if the man running things topside had any issues, he wouldn’t hold them back, not hesitating to contact the Mandalorian directly to launch his complaints. His directness was one of the things that he liked most about Boba, and one of the reasons that he had been so quick to trust him. I hope he’s free now. I’d rather start there then…

The last thing that he absolutely could not leave the planet without doing, was meeting with Bo-Katan for a debrief on the recruiting efforts and to begin discussing tactics for reclaiming their ancestral homeland. Hers, anyway. She wasn’t happy that he had put it off for as long as he had, but again, he knew that she wouldn’t voice her displeasure for fear of the optics of disagreeing with the Mand’alor. Politics. His top lip curled at the thought that he would have to get good at knowing how to keep people on his side, even when he knew that their endgames were slightly out of alignment with his. Maybe she’s in the sparring hall now. He knew that she spent hours training with Reeves and Hast whenever she came back to the covert, and he hoped that was where she was now.

If he was being entirely honest, something about her still didn’t sit well with him, but he knew that he didn’t have to like everyone to work with them.

Striding the last few steps through the winding passage, he finally reached the plain stone archway, a circular splotch of light from one of the torches visible on the other side of it. Two helmeted Mandalorians stood guard, but moved aside as soon as they saw the signet on his shoulder and the Darksaber on his belt.

“Olarom yaim, Mand’alor.” The shorter of the two spoke with a nod, welcoming him home in a voice that cracked too adolescently for the modulator in the newly sworn fighter’s helmet to hide. A kid. He recalled the first few years after he’d finished his required training in the Fighting Corps, the cockiness, the harsh lessons that no amount of studying or practicing in the sparring hall could prepare him for. He’s just a kid.

It was different though, the way that Mandalorians allowed Tribe members to swear additional oaths inducting them into the elite group of warriors at seventeen, than what the syndicates did, how they inducted their young members. We learn and train our whole lives for it. Understand what we’re agreeing to. Not like… He swallowed a sudden spike of rage at the thought that the quiet, innocent child that was likely still latched to Woves’ right leg would have otherwise ended up raised to be a mercenary -or worse- for the Black Sun. But she won’t now.

“Thank you,” he responded to the young guard cursing himself for forgetting the Mando’a translation. I need to do better with that. Again he felt his thoughts backtracking to Navina and the way that he’d heard several Mando’a words roll easily off of her tongue. Maybe she can… when we meet again in a few weeks, maybe she can help me with… He sighed. There was a long list of things he needed to talk to her about when he saw her next, just like the list of things that awaited him at the top of the staircase he was currently climbing. He wanted to know more about her pendant, about the seam they had found in the metal that hinted at a modification that was made well after the piece had been crafted that would allow the Mythosaur to hold the peculiar stone that shone purple. He wanted to know more about what had prompted her family to leave Concordia, why they were running and why they’d had to separate. He wanted to know anything that he could from her and any other Mandalorians he encountered that might help him be the Mand’alor that the young guardsman and everyone else in the covert seemed to think that he was.

As soon as he ascended the last few steps though, his thoughts were interrupted by a heavy arm falling around his shoulder. “Still in one piece then, Mand’alor?”

Boba Fett’s gruff, gravely voice was oddly comforting, and he knew that he was likely one of maybe two people who thought that. He returned the one armed thunk that he supposed the other man took for a hug. “Seems that way.” The man’s heavily scarred face pulled up into a jagged looking grin, the expression almost jarring on such a serious visage, but then a rumbling chuckle came out and took the smile with it, leaving his features in their natural scowl. “Everything alright here?”

The Mandalorian followed Fett through the large main hall, past the stone slab throne that he only occupied when passing judgement on those that he and Fennec brought back once any useful information could be wrung from them, and through to the long table that had been brought in for strategy meetings and sharing information with the Bounty Hunter’s Guild and others who agreed to offer help. “Everything’s fine,” he said with a grunt, gesturing flippantly with one hand, pulling a chair out from the table with the other. “The Princess wasn’t too thrilled when she found out she’d have to wait for you, but tell me, Mandalorian, is that woman ever truly happy about anything?”

He had never so much as seen her smile. Pulling out a chair of his own, he simply shrugged. It seemed unlikely. “I’ll meet with her as soon as we’re through here.” Fett nodded. “I had… urgent business on Nevarro.”

“Urgent?” One eyebrow rose on the man’s forehead.

“Yes, I met another Mandalorian, only she was,” he tilted his head to the side as the image of Navina’s silver-gray eyes staring at him through her shattered visor flashed in his mind. “Different.”

Boba answered with another gruff chuckle as he reached for the jug of spotchka that was never too far away. “Different, was she?” He took a long pull, the remnants of his teasing laugh still there when he lowered the jug and swiped the back of his free hand across his mouth.

What? No, that’s- He leaned forward, elbows on the stone surface as he made a quick slicing motion with one hand. “No. That’s not what I meant.”

It wasn’t. But as he dropped his palms back to the tabletop, he could recall the way it felt when he’d gripped her biceps, shaking her from her dreams. He had been concerned that she would hurt herself or more inconveniently, break one of the controls in the cockpit with the way she was thrashing in her sleep. But what he remembered now, hands flat before him, was how it felt to make contact with her skin, even if it was just through the thick padding of his gloves. He pressed his thumb down hard on the table like he had pressed it into the crease of her bent arm, squeezing the muscle there to get her attention. She felt strong and warm and solid and he almost held onto her for too long, caught up in the feel of another body beneath his hands. That isn’t what I meant.

He cleared his throat and went on. “She hasn’t sworn the Creed, but she carries out the traditions, she can fight, knows things about Mandalorian history-“ he looked up at the man across from him, Fett abandoning his ribbing to regard the Mandalorian seriously. “She had a helmet and a dagger made of pure beskar.”

“And you’re sure she’s not a thief?”

Technically she is. But she didn’t steal the helmet or the kal. She didn’t steal the pendant. “They belonged to her parents.” He explained what the woman had told him about how her family had been split up- how she had known for a fact that her mother had been killed, but that since it had been years since she’d seen her father or the other child in her family, she had no way of knowing if they were still alive. “She… she asked me to spread word here at the covert, in case anyone knows where to find her father. Harsa. His name is Gavil Harsa.”

Boba shrugged. “Don’t know any Harsa. But then, I’m no Mandalorian either. Your different girl and I have that in common.”

She’s not my-

But before he could protest what had just been said, voices from the same entrance he had come through caught his and Boba’s attention, the other man standing as Fennec’s dry, smirking tone could be heard greeting the guard at the door. “You’re back.” He stated, opening his arms wide, his voice booming across the otherwise empty space. “What took so long?” He dropped his arms as Fennec maneuvered a carbonite block through the doorway.

She cocked her head in the direction of the hardened, frozen slab containing what could have been any number of humanoid species, their features completely indiscernible but clearly contorted in terror. “Ixon here didn’t want to come quietly.” She turned to pull the block the rest of the way through, the unit hovering weightless and only needing her guidance for direction. “It was actually quite a workout.” She grinned. “For him.” Fett let out another gravelly laugh as Fennec turned her attention to the Mandalorian. “Mando,” she smiled and used one hand to push her long black braid behind her. “Good to see you.”

“Fennec,” he nodded a greeting. “You’ve been busy, I see.”

“Nothing for the Mand’alor to worry about,” she winked, shoving the block containing Ixon more roughly than necessary. “Just dealing with the trash.” She winked as she walked through, waving off Boba when he tried to assist her. “I’ll handle this one on my own.” She patted the side of the unit with an almost malicious gleam in her dark eyes. “It’s personal.”

“I’d pity him if he weren’t walking slime,” Boba offered her the spotchka jug but she declined with a flick of her wrist.

“He might not be walking when I’m done.” She gave the block another shove towards a door on the other side of the large room, her lips lifting in a quick snarl. “See you around, Mando,” she called over her shoulder, disappearing with Ixon, not waiting for a response.

“They say if you love your job you never work a day in your life,” he clapped a large meaty palm on the Mandalorian’s arm. “And Shand loves her new job.” That much is obvious. “Speaking of jobs, Mand’alor,” he gestured with his jug towards another set of stairs that led to the tunnels that the covert was using, the blue liquid sloshing gently as he did. “I’m sure yours is calling.”

He stiffened. “Yes.”

The man, gnarled by life and the things that had tried to drag him from it, set the jug down then. “Taking that planet back… well, you know what I think there.” I do. From first mention, he had not held back his opinion of the mission. “But bringing this many Mandalorians together under one roof? And they haven’t killed each other yet? I know you didn’t ask for this but,” he narrowed his eyes. “That’s no small feat.”

It was as close to true praise as Boba Fett had likely ever bestowed upon anyone, and he knew that. It was also the truth. He thanked the man and crossed the room to yet another doorway that led to a different set of stairs. This time though, as he shifted the bag on his shoulder, the metal pieces inside clanging together, he did not stop on the landing and wait to pass off the reclaimed beskar to a middleman. This time, he continued down the second set that brought him to the forge.

It was quiet, the Armorer taking a rare break from her unending task of providing the best protection and defenses that she could for her people. As a child it was easy for him to forget that there was a human beneath that pointed gold helmet. Her understated power, the sparks that flew frantically from her hammer, the ability she possessed to craft such stunning objects all contributed to the almost mythological status that he and the other small children regarded her with. He still admired and respected her and held her in higher esteem than anyone else in the covert, he knew that even the Armorer needed to eat, needed rest, needed to give her own ears a reprieve from the ringing of her tools battering hot metal.

Entering the room for the first time since the covert relocated to Tatooine, he gave himself time to take the space in. Slowly turning his head he scanned over the work table, all of the tools neatly arrayed, each one clean and sharp and shining, each one a weapon in its own right. The forge itself was unlit, the mouth that usually spat fire simply open in a gaping yawn, but as he ran his hand over it he felt the residual heat that never completely faded. He wondered if what was left of the forge back on Nevarro still retained any warmth.

Drawing his hand back, he stepped over to the small table that the Armorer used for meeting with the recipients of her work. Reaching into his bag, he took the vambraces that Navina had surrendered and set them on the surface between the two empty stools, leaving them for when the Armorer returned to her duty. She’ll know what to do. And where they came from. He would return to the forge the next morning to speak with her in more detail about the items’ provenance, and also to spread Navina’s family name to the member of the Tribe who was most likely to know it. He gave the room one last scan, slowly turning his head so that he could see it all through the eyeline of his visor, then left, continuing on with his own list of responsibilities.

A handful of the covert’s children, some in the second hand helmets of the older ones, others belonging to clans that didn’t cover their faces at all times displaying smudges of dirt across round cheeks, were gathered in the widest portion of the hall. Engaged in some game that he likely played himself at that age, they shrieked and laughed and jumped. The kid would love it here. He could easily picture Grogu waddling into the group of young Mandalorians and fitting in without a problem, and he hoped that he had other children to be a child with while he underwent his Jedi training.

Continuing on and following the fork to the left, he headed next for the sparring hall. Unlike the forge, it was not empty. He could already hear the sound of practice staffs clashing, and the Instructor’s voice calling out advice to his trainees. One of the fighters grunted as they lunged or swung, and he knew right away from the sound that it was Bo-Katan, the heavy footsteps he heard suggesting that she was training with Hast.

Since she was occupied at present, he stopped at the door beside the entrance to the sparring hall to arrange sessions with the Weapons Master. The man seemed pleased that the Mand’alor was ready to start working with the beskad in preparation for the Darksaber, and gave him his choice of available times for one on one training. Slating himself for three instead of the two he had planned on, he thanked the man and, with nothing left to do to push it off any longer, he entered the sparring hall and prepared to speak with Bo-Katan.

She was still locked in a battle with Hast, the hulking man nearly twice her size but incredibly nimble for his weight and width. Blocking a swing of her opponent’s staff, the helmetless woman gritted her teeth and gripped her own weapon, holding it horizontally in front of her chest to take the force of the blow. Her feet slid back but she dug them in and gave a strong shove. Staffs still connected, the push set Hast off his balance just enough for her to turn the staff and whip it down and behind the man as he tried to regain his footing. In a sweeping blur she used it to take his legs out from under him, and he fell hard to the ground. Following all the way through to the finishing position, Bo-Katan flipped her staff around, jabbing it a few inches from Hast’s helmet, signifying her victory.

It was impressive, but the Mandalorian knew that she was a skilled fighter, having seen her in live battle. She extended a hand to help Hast up, then turned towards the entrance. “You’re here.” It sounded almost skeptical, and he noticed the tiny twitch of her brow, hardly any sweat beading there after her workout. “Back from your,” she passed the staff behind her to Hast who took both of them back to the wall, the Instructor stowing them on their pegs. “From your urgent business?”

He’d been expecting her to be upset, so the bite in her tone wasn’t a shock. “Yes.” He answered simply, not willing to allow her annoyance to spark his own. “I’m ready to discuss plans with you.”

Her eyes narrowed, lips pressed together in a thin line as though that was the only thing keeping her frustration in. She swallowed, then let out a short breath and gestured toward the door. “Shall we, then?”

The Mandalorian nodded and once she’d thanked the Instructor and Hast for the session, she followed him out into the hallway, the two heading for one of the smaller halls that had been designated for closed door meetings. “Thank you, for your patience.” He knew that she hadn’t been patient, but that she wanted it to seem like she had. “I had things to tend to, but I’ll be here for about two weeks, and I,” he opened the door to the room, letting her in before him and then closing it after he entered. Letting out a small sigh that he knew she wouldn’t be able to hear, he continued. “Aside from training with the Weapons Master I can spend as much time as necessary working with you.”

Her cheek jumped as she gave a quick smile that was more of a forced smirk. “Well, that’s great news.” Pulling out a chair, she gestured for him to do the same, which he did. “Because we have a lot to discuss.”

She went on to tell him that she, Hast and Koska Reeves had come back with ten adult Mandalorians from a covert located in the Mid Rim, and four children that had been part of their clans. There were a few that had chosen not to come back to Tatooine, but he and the others had all agreed that no one would be forced into joining them, that it was a decision only they could make for themselves. Still, adding fourteen to the Tribe in just one trip was something of note. For most of his life he had thought that his kind were far closer to extinction than they were. It was encouraging to see their numbers grow after so much time spent thinking that they were alone, and he hoped it gave the others that joined them there that same feeling of hope. That even if the quest to take back Mandalore were to fail, they would still have a safe place there where they didn’t have to hide in the shadows and only gather in groups of twenty or fewer. At least they were united now. At least they had a home.

She went on to tell him about the old rebel base they had heard about on the remains of Concord Dawn, a planet in the Mandalore System that had all but been destroyed in the centuries of warfare that plagued that portion of the galaxy. Largely uninhabitable, and missing nearly a third of its mass, the planet had been abandoned ages ago. But it’s proximity to Mandalore made it a good candidate to set up a base of their own once the battle for their planet began. She outlined what would be needed in terms of weapons, fortifications and troops, and stated that once they had acquired and allotted the required supplies, she would like to accompany him on a trip to Concord Dawn so that he could see it for himself before the base was established.

Agreeing to all of this, he listened as she laid out her plans for obtaining what was needed, giving her another two hours of his time before exhaustion started setting in so heavily that he wouldn’t have been able to listen to much more even if it was the most interesting topic in the universe. Assuring her that they could pick up where they left off the next morning, he excused himself from the small room and headed for the chamber that he always slept in when he was at the covert.

He didn’t know why, but as he removed his helmet he thought again of the woman he met on Nevarro, and how he was about to begin a war to take back her home planet. Unbuckling the rest of his armor piece by piece and laying it out to be polished and cleaned, he wondered if she would ever go back to the place she was born once they had won it back, or if their own traditions would make her feel unwelcome there. Frowning, he hoped that wouldn’t be the case, that he would help build the kind of society that welcomed anyone who was an ally, whether or not they swore an oath. Would she take the creed? Pulling the breastplate cuirass over his head, he wondered if it was even something she would want to do. She said she wasn’t given the chance… what if she was?

Shaking his head to clear her from his thoughts, he finished taking care of his armor for the evening, focusing on the lightness in his limbs that came from removing all that weight, and sunk into the mattress, finding sleep as soon as his eyes closed.

But the head shake hadn’t cleared her completely, his dreams tinged with purple light and the echo of her name.

Thank you for reading! Please feel free to let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the tags! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor @alraedesigns @pheedraws @valkblue @malionnes @gollyderek

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tinkertayler · 4 years

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What I say out loud, trying to prove to myself and everyone else that I am a Normal Person: Fleabag is a great show! It can be pretty naughty, but it's hilarious and heartfelt. It's British and available on Prime. You should watch it!

My unhinged thoughts, boiling just beneath the surface, prepared to BURST through the floodgates of my mouth at ANY moment: So aside from the flawless performances and electric chemistry between actors (which I could scream about for a full hour, just give me a glass of red wine and a platform and I'll go OFF), the thing I love most about Fleabag is the writing, which is objectively impeccable and I will straight up STREET FIGHT anyone who says otherwise. The writing is brief and economical, yet layered and meaningful. Every word is carefully chosen, every story beat expertly planned. Distilling a complex story and realistic character development into such a short and sweet narrative is REALLY EFFING HARD and demands great skill as a writer, but somehow Phoebe Waller-Bridge makes it look effortless. It's amazing but also INFURIATING and I love it but also HOW DARE SHE.

The first season's narrative is a little meandering, dishonest, and emotionally distant, and this is by design; Fleabag spends most of the season desperately trying to keep the audience at arm's length, because she can't bring herself to be honest, accept her past, or confront her grief. Her life is adrift, filled with family dysfunction, guilt, loneliness, self-loathing, and empty sex. She tries to craft a funnier, sexier, happier version of her story for the camera and audience, to gain a sense of control over a life that feels broken, chaotic, and unstable.

When we catch up with Fleabag in s2, she is trying to make peace with the demons that haunted her in s1, and build a more honest relationship with her audience (and herself). But she’s still struggling; honesty means revealing and accepting parts of herself that she doesn't like, of which she is scared and ashamed. Enter the priest. He sees right through her, and immediately begins to break down her walls and defenses. Fleabag finally allows herself to be vulnerable, and it is through surrender--to being known, to love, to a kind of spirituality--that she finds strength and peace.

The second season is more emotionally intimate than the first, and the narrative is laser-focused. It tells you exactly what it aims to be within the first 2 minutes. "This is a love story". And from start to finish, it is. Between Fleabag and the priest, most obviously, but also between the priest and God, the Godmother and Fleabag's father, Fleabag and Claire, Claire and Martin, Claire and Klare (lol), and last but not least, Fleabag and herself. The season as a whole is an exploration of love, spirituality, religion, and the mortifying ordeal of being known.

(Sidenote: it’s shocking to me that PWB was originally adamant about calling it quits after the first season, because in retrospect, s1 seems almost like it was written as a prologue to s2. Fleabag's second season really is PWB's magnum opus; it is a perfect companion and conclusion to the first season's arc that not only beautifully builds upon, but ends up being even better than, its predecessor.)

I am CEASELESSLY amazed by this story’s ability to satisfy on a visceral, emotional level AND engage on a cerebral, philosophical level--often at the same time. NOTHING IS ALLOWED TO BE THIS GOOD! Simple moments contain layers of meaning; they vibrate with humanity, make my heart drop to the floor, and then have the AUDACITY to hold up to analysis. I'm going to give a few examples to illustrate my point because CLEARLY I HAVEN'T TALKED ENOUGH (!!):

“Where did you just go?”

The priest can see Fleabag's asides to camera because he is the only person in her life who is paying enough attention to truly see her--attention is an act of love, and he loves her;

"You don't like answering questions, do you?"

Fleabag's resistance to sharing the unsavory parts of herself with the priest exemplifies the paradoxical way in which we deeply desire and yet fundamentally fear being seen, understood, accepted, and loved for who we are;

"Kneel."

Fleabag says she wants to be told what to do, and the priest gives her this command. Kneeling is an act of surrendering to a power greater than oneself, be it God or love. While it could potentially be portrayed as a submissive or weak act, here it is portrayed as an assertive act that requires strength and courage. This is mirrored at the end of the season when Claire kneels and begs Martin to leave her;

“When you meet someone you love, it feels like hope.”

Is the priest talking about God, or Fleabag? Or both? I’ve already word vomited about the parallels this show draws between romantic love and God's love, so I will refrain from doing it.. too much.. more. Let's just say that God offers the priest hope in much the same way the priest offers hope to Fleabag, and maybe, just MAYBE, the transcendence of human love isn't too far removed from the transcendence of divine love. Okay I'll shut up now bye.

In 6 episodes and approximately 3 hours, PWB manages to develop multiple three-dimensional characters, use their specific experiences to explore universal struggles and truths, and deliver a tragicomic narrative full of callbacks, symbolism, humor, and pathos, where every emotional moment feels genuine and earned. It's smart, cerebral, and philosophical without ever losing its subtlety, humanity, or emotional resonance.

I guess what I'm trying to say is: Fleabag is perfect and has ruined all other content for me. Definitely for now, probably forever. I'm DEVASTATED and "it'll pass" is a LIE.

#your honor please let the record show that i was sober while writing 99 percent of this #(idk if that makes it better or worse lmao yikes)#fleabag #fleabag x the priest #screeeeaming into the night byeeee

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ruskinbondstories · 3 years

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Why Ruskin Bond will always remain our favorite

From our early school days to the age of stepping into our respective career paths - we all grow up undergoing many changes. But only the writings of Ruskin Bond remain our constant companion. The close relationship between Ruskin Bond and us emerged slowly. The first introduction happened through textbooks, mostly after which people regularly saw a curious kid sitting at the corner of a bookstore with amazement in his eyes. And this amazement continued to appear on our faces every time we opened a book by Ruskin Bond. Unknowingly, we formed a strong bond with our favorite, Ruskin Bond.

It's pretty impossible not to smell the hills, our childhood, winter breezes, the old and rusty cottages in his words. Ruskin Bond's stories feel like a legit time machine that never fails to transport us into a newer world or the world of the past. His stories made us enjoy natural affection, subtleties, and the lucid pleasures of life without delving into the materialistic way of living. So, let's try to get lost in the world of Bond and relive our sweetest memories again to remind ourselves why he will always be our most favourite.

Nature as its best

"Never mind. Men come and go. The mountains remain." - "Our trees still grow in Dehra."

Due to his intimate understanding of nature, Ruskin Bond successfully presents how nature could actively become a significant part of a person's well-being. We can't help feeling the solitude and the peaceful purity of being amidst the forlorn mountains, the Magpies, the beautiful forest birds, and the freshness of trees while reading his stories. Nature in his reports does not only provide background, but it becomes a character itself. He allows the free-flowing river, the little birds, the wildflowers, the sky, and every aspect of nature to convey their own messages to the readers.

That's why we perceive nature as a catalyst for healing our minds and making us transcend in the spiritual world. So, in most of his stories, he tries to convey the message of preserving nature. For example, in "The Coral Tree," Ruskin Bond has painted an essential aspect of teaching children the importance of planting and nurturing trees, thus, making a lasting partnership with man and nature.

Many great critics of our generation have declared the significant presence of the pantheistic nature approach in Bond's writings. He profoundly portrays both the nurturing and the destructive sides of Nature in his stories like "The Blue Umbrella," "Time Stops at Shamli," "The Angry River," "Rain in the Mountains," "Roads to Mussoorie," "The Room on the Roof" and many others. It's evidently clear that nature is the Muse of Ruskin Bond, and he will continue to strengthen the friendship between us and nature.

Bond's Art of Characterization

One of the most captivating qualities of Bond's stories that make them so relatable is his art of characterization. He amazingly creates a fellowship between the reader and the characters by presenting various characters and showing every character's development through the thick and thin of life. The most amazing part is that his feelings are rooted in reality and possess a breadth of genuineness without pretensions.

Ruskin Bond is the master of creating various characters who fall into every social and economic background of the vast spectrum of our society. He beautifully paints the difference between the characters belonging to both the backward and underprivileged class and the flourishing upper-class. But most surprisingly, each character's life becomes significantly inspiring to the readers because of their physical and mental struggles, their realization and acceptance, and their close connection with their conscience. Our eyes suddenly get wet whenever we go through the brief encounter of the two potential lovers in "The Eyes are not Here." Similarly, we feel the same adrenaline rush while witnessing Binya's adventurous journey down the stream to save her most precious possession in "The Blue Umbrella."

Ruskin Bond's excellent insight into human psychology makes the readers understand exactly what the character is going through. That's what makes it way easier to discover the characters' reasons, hesitations, dilemmas, joy, anxiety, happiness, and all sorts of emotions. We somehow get attached to the characters without consciously knowing it and start to fascinate them most realistically.

Accurate Representation of the Indian Society

Bond's literary works serve a great purpose of expressing the social, economic, and political issues concerning the public and the country at large. He conveys the different opinions of the differently brought up characters in society in the most effective way. The state of India when it was under British rule, the bloodshed during partition, the ruins made by corruption, the conservative approach of the society, the superstitions, and the prevailing problems of dowry and child marriage - all have become an integral part of his writings. That's why his stories are considered proofs that aptly documented the then Indian society comprehensively.

Ruskin Bond's excellence also prevails in enriching the native language, bringing forth ethos and culture, and portraying the existing complexity of the socio-political scenario. At the grass-root level, his stories present a great insight into the ongoing social stigma without being a complete rant about problems only. His characters depict juxtaposition by making readers experience the constant tension that goes on within themselves between their rural and old values and the new urban moral code that they are exposed to.

Although Ruskin Bond Books is majorly known as one of the best writers of children's books, his adult and adolescent novels deal with the aspects we all go through in adulthood. For example, his "The Room on the Roof" brings up issues faced by the protagonist Rusty that had never been the table talk back in the 1950s. The life of Rusty resonates with us because we all have witnessed the problems like identity formation, wanting financial independence, emerging sexuality at some point in our lives. On the other hand, "The Room on the Roof" and its sequel, "The Young Vagrants," also successfully bring out the pain and loneliness of the orphan protagonist while depicting the prevailing social concerns such as racial and cultural differences, narrow-mindedness, and the social pretensions.

A Master of Stealing Children's Hearts

Risking Bond's fantastic insight into child psychology has contributed to making him our most favorite writer. The most incredible element found in his children's books is that he shows immense respect to a child's emotions, a thing which is not openly discussed or even given much value to. He captures the innocence of children in the best possible way while providing the utmost importance to the adventures, the hidden complexity, tragedies, and determination of the little minds. The self-seeking attitude of children is beautifully painted in the subtle yet strong words of Bond. "The Blue Umbrella" and "The Angry River" are perhaps the most outstanding examples for showing the strength and abilities children inherit along with the intricacies of life- all presented with a mesmerizing touch of simplicity. Through these stories, Ruskin Bond successfully raises a very pertinent question on the conviction of getting attached to trivial materialistic things of life, which exposes the futility of the entire concept.

Ruskin Bond is a master of depicting the innocence and simple pleasures of children, which contrasts with the cunning, shrewd, and envious nature of the adults in his children's books. It inspires the readers worldwide to adhere to the old pleasure-seeking and joyful spirit we have left in the past. The children's stories highlight the lessons of sympathy, kindness, and brotherhood among the readers of every age.

That's why Bond's significant contribution lies in the fact that Bond's children's stories do not only evoke happiness in kids, but adults also perceive the same amount of gleeful experience while reading them.

Conclusion -

Ruskin Bond's simple style of writing delves deep into our conscience. It is a potent weapon of his that beautifully depicts both the complexities and the ease of life. Bond never wants to "make readers toil and sweat" because he never believed in the concept of putting complex and unconventional words to sound more serious. In "It's a Wonderful Life," he shared why he always chooses to write simply. He also shared his views on social media regarding his writing style by saying, "I have always tried to achieve proses that are simple and conversational. Those who think this is easy should try it for themselves." It is always astonishing to see how the subject matters of Bond's writings are given such high importance without presenting them in a twisted form by using complex words. That's why his stories can be read repeatedly regardless of the reader's age, as the Ruskin Bond Stories have something interesting to offer you each time you turn the pages.

#Ruskin Bond #Ruskin Bond Collection #Ruskin Bond Books #Ruskin Bond stories #Ruskin Bond latest book

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thetimelesscycle · 3 years

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Tales of Arcadia Wizards Fanfiction: Hope Dies Last -Chapter 1

‘The Order will surely rip your soul to pieces’ Nari had said, and they had. They did. But he was Hisirdoux Casperan, and it wouldn’t be true to form if he didn’t somehow manage to botch up being wiped from existence too.

(Posting this on Tumblr too, a week late without starbucks.)

Notes: So, it has been a good, sweet while since I last posted anything to an audience outside of my family and friends. This here is my attempt to shake off the rust and be active again, and hopefully get back into the habit of writing on a more regular basis once more. We'll see how that goes, and maybe I'll finish some of those requests/projects that have been on the backburner for far too long.

A couple of free warnings before you start reading:

1. There is angst. This is me, there will always be angst, which will be peppered with comfort and friendship and all those great things this show brought to the table. I am a believer in happy endings, so provided we make it that far I will not leave you wallowing with a tissue box.

2. I'm not being super canon compliant here. The last time I wrote something for a fandom I spent hours researching, rewatching, and analyzing. Not this time. This time we are ad-libbing, and hopefully not completely self-destructing the canon whilst we are at it.

3. I have a buffer of chapters at present and will be spacing posting out to try and keep that. That being said, posting schedules and me have a complex relationship. I make no promises.

4. Douxie does not deserve any of this, but I'm putting him through it anyway, because that's what we do to the best bois.

5. It's been a rough year, guys. Take care, be kind, and stay safe.

Chapter 1

Top Ten Reasons to Avoid Temporal Accidents

It started as a dream.

He knew he was dreaming because just a moment before he had been pouring over a new spellbook, enduring Archie’s indulgent amusement as the fatigue of the day’s activities warred with the excitement thrumming through his veins. He must have been tireder than he realised, he reasoned, to have drifted off in the middle of studying every last detail contained within those precious pages. He was probably drooling on said pages now, and Archie was probably laughing at him. The traitor.

So he was dreaming, even if tonight’s nocturnal adventure seemed to be a departure from the usual fare. He was sitting in the midst of nothingness. Not dark, not light, just absence. Emptiness, yawning and deep, that swallowed all sound when he opened his mouth to speak. He could see clearly enough, despite the lack of light, except there was nothing to see. He didn’t know how he had come to be there, but he knew he was waiting, sitting still with a sense of quiet patience that would have had his master’s eyebrows climbing right off his head in disbelief.

The cold crept in slowly, brushing over his skin like a frigid breeze from an open window, closing about his wrists like icy fingers with a death grip. An uncomfortable sensation of heat sparked beneath his ribs at the same time, drawing his eyes downwards as he blinked in surprise. There were dozens of threads attached to his torso, red and blue lines trailing off into the nothingness. Morbidly curious, he tried to touch them. His hands passed through the mingled colours as easily as they seemed to have passed through him, not ending where they touched his skin, but stretching beyond what his eyes could see.

The first tug took him wholly by surprise, a flash of terrible pain making his sight white out as he threw a hand down to catch himself. The pressure eased in the next moment, though the threads remained taut. He had barely had a chance to regain his breath before they started pulling again, viciously hauling on something beyond the physical, as if they were trying to pry his spirit out of his body.

He toppled forward on hands and knees, submitting to the pressure in an effort to relieve the awful tearing sensation inside his chest, but it made no difference. He grappled to hold the bindings, to tear them away. His hand passed right through the threads again, as insubstantial as the part of him they seemed determined to claw free, deaf to his pleas to stop, immune to the magic he slammed against them in a frantic effort to halt their steady pull.

“Please.” He was sobbing now, the pain overtaking all else. He needed it to stop. It had to stop. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. “Please, don’t...”

Pale green washed over him in a gentle wave, a bubble of safety that encased both him and the instruments of his agony. He drew in a wheezing breath, fighting to get upright as the soft touch of kind magic slowly enveloped him, the scent of old wood and ancient greenery as familiar as it was strange. There were flowering vines wrapping around his limbs, twining around his arms and curling in repeated circles about his waist. Their grip was careful but unyielding. He had only a moment of dawning horror to realise what was coming and try to prevent it.

“Wait! Stop!”

The vines wrenched him backwards, painfully fast. Perhaps it was meant to be kindness, salvation, but the threads still caught. He was torn to ribbons, pieces peeling away in strips like he was made of parchment. He felt the fracture of something that was never meant to break, a pain that went far deeper than any physical wound could. His magic flared in panic; A wild, desperate attempt to save himself from certain death.

Too late. Too late. He had already lost too much, and still they tore at him, taking more and more and there would be nothing left...

He came to shrieking.

This was a vast improvement on not awakening at all, a miracle he was not in any position to appreciate as he opened his eyes to find himself floating amidst a maelstrom of miscellaneous objects. The moment he came awake the magic gave out beneath him, dropping him like a stone to crash against the floor. He hit his head on the descent, a minor complaint drowned out beneath far more immediate concerns.

Everything hurt; A terrible, all consuming agony that bloomed outwards from his chest and set all his nerves alight. He knew he was screaming, knew the sound grating against his ears was his own piercing voice mingled with the shouts of others. The world was awash with vibrant blue and that was his fault too. He just didn’t have the presence of mind to stop it. He wanted to crawl out of his own body, except he was fairly certain that had already happened. Ice in his chest and fire in his veins and a broken voice screaming his name.

He could still hear the echoes. The voice was different now. Less of devastation and more of brimming alarm. Magic crashed against his own in a tidal wave of calm that made the colours swimming before his eyes flash from blue to gold. He was being smothered, crushed beneath a weight that was meant as kindness, arms wrapping around him and pulling him upright. He cut his own screams off in a breathless gasp when the motion tipped excruciating pain back towards inescapable agony, a hand — his own — trying to burrow into his chest to find and destroy the source of his torment.

There was nothing there.

There was nothing.

He had failed.

He had failed and there was no fixing this.

The arm curled about his spine tightened, the hand to which it was attached gripping his waist firmly as he was pulled closer and tucked gently against the source of the voice now peppering his name through nonsense sentences that would have meant something at any other time. He could feel the vibrations of speech, hear a heartbeat thudding slightly too fast that was not his own, and belatedly realised that someone was gently running their fingers through his hair.

“It’s alright.” Clarity of thought was returning as the pain eased to a manageable level. Enough for hysteria to try to creep in in its place. “It was just a nightmare. You’re alright. You’re safe.”

He wanted to laugh; He wasn’t safe, none of them were. It came out as a sob instead. The soothing words continued above him as the arcane light in the room faded away, his own magic wilting beneath the determined presence of another’s. He turned his head on instinct, hiding his tears in fabric and distantly hoping whoever’s shirt he was ruining right now wouldn’t mind too much.

His companion started rocking gently, humming a soft tune that was as familiar as it was wrong. He hadn’t heard that song in centuries; Not since the last occasion he’d spent time with Morgana, right before things started going horribly awry. It shouldn’t be possible to hear it again now, and certainly not from her.

“Breathe.” Oblivious to the fact she shouldn’t exist, Morgana continued to cradle him gently as they both knelt on the uncomfortably hard floor. He could feel her magic still drifting lazily over them, the calming enchantment she was weaving into her voice. “Just breathe, Douxie.”

It was easier to do as she said than question what was happening. He was absolutely exhausted, still aching, and suffering the fleeting remnants of a terror whose source he couldn’t quite remember. Focussing on his breathing, on counting each inhale and exhale, was far safer then prodding the sleeping beast lurking at the back of his mind.

“You’re bleeding.” Untroubled by his lack of response, Morgana moved to brush his hair aside, her fingers treading carefully around the edges of his self-inflicted injury. “Archie, do you have anything to wrap this with?”

“Uh, oh, yes. Yes, of course.”

There was a clatter, the sounds of someone rummaging, a quiet ‘thank you’ from Morgana as she accepted whatever offering had been brought. Fingers again, this time unwinding fabric about his head, pressing against the source of sticky dampness. It stung, he recognised that much, but the ability to react, to do anything other than maintain his stuttering breaths was absent. He felt like an observer in his own body; An observer who couldn’t see a thing.

“There you go.” Morgana finished her ministrations, settling beside him as she moved a hand to his back, rubbing soothing circles through the thin fabric of his shirt. His shoulders were still hitching on every second inhale, but her spell had done its work, and the sense of wild panic had been muted by a fragile veneer of calm. “Why don’t we—”

The door swung open with enough force it crashed against the stone wall. The noise startled his companion, her arms closing about him protectively once again. His own nerves were too numb to respond to the intrusion in any way beyond slumping further against the source of his support, letting her shield him from the coming storm.

“What in the name of—”

“Don’t you dare!” Softness gave way to sharpness in an instant. “Close that door.”

There was an awkward silence, broken only by his ragged breathing and a rumbling that had settled against his folded legs in the interim. Then the door closed with far more care than it had opened, green light expanding slowly to fill the small space as the intruder spoke in softer tones.

“Hisirdoux?”

That was his name, wasn’t it? Though there was really only one person who used it like that. The thought hurt, he didn’t answer, and the next words were sharp again.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Footsteps drew nearer, steel striking against stone, pausing a short distance away. He didn’t lift his head. “I found him like this.”

“And that?”

“Archie said he fell.” She paused, awaiting another question. When none was forthcoming she asked her own, “Where is Arthur?”

“Handled, for the moment, though who knows how long that will last.”

“I could hear the shouting from here.”

“The entire castle just got turned inside out.” He knew that dry tone, all too well. “You’re lucky he wasn’t the one kicking in the door.”

This... this was wrong. Impossible. Neither of these people should be here, though he was struggling to remember why. Everyone had been dying, hadn’t they? He had been dying, he was sure of it. Not with the blissful unawareness of his first go around, either. This had been vengeful, painful. ‘The Order will surely rip your soul to pieces’ Nari had said, and of course she was right. So how? How was he still alive, still breathing when he shouldn’t even exist anymore?

“Douxie?” The voices above him were still arguing; This quiet inquiry came from below. He blinked, bringing some focus back into his world of blurred colours, and chanced a glance down into worried eyes. “Are you alright?”

The last time he had seen those eyes they had been wide open and blank. That had been his fault as well. So many mistakes. Except a wizard didn’t make mistakes, so what did that make him? What did that make this?

It wasn’t real. That was the only explanation he could think of. This was an... an illusion, a refuge he had created for himself in order to escape the pure horror of his last moments. But there was something else. A lingering memory of golden eyes, filled with grief but equal parts determination, and powerful, ancient magic wrapping itself protectively about him, binding him together as other hands tried to tear him apart.

‘You can’t have him!’

Nari. Nari had been there, and she had done something. To save him? He couldn’t remember. Couldn’t make sense of any of it. Couldn’t comprehend how this could be happening. They’d already done this, hadn’t they? It had to be an illusion, a—a mirage, a refuge his mind had created. A falsity that felt real.

“Douxie?”

Archie’s soft bunting against his hand prompted him to respond, illusion or no. His body didn’t feel like it belonged to him, moving parts that no longer worked together as they were meant to, and it took more effort than it should have to make his hand drag its way along his familiar’s spine. He doubted it was comfortable for Archie either, despite his obnoxiously loud purring.

The gesture, clumsy though it was, was enough to quiet the conversation happening overhead, and coax an effort at softness out of his most certainly dead master.

“Hisirdoux?”

He swallowed, acutely aware of how raw his throat felt. He had been screaming, hadn’t he? Because he had been dying. He hadn’t imagined that. It wasn’t the type of experience one forgot in a hurry, and the second time hadn’t been any more pleasant than the first. Worse, actually. He’d kind of slept through the first.

“Hisirdoux.”

Fingers closed about the hand not currently locked in Archie’s fur, the hold gentle yet firm. That was oddly patient of his master. Merlin had never shied away from being hands on when he thought his apprentice was moving too slowly. A tug here, a shove there. Maybe that’s why he’d been too slow to dodge that last blow. He was still waiting for Merlin to push him out of the way.

Bodily.

With his staff.

“I don’t think he’s all the way back yet.”

That’s right, Morgana was here too. It was probably her shirt he’d ruined. Or nightwear, at this hour.

“You don’t say.” It was nice, having that droll sarcasm pointed at someone else for once. “Hisirdoux, look at me.”

He could do that. Probably. Even with the strange disconnect between his body and his thoughts right now. If he had been brought back from the dead he had a feeling they’d done it wrong. Put his soul in upside down or something. That would be just his luck.

The hand on his cheek was more demanding than gentle, drawing his gaze up and away from Archie’s mournful stare to the judgemental blue of his master’s usual scowl. He hadn’t seen Merlin this angry in centuries. Oddly enough, the elder wizard didn’t seem to be glaring at him. He was still holding Douxie’s hand, gaze intent, staring at something other. He didn’t realise what until a magic that was not his own probed against the brittle edges of his soul. What had been holding together through dumb luck and desperate hope just splintered, and his magic flared to life of its own accord.

He didn’t blast the entire castle this time. The wave of energy was more contained, weaker, sending Morgana and Merlin back no more than a few steps as Douxie fell onto his side, hands tearing at his own clothes in an effort to rip out the burning brand that had impaled his breastbone.

Fuzzbuckets, but that bloody hurt.

“—told you to be careful! Douxie? Douxie! Can you hear me?”

“Arch...” he croaked the word, reaching out blindly until he felt his feline companion slip beneath his fingers, instinctively drawing the familiar’s warmth close.

“I’m here. We’re here.” Archie’s cool confidence was missing from those shaking words. “Can you tell me what’s wrong, Douxie? It’s important.”

“I think...” Speaking was painful. So was everything else right now. He persevered. “I think I messed up, Arch.”

“Messed up? How?�� The familiar was being awfully pushy, wriggling his way closer so he could stare pointedly into Douxie’s blurring eyes. “Doux?”

“I let you all down.” He couldn’t tell if his fading eyesight was due to the fresh tears or the slow darkness creeping in. This all had to end soon, surely. How much longer could he really expect to avoid the truth? “I’m sorry. Tell Nari... I’m sorry.”

“Nari? Wait, who is Nari? Douxie? Douxie!”

He closed his eyes, and the pain finally ended.

#wizards toa #hisirdoux casperan #morgana la fey #archie toa #merlin toa #nari toa #fanfiction #hurt/comfort #friendship #time travel #angst

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mediaeval-muse · 4 years

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Video Game Review: GreedFall (Spiders, 2018)

Genres: action RPG, fantasy

Premise: Players assume the role of De Sardet, a human noble who arrives on the recently-discovered island of Teer Fradee. Able to ally with either the natives who inhabit the land and/or any of the foreign nations competing to colonize it, De Sardet seeks out a cure for the mysterious illness that plagues their family, while also battling monsters and magic.

Platform Played On: PC (Windows)

Rating: 3/5 stars

Disclaimer: My rating is in response to multiple aspects of the game, not just its politics. If I were evaluating solely on politics and gave the developers the benefit of the doubt that they were trying to make something with a good message, my rating would be around the 1 to 2-star range, depending on player choices.

***Full review under the cut.***

I am evaluating this game based on four key aspects: story, characters, gameplay, and visuals.

Story: I’m immediately wary of any pop culture item that tries to tell a story about colonialism and Indigeneity because it usually ends up indulging in colonialist fantasies rather than critiquing them. Complex, morally-grey stories are great and all, but when it comes to tales about colonialism, “both sides” narratives tend to look a little insensitive. So, I can’t tell you why I decided to play GreedFall, other than I heard that it filled the Dragon Age-sized hole in people’s hearts. Since I’d rather use my own judgment than read video game reviews, I bought this game on sale and gave it a go. If nothing else, I told myself, I could use my history and literary analysis chops to say something intelligent about it.

In terms of politics, I don’t think GreedFall was as terrible as games where the goal in itself is colonization, but I also don’t think it achieved a narrative that was critical enough of colonization. De Sardet’s primary goal is to achieve balance between all the nations (which I’m calling factions because they’re mostly that). While I can admire that GreedFall really pushed for peaceful relationships, as well as pushed back against abuse and racism, I ultimately thought the developers didn’t consider how the struggle for balance actually facilitates colonialism. This game presents colonialism a diplomatic issue, so as a result, Teer Fradee is kind of a fantasy where colonists can settle on native land while maintaining friendly relationships with Indigenous peoples (at least, if you play it that way - at worst, you can seize absolute power). The experience was similar to the one I had playing BioShock Infinite, whose politics involve a “both sides” argument - the difference is that BioShock Infinite made explicitly clear by the end of the game that Booker was the true villain. With de Sardet, it’s a bit more ambiguous, depending on how you play, but I do think the game pushes you to be diplomatic rather than power-hungry. As a whole, it brings up the very valid question of whether or not colonialism should be in media period, or if there’s some value to be derived from consuming problematic media that tries to do good and talking about it.

Still, I have to give credit where credit is due. GreedFall had the guts to actually try to tackle little-discussed themes in this game, such as forced conversion, abuse within the sciences, and institutionalized bullying. While the missions associated with these big themes were accomplished with varying degrees of success, many of them added emotional depth to the game. Companions would have emotional reactions to these quests that tugged at my heartstrings, and there were never any shots of graphic violence or mutilated bodies, so it didn’t feel like I was playing the game for an edgy thrill. All of the side quests had a lot of bearing on the main plot and the worldbuilding - I don’t think I encountered any “fetch quests,” so most of the things I was doing actually related to enhancing my understanding of the world and its social dynamics.

The game also did a good job of presenting players with factions that were constantly in conflict with one another, lending an added layer of complexity to all the political aspects of the plot. Character’s personal quests were also very well done and had emotional depth. Vasco’s arc about learning about his true family was a nice exploration of birth family vs found family (he’s a sailor whose birth family gave him to the naval faction, the Nauts). Kurt’s quest was also a good one about the bonds between military recruits and really showed his commitment to people over institutions (he’s de Sardet’s commander at arms). Siora’s quests were more about staying true to her culture (she’s a native and daughter of one of a now-deceased tribe leader), while Aphra’s were about learning to be open minded when learning about a different culture (she’s a scientist interested in plants). Petrus’ were a mix of taking down the head of his Church and helping your character find their roots (he’s something of a pastor who also wields magic to fight). You can tell that the developers were inspired by Bioware games in that you can cultivate reputations with your companions and eventually romance them. Many of these romances are available to both male and female PCs, so there’s potential for a queer ship.

I will say that by the end of game, I was emotionally wrecked, despite all the political problems. So, I do think the developers of this game have a good sense of storytelling - I just wish they had done better politically.

Characters: Similar to Mass Effect or Dragon Age, GreedFall gives players a player-controlled character (PC) and a host of companions to take on an adventuring party. De Sardet, the PC, doesn’t have much personality when they’re being diplomatic, but I did enjoy the moments when they were confronted with information that impacted them emotionally. I played a female de Sardet, and the voice actress did a good job of balancing emotion with the facade that’s required of a diplomat. Constantin, de Sardet’s cousin and governor of New Serene (one of a few colonial settlements on Teer Fradee), is also carefully written as a charismatic, sympathetic nobleman’s son who wants to prove his worth. He and de Sardet share a close bond, which made moral decisions a bit more personal and emotionally difficult. I do think he became a scapegoat for all the evils of colonization, though, and I wish more was done with him to implicate every colonizer on the island. The companions are likewise very likable and fairly unique. Each of them had personal quests and stories that were compelling and sympathetic. I do wish there had been more opportunities to chat with them, or that they talked to each other during exploration (like Bioware companions do). I also appreciated that the Teer Fradee natives weren’t one, homogeneous group. I think too often we see pop culture try to write Indigenous peoples as having the same culture and goals, but with this game, there was some variety regarding what the best course of action would be against an invading force. I’m sure, however, that the depiction of the natives overall was problematic, but I’m not well-versed enough in native representation in pop culture to articulate the issues. While they weren’t portrayed as primitive or child-like (at least, I didn’t think so), I don’t doubt that there were tropes in there that I just couldn’t recognize (for example, Siora maybe a Chief’s Daughter/Indian Princess trope - it’s complicated). I suggest finding and reading an Indigenous critique of the game. (There’s also this one, which is valid, and I do think the game’s efforts and failures are worth talking about.)

Gameplay: This RPG mainly relies on balancing skills, talents, and attributes. Skills define what weapons you can use and how (one-handed blades, two-handed blades, firearms, magic, etc). Talents are things like charisma, science, or lockpicking - stuff which will affect the way you interact with the world. Attributes are mental and physical abilities like strength or willpower which affect how you wield weapons. Overall, the process of leveling up and gaining points to spend in these areas was pretty straight-forward, and I enjoyed the mental challenge of building a character that fit my play style.

Combat was a little clunky; basic attacks ran just fine for me, but there wasn’t much grace in the way characters dodged or rolled. I also kept getting thrown off by the fact that you can’t press space to jump! But in all, it wasn’t the worst experience. Enemies had helpful health bars, and I enjoyed the combination of a pistol and a rapier to finish off my foes. The diplomatic elements were by far the best part of gameplay for me. If players assign their skill points well, de Sardet can use a number of different tactics and choose from multiple dialogue options, from intimidation to taking advantage of intuition to laying on the charisma. It was fun to figure out which tactic would work on which characters, and how my skill sets translated into consequences for my decisions. I do think, however, that more options could have been presented to players in terms of dialogue choices and role-playing elements. While players make important choices regarding how to handle any given situation, there was little opportunity to purely role play. More opportunities to influence the direction or tone of the dialogue in non-crucial situations, I think, would have helped and made my De Sardet feel more unique.

Visuals: Aesthetically, I very much appreciated that we were given a fantasy game that wasn’t set in the faux Middle Ages. I loved the 18th century vibe to all the clothing and town layouts, and each of the maps were distinct and fully-realized, from the urban settings to the natural ones. There was a bit of repetition in the urban layouts; the palaces, for example, were the same, and some houses were recycled, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as Dragon Age II. I also appreciated that there were people of various races and genders in all positions and all social circles. There were women in the guard, women working on ships, and so on, without any hint that it was unusual. There was also a fairly wide variety of skin tones, with people of color being included in higher social classes and not relegated to lowly servant roles. There are some problems in that “diversity washing” detracts from the racial conflicts that were very present in the 18th century. I don’t think the developers thought through the implications of putting POC in positions of power where they could commit violent colonial acts against the natives. The creatures on the island were interesting to look at. Their designs frequently combined natural imagery (such as vines and wood) with horror to create foes with an eldritch, elemental vibe. The same creepiness was reflected in the fictional disease that afflicts the colonists; the afflicted had black, vine-like tendrils running through the skin, and there was an impending sense of dread whenever I looked at someone who was infected. Despite all the things I liked, GreedFall’s biggest problem is its animation. For a game that was made in 2019, facial expressions and combat are quite clunky, to the point where the characters felt robotic. I understand that not every video game needs to have top-tier level animation, but playing GreedFall was similar to my experiences playing the first Witcher game or the first Mass Effect or Dragon Age: Origins games. Still technically playable, but it feels very outdated.

In-Game Triggers: violence (especially racial violence), colonialism, racism, religious zealotry, torture,

I feel the need to point out that while I don’t think this game is gory or explicit in any way (PG-13 would be my rating), there are some scenes that people may find triggering. There’s also one where a Native is killed by a religious zealot, and I found it extremely upsetting (it happens when you first enter San Matheus, if you need a heads up). Other than that, you never actually see characters torture native peoples, but you do hear about it later.

Recommendations: I would recommend this game if you’re interested in the 18th century, the age of imperialism, role-playing games, and fantasy. You might also like this game if you’re a fan of Bioware RPGs.

#video game review

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moderately-ok-trash-bin · 4 years

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Three OTP Questions

So I just kinda spontaneously decided to write this for my two favourite OCs because if I don’t force myself to talk about them now then I never will. Sooo here’s the first one, my Altmer Dragonborn Aradove.

1) How did they first meet?

‘Must keep going. Must remain vigilant. Dragons, the Thalmor, the Imperials, bandits, beasts... any or all of them could appear at any time. I won’t be truly safe in this land until I can make it so. Rid Skyrim of the dragons and the tyrants, show her people they can trust me, and show my people that peace and coexistence is possible. Then I can go home... then I can rule a land of prosperity and growth, instead of a land of foolish supremacy and cruelty. I’ve been given this power by the Divines, and I’ve been given it for a reason. It is up to me, and me alone, to end the cycle of senseless violence that has plagued Tamriel...’

It was thoughts like this dominating my mind as I rushed through the forests and cliffs of the Rift. While I couldn’t help but feel excitement at the rush of the wind, the smell of the trees and the river, and the sounds of the untouched wilds all around me, the weight of my purpose kept my face unflinching as stone. Ever since I’d fled Summerset and, after narrowly evading execution upon reaching Skyrim, learned that I was the prophesied Dragonborn, things had been different. I was no longer a disillusioned princess with no desire to be the figurehead of a regime that rejected all ways of life but their own, but a destined hero who must bring about a new age. And this was a destiny I knew I must take seriously. It is up to me to herald in a new peace for both those it is my birthright to rule, and those is is my birthright to save. That is all that matters. Nothing less than that would satisfy me.

My head snapped to the side when I heard a faint but deep snarl in some nearby grass. I drew one of my two steel swords, and in my free hand, sent a fire bolt hurtling at the Sabre cat that now charged at me from its hiding spot. The animal screeched with rage as the flame hit the side of its face, but it did not slow, leaping into the air to attack me. I narrowly blocked its huge paws with my blade as it landed, deftly shoving it to the side and drawing my other sword in my free hand. As it dashed in to try and rake me with its claws, I inhaled sharply and, focusing my energy into my voice, I used my Shout. ‘Fus’ echoed slightly around us as the beast staggered, giving me the opening I needed to move in and put my swords through the animal’s chest.

I stepped back, briefly wondering if I’d ever get used to the feeling of using my Shouts. They were unlike anything I’d ever felt, some deep, complex knowledge in my very soul that manifested as power. This was the Divines’ gift to me, the gift that uniquely allows me to deliver this world from calamity... I’d never before imagined that such a power could exist in me...

I suddenly became acutely aware of the reality of my current situation. I’d been careless, lost in thought in the middle of the wilderness after using the most attention-grabbing power at my disposal. I’d let my guard down. I was vulnerable.

Too late.

The second Sabre cat slammed its paws into my chest and nearly knocking the wind out of me as I whirled around, claws digging into my leather armour as I winced and dropped one sword, hastily bringing the other one up toward my face. I heard the clang of bone against metal as I barely managed to put my sword between the animal’s massive teeth and my throat. I tried to push it off of me, but to no avail. It had me pinned and I was in no position to use any of its strength or even my own against it so I could get up and fight on. Magic wouldn’t work either, as I needed to keep both hands on my weapon to keep the creature at bay.

I felt my heart drop in fear. Would this thing tire before me? I was already straining to keep pushing it back at the poor angle I was forced into, would it tire before me? How long would I need to stay here? What if it outlasted me and I died here? A chorus of ‘no’ echoed within me, yet try as I might to Shout again, the power still needed time to recharge. I winced as the pressure on my chest began to register at the same time that I tried to push the Sabre cat off, closing my eyes tightly to try and distract myself from the peril of my situation, instead focusing all of my energy into trying to escape and save myself. I had no idea how long I was there. A second? Two minutes? Didn’t matter. I only snapped back to my senses when I heard a muffled cry of pain from the Sabre cat, followed by the complete removal of the pressure crushing my chest as I opened my eyes to watch the beast slump over, a shining steel greatsword being pulled from its side.

I sat up, and after looking to the Sabre cat that had just nearly ended my life just to make sure it was truly dead, I gazed up to see who it was that had come to my rescue. What I saw triggered a landslide of things within me that I could not begin to understand.

My mysterious saviour was a Nord man with dark brown hair and a short beard. Black war paint framed his eyes like tear-streaked eyeliner. He wore a type of armour I’d never seen before, with more furs and a more brownish tone of metal, and some metal wolf heads adorning the torso. After briefly looking him over, I gazed back up toward his eyes, and I became distinctly aware of both his disdainful expression, and the Imperial woman in studded armour behind him. I tried to find the words to say, but before I could, he addressed me.

“Are you alright? That thing was damned close to ripping your throat out.” Instinct told me to bite back and tell him he had no idea who he was talking to, but I refrained, only just remembering I needed to keep my identity a secret.

“I’m fine. The thing simply caught me the second I dropped my guard,” I replied, attempting to keep my composure despite the strange feelings welling within me. My face felt warm and my heart was beating faster. I glanced to the ground, briefly wondering if I’d contracted a disease from one of the Sabre cats...

“Hmph. You can’t just be complacent out here, elf. Do that, and you’re sure to get torn apart,” he sneered, my face flushing further as I looked at the annoyed expression on his face. I gritted my teeth subtly at the implication that I was just being foolish.

“I’m not a fool, I know that. It was simply bad timing to lose focus. There’s been much on my mind these past few days,” I replied, standing up and sheathing my blades.

“Hah. An off day, hmm? Of course.” I could feel the sarcasm dripping from his words, his disbelief in my abilities clear. I decided it was time to take the focus off of me, before I felt like I needed to give a demonstration.

“Those matters aside... I must thank you for saving me. You have my deepest gratitude. May I ask who you are?” I inquired, attempting to summon up the regal politeness that was drilled into me as I grew up. The man stood with a certain sense of indignance and pride as he introduced himself.

“My name is Vilkas, a member of the Companions in Whiterun. This is my Shield-Sister, Ria. We of the Companions fight for honour, glory and coin. We take the burdens of people who don’t feel up to defending their own honour,” he said confidently. I had heard mention of the Companions before, both rumour and small talk in Whiterun, and the famous Five Hundred Companions of Ysgramor from my history lessons. Things had changed drastically over time, it would seem. Yet this thought’s importance in my mind paled in comparison to the still-rapid beating of my heart. Something about looking at this man gave me such a rush. I had no idea what I was feeling, and at that point I was beginning to fear it. All I knew was that I needed to get away, and quickly.

“I see. Once again, many thanks for coming to my rescue. I must now return to my travel, but know that I will not forget your help.” I turned to leave, Vilkas giving me a nod of acknowledgement as I walked away. Once I had passed through enough forest to be out of his sight, I leaned against a tree, bringing one hand to my chest and the other to my still-red face.

‘What on Nirn is this feeling...?’

2) What did they think of each other at first?

Aradove was immediately attracted to Vilkas, but she had no idea what she was feeling at first, so she was suspicious of him because of the effect he had on her until she figured out what it was. Vilkas, on the other hand, thought Aradove was just some stupid elf too full of herself to be aware of danger.

3) Were they immediately interested/attracted or did that come later?

Aradove yes, definitely. Vilkas though, only began to take a shine to her as she rose through the ranks of the Companions later on in her story and proved herself strong, honourable and level-headed.

——————————

Oh my god I did it. I wrote a whole OC post. And I don’t hate it. Whattt

@hircines-hunting-grounds @curiousartemis

Idk what do you guys think? I hope you liked it :)

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noona-clock · 5 years

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Confusion & Coincidences - Part 4

Genre: Regency!AU

Pairing: Yongguk x You

By Admin B

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

Well, you never imagined you would be sitting in your family’s carriage, clutching a small trunk of all the accessories and toiletry necessities a trip to London demanded, bouncing along the road to the capital city of your fine country. On the way to subtly but very deliberately put yourself in the path of the Earl of Blackman.

But... here you were. Sitting in your family’s carriage. Clutching your small trunk. Bouncing along the road. To London.

Good heavens, you couldn’t believe your mother had coerced you into this. Actually, you could, you just couldn’t believe she’d come up with this plan in the first place!

She must truly be desperate, as she’d exclaimed only yesterday before your call to Mr. Kim.

One thing - one small thing - which awarded you a bit of comfort was your book tucked away in your trunk. You’d packed it with the hopes of re-reading it during your visit, though if your mother continued to blabber on and on as she was doing now, you would have no time for reading.

“--know he seems disagreeable, but you heard Mr. Kim! He’s just shy! And, to be quite frank, you can seem disagreeable sometimes, yourself, and --”

“Mama!” you cried, your brow furrowing. Of course, you’d tuned in at just the right moment. Or maybe the wrong moment. Either way, you’d heard what she’d just said about you, and you didn’t appreciate it.

“Well!” she rebutted. “It’s true! Like right now, for instance. You’re barely listening to a word I say, and you’re not even talking to me at all. Some carriage companion you are!”

“If you wanted a social butterfly for a daughter, you shouldn’t have married Papa,” you pointed out with pursed lips. You took after him in almost every way, lest she forget.

“I didn’t want to,” she admitted, much to your surprise. “But my heart wouldn’t let me do otherwise.”

Your first instinct was to sigh dreamily because it was rather romantic. You knew your parents dearly and truly loved each other. But the words you found rising up in your throat were not anything to do with them.

“Then why will you not let me decide with my heart?” you asked softly but firmly. “Do I not deserve a chance to fall in love like you and Papa?”

Your mother’s head jerked up, her brow furrowing deeply at your questions. “But, my darling, that is the reason why we’re going to London!”

“No, the reason why we’re going to London is to hope that we see the Earl.”

“And the Earl could be the man you fall in love with. How will you know if you don’t pursue it? You can’t fall in love by staying in your room all day, writing letters and reading novels.”

You opened your mouth to reply but almost immediately closed it. And then again. And again. And again until your mother pronounced you looked like a fish, so either say something or don’t!

That snapped your mouth shut straight away. You were not going to say anything.

Because... as frustrating and embarrassing as it was to admit...

She was right.

You and your mother were staying with your maiden aunt, your mother’s older sister. You know, the one she said you would end up like if you didn’t find a husband soon.

Your mother judged her for being single but she still jumped at any chance she got to stay in her residence when visiting London. Yes, it is very eye-roll worthy.

Once the two of you arrived and got settled into your rooms, your aunt suggested what you expected almost any other aunt would suggest upon two of her female relatives arriving in the bustling city of London: Shopping.

You didn’t mind shopping, of course, but you were certainly not on the same level as your mother and aunt. Trying on two or three gowns was enough for you, so by the time your mother had picked out a seventh one for you, you’d had enough.

“Mama, there’s a bookstore just a few shops down,” you mentioned sweetly. “Might I look around in there while you and Aunt Catherine continue to shop?”

You were hoping your mother would answer distractedly, telling you to ‘yes, yes, go right ahead, my dear.’ But, to your surprise, she paused and turned toward you.

“A bookstore?”

“Yes, Mama,” you grinned. “Not far away at all.”

She pursed her lips but eventually nodded. “You do have my two pounds to spend, after all.”

“Thank you!” You rose up on your toes and pecked her cheek in gratitude before nearly skipping out of the dress shop and down the sidewalk to the bookstore.

The smell of paper and leather accosted you when you opened the door, and you couldn’t stop yourself from taking a very deep breath in. It smelled like comfort. Like home, even though this is definitely not what your home smelled like.

The shopkeeper mumbled a greeting to you before you lost yourself among the shelves of books.

Truly, you could spend hours in here. There were so many titles you had heard of and hoped to read, but there were so many more you hadn’t. You silently cursed all the everyday, mundane things you had to do - like eat and sleep - because think of how many books you could read if you did nothing else?!

You ran your fingers delicately along the book spines as you walked through the aisles, a small smile tugging your lips feeling the soft leather underneath your fingertips.

You perused the whole store twice before getting started on selecting which titles you would purchase; you wanted to be absolutely sure because you actually very rarely got to buy books for yourself. Your father had a very well-stocked library, so you’d kept yourself entertained with those books, only buying a few here and there - like Sense & Sensibility and Pride & Prejudice. So to have a whole two pounds to buy whatever books you wanted?

You picked out Gulliver’s Travels first, clutching it to your chest as if it were a life jacket. And then Robinson Crusoe joined the family. Probably much to the dismay of your mother, the scandalous Dangerous Liaisons was next. You very decidedly pulled Mary Wollstonecraft’s The Vindication of the Rights of Woman from the shelf and added it to your small pile.

And now you figured one more book would round things out perfectly.

There was one specifically you had in mind, but it was quite high up on a shelf. If you weren’t holding four other books, you probably could have reached it, but you weren’t so sure. You still tried, though, standing up on your toes and reaching your unhindered arm up as far as it would stretch.

Your fingertips brushed the bottom edge of the spine, and you tried desperately to grab onto it somehow.

“Oh, blast these wretched tall shelves,” you muttered under your breath, trying to rise up even higher on your toes.

All of a sudden, an arm came out from behind you. It reached up to the shelf and easily slid the book out before lowering and handing it to you.

“Oh, thank you --” You turned to properly address your savior, your eyes landing on none other than the Earl of Blackman. “Oh! M--my Lord.”

The Earl nodded solemnly, his pillowy lips just barely pulled up into a half-smile. “Good afternoon, Miss Y/N.”

Oh goodness, this was embarrassing. You’d just been exerting yourself too much trying to reach the book that you were now somewhat breathless. (At least, that’s what you told yourself.)

“Th--thank you,” you stammered with a slightly awkward, rasping chuckle. “I guess I should’ve worn my heeled shoes.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” the Earl murmured. “The Mysteries of Udolpho?”

Your brow furrowed and you kind of stared at him. “...What?”

“The Mysteries of Udolpho. The book you were just reaching for.”

“Oh! Yes, yes, of course.” ...Duh. “Yes, The Mysteries of Udolpho. I’ve heard wonderful things.”

“Yes, it was quite entertaining to read.”

Your head snapped up. “You’ve read it?”

He nodded again. “I have. I believe you will enjoy it immensely. It’s got everything a good novel should: suspense, humor, complex characters, a diverting plot, and romance.”

...Somehow you just couldn’t imagine the Earl of Blackman reading a romantic story. You knew he’d read Sense & Sensibility, but still. It was just... a bit odd to think about.

You simply hummed in response, averting your gaze to study the book and add it to your collection.

“May I?” he asked, holding his hands out in an offer to hold your books.

“Hmm? Oh! Oh, no, they’re not that heavy, I can manage,” you replied with another awkward chuckle.

The Earl took his hands back, clasping them behind his back. “Very well.”

...Oh. A... a man who actually listens? Who doesn’t insist he do something?

Well. That was something new.

“What brings you to London?” he asked, interrupting your revelatory thoughts.

Truly, you almost answered with ‘You,’ but you stopped yourself. He must never know you were here because your mother wanted to marry you off to him.

“Ah,” you began. “My Mama and I are visiting my Aunt. Just -- just a family visit. And to get some shopping done. Mama gave me two pounds to buy books, so obviously, I must spend it all now.”

“That’s quite an allowance.”

“It was more of a bribe, actually,” you admitted with a smirk.

“A bribe? For what did you need bribing?”

“A social call. To your cousin, in fact!”

Oh, great. Why had you said that?!

“I mean, not that I don’t like him! He is a very agreeable man!” you added hastily. “I just meant --”

“I understand,” the Earl interrupted with a barely there chuckle. “I don’t like to pay social calls to my cousin either. Or anyone, for that matter.”

A soft sigh of relief escaped your lips. “Yes, he did mention that you’re rather shy.”

You thought you could detect a very soft pink flush appearing on the Earl’s cheeks, and you mentally scolded yourself yet again.

“But so am I!” you assured him in hopes to ease his embarrassment. “I mean, I’m not necessarily shy. I’m not scared of meeting people, I just don’t like to. Or talk to people I don’t know very well.”

“I suppose I should leave you, then?” he asked with a quirked brow.

“No!” you cried, your voice a bit louder than you’d intended. You immediately lifted your shoulders in slight mortification before lowering your voice. “No. I didn’t mean you. I mean, I don’t know you very well, but I -- I mean, you -- this isn’t --”

...You honestly had no idea what you were saying. So you took a deep breath, closing your eyes momentarily and completely missing how the Earl had to tamp down a smile.

“You may leave if you like,” you said mindfully. “But please do not leave on my account.”

The Earl simply nodded for a third time before eyeing your stack of books. “May I see?”

You nodded, turning the books in your hold to show him the titles. He remarked on each one, even raising his eyebrows and shifting his gaze to yours to ask “Dangerous Liaisons? You’re -- that one? You’re sure?”

“Yes, I am sure,” you answered with a smirk.

You anticipated a judgemental shake of his head, but instead, he looked impressed. The corners of his mouth turned down and he nodded slowly.

“Might you have room for one more?” he murmured.

“I might... depending on which one it is. If it is worthy enough to join my family.”

The Earl held up one finger before leading you over to the next shelf. He bit the inside of his cheek as he searched, letting out a soft ‘aha’ when he finally found it.

“Grimms’ Fairy Tales?” you asked when he held the book out for you. “You’re... recommending a book of fairy tales?”

“It’s fairly new, not very well-known. But... I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“All right, then. Add it to the stack, if you will.”

The Earl set it carefully on top of The Mysteries of Udolpho, and you declared you had better buy these books now before either you run out of money or your arm falls off.

After exchanging your two pounds for the six books, the Earl accompanied you out of the store.

“May I escort you home?” he asked politely.

Your eyebrows rose instantly, and you turned to glance down the street toward the dress shop where you’d left your mother and aunt. You had no idea if they were still there, though you had spent quite a long time in the bookstore.

Should you go back and see if they’re there? Or let the Earl walk you?

It would be incredibly impolite of you to refuse him, so... you nodded. “Yes, you may.”

The Earl then reached for your stack of books, taking three of the six and carrying them in one arm. He then held the other arm out for you, and you timidly slipped your hand into the crook of his elbow.

To be honest, you expected some painful small talk as you walked. He would probably ask more about your hobbies or your childhood or your brother or something. And you would answer automatically and ask the same about him.

A very unpleasant process, I assure you.

But you passed at least a dozen shops and were now entering the residential streets of London and... he hadn’t said a thing.

And neither had you.

It was glorious.

The two of you walked on for almost ten minutes in silence before you nodded up ahead. “My Aunt’s house,” you said.

The Earl simply hummed, slowing his pace and eventually stopping in front of the stately brick townhome.

“Here is the rest of your family,” he murmured as he set his three books on top of yours.

“Thank you,” you grinned. “And thank you for the company.”

Just like you had expected painful small talk on your walk home, you expected the Earl to invite you to dine with him. He would probably say, “If you would care for some more company, I would be happy to receive you at my residence for dinner tomorrow night.”

That’s just the way things worked in this day and age.

But the Earl nodded, bowing slightly toward you before... turning on his heel and leaving.

To be honest... you weren’t sure what to think.

Your brow furrowed as you slowly made your way up the front steps to your aunt’s door. The butler opened it for you and received your books.

“Y/N!” your mother shrieked when she saw you.

Okay, well, she wasn’t just now seeing you for the first time. She had already seen you through the drawing-room window.

Meaning she’d seen you with the Earl.

“What quick work you’ve made!” she praised, scurrying up to you and framing your face in her palms. “Did he issue an invitation of some sort? Dinner? A party? Social call? Anything?”

You knew you were going to disappoint her. Or, if anything, confuse her. You were still a bit confused yourself.

“No.”

Your mother did frown, but only for a few moments. “No need to worry, my dear. Your lovely, darling Aunt knows someone who knows someone who dines with him quite regularly, so he shall have the pleasure of your company again in no time.”

But now you were wondering... did he want the pleasure of your company again?

Part 5

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