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marvelstars · 7 months

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ST VS OT VS PT

Sometimes I think about disney canon Leia and Han who never knew Anakin Skywalker because he is just Vader to them and this is also the reason why Ben only knows Vader and became obssesed with him as part of his adolescent rebellion and to a point Luke ends thinking in a similar way, isolates himself without any real need to hide from his Sister I guess and cutting himself from the force and from his father and teachers as well for most of his life.

While:

Legends canon Leia and Han knew a little more of Anakin, knew him as a slave and as a padawan and clone wars general as a result of Leia doing her own research trying not to hate him so much and be in danger of falling to the darkside and Han wanted kids but Leia didn´t want to have them until she stopped fearing them turning into darth Vader so he got really interested in helping her overcome her fear. This results in them not quite forgiving him but at least be at peace having children and recognize him as a member of their family while Leia explores her force powers with her brother. Two of my favourite moments from this story is Han talking about Vader being in the perfect place to defeat the Emperor and him and Leia seeing an old holo of child Anakin after winning his freedom while Luke becomes the Grandmaster of the New Jedi Order with many new students and even Darth Cadeus(Jacen Solo) isn´t enough to bring it down.

So I just sigh for the missed opportunities and Disney greed trying to break and fix what wasn´t broken.

I personally don´t hate any of the characters in the sequels, I believe Rey is endearing, Ben is fun if a little embarrasing to watch, Finn is fine and Poe was great until disney decided to use him as a prop for feminist general Leia and her friend whose name I won´t bother to remember.

The problem is that in a story you need your characters to change, be challenged, have problems and overcome them and most of them stay the same characters because they are never challenged in any serious way and form, Finn could be challenged in helping his fellow soldiers get freed and never does it, Poe could have been challenged in leading the rebellion after the republic failed to support them and he just becomes a prop for other characters and Rey stays the exact same way in all the movies, nothing affects her deeply because she doesn´t have a deep connection with almost nobody, they tried to link her with Ben but besides both feeling attracted to each other there´s not much more reason given to why they care so much for each other and Ben never explains why he got so obssesed with Vader in the first place, to the point he left his family and killed his father besides the fact he feels entitled to his legacy for some reason.

So the story doesn´t look as a story on it´s own, it looks more like a bunch of plot points taken from the original material without adding anything of substance to the story because they are afraid of challenging their characters and have them make mistakes, loss something or be rewarded, the end is bassically the same of the OT, the only change we saw was the virtual destruction of the Original Trio, Leia, Luke and Han in an effort to try to present the new trio as something new and different but they never quite manage it.

One of the main reason for this as Disney deliberately erasing any connection to the PT and what it added to the story, especially when it came to Anakin being in reality him and not Vader or Palpatine being an actual human being with his own pov if extremely machivellian and manipulative and not just the monster under the bed to the galaxy, seriously I saw a more complete management of Palpatine as a villain in two paragraphs of the ROTJ novel than the entire ST and this because they are incapable of creating a new villain for their story so disney treatment of the characters feels so flat all around.

Which brings me to the pure joy of seeing them bringing back not just Anakin but him and his Vader persona be at peace, seeing them bring Legeds Thrawn and Ahsoka and connecting them with Luke and Leia and the new characters like the Mandalorian but I also find it funny seeing them trying to act as if this was the plan all along instead of them doing damage control after screwing up in a legendary way but being too proud and greedy to admit it. I am just like LOL. Hope this is enough to save and change Luke, Leia and Han fate because they honestly deserve way more than what they got in the ST.

#anakin skywalker #star wars #leia organa #han solo #luke skywalker #darth vader #Rey #Finn #Poe Dameron #ahsoka tano #padme amidala #prequel trilogy #Original trilogy #sequel trilogy

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midsummerpetrichor · 8 months

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Reflexion

Astarion x reader/Tav

Warning : very bad grammar and very bad Astarion, mention of sex and death and violence, Tav is very depressed

———

Maybe you should have kill him on that beach. It’s what everyone would

You liked helping people, you tend your hand to gale, freed lae’zel, helped that child avoid the druidess’s dreadful punishment. You even helped to dissipate that misunderstandings between Will and Karlach (with your word again, how great you were !)

He didn’t like it. To altruistic, naive, to his taste, he said. And that irked you. You wanted to prove him that you’re not that much of a goodie two shoes (even though you have nothing to prove), so you tried to be a bit more selfish sometimes.

He likes it when you lie, and you were always good at lying. You liked how he smirked at you when those gobelin let you through without much of a second thought.

—

He’s a vampire.

Again you could have kill him, he tried to drain you, and no one in their right mind would have hold that against you.

Again, you didn’t. You listened to him, and when he asked if he could drink from your neck (which, you have to admit, takes a lot of nerves considering he tried mere minutes before without your consent), you accepted.

—

He is complicated. Selfish, for sure.

You reluctantly gave him that strange yet undoubtedly dangerous book of necromancy, but you decided to trust him. You knew that his motivation were more self-serving that he wanted to make you believe, but what’s life if not a leap of faith ? You believed in the goodness of people.

When you took Ethel hair, you understood that he wanted power, and that he didn’t really care for the price.

(He liked it when you fed the owlbear cub, you thought it was cute)

—

You knew that he used to be a slave.

When the hunter is here to bring Astarion back to his “master” you don’t hesitate much before killing him, you have morals after all.

When you think about it, it was probably there that you saw him, the real him, for the first time.

That’s also when you first heard the name Cazador.

—

You cleared the path for the refugee to continue their journey, the same night Astarion and you had sex.

Two birds with one stone some might say.

It didn’t mean a lot, the alcohol and the euphoria from the party helped you not second guessing to much the decision you made.

And you have to admit, he speaks very well too, you weren’t that hard to convince.

—

You had sex a second time, in the underdark.

He teased you, so you teased back : you make him say : “I love you”

It’s a lie, you both knew it, but at that time it was fine, you were too busy saving everyone to have a relationship anyway.

But, you saved the gnome in grymforge, it was a good way to celebrate

—

At the last night inn, you learn that he liked cat.

You also learn that the refugees, that you help a few weeks, if mere days, ago were taken prisoner by the Absolute. You vowed to save them

—

You always wondered why he kept a mirror when he couldn’t see himself in it.

He was quite vain, you found that cute.

You enjoyed being his eyes, at that time, telling him through your gaze how he looked like.

And to be honest, he was beautiful.

You might like him a bit.

—

Infiltrating the High moon tower was easy.

You were that good at lying.

They wouldn’t tell you where the prisoners were but they ask you to retrieve a relic, and you have no doubt that, once in your possession, you’ll be able to sneak them out without a single drop of blood hitting the floor, then disappears from that awful place

—

You saw Astarion’s chain with that drow and her blood potion.

You were disgusted, the stench of that place, for how she saw him as nothing, as a mere object to use,

How she saw you, as his master

How he saw you.

He would have accepted, if only you asked, ordered, him too, if that was what he needed to ensure is survival.

You wanted to cry, to yell, to destroy the entire place (you supposed you did, later).

You wanted him to break free

(You didn’t see as much the goodness in people as much after that, the absolute would do that to you)

—

He talked to you, afterwards.

He explained how he had to seduce prey for his master, how he was tortured, destroyed for 200 hundred years, how he still see himself as only a mean to an end, how sex mostly disgust him, as something tainted

and how now, he wanted it to be different with you.

For you saw him and he saw you and could see himself through your gaze.

He didn’t know how to be with someone so he took your hand, it was nice.

—

You made kind of deal with a devil for him : kill someone (an other devil who’ll just spawn back in his realm) and he’ll read to you what’s on Astarion’s back.

So you did just that.

It was on the way of where the relic were anyway.

—

Astarion thought you should try to join the absolute, take control of the cult and dominate the world.

You said no

He said you still have time to change your mind.

—

You failed to save everyone.

Arabella’s parents are dead (that kid you save from the druids and who’s mom thank you profusely and who’s dad make her promised not to get in trouble again), you find them in the abandoned House of healing. They were tortured.

The refugee also, the relics was an immortal women, and you free her.

Needless to say that it was impossible to infiltrate the Tower after that.

When you came back, after all the fighting, all the dead, you found the cells underneath the tower.

Only puddles of blood were left there.

(You didn’t believe in the goodness of people anymore)

—

The devil told you that the mark in Astarion’s back are the incantation for a ritual, a very dark ritual of very dark magic that would give tremendous power to the vampire who attempted it.

The ritual is called « the Ascension »

You saw the glimmer in Asterion’s eye.

—

You didn’t know if Asterion’s hate for Cazedor was greater than his thirst for power.

To be fair, you didn’t know what to think anymore.

You thought that making it to Baldur’s gate would relieve your mind a bit, it didn’t.

You were attacked by a clown in a circus, some civilian died.

Wyll had to choose between is freedom and his father.

Karlach is dying.

Gale was ordered by a goddess to sacrifice himself to save the world.

Two shop owner’s were killed in front of your eyes as you were tracking the murderer.

You failed at everything

You wish you died in that crash, on the beach.

—

You try to express your concern about the ascension to Asterion, he half listen as you talk by the campfire.

You loved him, you didn’t like seeing him that way, full of hatred, of envy.

And you don’t think you could bear loosing him.

—

You found Cazador’s palace. You didn’t know how you convinced the gards that you were his new servant. it’s felt as if you’re voice was nothing but a shaking whisper : the one of a child caught stealing candies in the kitchen.

They granted you passage anyway and you listened as Astarion tell you all the horror of his years in servitude as you explore the place in research of his master.

—

Seven thousand

That the numbers of souls the ritual needs in order for a vampire to ascend, and Astarion doesn’t care. He is blinded by rage, revenge and desire of freedom that he believe can be only obtain by power.

And you begged, you begged so much, you almost cried, for him to stopped, that he would be no better than his former master -now laying at his feet- and he didn’t hear you.

You voiced failed you, the only time it mattered that it really mattered, it didn’t work.

He asked for your help, and you obliged. You didn’t know what to do anymore, the fear of loosing him paralyzed you, yet, he was there, frenetic, asking once again for your eyes so he could carved his scars into Cazavor’s back. And so you let him in.

It was awful. Your two conscience merged and it was as if the knife was in your hand and you were the one carving his skin. You could hear Cazavor echoing through Astarion’s ears and yours in the same time. You wanted to close your eyes but you couldn’t, he wouldn’t let you. You could feel the blood on your hand and…

And then, it was done.

Astarion started the rituel

Astarion Ascended

You cried.

—

It was terrifying, how he walked, how he spoke. You couldn’t recognize him, but it was him.

He was different without being different, like a seed that was there all along and finally decided to grow.

He always showed no remorse when it come to killing, but those hunter were something else. A game, a demonstration of force, unnecessary and a carnage.

You tried to speak, again, to find compromises as you usually do.

You failed again, it didn’t really matters anymore, everything was just so, so exhausting, and you watched as the body started falling on the ground.

(Who were you to judge, you helped him killed them anyway)

—

You still loved him, you can still see him behind all of this

So, when he called you a pet - his pet !- it hurts so, so much.

You didn’t show sadness though, only anger that he cast aside as if it was nothing, just a joke.

He wanted you eternal with him.

Not like him ! No, gods forbids a vampire create an other equal (he told you that night’s ago, it felt so far away, lost), but as his spawn.

He didn’t call it that way, you’d be his princess, his consort. But what is a name, a spawn by any other name would still fall under it’s creator’s order

And you knew that, if you accepted, as soon as your brain would be free of the tadpole in it, you wouldn’t be able to resist Astarion’s command.

(He said he would never and you wanted to believe him)

You didn’t want eternity, you never did.

You didn’t want to be a glorified slave

But he spoke so well, reassuring you, seducing you. You tried to break it off, to find another way to be with him (because, desperately you still wanted to be with him) and it was exhausting ! You didn’t want to fight not with him, not ever, you didn’t think you could take it.

And he was still speaking, alluring, lurking, cornering you, the choice was yours he assured you, even though it didn’t feel like it, and you were so tired, so lost, he was so sure of himself and it would be just so easy to follow him.

Really, you needed something easy for once.

And to just stop thinking.

So you accepted.

He made it sound like a gift, but as he made you kneel, naked while he wasn’t, telling you how he’ll turn you, you realized that Astarion, this version of Astarion, only takes.

(You didn’t ask him to be careful, you refused to take pleasure in it)

—

You hated all the nicknames (you still do), they made you feel like you were an object (they still do)

He was proud, every time you spoke with him, you could see that glimpse, not of you, but of himself to have you.

He spoke of your future, of controlling the city with you by him side, how he wish he could just kept you in his palace, how you won’t be able to roam far anyway.

He said life was a joke, you started to believe him. The ritual was just an elaborate way to exchange your freedom for his. What a joke indeed.

(You were afraid of what he would do if you tried to leave)

—

You pretended everything was fine, you kissed him, you smiled, you rescued children.

You were always good at lying anyway.

(Your corpse felt so cool at night)

—

It’s over. Everything is over. Baldur’s gate is no longer in danger, your camp is empty, there is no longer a parasite in your brain protecting you from Astarion’s command. You didn’t want to think about it.

He asked what you wanted to do now, and it took all the courage you had, the last flickers of hope, of determination, everything of you really, for you to say you wanted to leave.

And. He. Just. Laughed.

—

You used to be so strong. You really were, you were considered as a hero, an inspiration to the people.

You wondered what they saw in you, truly there was nothing left to salvage in you.

—

The first time you tried to escape, you didn’t make it pass the gate.

He was quite lenient with you he said, as he makes you apologize on his bed, you should thank him for it, and you did, you should beg for his forgiveness, and you did.

You only want to close your eyes and to never wake up again, to never talk, to never feel…

You couldn’t, he didn’t allow it.

—

The second time, a few years later, you managed to survive in the underdark for about two weeks.

He locked you in his room for three years.

Only seeing him, needing him to survive, needing his approbation for everything…

He loved it. He was your everything and he made sure you knew it.

(You never tried to leave again and you wonder why you did in the first place)

—

There are now scars on your back, the similarities with what Cazador did to him is laughable but you didn’t dare bring that up. The marks on your skin are upcoming and going but the scars are permanent.

You think it’s his name but you can’t know for sure, he wouldn’t tell you (maybe one day, he say, if you’re very nice)

How terribly cliché and terribly fitting of him.

He is kissing them right now, in the room you share, in front of the large mirror that ornates the wall, as useful as a pinch of salt in the seawater.

You’re glad though, he calls you “beautiful”, “pretty”, “my treasure” and so many other things,

but you couldn’t bear to see, in your reflection, what you’ve become.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #bad english #bad ending #red flags #fanfic

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myuphrid · 3 months

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A Needlessly Long Essay About Fallout 3: The Pitt

I just finished playing through The Pitt, Fallout 3's second DLC, for my YouTube gameplay channel, and I have thoughts I'd like to talk about for a few paragraphs. I doubt I'll be contributing much insight to the discussion, but it's my blog and I can post whatever I like. So there.

Anyhoo, the plot of the DLC: the Lone Wanderer, protagonist of FO3, meets a shifty, shady guy named Wernher who tells them about a city of slaves living under the oppression of a warlord named Ashur and his gang of raiders. This city, the remains of Pittsburgh (hence the name), is not only the site of perhaps the only working steel mill left in the Wasteland, which the slaves are forced to keep running, but is also a breeding ground for a degenerative mutational plague that turns many of its victims into feral monsters called Trogs. But there's good news on that front: Ashur has recently discovered a potential cure for the disease, and some of the slaves have formulated a plan: steal this cure from under Ashur's nose and free the slaves. So that's where the player comes in: you disguise yourself as a slave to smuggle yourself into the Pitt, do a fetch quest, then indulge in a spot of gladiatorial combat to prove yourself worthy of an audience with Ashur. But when you do meet him, a few things become clear: 1: Ashur isn't just some moustache-twirling slavelord arsehole, but an intelligent man with grand visions of rebuilding the city as a bastion of civilisation and industry, 2: Wernher had previously attempted a coup against Ashur and failed, implying that his allegiance with the slaves is nothing more than an attempt to get back at Ashur, and 3: The "cure" is in fact Ashur's baby daughter Marie, born with a unique immunity to mutation that, properly researched, could lead to the hoped-for cure.

So here's where the plot's Big Moral Choice(TM) comes in: do you follow Wernher's plan to abduct a child and kill her parents in order to liberate the slaves, or do you accept Ashur's offer to kill Wernher instead and leave both Marie and the slaves where they are? If you're anything like me, you're probably raising an eyebrow at this "moral quandary". Given the choice between freeing slaves and not freeing slaves, I would hope the right choice would be obvious. This is, I suspect, why Bethesda threw in the whole "abduct a child" part. After all, you can't really have a shades-of-grey morality decision when the choices are as black and white as a zebra crossing. And yes, orphaning a child is bad, don't get me wrong. But there's nothing in the game to indicate that Marie will be treated any worse by the freed slaves than she will by her mother, and also… well, slavery. The needs of the many 'n' all that. About the only thing I can conceive of that might cast the "side with Ashur" option in a more positive option is the character of Ashur himself. As mentioned above, he's not the typical violent thug that most raiders in Fallout tend to be. He's an ex-Brotherhood of Steel Paladin who was left for dead when the BoS stormed through the Pitt a few decades earlier, slaughtering mutants and recovering technological goodies as they are wont to do. When he awoke and got his bearings, he recognised the potential of an operational steel mill and set to work building up his army of raiders and slavers so he could make use of it. When you talk to him, he expresses regret for all this, but believes it necessary for the sake of the greater good. He also insists on referring to the slaves as "workers" and claims that they can eventually earn their freedom.

However, the observable facts of Ashur's regime don't really match his noble ethos. None of his raider underlings seem to regard the slaves with any degree of sympathy, even the ones who are themselves former slaves, and only treat the player with any real respect once they prove themselves a useful worker or a capable fighter. All of them seem perfectly happy lording it over the slaves from their restored apartments and catwalks suspended over the filth and squalor the slaves live in. Ashur claims that he maintains discipline over his troops to keep them from abusing the slaves, but if this is the case, then it doesn't seem to be working: no-one other than him ever mentions it and the raiders still treat the slaves like dirt.. Ashur himself seems to have no actual engagement with things other than handing out orders and standing on a balcony to deliver grand speeches from time to time. He refers to himself once or twice as "Lord of the Pitt" without a hint of irony, and all in all seems perfectly content to lean into his image as a god-king.

As for the raiders themselves… well, there's not much to say. They seem to be the same violent thugs that they are in the main game, differentiated only by the fact that they're under orders not to shoot you. None of them express any doubt or regret over their literally elevated position, and don't even make the effort to draw the veil of euphemism over the whole business as Ashur does with his insistence on the term "workers". Even the fact that a handful of them were once slaves themselves doesn't seem to elicit any sympathy or solidarity from them. Having earned their freedom, they seem quite content to kick back and enjoy their new role, and everyone they left behind is just shit outta luck.

The "earned the freedom" part also deserves elaboration here, I think. Ashur touts this repeatedly in his dialogue, making quite a big deal about how "workers" can one day prove themselves worthy of a better life. Judging by the events of the DLC, the only way a slave can earn their freedom is by fighting for it in gladiatorial combat: shoved into a smallish pit with whatever weapons they happen to have on them with a handful of other hopefuls and several barrels of radioactive gunk to fight to the death. The winner gets a shot of anti-radiation drugs and a chance to fight a couple more rounds against nastier opponents, and the losers probably just get dumped in the river. In the end though, one thing is clear: a slave can only become free by proving themselves to be an effective killer. This is, by all indications, the only way a slave can become free, and suggests a distinct hierarchy at play in Ashur's realm: you're either a slave, a raider, a target, or dead.

But enough about the raiders, eh? What's there to say to say about the slaves? Well, they're unpaid labourers forced to work by their oppressive masters, and needless to say they're not exactly happy about it. They have slightly more dimension than the raiders, with the addition of characters such as a snitch who benefits from tattling on other slaves' resistance efforts and one slave who has accepted their lot in life thanks to an old philosophy book he found and had read to him, but other than the major players in the story the slaves aren't much more developed than the raiders. They're forced to work, live in abject squalor, and don't want to do either anymore.

Wernher himself is the main driving force behind the slave revolt, but from the start it's shown that he's not exactly invested in the cause of freedom. Part one of his plan involves getting you a slave disguise so you'll blend in, so he directs you to a nearby slaver camp to find one. If you bring up the possibility of freeing the slaves while you're at it, Wernher's response is an impatient "Whatever!" and an insistence that you keep your objective in mind. It eventually becomes apparent that Wernher only became a slave after trying to overthrow Ashur and usurp his rule, and the plan to kidnap Ashur's daughter and thus liberate the slaves was his idea from the start. He regards this more questionable act without remorse; in his own words: "If you aren't getting your hands dirty, you aren't making a difference". But by all indications that I can see, the primary difference that he wants to make is for Ashur to be brought down, and freeing his slaves is ultimately just a means to that end. So that's the moral battlefield as the story presents it: do you side with an intelligent visionary who uses brutal methods in the pursuit of order, or a shifty, under-handed mercenary who foments revolution for the sake of revenge?

Once you complete the mission, nothing much changes either way. Even if you take down Ashur and his raiders, the slaves keep slaving away. If they have any long-term plans other than just carrying as before without having an army of raiders breathing down their necks, there's no real indication of them. If you don't declare yourself the new Lord of the Pitt when talking to him, then Wernher implies that he's planning to take charge of things, but there's nothing to suggest what his reign might be like. In the end, what happens next seems to be up to player interpretation.

In my mind though, despite Bethesda's attempts to paint the morality of the situation in shades of grey, it's a straightforward black-and-white choice. Ashur may be perfectly polite and civil in conversation and he talks a big game about what he's trying to accomplish, but th fact of the matter is that he's built an oppressive slave city with his law enforced by brutal thugs. He and his cronies live in relative luxury in partly restored towers with all the booze, drugs, and scavenged food they can eat, while the people doing most of the actual work live in filthy conditions, subsisting on food that the game literally calls "slop", with no access to medicine or any kind of comfort, and the only ways out for them are either to kill, to die, or to succumb to the plague and mutate into a trog. He can talk all he likes about "earning freedom" and building a new city, but there's none of that vision or nobility in the world he has actually built.

As for Wernher, he's a self-serving weasel who will gladly resort to questionable actions to get what he wants, but he does lead the slaves to freedom. Doing the right things for the wrong reasons is, in my view, a damn sight better than doing the wrong things for the right reason. And even if he intends to become just as much an autocrat as Ashur, will he even be able to manage it? By the end of the story he's surrounded by a city of former slaves who have just cast off the shackles of one man's oppression… what would make Wernher's shackles any less cast-off-able? Without Ashur's army at his back, any powerplay by Wernher, should he choose to make any, could be stopped with one judiciously applied Auto-Axe.

Anyway, that's what I think of Fallout 3's second DLC. I guess this 14-year-old bit of Bethesda's lacklustre writing just got up my nose a bit. Thanks for reading!

#fallout 3 #the pitt

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not-my-final-account · 5 months

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Okay hear me out, what if Anakin Skywalker was Bruce Waynes (adopted) child?

Wings(an O.C of mine who just basically knows everyone and has long broken the forth wall) found Anakin (from my freed a/u, the gist of it is: Anakin and Shmi were kidnapped by Tuskens when he was five, Shmi saw the slave chips beeping and they both dug them out of their arms and Anakin survived but Shmi didn’t.) crying in the middle of the endless desert, covered in blood, and morning the loss of his mother, his only parent.

She takes one look at him (and his mind) and thinks ‘this is a traumatised child hellbent on the revenge of those who killed his mother, yes this is my dear childhood friend Brucie Waynes MO’ and scoops him up then makes him Batmans problem.

He knows his name but goes by the fake name Annon Wayne (like how Supermans real name is Kal-El but his secret identity is Clark Kent) and is the third Robin, he is two years younger than Jason and Jason kinda hates him for taking his place, but he quickly proves he deserves it and so Batman decided that he has two Robins now, he had Batgirl and Robin after all, but the same name gets confusing so Anakin chooses the name Batboy because he saw Batgirl.

However when he’s what ever age he is in Phantom menace Wings shows up and steals Anakin again, and so the events of Phantom menace are the same but different at the same time. By the end Anakin is basically like ‘I want to join the Jedi as I could do more good, but I also don’t want to cut myself off from my family.’ and he becomes a half Jedi thing, no one’s really sure what’s going on but he was too powerful to just not let him in.

Wings gives Anakin a magical device that lets him swap through the dimensions and she is happy that she (mostly) fixed the Star Wars timeline but she also had to run from the entire Batfamily for two hours (Bruce for three) as she tried to explain why she needed Anakin without breaking the forth wall.

Anakin still falls but becomes a far more forgiving Vader. He isn’t any less serious or dark but he won’t harm innocent lives unless necessary, he mostly just sends officers to different ships rather than killing them, and he is more respected than feared. He also finds out about the plans for the Death Star and decides that Sidious has to go.

So he ends up ruling the empire and makes it actually a good empire (which is good because he had no kids in this timeline, they died with Padmé, I said so) but even though he has a lot on his plate he still cares about his batfamily and he leaves the empire under Lord Pietts control every Friday so he can show up to dinner even if he can’t eat anything.

#Annon Wayne a/u

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ryanmeft · 2 years

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Movie Review: Three Thousand Years of Longing

Three Thousand Years of Longing is a work of ambitious creative fidelity at a time when wide-release films are increasingly subject to executive interference. The film’s myriad production and distribution studios have clearly opted to trust George Miller, as they’ve allowed him to make an unabashed fairy tale complete with a sad and lonesome genie, minor ancient gods invisible in the modern day, and the magic of King Solomon. He then weaves real history and modern professional alienation into this mix and comes up with a heady, very human brew.

Alithea is a scholar whose expertise is in the power of stories, and through a series of narrative structures she comes to possess a bottle that holds a djinn, or genie. Releasing this djinn does not launch musical numbers or great wars, but quiet conversations and ruminations. Alithea is a natrual skeptic, and knows that a djinn’s offer of three wishes almost always ends badly for the wisher. To convince her of his honest intent, the djinn, who has no proper name, pulls a sort of Scheherazade and tells her his stories. These range from how he was originally trapped by King Solomon, to his service to a slave girl, to his romance with a socially-restricted genius.

What must a generation reared on shared superhero universes as the only acceptable conduit for fantasy think of all this? That’s a trick question, of course, because they likely will not see it, but let’s ponder for a moment the differences in how Miller handles some material. The genie, played by a more-than-usually-somber Idris Elba, bursts forth from the lamp and cannot fit in the hotel room. He does not fire off a one-liner or immediately begin cracking heads. The Djinn rattles off what we need to know quickly: he cannot grant infinite wishes or infinite life and the wishes Alithea makes of him must be things her heart truly desires.

Also done away with in a series of quick flashbacks is Alithea’s past: that she was married once but that the husband felt her cold toward his emotions and that it all fell apart. We don’t need to spend a lot of time there because the casting is perfect. Merely by putting Tilda Swinton in the role, we know the character will likely be both confident and doubtful, content and lonely, skeptical and a secret believer. Few actresses embody ordinary human contradiction as well as Swinton, and an academic who summons a djinn is simply an unquestionably good fit. Her doubtfulness and combating need for acceptance drive the second half of the narrative, which I won’t reveal here. The djinn informs her that if she successfully makes three wishes, he will be freed. She suspects a trick, of course, because how hard could it have been for his previous masters to make three wishes?

The first half of the film is taken up by the djinn’s stories, which reveal exactly how many ways wishes can go wrong…for the djinn. Three thousand years ago, he loves the Queen of Sheba (Aamito Lagum), who is wooed from him by King Solomon. This Solomon is not an admirable figure, being selfish and shallow and using trickery and deceit to achieve his legendary feats all so that he may simply bed Sheba (no hint of real love is suggested), but that is more in line with his Biblical character, anyway. After being imprisoned the first time, the djinn is awakened by a slave girl who wishes to be the object of an Ottoman princes’ desires, then by a concubine, then at last by Zefir. This last master is a brilliant woman played with tender pain by Burcu Golgedar, whose mind and body are kept hostage by her dullard of a husband and who turns to the djinn for companionship, physical and intellectual (djinns and humans can do that, but cannot make little djinn babies).

Each sequence is immaculately constructed and sumptuously decorated. I especially appreciated the outlandish spells and devices the devious Solomon uses toward his aims, and the ingenious contraptions built by Zefir to populate her lonely tower room. In every case we are not meant to be seeing a realistic depiction of the time periods, but a sort of dreamscape made out of our impressions of them. Each of these stories also builds on top of the other, showing how the djinn ends up in his predicaments over and over through a surfeit of passion. There is a theme here which suggests that as the world becomes more debauched, the djinn’s sorrow will only grow. In the beginning, his adoration of Sheba is pure and almost holy---they couple, yes, but when he describes her as being beauty personified, he is not speaking sexually. Solomon’s carnal lust for her seems comparatively debased, as does a future sultan’s bloodlust and his brother’s immersion in a permanent brothel, and the loathsome caresses the brilliant Zefir must endure from her husband/captor. The djinn is a creature who belongs not in a mortal world increasingly anchored by base desires.

Alithea may be the same sort of creature. When she finally thinks of a wish to make, she, too, does not desire simple carnal pleasure but to tap directly into the rich world that has always existed in her head. That world, adapted by Miller and Augusta Gore from A.S. Byatt’s short story The Djinn in the Nightingale’s Eye and ultimately derived spiritually from the 1001 Arabian Nights, is a place where gods and demons and angels have been relegated to scholarly papers, but Alithea still desires to know them, and gains her chance. Miller and Gore leave us much to think about, but in the end what matters is that it is simply a wonderfully lush fantasy at a time of crushing cynicism.

Verdict: Highly Recommended

Note: I don’t use stars, but here are my possible verdicts.

Must-See

Highly Recommended

Recommended

Average

Not Recommended

Avoid like the Plague

You can follow me on Twitter here, if you want more posts about film and video games and sometimes monsters:

All images are property of the people what own the movie.

#tilda swinton #idris elba #george miller #movies #fantasy #three thousand years of longing

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emblematicemblazer · 7 days

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World building and theories of Engage

Veyle's Attire - battle

Veyle's name in Japanese is ‘veyre'. It seems that the localisation translator decided to focus on her ability to transcend the veil between life and death, an ability she displays when The Corrupted are created. The Japanese version of her name comes from the Provençal French for ‘to see'. The word ‘veyre’ is often used in the names of places with a beautiful view, an example is the Marseilleveyre calanques which is 432m above the sea and offers a stunning panorama over Marseille and its harbour. There are several reasons she has been given this name:

Sombron’s name in Japanese is ‘Sombre’ which refers to a state where the eyes cannot see; the dark. In the shadows he is unable to see people's different colours, their beauty and their love. whilst residing in the shadows he is unable to see the people closest to him. In order ‘to see’ Veyle has her eyes open to the beauty around her. She tried to see the beauty in everyone, even the father who had forsaken her. She can see everyone's colourful personalities and the bonds she can make with them. The Four Hounds are named after colours and she could eventually see each member's true colours.

The real Veyle has a beautiful heart that desires peace and kindness. When her eyes are closed, when she is her possessed self, she can only see violence, loneliness and manipulation, just like Sombron, her eyes are unable to see the beauty of bonds, people are merely tools.

From the tip of her toe to her feathery crown, every detail has a meaning. The chains around her feet and the lack of footwear symbolise her as a slave to Sombron. Sombron and Zephia have chained up her real personality and control her with intimidation and punishment. In the game she has her foot bandaged by Alear. The bandage is a temporary covering of her slave status, the symbol of a brief moment where the real Veyle was able to be herself and start to create a bond with Alear. The bandage cannot heal, only by fighting her father can she free herself. In the Somniel she is freed from her chains. Her Somniel outfit does not have any. Around the necklace, the belt buckle neckline is another symbol of slavery. A lead or chain could be attached to drag the wearer around like a dog. Once again, her Somniel outfit does not contain any accessories symbolising restraint.

The main colour of her two outfits is white. White is often considered as a symbol of unity because it is created by the combination of all colours. The Four Hounds are named after colours; each of them have contributed to her life in either a positive or negative way and technically she is the leader of them. White is an indicator of light, Veyle is the light that shines her benevolent light all around Elyso with her kind deeds and eventually restores Gradlon to a lush land, in a way she is like sunlight to the barren lands. Life and death are both associated with the colour white, Veyle is able to create life from the dead when she creates The Corrupted. In many Asian cultures the necessities of life are the colour White such as: rice, bread, salt and sugar. It could also be argued that both her outfits resemble baptism dresses and wedding dresses. Veyle undergoes a baptism when she returns to her body in Chapter 22: The Fell and the Divine, and cleanses her possessed counterpart and regains control of her body. The resemblance to a wedding dress is perfect for someone full of love and kindness.

Purity, innocence and holiness are symbolised by the colour white. Veyle may not consider herself either innocent or pure because she is a Fell Dragon who has the power to resurrect the dead and her possessed counterpart murdered many people. Her purity and innocence relate to her true nature; a girl who is a little naive about the world but still tries to be benevolent.

In Buddhism white represents self mastery. As mentioned earlier, Veyle cleansing her possessed self from her body could be considered as self mastery. The White Tārā is known for compassion, longevity, healing and serenity.

White is not the only colour on her outfit, black, blue and red also feature. Black and white represents opposites, harmony and balance. The Fell and the Divine Dragon may have been considered opposites but both are necessary to create harmony in Elyso. Black and white, good and evil and light and dark; the duality of Veyle's outfit represents that all things exist as inseparable and contradictory opposites and that opposites attract and complement each other; Her as the Fell and Alear as the Divine. Red and blue have similar symbolism on her outfit. Many opposites are represented by the two colours: fire/water, sun/moon, hot/cold, anger/calm, sea/sand and lust/purity. Red and blue also create the colour of Real Veyle‘s eyes. Veyle's a product of many of these inseparable opposites and wouldn't be the same person without experiencing both suffering and joy. Purple is also considered a royal or a colour symbolising high status in different cultures around the world.

The feathers upon her head and the feathery effect of her dress symbolise a few different qualities. Firstly feathers are fragile, they are easily crushed beneath the foot. Veyle's heart is just as fragile. Feathers also symbolise holiness, e.g. angels, and peace. There are different superstitions about feather crowns around the world. In America and Italy when found in a dead loved one’s pillow, they’re taken as a sign that the loved one has been accepted into heaven. However, they become an omen of death when the feathery crown belongs to the living.

#fire emblem engage #fe engage #fe sombron #fe veyle

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rndyounghowze · 1 year

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The Theatre Revolution Will Not Be Televised…Yet. Part One

When you think about the stories of the BIPOC, LGBTQ, and other marginalized communities what comes to mind? Do you think of stories placing them as main characters or love interests or people just living their lives? Or do you picture them as people who are marginalized, being victimized or brutalized? The stories about the joys of people who have been marginalized are just as important if not more so than stories about our struggles and focusing just on our struggles can often victimize us and abuse the people you're trying to help.

There was a time when plays like this were necessary. The verbatim plays, the AIDS plays, and the docudramas of the 80s and 90s all created revolutions because detailing the real, unvarnished truth about what was going on in these communities was like a breath of fresh air. Torch Song Trilogy, Normal Heart, and The Laramie Project led us through the death and agony of LGBTQ community during the AIDS epidemic or at the hands of bigots. The Vagina Monologues and The Janes had the audacity to say the word “vagina” and “uterus” out loud while also taking us through accounts of violence against women or the horror seen performing illegal abortions. Fires In The Mirror went on tour of colleges across the US because the raw verbatim account of the Castle Heights riots impacted the Black community where they lived. Theatre has an advantage over TV. Theatre can't be turned off. Plays travel. They are subversive because if you can't see them eventually you can read them in the privacy of your bedroom. Especially in the 90’s the theatre was seen as “those artsy fartsy hippies over there” so possibly parents or authority figures let them slide. The raw and unvarnished truth was valuable for a community that would never hear their name in the media.

The story that immediately came to Ricky’s mind was about their professor Chris Hardin who was their gateway to the LGBTQIA+ community. Back then when they were taking his LGBTQ Theatre History class the only thing they knew about trans people were the horrible depictions that we had in the media at the time (trans people are just “boys in dresses” ready to trick cis men into having sex with them). Chris opened the very first class with the story about the first time that he saw The Laramie Project. He recalled crying in the theater for an hour after the show had ended, gripping the seat in front of him unable to move. There were apparently others in the house doing the same thing. People stuck around and just talked and talked. This was the first time that he felt a community around him and felt safe enough to be out. In 2010 when he said this he was the age that Ricky is now. So we can imagine a 25 year old Chris in a theatre, most likely just out of undergrad and going to a grad program, watching the show that would change the course of his life. This was just the show that he needed to see at the time.

One cannot deny the power of these shows. Ricky recalls watching the Torch Song Trilogy in the class and sobbing. There were so many moments that moved them, letting them know that love between you and your partner could be deep and meaningful even if it was the same sex. They were a recovering Southern Baptist at the time so they lived under a rock for most of their life. They had never seen anyone talking about this before. Dana could not relate in the slightest. They were watching Rocky Horror and To Wong Foo when they were 11. They had childhood dreams about starting their own gender called “Gender X”. One of the ways we bonded while dating was watching all of the movies and TV shows that the adults in Ricky’s life were trying to keep from them. Dana also had to move them past movies that glorified the white saviors . Even though Ricky has Black family members on both sides of their family and was named after a slave that freed himself the amount of history they knew about Black misrepresentation was minimal (trust me you do NOT want a transcript of the Tyler Perry debates). Now one of our favorite things to talk about is pop culture and its effects on society. One of the things that we noticed was that there was a massive fight in the mid 90's trying to get Black, and Queer representation on regular network television. When we think about the representation we saw on TV like Buffy or Roseanne or Fresh Prince and Family Matters or the movies we described, the “Good stuff” was still locked behind the gatekeepers of our parents. If your family didn't want you to see them they could turn off the TV or tell you to go to bed.

Sadly Chris never got to see the world that we inherited. Chris died in 2012 before marriage equality was passed and before we had better representation in the media. He has never died in Ricky’s heart and Ricky thinks about him every day. However those artists that sat and watched those plays were the very same artists that created the media that the next generation watched. They created a media revolution that we didn't even notice was happening until we watched a clip from Blue's Clues last year. Queer and Black representation started to become ever present in children’s media (or as Dana and Ricky call it TV). Their existence was not contested. They were just there and this leads us to next week where we have a simple request for creators of new Black and Queer plays.

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wisdomrays · 3 years

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QUESTIONS & ANSWERS: Why Was the Prophet Polygamous?: Part 2

Khadija was the Prophet's first wife. As mentioned above, she married him before his call to Prophethood. Even though she was 15 years his senior, she bore all of his children, except for Ibrahim, who did not survive infancy. Khadija was also his friend, the sharer of his inclinations and ideals to a remarkable degree. Their marriage was wonderfully blessed, for they lived together in profound harmony for 23 years. Through every trial and persecution launched by the Makkan unbelievers, she was his dearest companion and helper. He loved her very deeply and married no other woman while she was alive.

This marriage is the ideal of intimacy, friendship, mutual respect, support, and consolation. Though faithful and loyal to all his wives, he never forgot Khadija and mentioned her virtues and merits extensively on many occasions. He married another woman only 4 or 5 years after Khadija's death. Until that time, he served as both a mother and a father to his children, providing their daily food and provisions as well as bearing their troubles and hardships. To allege that such a man was a sensualist or driven by sexual lust is nonsensical.

'A'isha was the daughter of Abu Bakr, his closest friend and devoted follower. One of the earliest converts, Abu Bakr had long hoped to cement the deep attachment between himself and the Prophet through marriage. By marrying 'A'isha, the Prophet accorded the highest honor and courtesy to a man who had shared all the good and bad times with him. In this way, Abu Bakr and 'A'isha acquired the distinction of being spiritually and physically close to the Prophet.

'A'isha proved to be a remarkably intelligent and wise woman, for she had both the nature and temperament to carry forward the work of Prophetic mission. Her marriage prepared her to be a spiritual guide and teacher to all women. She became one of the Prophet's major students and disciples. Through him, like so many Muslims of that blessed time, her skills and talents were matured and perfected so that she could join him in the abode of bliss both as wife and as student.

Her life and service to Islam prove that such an exceptional person was worthy to be the Prophet's wife. She was one of the greatest authorities on hadith, an excellent Qur'anic commentator, and a most distinguished and knowledgeable expert on Islamic law. She truly represented the inner and outer qualities and experiences of Prophet Muhammad. This is surely why the Prophet was told in a dream that he would marry 'A'isha. Thus, when she was still innocent and knew nothing of men and worldly affairs, she was prepared and entered the Prophet's household.

Umm Salama of the Makhzum clan, was first married to her cousin. The couple had embraced Islam at the very beginning and emigrated to Abyssinia to avoid persecution. After their return, they and their four children migrated to Madina. Her husband participated in many battles and died after being severely wounded at the Battle of Uhud. Abu Bakr and 'Umar proposed marriage to her, aware of her needs and suffering as a destitute widow with children to support. She refused, believing that no one could be better than her late husband.

Some time after that, the Prophet proposed marriage. This was quite right and natural, for this great woman had never shied from sacrifice and suffering for Islam. Now that she was alone after having lived many years in the noblest Arabian clan, she could not be neglected and left to beg her way in life. Considering her piety, sincerity, and what she had suffered, she certainly deserved to be helped. By marrying her, the Prophet was doing what he had always done: befriending those lacking in friends, supporting the unsupported, and protecting the unprotected. In her present circumstances, there was no kinder or more gracious way of helping her.

Umm Salama also was intelligent and quick to understand. She had all the capacities and gifts to become a spiritual guide and teacher. When the Prophet took her under his protection, a new student to whom all women would be grateful was accepted into the school of knowledge and guidance. As the Prophet was now almost 60, marrying a widow with many children and assuming the related expenses and responsibilities can only be understood as an act of compassion that deserves our admiration for his infinite reserves of humanity.

Umm Habiba was the daughter of Abu Sufyan, an early and most determined enemy of the Prophet and supporter of Makkah's polytheistic and idolatrous religion. Yet his daughter was one of the earliest Muslims. She emigrated to Abyssinia with her husband, where he eventually renounced his faith and embraced Christianity. Although separated from her husband, she remained a Muslim. Shortly after that, her husband died and she was left all alone and desperate in exile.

The Companions, at that time few in number and barely able to support themselves, could not offer much help. So, what were her options? She could convert to Christianity and get help that way (unthinkable). She could return to her father's home, now a headquarters of the war against Islam (unthinkable). She could wander from house to house as a beggar, but again it was an unthinkable option for a member of one of the richest and noblest Arab families to bring shame upon her family name by doing so.

God recompensed Umm Habiba for her lonely exile in an insecure environment among people of a different race and religion, and for her despair at her husband's apostasy and death, by arranging for the Prophet to marry her. Learning of her plight, the Prophet sent an offer of marriage through the king Negus. This noble and generous action was a practical proof of: We have not sent you save as a mercy for all creatures (21:107).

Thus Umm Habiba joined the Prophet's household as a wife and student, and contributed much to the moral and spiritual life of those who learned from her. This marriage linked Abu Sufyan's powerful family to the Prophet's person and household, which caused its members to re-evaluate their attitudes. It also is correct to trace the influence of this marriage, beyond the family of Abu Sufyan and to the Umayyads in general, who ruled the Muslims for almost a century.

This clan, whose members had been the most fanatical in their hatred of Islam, produced some of Islam's most renowned early warriors, administrators, and governors. Without doubt, it was this marriage that began this change, for the Prophet's depth of generosity and magnanimity of soul surely overwhelmed them.

Zaynab bint Jahsh was a lady of noble birth and a close relative of the Prophet. She was, moreover, a woman of great piety, who fasted much, kept long vigils, and gave generously to the poor. When the Prophet arranged for her to marry Zayd, an African exslave whom he had adopted as his son, Zaynab's family and Zaynab herself were at first unwilling. The family had hoped to marry their daughter to the Prophet. But when they realized that the Prophet had decided otherwise, they consented out of deference to their love for the Prophet and his authority.

Zayd had been enslaved as a child during a tribal war. Khadija, who had bought him, had given him to Muhammad as a present when she married him. The Prophet had freed immediately him and, shortly afterwards, adopted him as his son. He insisted on this marriage to establish and fortify equality between the Muslims, and to break down the Arab prejudice against a slave or even freedman marrying a free-born woman.

The marriage was an unhappy one. The noble-born Zaynab was a good Muslim of a most pious and exceptional quality. The freedman Zayd was among the first to embrace Islam, and he also was a good Muslim. Both loved and obeyed the Prophet, but they were not a compatible couple. Zayd asked the Prophet several times to allow them to divorce. However, he was told to persevere with patience and not separate from Zaynab.

But then one day Gabriel came with a Divine Revelation that the Prophet's marriage to Zaynab was a bond already contracted: We have married her to you (33:37). This command was one of the severest trials the Prophet, had yet had to face, for he was being told to break a social taboo. Yet it had to be done for the sake of God, just as God commanded. 'A'isha later said: "Had the Messenger been inclined to suppress any part of the Revelation, surely he would have suppressed this verse."

Divine wisdom decreed that Zaynab join the Prophet's household, so that she could be prepared to guide and enlighten the Muslims. As his wife, she proved herself most worthy of her new position by always being aware of her responsibilities and the courtesies proper to her role, all of which she fulfilled to universal admiration.

Before Islam, an adopted son was considered a natural son. Therefore, an adopted son's wife was considered as a natural son's wife would be. According to the Qur'anic verse, former "wives of your sons proceeding from your loins" fall within the prohibited degrees of marriage. But this prohibition does not apply to adopted sons, for there is no real consanguinity. What now seems obvious was not so then. This deeply rooted tribal taboo was broken by this marriage, just as God had intended.

To have an unassailable authority for future generations of Muslims, the Prophet had to break this taboo himself. It is one more instance of his deep faith that he did as he was told, and freed his people from a legal fiction that obscured a biological, natural reality.

Juwayriya bint Harith the daughter of Harith, chief of the defeated Bani Mustaliq clan, was captured during a military campaign. She was held with other members of her proud family alongside her clan's "common" people. She was in great distress when she was taken to the Prophet, for her kinsmen had lost everything and she felt profound hate and enmity for the Muslims. The Prophet understood her wounded pride, dignity, and suffering; more important, he understood how to deal with these issues effectively. He agreed to pay her ransom, set her free, and offered to marry her.

When the Ansar and the Muhajirun realized that the Bani Mustaliq now were related to the Prophet by marriage, they freed about 100 families that had not yet been ransomed. A tribe so honored could not be allowed to remain in slavery. In this way, the hearts of Juwayriya and her people were won. Those 100 families blessed the marriage. Through his compassionate wisdom and generosity, the Prophet turned a defeat for some into a victory for all, and what had been an occasion of enmity and distress became one of friendship and joy.

Safiyya bint Huyayy was the daughter of the chieftains of the Jewish tribe of Khaybar, who had persuaded the Bani Qurayza to break their treaty with the Prophet. From her earliest days, she had seen her family and relatives oppose the Prophet. She had lost her father, brother, and husband in battles against the Muslims, and eventually was captured by them.

The attitudes and actions of her family and relatives might have nurtured in her a deep desire for revenge. However, 3 days before the Prophet reached Khaybar, she dreamed of a brilliant moon coming out from Madina, moving toward Khaybar, and falling into her lap. She later said: "When I was captured, I began to hope that my dream would come true." When she was brought before the Prophet as a captive, he set her free and offered her the choice of remaining a Jewess and returning to her people, or entering Islam and becoming his wife. "I chose God and his Messenger" she said. Shortly after that, they were married.

Elevated to the Prophet's household, she witnessed at first hand the Muslims' refinement and true courtesy. Her attitude to her past experiences changed, and she came to appreciate the great honor of being the Prophet's wife. As a result of this marriage, the attitude of many Jews changed as they came to see and know the Prophet closely. It is worth noting that such close relations between Muslims and non-Muslims can help people to understand each other better and to establish mutual respect and tolerance as social norms.

Sawda bint Zam'ah ibn Qays was the widow of Sakran. Among the first to embrace Islam, they had emigrated to Abyssinia to escape the Makkans' persecution. Sakran died in exile, and left his wife utterly destitute. As the only means of assisting her, the Prophet, though himself having a hard time making ends meet, married her. This marriage took place some time after Khadija's death.

Hafsa was the daughter of 'Umar ibn al-Khattab, the future second caliph of Islam. This good lady had lost her husband, who emigrated to both Abyssinia and Madina, where he was fatally wounded during a battle in the path of God. She remained without a husband for a while. 'Umar desired the honor and blessing of being close to the Prophet in this world and in the Hereafter. The Prophet honored this desire by marrying Hafsa to protect and to help the daughter of his faithful disciple.

Given the above facts, it is clear that the Prophet married these women for a variety of reasons: to provide helpless or widowed women with dignified subsistence; to console and honor enraged or estranged tribes; to bring former enemies into some degree of relationship and harmony; to gain certain uniquely gifted men and women for Islam; to establish new norms of relationship between people within the unifying brotherhood of faith in God; and to honor with family bonds the two men who were to be the first leaders of the Muslim community after his death. These marriages had nothing to do with self-indulgence, personal desire, or lust. With the exception of 'A'isha, all of the Prophet's wives were widows, and all of his post-Khadija marriages were contracted when he was already an old man. Far from being acts of self-indulgence, these marriages were acts of self-discipline.

Part of that discipline was providing each wife with the most meticulously observed justice, dividing equally whatever slender resources he allowed for their subsistence, accommodation, and allowance. He also divided his time with them equally, and regarded and treated them with equal friendship and respect. The fact that all of his wives got on well with each other is no small tribute to his genius for creating peace and harmony. With each of them, he was not only a provider but also a friend and companion.

The number of the Prophet's wives was a dispensation unique to him. Some of the merits and wisdom of this dispensation, as we understand them, have been explained. All other Muslims are allowed a maximum of four wives at one time. When that Revelation restricting polygamy came, the Prophet's marriages had already been contracted. Thereafter, he married no other women.

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skekheck · 2 years

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Some Interesting Information from the Dark Crystal Adventure Game

This book has a lot of interesting information and lore stuff in it. It does a good deal trying to weave the fickle continuity together in a nice way, but it does suffer from its own errors too (though they are miniscule). I would take the lore in this book with a grain of salt.

The game's story takes place right after the Second Battle of Stone-in-the-Wood. You are summoned by the Mystics to save the seeds of the dying Great Trees. The Garthim are in full force and are prowling the Skarith lands.

There's LOADS of new locations I haven't seen in any other reading material. But this book takes a lot from both AOR and the book series. I might make a separate post of them if people want that.

To further add confusion to this franchise's continuity, Mondo Levidian returns! And apparently isn't the new Vassa that skekSa in the Mayrin arc claimed it to be. The good news is that the Bobblings are alive and doing well, ruled by Queen Gunda. She now has a daughter named Sulubi who guards the brain of Mondo Levidian. However there is a group of anti Royalists Boblings who want a new type of government.

Like the Circle of the Suns in the Crystal Desert, there is a Circle of the Moons in the marshlands. There is a blade beneath its murky waters which is coincidentally called San's Blade.

SkekLi is actually a good guy??? Well... not really. Maybe just a neutral party, but he apparently is no longer affiliated with the Skeksis. He was so done with being mistreated by the others that he basically said "fuck it" and left to wander the wilderness forever. Players can encounter him in his little yurt near the "Edge of the World". He doesn't want company, but he'll tell players about a secret entrance to the Castle and only says this because he thinks it would be funny to see the Skeksis fail.

Apparently skekTek has a little retreat tower in the marshlands which might imply he could have been planning to leave the Skeksis? Or maybe have a place where he can work on his abominations in peace.

The Librarian legitimately forgot his real name so he's just referred to as the Librarian. I don't know if I should find this funny or sad. Maybe both.

The Dousan had a part in the Arathim War, even going as far as to make battle armor for their Crystal Skimmers. After the war, they buried the armor and prayed they may never use it again.

There's apparently a Gelfling Cult surrounding a figure called Creghel, a villain from a famous legend. He had enslaved Gelfling until the hero Jarra-Jen defeated him. Although he had died, his spirit still haunts his keep and draws in greedy Gelfling through nightmares. Apparently if one dreamfasts with Creghel in the nightmare, become official members of the cult. They're conspirators who want to usher in an age of death. They're identified by a black skull tattoo. They also seem to aid the Skeksis in some aspects as they knew the Lords would sow the seeds of destruction.

Sounds like a continuity error, but worst mom Maudra Mera is still trying to appease the Skeksis even though she declared the Spriton are part of the Resistance? Did she take it all back? What a fickle bitch.

SkekNa has a lumbermill and you can imagine there's some terrible shit going on in there. You know, considering he's the Slave Master.

SkekSa is trapped within the Apeknot Prison and is in fact alive. This seems to follow the book continuity but the book notes that it's Naia who trapped skekSa in there, not Maudra Laesid. Sounds like she's spending her time singing mournful sea shanties in her spare time. This doesn't mean she's benevolent though. She has a grudge against the Drenchen and if freed will plan her revenge against them.

UrVa still has his little hovel from the books hidden nearby a waterfall. Though it sounds like he hasn't used it in a long time. Interestingly he has windchimes hanging from it trees, some of the chimes made from bone.

SkekMal has a lair of his own also weirdly behind a waterfall. It's just as gruesome as one might expect. Weirdly also have decorative bones hanging around like wind chimes. ALSO it's implied his spirit still haunts his lair???

UrLii is still down in the tomb of relics despite the fact that the caves have been overrun by the Darkening. He will offer the party tea and algae cakes.

Apparently skekGra and urGoh made a bunch of ancient automations called "Constructs", which is what Lore is. Apparently they can't remember how many they made because of long term effects of urdrupes. Also if Constructs, including Lore, comes into contact with the Darkening it will become darkened too.

There are three sub-types of Garthim, but are noted to be creations for this book (but who knows if these concepts could be used later on). There's the Proto-Garthim, which were made with the remains of the Gruenaks. They're smaller but apparently more deadlier than regular Garthim. Shiphunter-Garthim whose sole purpose is to destroy Resistance ships. Then there's Giga-Garthim which is a single big ass Garthim that can wreck shit up. Apparently it's not finished as it has tubes still attached.

#the dark crystal #dark crystal

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crispyjenkins · 3 years

Note

Jangobi. After Melida/Daan Obi-wan comes back to the order but qui-gon doesn’t want him anymore so one of the council members jumps at the chance to apprentice him. This leads to him being encouraged to pay attention to his visions and feelings from the force because THEYRE REAL AND YOU SHOULD PROBABLY GIVE THEM SOME ATTENTION OBI-WAN. Obi gets a vision and a feeling that he needs to follow and tells his master. This leads to them finding Jango while he was still a slave and them freeing him.

(*gonna start putting translations up here like i do on ao3*

cw: drug use, cw: non-consentual drug use. basically second-hand highs from working with spice, nothing graphic but is mentioned a few times.)

Mando’a: kad’au — “lightsaber”, used here intentionally in place of jetii’kad, “Jedi’s saber” “Vor’e te Manda” — “Thank the Manda”, with Manda meaning “the collective soul or heaven - the state of being Mandalorian in mind, body and spirit - also supreme, overarching, guardian-like” (mandoa.org) “Tion’cuy?” — “Who’s that?”, “Who are you?” confrontational urcir’ijaat — “honor duel”, lit. “honor meet” – look me in the eye and tell me the mandalorians don’t settle more than just elections with trials by combat “Tion’ad hukaat’kama?” — “Who’s watching your back?”, “Where’s your backup?” osik — “shit”

Even completely fucked second-hand on the inch-thick dusting of spice on every surface of the slave transport, Jango knows the kid hadn’t been on Galidraan.

Wide brown eyes blink at him through the ray shield keeping Jango and six other slaves in the cramped space barely big enough for two of them, and Jango had thought he’d burned through his rage years ago, but seeing the kid with a kad’au held at their side in a reverse grip ignites something in Jango that he’d thought long dead.

They’re not dressed like a Jedi, instead decked in spacer’s rags that hang too-loose from lanky limbs that have yet to hit their last growth spurt, and the chain marking them as a padawan is tucked up into a soft blue cap that clashes rather horribly with the little ginger hair that pokes out the front. They look human, but then, so had Jaster; every Jedi Jango has met before had been human as well, though he knows they’re as diverse as Mandalorians.

“Vor’e te Manda,” the baby Jedi breathes, and Jango is far too high to tell if he had imagined it or not. He had not thanked the Manda in many years.

He pushes shakily to his feet, needing to lean on the wall until his head stops feeling like it’s going to float away, and the other slaves skitter as far back into the cell as they can. “Tion’cuy?” Jango hisses, four years of venom dripping from the demand (Who are you?), but the baby Jedi just extinguishes their ’kad and hits the panel next to the door to power down the ray shield.

“My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi, and I’m here to rescue you.” They smile at everyone hiding behind Jango’s fury, and take a step back to gesture them out of the room. “If you follow this corridor to the starboard side of the transport, you will find a shuttle waiting with nine other freed prisoners,” they say with an obnoxiously-High Coruscanti accent that was completely imperceptible in their Mando’a. “I will not hold it against you if you take one of the escape pods, but my teacher is waiting on Concordia to reprocess your identities back into Republic systems, and we will do all we can to find and contact your families or peoples, if you so wish.”

Teacher. Not master. And freed prisoners, not slaves.

Jango growls under his breath, not trusting this Obi-Wan Kenobi as far as he can throw them, but the promise of freedom hangs heavy in the air, and it only takes a moment for his cellmates to decide the risk is worth it, scrambling and shuffling past Kenobi with murmurs of thanks in four different languages.

Jango doesn’t move.

He watches Kenobi’s throat bob nervously, as they make no move to follow their “freed prisoners” down the hall.

He asks again, “Tion’cuy?”

“Naas’ad jaon’yc.” No one important. “I was simply in the right place at the right time.”

Banthashit. “Banthashit,” Jango snarls, and Kenobi has the good sense to actually flinch.

“Look, I know the last thing you want right now is another Jedi, and if you were to demand urcir’ijaat on behalf of your people, I would accept with honor; but, no offense, in the state you’re in, it wouldn’t be much of a fight.” They hook their ’kad on their belt, and nod to the corridor once again. “Now, as engaging as this conversation is, I believe one of the smugglers was able to get a distress call out before I could stop him, and I would really prefer not to meet whoever picks up the signal.” Raising a single brow expectantly, the child gestures for Jango to follow. The kid’s right, of course, Jango couldn’t fight off a rat at the moment, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Growling, Jango shoves off the wall and somehow keeps both his balance and his feet underneath him, out of pure spite for the arm Kenobi offers in support.

He had fully intended to take one of the escape pods and jettison towards Mandallia instead of Concordia, but halfway across the slave transport that seems even smaller than he'd remembered, Kenobi throws out their arm again, this time to stop Jango just before they turn a corner.

“Oh, that’s not good,” they mutter and barely manage to duck under the blaster rifle swung at them like a bat, and Jango feels himself be shoved down to the floor against the wall.

Above him, Kenobi ducks away from a hulking human with a rather unfortunate receding hairline, and all at once, the Jedi seems like a completely different person. Something shutters behind their eyes, expression dropping to a blank indifference that’s belied by the warrior’s ease with which they dodge both vibroblade and swinging blaster, dancing backwards down the hall and leading the yelling smuggler away from Jango.

Dizzied by his sudden drop from standing to sitting, Jango doesn’t try to get back to his feet, instead watching Kenobi play the other human like a particularly ugly hallikset*. They don't even pull out their kad’au, remaining weaponless as they bounce and weave like they have all the time in the world; were Jango not stoned out of his mind, he’d probably be impressed.

Then something flips a switch in Kenobi, and without telegraphing a single twitch, they dive forward instead of away, using their whole arm to knock the blaster to the ground. In the same breath, Kenobi rams their head into the other’s chest in a move that would make most Mandalorians proud, relieving the stunned smuggler of his vibroblade before driving their knee into his chest.

The smuggler drops with a muffled clang, and Kenobi steps cleanly out of the way to watch him land face-first on the durasteel floor. Kenobi picks up the rifle, discharging the clip onto the ground, and chucks the whole thing through the nearest open door. They leave the smugglers’s body right where it is.

“Sorry about that,” Kenobi murmurs, coming back to Jango and helping him to his feet. “I must have missed one of the guards near the back.”

Something about the phrasing unsettles him, but it takes another moment of forced concentration to put his finger on it. “Tion’ad hukaat’kama?”

Kenobi grimaces. “I’m not fluent in Mando’a.”

“Who’s watching your back?” Jango growls, getting right up in their space. “Where the fuck is your backup if your master is on Concordia?”

The kid —who’s really more of a teen, almost a young adult— winces and tries to start herding Jango towards the shuttle again. “I’m here alone,” they say, almost apologetic, “but I can handle myself.”

“Your magic wizard mentor let you stage a spiceminer slave rescue on your own?” It goes against anything Jaster had taught him about the Jedi, about an apprentice’s master being as close to a buir as the Jedi will allow; not to mention the galaxy-wide understanding that, if you mess with a padawan, make kriffing sure the master’s dead first.

Yet, Kenobi’s deepening grimace tells Jango all he needs to know.

“He doesn’t know?”

“Look, I didn’t have a whole lot of time, alright?!” Done with being patient, Kenobi grabs his arm and starts dragging Jango quickly through the ship. “We got separated and were going to rendezvous, but if I had waited for him, the spicers would have already moved on!” They yank him down one more hall before they reach the promised shuttle, docked directly to one of the transport’s exterior hatches. Out the nearest viewport, there is indeed another ship approaching, but Jango can’t tell if it’s friendly or not.

Kenobi doesn’t give him time to figure it out, pushing him into the shuttle and immediately closing the boarding hatch behind them.

The other slaves stand around the small cargo bay in various states of drugged-up panic, and if Jango is counting correctly, only one had opted to take an escape pod.

Far more carefully, Kenobi pushes Jango to the nearest bench, and then goes around the room coaxing the rest into seats as well. Even while gentle about it, murmuring words of assurance in as many languages as they know, Kenobi still moves and speaks with urgency — part of Jango wonders if they’re mind-tricking everyone into compliance.

He waits until Kenobi has detached from the transport and properly started their course to the nearest planet, a swirl of grays and browns that can only be Concordia, before following the Jedi up to the absolutely tiny cockpit.

There’s barely room for the two pilots’ seats, and the ceiling is so low that even Jango's hair brushes the roof, yet Kenobi looks right at home before the wildly overcomplicated controls.

They say nothing as Jango drops into the other chair, merely glaring sideways at him until they’re a good ways away from the spicers’ transport.

“I do ask that you don’t kill me before we get everyone settled,” Kenobi finally sighs, and Jango almost laughs at them: did they think he came up here just to shivv them?

“I’m not going to kill you, Kenobi.” At least, not yet. “You knew who I was.”

Kenobi winces and flips a blinking switch over their head. “I have a Jedi answer for that, and one where you’re less likely to use that vibroblade in your boot. Which would you prefer?”

Jango considers them for a moment, and he’s certain now that Kenobi is younger than Jango had been on Galidraan, but not by much: they have one of those faces that eternally makes them look younger than they are, but if he’s over twenty standard, Jango is a Kryze.

“Both. I want both.”

“Right.” Visibly steeling themself, Kenobi swallows and adjusts their course slightly; wait, when had they gotten away from that second ship? Had Jango imagined it? Then again, he barely knows up from down at the moment, only grounded by Kenobi’s infuriatingly calm presence. “The easy answer is that I saw your name on the freighter’s manifest when it was docked on Mandalore, and recognised it. I’m on an extended mission in Mandalorian space, and, well, my master thought it would be good to catch me up on the recent history, as I had only briefly learned about the Civil War while in the Temple.”

He’s pretty sure that makes sense, a logical A to B, an almost maddeningly ordinary explanation for the space-blown panic Jango had felt on first seeing them, on first hearing their relief at finding him.

“And the Jedi answer?” he prompts quietly, fingers twitching at his lack of a weapon.

They glance at him briefly, at his hands, before facing back forward. “I only knew to check the manifest because I had a Force vision, and I couldn’t knowingly leave you, or any of the others, to this fate. I knew what you looked like not from my lessons, but from what the Force showed me.”

“What the Force showed you.”

“Like I said, the first answer is easier.”

“I’m too high for magic osik.”

They wince again. “Yes, I suspected. My master has a spice specialist waiting for when we land, if any of you choose to detox immediately. She’s Old Clan, though — um, Vau Clan, I think.” The Vau Clan did not follow Jaster, but they certainly didn’t follow Vizsla either, and were unlikely to have sided with the duchy. Now, why Kenobi found that important...? “We couldn’t find any medics who used to follow Jaster Mereel,” they explain, as if reading his mind. “At least, not on such short notice. Obviously we wouldn’t trust anyone from Death Watch, or the New Mandalorians, or the mercenaries controlling Concordia, not with the Mand’alor.”

Jango laughs before he can stop himself, but it’s a bitter thing. “I’m not the Mand’alor. I have no people to lead.”

Kenobi’s frown only deepens as they steer the shuttle into Concordia’s atmosphere. “Perhaps we should discuss this when you’re not spiced burnt.”

He can’t but agree. “None of this explains how your master knew to arrange all of this, if you hadn’t rendezvoused with him.”

“Ah, well, I sent him a coded communication before um... finding this shuttle, and he only got back to me while I was searching the cells for you.”

“You stole this?”

“Listen, I was on a time crunch! I was going to give it back!”

Despite his better judgment, Jango lets himself go boneless and laughs, the reality of the situation maybe finally hitting him. The disgruntled pout Kenobi sports as they contact the nearest spaceport only makes him laugh harder.

Master Windu is waiting for them when Obi-Wan lowers the shuttle gangway, along with a flock of medical personnel and an Arconan with a datapad that reeks of Republic Judiciary.

Everything Obi-Wan had told Jango had been the truth, except that his master had been able to comm him after he had nicked the shuttle and left atmosphere; he’d had no doubt that Windu would come through, of course, even on Obi-Wan’s rather strange and specific request for Dr. Vau, but, well, Obi-Wan still disembarks with the freed slaves expecting a swift dismissal from the Order.

It’s worth it, he tells himself, watching Vau make a beeline to Jango Fett and knowing he’ll be in good hands. It’s worth it, Obi-Wan repeats to himself on loop as he slides his soft hat from his head and fixes his Korun padawan chain back behind his ear. This is far from the first time Obi-Wan has gone off script, has let his emotions get the better of him and acted against the wishes of a master, but it’s worth it, he tries to convince himself as he meets Master Windu in the middle of the flurry of activity of the hangar.

He twists his hat in his hands and immediately bends forward into a bow. “I’m sorry, Master Windu,” Obi-Wan says quietly, and means it: how many padawans could say they had disappointed two masters thoroughly enough to be kicked out of the Jedi thrice?

None, he knows.

“I acted without thinking, I—”

“It seemed to me that you acted with quite a bit of thought, padawan,” Master Windu says smoothly, a large hand settling on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Your communication was most thorough.”

Obi-Wan wets his dry lips and keeps his gaze firmly on his boots. “I know I’m not supposed to lose myself in my feelings, to act as if they are fact, but there wasn’t time, and I—”

“Obi-Wan.”

Snapping his mouth closed, he braces himself for the disappointment, the dismissal, but instead, Windu just sighs, and Obi-Wan only gets concern and apology from their training bond.

“Obi-Wan, can you look at me?”

He tries, he really does, but something seems to lock Obi-Wan in place, terrified of seeing that disappointment on the face of a master he’s only had for two years, after Master Jinn had dropped him.

Despite his fear, Windu isn’t angry when he doesn’t raise his head. “Padawan, the Force is not trying to catch you in a lie. For all that it tests us and pushes us, it would not show you things —past, present, future, or, yes, just feelings— if it did not deem them important. It is how you act that decides the future, not just what you see in visions.”

“Mas... Master Jinn always said to focus on the now,” Obi-Wan mumbles, remembering the sorts of mantras he would meditate on while Jinn’s apprentice.

Windu hmms. “And, in some facsimile, he was correct. No, let me explain myself,” he says, holding up a hand to halt Obi-Wan’s confused protest. “There is danger in getting lost in visions, Obi-Wan, of focusing so much on the future that one forgets to live in the present; this is what Qui-Gon refers to. As I’m sure you realised, Qui-Gon is exceedingly strong in the Living Force, yes?” Obi-Wan nods hesitantly, and Windu smiles at him. “The philosophies he subscribes to, on top of not being particularly prescient himself, puts awareness of the world around you above all else; you can see why it would be difficult for him to understand how those like you, like myself, could give that awareness up for even a moment.”

“But isn’t letting go...”

His smile turns rueful. “Ah, and now you see the Council’s frustration with him, for all that he is a magnificent Jedi.”

Shuffling awkwardly, Obi-Wan resists the urge to tug on his padawan chain like he would his braid, and settles for wrapping it loosely around his finger. “You are not upset?”

“Not with you,” he is quick to confirm. “You saved fifteen people’s lives today, Obi-Wan,” he gestures around them, “and allowed the arrest of several notorious spice runners. Yes, perhaps you acted rashly, but as you said: there was hardly time to hesitate. What matters is that you learn to discern when to act, and when to slow down.”

“... I shouldn’t ignore them?”

Windu blinks down at him, surprise quickly smoothing into something too tense to be entirely serene. “Ignore your visions? No more than I should attempt to ignore shatterpoints: the Force would not make us strong in abilities we couldn’t learn to control. I find I must apologise, padawan, I did not realise Qui-Gon... worked with you so little on your prescience; such an oversight is not one you should have had to worry about.”

Obi-Wan swallows, floundering for words, and absolutely does not know what to do with Windu’s easy acceptance and understanding despite Obi-Wan having spent the last few years hiding his visions and lying about his dreams.

“But now is not the time to delve into this, nor worry about how we will move forward.” Unfolding a brown cloth from over his arm, Windu holds out what Obi-Wan realises is his robe, that he had thought lost when he was separated from his master. Windu waits for him to put it on to gently start herding him towards the ship they had first come to Mandalore on, and quietly starts catching Obi-Wan up on all that he had missed.

He doesn’t know what to make of feeling Jango Fett’s eyes on him from across the hangar; nor the intensity with which they follow him until the ship’s hatch closes behind him.

(this took four iterations to write and i’m still not quite satisfied, but i’m very attached to obi-wan having a chain/beads instead of a braid after Melida/Daan; the lil wish-you-would-write snippet happens a few months before this!

thank you for the prompt and y’all’s patience! obi-wan has brown eyes now because you can’t stop me)

*hallikset a seven-stringed instrument that i think is just legends now. but cal plays one!

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nothing-but-dreamy · 3 years

Text

SECRET LOVE

Pairing: DBH!Connor X OC!Character

Words: 3.636

Warnings: smut, dominance (nothing too heavy), slightly rough Connor

Summary: Kat is a detective of the DPD and secretly dating one of her colleagues for a few weeks. After a long day, the only thing she is yearning for is a nice evening with her boyfriend to forget about all the idiots in the world. But sometimes ‘nice’ is not the wanted thing.

02. January 2039

05:26:07 PM

… and the only thing Kat wanted was a coffee, a hot shower, pizza and maybe watching a movie… But instead she pushed a junky around she had arrested thirty minutes ago as he was dealing nearby an elementary school.

The junky grunted as he stumbled forward, a bit clumsy on his feet, “Come on, sweetheart, be a bit more cautious with me. There is still a chance for the two of us to work out. I mean after everything we went through so far.”

“I don’t think so, asshole.”, Kat muttered and pushed the guy further through the department to put him finally into one of the detention cells. It was a pity that the cells had electrical doors nowadays, otherwise, she just could throw the key away.

“But darling-”

“Shut the fuck up and move.”, Kat spitted and pushed him around once again.

“You need help there, hon?”, Gavin asked with a lopsided smirk while he leant casually against his desk with crossed arms and legs.

Kat rolled with her eyes. That was another asshole she didn’t need right now. Not after such a long day. “No, thanks, I’m fine. There’s no need for you to get your hands dirty.”, Kat fired back.

“Oh, but Kat, I would love to get my hands dirty...with you. If you just could read my mind right now-”

“Then, I’m sure, I would puke straight into your ugly face.”, Kat hissed and was happy to reach the detention cell and to leave Gavin, the biggest asshole of the DPD, behind. Kat pushed the junky into the cell and closed the door with the scan of the palm of her hand.

“But, baby. You can’t leave me alone here. I’m afraid of the dark.”, the junky said with a disgusting smirk.

Kat closed her eyes, breathed in and counted to five to calm herself. She really needed the end of the work day or … her boyfriend.

“Hey, Chris! Where's Hank?”, Kat asked as she stopped by the abandoned desks of Hank and Connor. Neither the Lieutenant nor the android were around.

“They brought a suspect in ten minutes ago. I guess they’re still in the interrogation room.”, Chris answered and turned back to his own work. Kat considered if she should just wait til they were done or if she should visit them. She looked quickly around, her eyes fell on Gavin who spoke to a colleague. If he would see her sitting around alone, he would come over to her - the last thing she wanted.

So, Kat decided to sneak into the interrogation room. An officer sat at the desk and controlled the camera and the microphone. Hank sat next to him and observed the interrogation room through the one-way mirror. Kat closed the door softly but Hank noticed her nevertheless. He greeted her with a quick nod before he looked back ahead to his partner.

Kat knew about their latest case. An android had killed its owner and they had searched for it for a while. Since the successful revolution, these kinds of attacks were rare but they happened from time to time. Hank and Connor were still assigned to these cases and now, as they had found the suspect, it was Connor’s turn to question the android.

Connor wore still his grey jacket and his typical white suit shirt underneath but the android markings were gone. The blue band around his arm and the android label on his back were both removed. He was no longer property of CyberLife but he got used to the style of clothes, so he had decided to keep them. Even the black tie was still around his neck. Kat liked to watch the android no matter what he did.

That was one of the reasons why she had said yes as Connor had asked her out several weeks ago. He had been nervous as hell, Kat had seen it in his eyes and his insecure expression but she had said yes and till now, it was the best decision she had ever made when it came to men. To date an android was interesting and new. She had expected it to be more awkward but there was nothing that felt uncomfortable with him.

Connor was extremely nice, the complete difference to all her ex-boyfriends before. He acted as a real gentleman and treated her right. Always. Til this day, Kat didn’t regret getting into a relationship with Connor. But they kept it secretly to avoid any unwanted attention - mostly of Gavin who already had made it to his personal mission to torture Connor whenever he could. It is not for nothing that Kat always called him Detective 'douchebag' Reed.

Kat enjoyed watching Connor interview a suspect. She had seen it several times before but each time, she was amazed by his skill to get a confession. Sure, his analyzing program was helpful to find clues before the suspect even spoke a word but it was for his special ability to piece these information together in no time that made the difference.

"Is this the android who killed its owner? Have you found it finally?", Kat asked curiously. Hank nodded.

"At least, that's what the eye witnesses said. They saw it running away but it came back one night. Maybe Connor will get something out of it.", Hank explained and Kat was sure the android would be successful. She was glad that she came to the right moment.

Connor sat across the suspect, an MC500 model. An android for paramedic purposes. The victim had been a dealer, maybe there was a connection. But this one android was rigged up with dirty skin and clothes which were damaged. This model reminded Kat always of a Ken-like guy but this one seemed to be living on the street or it had experienced some bad times.

Connor considered the best approach. He considered a friendly way to gain his trust but the android in front of him seemed to have experienced a few rough things so, maybe, it wouldn't be impressed by kindness and wouldn't fall for it. The android's right arm was covered with deep scars which were glowing blue and even its chest seemed to be damaged, visible through the shrewd fabric. The best way would be a more aggressive one. Maybe if he would scare it, it would talk more easily.

Kat watched how Connor skimmed through the case file and the pictures with his long, slender fingers. She saw him stopping at some pictures, probably searching for the right way to start.

Several minutes passed before Connor looked at the handcuffed android. "What's your name?", Connor asked directly to start the interview slowly. His smooth voice sounded like honey and Kat was looking forward to seeing her boyfriend doing his job. After this rough day of chasing a junky through half of Detroit’s city, she needed some eye candy.

"So, you want to stay silent, huh?", Connor said and stood up more aggressively than necessary. With crossed arms, he walked around the table and towered above the other android. He looked down at it with a stern expression. His brows were drawn together and his brown eyes were gleaming darkly. Suddenly, Connor freed his hands and slammed them violently on the metal surface of the table. The booming sound echoed through the interrogation room and Kat jumped a little. Surprised, she watched how Connor lowered towards the android to be on the same level while he was still towering him.

"Just because androids aren't slaves anymore doesn't mean that you can run around and kill humans.", Connor grunted deeply. "You're accused of murder,", he said low but threatening, "Crimes like this will be punished. You hear me?", Connor asked, still very threatening.

With huge eyes, Kat watched how Connor grabbed the android by its collar to pull it up to his eye level.

"Do you hear me? I swear you will be sent back to CyberLife." he threatened. "They will switch you off and tear you apart piece by piece!", he screamed into the android's face. The android winced and shuddered. But Connor just tightened his grip on the fabric. "You're just a fucking murderer! A cold blooded piece of shit who killed an innocent human!", Connor spat poisonously and let the android drop back on its chair.

With an open mouth, Kat looked shocked at Connor who had cursed in front of her for the first time. He acted aggressive. He screamed. He became physical. She had never seen him like this before. Her mind was racing to process what she had seen and heard. His voice was dark, deep and demanding. He was dominant and the boss in this room who showed off his power. Kat was speechless and became… turned on.

"I… I don't want to be destroyed…", the android whispered weakly.

But Connor didn't seem to be impressed. Instead, he waited and stared down at the android unemotional. He waited a few more moments before he slammed his hands on the surface again. "I don't care what you want! The victim also didn't have a chance to decide if he wanted to die or not. You took that chance from him!", Connor said low but powerful.

This low voice shot goosebumps down Kat's spine.

"But just because he attacked me first!", the android screamed back desperately to explain himself and that was the breaking point. Connor sat back on his place across the android and listened to the confession. Hank was also listening but Kat had difficulties to follow the interrogation. Several times, she tried to concentrate but her mind was always drifting back to the demanding voice and rough behavior of Connor.

Kat felt that something rose inside her. She knew the hot feeling that rose deep in her core all too well. And she knew the reason behind that feeling: Connor. Connor had turned her on so much with his aggressive way that she wasn't able to concentrate anymore.

Kat sneaked out of the room. Neither Hank nor the officer had noticed her disappearance. In the hallway, she leant against the wall next to the door and stemmed her hands into her sides. She tried to calm her thoughts but intense pictures were running in front of her eyes and fueled her lust even more. Her mind was running wild.

Several minutes later, the door opened and awoke Kat from her trance. The officer left the room with the android and Hank by its side. Connor followed them. Kat grabbed Connor by his arm to pull him towards her.

"Oh, hey, Kat- what's wrong?", Connor asked, concerned as he saw Kat's dark eyes.

But she just dragged the puzzled Connor after her, down the hallway and slipped into the next available room.

"That's the male bathroom, Kat.", Connor explained softly but she pressed her hand over his mouth.

"I don't care.", Kat said low. She saw the confusion in Connor's eyes. "I saw you. During the interrogation. What was that?"

"What do you mean?", Connor asked with a raised brow.

"You were cursing! You were aggressive and dominant. I had no idea you could be like this!"

"It was a tactic to approach the suspe-", Connor explained matter of factly.

Kat stopped him from speaking once again. "I don't care, Connor. You turned me extremely on with this behavior and for ten minutes, I can't think of anything else than how you acted in this room.", Kat whispered low but heavy. Connor noticed her aroused manner. Slowly, Kat removed her hand from his mouth.

"So, you liked that, huh?", Connor asked low and straightened himself to his full height.

Kat nodded slowly with a lopsided smirk. She moved her hands up and down his chest but Connor reacted quickly.

He grabbed her wrists and pressed her against the door with his lower body while he shoved her hands above her head. "You like it rough, baby girl?", he asked with a deep voice and dark eyes. Connor watched how she gnawed on her lower lip while she was nodding. Connor lowered his head but stopped inches from her lips to tease her. Kat tried to escape his hands but he just tightened the grip. Only then, he crashed his lips on hers for a hungry kiss.

Kat moaned and arched her back to greet his chest with her breasts. Connor understood the hint and changed his grip around her hands. With one hand, he held both of her wrists while he stroked along her side with his right hand. Teasingly and very slowly, he slid his fingers down her ribcage to her hip. Then, he slipped underneath her shirt and stroked up to her chest. Kat's breath quickened as Connor reached her breast to squeeze it softly. Kat enjoyed it and let her head fall back against the door.

Connor took the chance and bit into her neck with the right amount of pressure to make her moan again.

"Connor…", she whispered raspy with closed eyes.

"Yes? What can I do for you?", he asked but his voice was filled with dominance.

"I- I need you…", she breathed low and Connor released her hands. Kat took the opportunity and dug her fingers into his soft hair. She looked into his eyes. A cheeky smirk played on his lips. Before Kat could say anything, Connor grabbed her ass, raised her up and brought her over to the sink to place her there on top. Kat snaked her legs around his waist, grabbed his tie and pulled him down to kiss him passionately. Both his hands worked his way up and down her body while Kat rolled her hips against him to increase the friction.

Connor dug his fingers into Kat's long, braided hair and pulled her head back to get a good spot on her neck. He kneaded her breast and played with her hardened nipple through the fabric which caused her to moan his name once again. He kissed up and down her neck before he bit down.

"Uh… not that strong…", Kat cried out but her voice was filled with pure lust.

"I just want to make sure that you know that you're mine. And only mine.", Connor whispered husky against her skin.

"I.. I'm just yours, Connor.", Kat admitted raspy.

"Well, that didn't sound very convincing.", Connor said and stepped back from Kat who was already a mess. Her hair was tousled, her lips were swollen and her clothes askew.

As she saw Connor stepping away from her, she was shocked. Kat jumped from the sink and stepped forward to reach him but Connor stepped back until she stopped.

"Turn around.", Connor commanded low. His eyes held an arrogant expression.

"W-what?", Kat asked, confused. She was overwhelmed by the situation. By his dominant way and his strong voice.

"I said, turn around!", he said, more demanding than before.

Kat followed his instructions. She turned around and stood in front of the mirror. She looked at herself and untied her hair because the braided tail was already disheveled. Connor closed up to her from behind. And Kat watched him through the mirror coming closer.

"Look at me!", Connor said deeply into Kat's left ear. Just his voice shot goosebumps down her spine and she shuddered, already filled with lust. Connor towered behind her and stroked over her hips to the button of her jeans to open it. He opened the zipper slowly to slip his right hand inside.

Kat's knees started to wobble as she felt Connor's hand slowly moving forward down her slip. As he touched it, Kat felt how soaked the fabric already was.

"Oh, you're really in this mood, aren't you, baby girl?", Connor whispered.

Kat nodded while she bit down on her lower lip. She squirmed against his chest the longer he teased her over the fabric. As Kat started to roll with her hips to grind her ass against him, Connor moved his hand underneath the fabric of the soaked slip. Kat cried out with relish as she felt Connor's fingers sliding between her folds. He stopped his moves and placed his other hand over her mouth.

"You have to be more quiet or someone will hear us. If you're too loud I fear I have to stop. Got it?", Connor asked and removed his hand slowly to move it down to her neck. His long fingers were laying softly around her throat. "Say it!", he demanded with his lips sliding on the outer rim of Kat's ear.

"I have to be more quiet. Please, continue…", Kat begged desperately what caused Connor to grin.

He waited a few more seconds and concentrated on Kat's rapid heartbeat and her erratic pulse caused by him. Her chest was moving uneven and she was shuddering against him. Very slowly, Connor slipped two of his fingers back into her. Kat's hot core was dripping wet and his fingers were covered in seconds. "You feel that?", Connor whispered as he pushed his fingers a bit deeper inside her.

"Y-yes…", Kat nodded and whimpered low to stay quiet.

Connor looked Kat in the eyes through the mirror. "That's me inside of you, Kat.", he said smirking and pushed deeper. "I know how much you love my hands on your body.", he said low and moved his left hand to her breast to knead it slowly. "And my fingers inside of you like this.", he continued and pumped into her again.

Each time he did that, Kat shuddered more and more. She felt her core tightening.

Connor noticed that she was close, so he removed his hand a bit to extend the moment. "Kat", Connor said to get her attention, "Tell me you're mine.", he demanded, breathing against her ear. She looked him straight in the brown eyes which were sparkling darkly.

"I-I'm yours…", Kat whispered low between two heavy breaths.

"I can't hear you. What did you say, baby girl?", Connor asked innocently. But his dark voice compared with the nickname gave her goosebumps again.

"I'm just yours, Connor.", Kat said more clearly.

"Exactly, you are just mine! No one else is allowed to touch you! Got it?", Connor said as a statement and Kat had to obey.

"I said: got it?", Connor asked again, smirking and slipped his hand back down her slip.

"Yes…", Kat breathed husky as she felt Connor's long, slender fingers deep inside of her.

"Repeat it! I want to hear it from your sweet lips.", Connor commanded and pumped rhythmically into her in the way Kat liked the most.

"I-I'm just yours. No one else is allowed to touch me…", Kat repeated breathless.

"Good, baby girl. Now, would you like me to finish you?", he whispered raspy into her ear. He looked Kat straight into her lust filled eyes with a devilish smirk.

"Yes, please. I- I can't take it anymore.", she begged and watched the lopsided smirk growing bigger on his lips.

Connor adjusted the position of his hand and rubbed along her clit while his fingers were pumping steadily into her.

Kat's breath fastened, she closed her eyes while she leant her head back against his chest.

"Fuck damnit, Connor...", Kat moaned raspy as he pumped to her climax.

"Kiss me!", Connor demanded.

Kat's mind was spinning but she managed to turn her head to the right.

Connor crashed his lips on hers in the same moment Kat cried out because of the orgasm washing over her. He continued his moves to intensify the feeling for her even more.

As she stopped being too loud, he left her lips and watched her amazed how she enjoyed her satisfaction with closed eyes.

Kat was still jerking as he removed his hand from her slowly. She leant against the sink to catch her breath. As she was slowly recovering, her heartbeat slowed down and she straightened herself to smooth her clothes.

"Was it good?", Connor asked and smirked as he watched Kat coming clear.

"You have outdone yourself, babe.", Kat said smiling but still a bit breathless. She walked over to her boyfriend and kissed him lovely while she flung her arms around his neck.

"I had no idea you could be like that."

"Yeah...but if I shall be honest, I would like to keep that in the interrogation room.", Connor admitted.

"Well...but from time to time…", Kat said with a wink and let the sentence unspoken.

Connor chuckled, cupped her chin to raise it so he could meet her lips for another sweet and caring kiss.

"I will see you at home?", Connor asked low. Kat looked into his soft brown eyes and nodded.

"Yeah, I'm already looking forward to it.", Kat answered and checked her appearance in the mirror. She smoothed her hair one last time before she went to the door to step out. "Watch it, dipshit!", Kat snapped as she left the bathroom. She pushed Gavin aside who looked confused at her as he was about to enter the restroom.

"Wrong restroom, you idiot!", Gavin called out and shook his head. Kat's only response to him was showing her middle finger while she went into the kitchen for a coffee. Gavin was about to open the door to the restroom once again as the next person stepped out and almost crashed into him.

"Watch i-", Gavin started but stopped as he noticed Connor in front of him who fixed the knot of his tie while he walked through the door.

"Detective Reed.", Connor said politely with a nod and passed a speechless looking Gavin to go back to his desk.

"But- what the hell.", he muttered, confused before he entered the restroom finally.

#dbh connor #dbh #connor #detroit connor #connor dbh #detroid become human #detroit become human connor #detroit become human #dbh connor x reader #smut #smutday #rough #rk800connor #detroit become human rk800 #rk800 #connor rk800

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along-came-atsushi · 3 years

Text

Akutagawa – Dazai – Atsushi: An analysis about their relationship

And why Dazai treats them so differently.

The symbolism of Atsushi and Akutagawa:

From their outward appearance and their design alone, Atsushi and Akutagawa are meant as opposites, but they’re also a duality:

Both wear black and white clothes, but whereas Atsushi is mostly white with a streak of black, Akutagawa wears mostly black with a streak of white. It’s even represented in their hair colours.

Besides this, there are many other things that mark their oppositeness and their duality to each other:

Atsushi is a member of the ADA, while Akutagawa is a member of the PM. Atsushi’s ability colour is blue, Akutagawa’s ability colour is red. Being a member of the ADA makes Atsushi someone who works for the “light and day”, Akutagawa is someone who works for the “darkness and night.” Atsushi loves cats, Akutagawa hates dogs. Atsushi’s ability takes the form of a tiger, Akutagawa’s ability represents a dragon, both creatures are important elements in Asian mythology. Ultimately, Atsushi symbolizes life or is associated with life, while Akutagawa symbolizes death or is associated with death.

Considering this, the title Shin Soukoku (Double Black) isn’t even a fitting name for them, since they both aren’t simply a double, as both Mori and Fukuzawa or Dazai and Chuuya were.

[Beware: Spoilers starting from chapter 83]

Dazai’s mindset and his relationship with Akutagawa:

1.) One of the reasons why Dazai’s treatment towards Akutagawa as a mentor was so cruel and brutal, firstly lies in his overall negative mental state during his PM time. He was visibly unhappy, constantly surrounded by death and violence, and more than now struggled with his suicidal thoughts.

Is it an explanation for his treatment of Akutagawa? −Yes, it is.

Is it an excuse for his treatment of Akutagawa? −No, it isn’t.

2.) Another reason is that this is just how things are done in the Mafia. There is no sense in handling someone with kid gloves in the PM, a place where you get killed for disobeying orders, where you shouldn’t see your peers as friends or get to intimate with anyone:

“It’s an unwritten rule in the Mafia to not stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. One must never open the door to another’s heart and try to judge them for the darkness tucked within.” – Odasaku

If it wouldn’t have been Dazai who taught Akutagawa in such a cruel way, with high probability, it would’ve been someone else. Or as Dazai explained, a sign of weakness will get you killed in the PM:

And Dazai had the absolute chance to kill Akutagawa after he disobeyed orders and killed a person captured for interrogation. His ability can nullify all other abilities by mere touch. He could’ve simply touched Akutagawa, so that he wouldn’t have been able to use his ability to protect himself, and then shot him on the spot. But he didn’t do that, because:

“Akutagawa – he’s like a sword without a sheath.” Dazai grinned from ear to ear. “He’ll surely become the Mafia’s strongest skill user in the not-so-distant future. But for now he needs someone who can teach him how to put that sword away.” [...]

“When I first saw him over in the slums, I was horrified. His talents are extraordinary, and his skill is extremely destructive. Plus, he’s stubborn. If I’d left him to his own devices, he would’ve ended up a slave to his own powers until he destroyed himself.” – Dazai to Odasaku

He already valued Akutagawa’s skill and saw the huge potential in him:

I was surprised. I had never heard Dazai openly speak so highly of one of his men like that before. [...]

Dazai didn’t freely make people work under him, period; much less a boy on the verge of starvation in the slums. But Dazai seemed to have his own reasons for doing it. – Odasaku about Dazai

Something which is also later confirmed by Atsushi:

“I believe Dazai-san has acknowledged you long ago.”

Why is it then that Dazai still treats Akutagawa so badly and doesn’t tell his approval right to his face? Something that becomes Akutagawa’s main purpose for a long time, even after Dazai left PM.

Dazai’s relationship with Odasaku and Ango:

Dazai’s behaviour and actions when he’s with Ango and Odasaku clearly shows that he can be different and doesn’t treat everyone with cruelty and coldness, if he wants to.

But what’s the difference between the two people he considers his friends and the people who are his subordinates?

-> Ango and Odasaku value and respect life.

The reason Dazai becomes and is attached to Odasaku and Ango is their viewpoint about death and life:

“I would become a novelist and write a story about why the man stopped killing. But to become a novelist, I needed to sincerely know what it meant to live. – Odasaku

“You’re quite the interesting fellow, Ango. Doing that isn’t going to make the boss happy. […]” “You’re making records of the lives of the deceased. Am I right?” […] “The line between human losses and those of money and equipment begin to blur. There is no individual, no soul, and no dignity to death. But you’re fighting back against that.” – Dazai to Ango

This is the reason why he values them so much that he considers them his friends. He’s not friends with them because he gains something from it, or because they have interesting abilities, or because they are on the same intellectual level as him (which they aren’t). Something that gets emphasized by Odasaku’s rank. He descended from an assassin (a high reputation in the PM) to a maid-of-all-work and an errand boy (a low reputation in the PM).

Dazai is attracted to and fascinated by people who value life – something you don’t find in the PM, and something he himself struggles to understand. Probably because there never was a person who taught him this. Like a curious child, he turns to people who he knows have a better understanding in this than him.

He even becomes very irritated when one of his subordinates questions his friendship with Odasaku:

“Dazai, sir, I don’t mean to be rude, but… I saw him [Odasaku] sweeping behind the office the other day. A man of his status isn’t qualified to be your friend, let alone with an enemy like this.” Dazai stared, flabbergasted, at his underling.

“Are you joking? Odasaku’s not qualified?” Dazai asked, thoroughly surprised. […] “You fools!” Dazai’s lips curled into a sneer in genuine disgust.

This respect doesn’t solely concern Odasaku and Ango. Hirotsu is also one of the very few people he respects for this reason. Even though Hirotsu may not value life in the same terms as Odasaku and Ango do, but he also doesn’t lightly throw away his subordinates lives either:

“…Ha-ha! Just kidding!” Dazai abruptly added in a cheery tone. Hirotsu stared back at him, confused. “The reason you have so many people following you is that you don’t turn your back on them. I’ll leave things in your hands. I won’t tell the boss.”

It’s only when Odasaku dies in Dazai’s arms and tells him to go protect the living, that he starts to change his behaviour and viewpoint.

Dazai and his many failed suicide attempts:

Why is it that Dazai − a genius, a manipulator, someone who exactly knows how the human psyche works, someone who’s predictions always come true and who has plans within plans – then always fails when he tries to kill himself?

Dazai has read the book “The Complete Suicide” so often that he can cite it in his sleep. He has engaged in torture and killed many people. He knew exactly how to involve Ango and himself in a car crash without them dying.

If he really wanted to, he could’ve already killed himself many times ago. He claims that “he doesn’t like pain and suffering”, which according to him is the reason why his suicide attempts fail. But there are ways how he could kill himself without just that. It’s just that he doesn’t WANT to die.

„I thought if all went well, I could die a heroic death on the battlefield. But the dozen or so armed guys who showed up were a real scrappy bunch. […] Thus, I unfortunately avoided death once again.”

He always tells that something inconvenient happened that kept him from dying. But sometimes people around him notice that there’s something wrong in his attempts:

“I was walking and reading a book called ‘How To Not Get Hurt Out Of The Blue’ and fell into a drainage ditch.” A surprisingly absurd reason. – Odasaku and Dazai

“I glance at his desk and see the blasphemous book he bought the other day, ‘The Complete Suicide’, opened to a page titled ‘Death by Poisoning Mushrooms.’ Next to the book lies a plate with a half-eaten mushroom on it. However, upon further inspection, it appears to be a slightly different color from the one in the book. – Kunikida about Dazai

“I thought you [Gide] were similar to Dazai at first, rushing into battle and wishing for death without even considering the value of your own life. But he’s different. […] And he’s just a child−a sobbing child abandoned in the darkness of a world far emptier than the one we’re seeing.” – Odasaku to Gide about Dazai.

Dazai is a person who actively seeks life and wants to be freed from his own philosophy. He’s struggling between seeking death, which he thinks is the only way to free him from his loneliness and suffering, and seeking life for the simple reason that he doesn’t want to die.

Dazai’s relationship with Atsushi:

Atsushi saved Dazai from drowning despite the fact that he himself was on the brink of starvation. The first thing Dazai got attached to Atsushi is his view on life. Despite the abuse he suffered, Atsushi seeks life and wants to live, makes it even his reason to fight and his life motto.

“The lives of those who can’t save anyone have no value”. In that moment an idea suddenly popped into my mind. […] If by any chance I can let the passengers return home save and sound does that prove that it’s okay for me to live?”

Throughout the story, Atsushi transfers his viewpoint and determination to characters who have a connection to death, darkness and/or suffering (e.g. Kyouka, Lucy).

The reason Atsushi values life, being the symbolical personification of it, is the reason why Dazai is able to treat him much better than Akutagawa.

Forming Shin Soukoku:

Dazai says that Akutagawa is a highly skilled student, but he needs someone to sharpen him. He instantly decides and plans to team him up with Atsushi, the moment he meets him. He knows that Atsushi, due to his view on life, is the only one who can teach Akutagawa to value life himself and to change as a person. In other words “the one who can teach him how to put that sword away”.

This is something Dazai in the past couldn’t and still can’t teach Akutagawa (or anyone at all for that matter). Because he himself needs and wants to be taught that, so he seeks people who are able to give him a different understanding in this (see Ango and Odasaku). Vice versa Akutagawa isn’t able to teach Dazai how to value life, because he himself represents death and has a strong connection to it. It’s one of the very first things he says when he gets introduced in the story:

“Fear death. Fear slaughter. Those who desire death have an equal desire to die.”

Even though Atsushi’s words may seem very harsh, but it IS one of the reasons why Dazai so abruptly abandoned Akutagawa. Is it an explanation? −Yes, it is. Is it an excuse? −No, it isn’t.

Another reason is that Dazai tries to flee from his responsibilities, his past and the terrible things he has done (including Akutagawa’s abuse), because he is not able to face them. Not now that is. He is still in need of guidance and of change, in order to be able to do this.

[Side note: Dazai and guilt is something that can be analysed in its very own meta. I’m not expanding on it further here].

Akutagawa’s connection to death gets emphasized by him even disobeying orders to not kill, for the sole reason that in his mind, killing is much simpler and more effective. He lashes out and tries to kill the people who are respected by Dazai and/or considered friends, even though he should know that an action like this will definitely not get him the approval he so wants.

He was willing to kill Atsushi, even though his mission was to capture him alive, ignoring the possible consequences this would have had for him.

But throughout the story Akutagawa changes his viewpoint. He thinks that the reason why Dazai acknowledges Atsushi and puts him above him, is because he is a better (better in the sense of physical and ability strength) subordinate than him. But he realizes that this can’t be the case and questions it more than once:

His former pure jealousy and grudge towards Atsushi (something which he also felt for Odasaku) slowly turns into questioning, trying to understand what differs them from each other. Dazai knows very well that Akutagawa is still obsessed with him and his approval. Therefore if necessary, he uses this to manipulate him, if it’s to either protect/help Atsushi or to get them both to work together:

Akutagawa starts to constantly challenge Atsushi, questioning him, and demanding him for an answer. It’s only when Akutagawa saves Yokohoma from the Moby Dick crash, that Dazai openly tells him “you did well”.

The reason why Dazai does this so hesitantly, shows that he is still in his own metamorphosis. He’s slowly changing as is Akutagawa. He is still afraid to face his responsibilities, but doesn’t treat his former subordinate cruel anymore.

This change in Akutagawa goes so far that Atsushi is able to ask him to not to kill anyone until they meet again. When told about, Dazai is visibly happy, as it is something that he as a mentor wasn’t able to do. He is reminded of Odasaku, comparing Akutagawa now to him:

Due to this, Dazai now has this much faith in Akutagawa that he puts the task to keep an eye on Atsushi and to protect him in his hands:

Mind the difference of his expressions when he talks with Akutagawa then and now:

Dazai doesn’t team Atsushi and Akutagawa up only for strength and fighting reasons. Or because their abilities are compatible in battle. But because Dazai knows that Akutagawa won’t unnecessarily kill anymore, because he is seeking answers through Atsushi and is changing through their interactions:

He keeps his promise, much to Atsushi’s surprise, but it’s out of the question that he is happy about this:

Akutagawa promising not to kill anyone, keeping his promise in the end and even going so far as to protect someone, in other words valuing life, is something which Dazai could’ve never taught him. And again, he still can’t. Dazai is not solely the teacher, but the student himself. And although Atsushi may be a teacher for both of them in his philosophy, he is a student of Akutagawa and Dazai in other things.

Because what Atsushi lacks is self-confidence and his own worth, faith in his own abilities and the mental strength to overcome his past abuse and trauma. Those are things he learns through Dazai and especially, through Akutagawa.

#ryunosuke akutagawa bsd #atsushi nakajima bsd #osamu dazai bsd #shin soukoku #sakunosuke oda bsd #ango sakaguchi bsd #Ryunosuke Akutagawa #Atsushi Nakajima #Osamu Dazai #Sakunosuke Oda #Ango Sakaguchi #Bungou Stray Dogs #bsd meta #my meta

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fandomficsnstuff · 3 years

Text

Little Dragon - Part 9

Summary: You were a child slave of Meereen, when one day a silver haired woman sets you free. Though your master isn’t too keen on letting you go, and Daenerys took personal action to see you freed and taken care of.

(Warnings: a bit of Dothraki which will be written in bold, also, the tiniest hint of a possible future ~romance~)

High Valyrian is in cursive

You giggled as you flew besides Drogon, Daenerys’ on top of him, heading back towards Dragonstone. Daenerys had suggested flying together, since she knew how much you loved it, and besides, she loved it herself. As you landed near Dragonstone you couldn’t help but feel a certain freedom, one you knew Daenerys felt as well.

You sighed as your feet hit the ground, and you moved to Rhaegal’s face, your hand running along his neck all the way and you gently placed it above his nose, leaning your forehead against his nose tip for a moment before letting him fly off with Drogon. You walked with Daenerys back to Dragonstone, parting ways by your room as she continued down the hall, possibly to her own room.

As you got inside of your room you saw Missandei standing near a hot bath and you grinned widely “Missandei” you greeted and she spun around, hiding something behind her back as she bowed her head “Princess” you walked closer “what are you hiding?” You watched as Missandei pulled a small, but detailed, wooden figure of a girl, and the closer you looked, the more it resembled you, making you grin even more. “One of the Dothraki made it, he was young, a bit older than you, a few years maybe, but he said that he hoped to live long enough to see you and your mother on the throne, he asked me to give it to you”, you looked up at her with tears in your eyes, still grinning. “You inspire a lot of love, Princess (Y/N), just like your mother” you nodded as you wiped away a few tears that had spilled over the corners of your eyes “did he really say ‘throne’?” Missandei laughed “no, he said ‘iron chair’, I see your mother told you that the Dothraki have no word for ‘throne’” you nodded at her words as you took the small figure from her, it really looked like you, but not like in a dress, it was the clothes you had on when you rode Rhaegal, he must have seen you in it and remembered “she did… where is he, the Dothraki who made this?” Missandei smiled gently at you “I can show you, but after your bath, before the water gets cold” you nodded, putting the figure on your night stand before returning to the tub “of course, thank you, Missandei” she smiled and left your room so you could undress and bathe in peace.

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After your bath you had changed into a dress, it was one out of thick material, to keep out the cold, but it was comfortable all the same, it was (Y/F/C), a small dragon pin on your chest, symbolizing your mother’s house, and your own now, your shoes were also warm and thick, but still fit enough to walk on the sand, which you currently were. You watched Missandei point out the Dothraki who had made the small wooden figure, sitting on a stone along with a few other Dothraki, no more than five, scattered on the beach. This Dothraki was handsome, he had the same copper-tones skin as all the other Dothraki but a different glow to it, the same almond shaped eyes that stood out anyway, but he was different, he was younger, so his hair and beard had no real length to it, his curly black hair rested on his head like the rest of them, but you’d somehow be able to see him even in a crowd of Dothraki he was obviously tall, you couldn’t be sure of what physique but he seemed lean, he was leaning his elbows on his knees, a knife in his hand and a rock in the other, he was sharpening his knife. His black coal eyes found yours and you swore, on your life, that you saw a hint of blush on his cheeks as she quickly looked away again, trying to act like he hadn’t seen you. You approached with an amused smile, walking straight up to him, forcing him to look at you without touching him, and your smile somehow grew as your eyes locked, you watched him quickly stand up and try to bow as he had seen the Unsullied and others do but it didn’t go over well, which you didn’t mention, but the fact that he tried made feel weird inside.

You didn’t know how much of the common tongue he spoke, and you didn’t know that much Dothraki, so instead you showed him the small figure, grinning when you saw his eyes widen in realisation, “I am very happy for this” you knew there was no word for thank you in Dothraki, so it was the best you could do, but he seemingly understood you as she grinned himself “good, but I did not know the lady would tell you that it was me who made it” he spoke a bit too fast but you still understood most of what he said, his voice wasn’t as deep as some of the other Dothraki, but then again, he was young, “I asked” you gave a light shrug, enjoying the way he seemed to be shy around you, not at all how you imagined a Dothraki would act up close, but then again, you had heard from Daenerys of Khal Drogo, her husband, and how gentle he could be with her when no one else was around.

“What is your name?” you did your best, but Dothraki had not been one of the languages you had not focused on, sadly, and now you cursed your younger self for not paying more attention.

“Ezzo”

“Ezzo…” you tasted the name on your tongue, it gave you a warm feeling saying it, and it made you smile brightly up at him, and after a while you realized that you had stared, making you blink and quickly look down, blushing red. “I-I hope my Dothraki is understandable enough, I’m afraid that I never paid enough attention when my teacher tried to teach it to me” you knew, you just knew that it sounded awful, but glancing up you only saw his smile “I think you sound beautiful” you grinned widely at him, about to say something else when out of the corner of your eyes you saw an Unsullied soldier approaching, making you turn your head to him, it was one you knew, not well, but you knew his name, his name was Grey Curse, just thinking about it made you wince, so you never spoke it out loud.

“Princess (Y/N), her Grace is asking for you, Missandei said you might be here” you nodded and looked back at Ezzo, who had no idea what was being said “I have to go... “ you said in a sad voice, making Ezzo frown but nod all the same, almost like he expected you to just go right then and there, but you couldn’t help yourself, you leaned up and gave him a peck on his cheek, a quick one, you barely noticed it yourself. You couldn’t help the grin you had on your lips the whole way to the map room where Daenerys and all the rest were waiting for you. Daenerys raised her head to look at you, about to say something but seeing your grin she froze, narrowing her eyes at you and smirking ever so slightly “want to tell me why you are so happy?” she spoke High Valyrian, mainly because she wanted a bit more privacy, even though she knew that Missandei, Varys and Grey Worm could understand her, but both Varys and Grey Worm were good at pretending not to hear her, however Missandei smirked amused at the scene unfolding before her “no reason, why are we speaking Valyrian, mother?” you shrugged, making Daenerys scoff amused at you “I just got ready to scold you for being late, but seeing you this happy, I’ll hold it off, for now” you knew she was just being playful, it was in her tone, and both Varys and Missandei couldn’t help the tiny smile that forced it’s way onto their lips, hearing their Queen’s words, but quickly shook it off as Daenerys turned back to face the map carved into the table.

“So, you were saying?” all of you looked back to Tyrion who nodded and resumed talking about his plan to sent the Unsullied to Casterly Rock, but for some reason, your mind were stuck on the beach, standing with a tall Dothraki, who’s curly hair was like a crown, resting gently on his head, his eyes black as coal but still warm, and you kept thinking of his name, Ezzo, you wondered what it meant. Ezzo, maybe it meant kindness, or maybe it meant strength, or courage, or maybe it meant handsome, if so then it’d certainly fit. You were so lost in thought that you hadn’t noticed the map room clearing, all but Daenerys, who smirked at you with amusement “so” she began, snapping you out of your day dream, you eyes locking with hers and instantly you blushed, looking down and fiddling with the wooden figure you still had in your hand, something that Daenerys easily noticed, “who made that?” you let her take it from your hands, letting her study it with a warm smile “a Dothraki” her head instantly snapped to yours, making you realize what she feared “he’s very sweet,” you quickly assured, seeing her visibly relax, of course she trusted her army, but Dothraki was not known for being gentlemen, she knew this very well, better than most “his name is Ezzo… Missandei said she saw him carve it and he asked her to give it to me” you continued, taking back the small figure as you looked at it fondly “I wanted to thank him so Missandei brought me to him, I’m sorry I lost track of time” when you finally raised your head to meet her gaze, you saw nothing but warmth and joy, a small smile resting on her lips “well, I’d very much like to meet this, Ezzo” a part of you began to grow nervous, what if she didn’t like him? You knew she loved you and only wanted what was best for you, but you also knew that although she had not birthed you, you were her daughter, her only living human child, and you knew that no matter what, a dragon would protect it's young, with fire and blood if need be.

#Daenerys Targaryen #Daenerys Targaryen x ChildReader #got fanfic

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niqhtlord01 · 3 years

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Humans are weird: The Hand of Andromeda Ch. 2 ( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps) (New chapters will be posted first to patreon and then moved here)

The Ageis system was not what one would consider a pinnacle world of civilization in an age of interstellar travel. At best it was a backwater system deep in unclaimed space between the Rylon Collective and Havatal Republic the system with only one habitable planet, Ageis Prime.

The planet itself was largely barren, consisting of entire continents of jagged rocks and acidic seas. Only a small belt of land near the equator was remotely capable of sustaining life and supported small clusters of forests isolated from the harsh surrounding landscape.

First development of the planet was made by the Xlaxon Mining Guild when a remote probe of theirs scanned the system and found valuable minerals scattered around the planet. Shortly after a group of indentured laborers were imported to the planet and a mining operation was established, initially consisting of a landing pad, machine shop, processing facility, and several other living quarters.

Just as the operation was about to get underway however the Xlaxon Mining Guild found itself drawn into what is now known as the “Guild Wars”, which were a series of escalating conflicts fought between rival mining organizations. To put it mildly the Xlaxon’s did not last long and were quickly consumed by a larger guild. In the confusion of the guild wars the newly establish mining operation on Ageis Prime was lost in paperwork and quickly became further isolated from the rest of the galaxy.

With no overseers left and a semi functional colony all to themselves the newly transplanted workers began to form their own society on the planet and carved out a small patch of the planet they could call their own. It was nothing to brag about, but given their limited resources they made due. Several years passed before the planet would encounter a small group of mercenaries that would change their destiny forever.

A group of mercenaries calling themselves “The Fishermen” landed on the planet, which had now grown into a dense urbanized city, looking to finally establish a base of operations. There was initial resentment from the inhabitants as the established ruler of the planet, a self-proclaimed warlord known as “Kevin the Heartless”, ordered his enforcers to drive off the mercenaries. The battle was swift and the better trained and armed mercenaries easily overpowered the enforcers with the struggle finally ending when the warlord himself had his head bitten off and spit out by the mercenary’s Predatorian leader.

The inhabitants were surprised to find their new overlord was much more merciful than they had expected. While the mercenaries did establish themselves on the planet they also brought with them a vast amount of wealth from numerous sources. The normal baggage train of any military group flocked to the planet and set up shop. Bars, brothels, weapons dealers, mechanic shops, and even an official branch of the intergalactic bank quickly set up as the mercenary band began to sell out their services. As their fame grew the group not only enriched themselves but oddly enough began investing in the planets community’s as well.

Schools and hospitals were built for the growing population, a new police force and government system was established for official recognition and participation by the people of Ageis Prime, and most beneficial of all were several terraforming towers that were installed around the planet which began replacing the harsh world with an increasingly comfortable climate. With all of these improvements the general population lauded the Fishermen and heaped praise after praise on to them.

In the span of three years Ageis Prime had gone from a forgotten backwater to the galactic hub of the dead zone of unclaimed space; a pillar of civilization in the dark void of forgotten space.

Yet for all their generosity, the Fishermen still controlled everything from the shadows. It was an unspoken law of the land that nothing of importance was done without their leader’s approval. Even to run in an election a nominee had to first come see their boss and present him or herself to see if they’d amuse the Predatorian; if he didn’t find them amusing than they were expected to drop out, lest an unfortunate accident befall them.

At any given time the mercenary group was contracted out between ten to fifteen jobs ranging from basic security details for high value personnel and facilities, to waging wars on distant planets on part of an ad hoc detachment. This abundance of work was rather common as both the Rylon Collective and Havatal Republic lacked the means to enforce their wills in the unclaimed systems between their two borders. This didn’t even come close to the dozen or so different criminal groups that inhabited this unclaimed space who were always in need of additional muscle.

There were of course rival organizations to the Fishermen such as the Abvara Syndicate, Pelpens Pirates, the Brotherhood of Orion, and the Band of the Hig who each had their own sizable forces; yet each of them were constantly switching between periods of stability and bloody internal struggles for leadership. This facet was not seen inside the Fishermen thanks not only to their structuring, but also to the visionary leader that formed and continued to lead the group even now.

Sitting at the very top of the organization was the Predatorian, a massive mound of raw muscle, sharpened teeth, and with a twisted sense of humor only psychopaths could fully appreciate. Rising from a former slave he had first formed the Fishermen from the same slaves he was freed alongside during a bloody slave uprising. After taking control of ship that had once held them captive he steered it to the nearest port and sold it off, then used the funds to train and equip the slaves into a standard fighting force.

His name was Mr. B.

No one in the organization knew if that was his real name or not but what they did know was not to mock it. The last person that did had their fingers bitten off one at a time by Mr. B before they were thrown out on to the street. Mr. B later said that hearing all their jokes about his name had made him hungry for some “finger food”. He was ruthlessly efficient in his work and he expected that from all those under him. His combat experience was rivaled only by the commando units of the galactic governments. Yet for all his combat talent and training he was not as skilled when it came to logistics and the day to day operations common for such a large group. Thus he was greatly benefited by his second in command who was aptly proficient in such matters at such a young age.

A nine and a half year old human child named Lizzy Stalwart.

If there was little known about Mr. B there was even less known about his adopted daughter Lizzy Stalwart. Freed from the same slave ship Mr. B had been previously held, she had been by his side ever since. Rumor was she had been the one to trigger the mass unlocking of cells on the ship which led to the ship wide revolt of slaves against their captors.

While Mr. B handled the military aspects of the group it was Lizzy that managed the books. She had a keen insight for numbers and was always able to keep the group well-armed and fed as they went contract to contract. A common saying among the grunts of the organization was that you’d never run out of blood with Mr. B, and never run out of bullets with Lizzy Stalwart.

Despite his brutish demeanor, Mr. B had a natural soft spot for Lizzy and he had taken her under his fin so to speak and had come to see her as his daughter. The two of them were set to take on whatever the galaxy could throw at them, and they had an army behind them to throw it right back for payback.

The transport shuttle slowly descended to street level before killing the thrusters. The bus driver checked his systems and pulled open the door latch to the street.

“Fisher HQ!” they called out to the passengers behind them.

Vick grabbed his satchel bag and hefted it over his should as he stood up and made his way to the door.

“Let me guess,” the bus driver said as he finally reached the front; his eyes taking him in for a moment before he smirked, “trying to swim with the big boys?”

Vick smiled at the man as he got off but didn’t answer him. The shuttle thrusters kicked back on and the craft once again rose upwards into the air before speeding off down the road leaving Vick in the billowing cloud of dust it left behind.

He coughed several times and swiped the dust from his eyes before the cloud parted and revealed his final destination; the headquarters of the mercenary Fisherman.

It was a vast compound just outside of the city limits easily taking up nine city blocks in size. It held its own private landing pads, medical facilities, housing and training grounds, munition depots and manufactures... It was like an entire city itself dedicated to killing for money.

From the moment he had quit his dead end job as a dish washer of Veega Ce, Vick Novikov had thought of nothing but this moment. He had spent every credit he had ever saved to purchase his passage off world and the compact pistol strapped to his right thigh.

No longer would he be looked down on by those around him, no longer would people shove him out of their way as if he was garbage in the street, no longer would kids throw fucking rocks at him and laugh like the little shits they were.

Today Vick was going to become someone new, someone better, someone to be respected and feared.

Today, Vick was going to become a Fisherman.

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #story #Hand of Andromeda

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cheezygoddess · 3 years

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Couldn't stop thinking bout this AU

Angsty angst angst, gladiator Sam au

…...

"S, Sam?" Peter asked. The monumental finality of it finally sinking in. Sam was leaving.

Sam didn't answer. Sam was leaving.

"Sam, what…" Peter said, voice shaking. Sam was leaving. Sam was leaving him. Sam was leaving him and Peter couldn't even blame him. Peter wondered how Sam could have put up with him for as long as he had. Peter had heard his suffering and done nothing. Had convinced himself it was exactly what Sam deserved for his cruelty. But now faced with the harsh, brutal truth of Sam leaving him, never to return, Peter unable to even confirm if Sam was even alive. He found he needed Sam to stay.

"Oh God, Sam, no. No please, fuck no, you can't leave!" Peter said, horrified. He could be disgusted with himself for needing the monster Sam had become after he had Sam by his side. Right now, he didn't care. He needed Sam. He was selfish and a fucking back stabbing bastard but he didn't care. He needed Sam.

Sam's only response was a slow tired blink. Peter couldn't even be sure if he'd heard and understood him. Sam had said nothing to him the entire flight. Hadn't even really seen him, even when he looked right at him. The hollow, empty expression he wore had certainly never held any spark of recognition for him.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Sam," Peter said. Knowing that it was much too little, far too late. He'd hurt Sam more cruelly than any villain ever could. And he was a selfish, stupid asshole to only see that now, when he could do nothing to fix it.

At Peter's desperate apologies something like life sparked in Sam's eyes. So Peter kept apologizing. He shoved aside the stupid fucking helmet that had been the entire reason any of the hell of the past year and a half had happened. It was ownerless now and useless and Peter wanted to melt it in the fires of Mordor's Mount Doom to keep its power away from the entire cursed universe.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Peter repeated in supplication. Peter was only just now realizing the magnitude of his failure to Sam. In every aspect of his duty he'd failed him. As his team leader, as his teammate, and worst of all as his friend. Every chance Peter had been given to make things right between them he'd turned his back to Sam's pain.

Sam was looking at him now. No, Sam was seeing him now. Peter flung himself at Sam. He was perfectly, painfully aware of how badly this could go for him. But at least if Sam finally killed him he wouldn't have to figure out how to be without Sam.

Sam didn't kill him.

"Sam please, God, fuck, don't leave me," Peter pled.

Sam continued not killing him as he clung to him hard enough he was probably hurting him. Peter couldn't manage to let go. Sam actually had an expression. The first he'd seen since Sam had freed the both of them from Titus' enslavement. Sam and Peter were slaves, yes. But Peter had been kept in the most luxurious and expensive cage credits could buy. While Sam… Sam had been in the gladiator pits. Peter had only been there twice. First, when Titus had sold Sam and second… second had been when Sam… when Sam had 'earned' a reward for his skills in the arena and of everything, all the things in the entire fucking galaxy, he'd asked for Peter. Peter remembered that meeting better than he remembered the feel of web swinging across New York. Better than he remembered the taste of Aunt May's wheat cakes. He remembered it just as keenly as he did watching a man getting robbed and doing nothing and the feel of his uncle's chest rise and fall and never rise again.

He'd failed.

Again.

The exact same selfish mistake he'd made as a selfish child and had gotten his uncle, the man who'd raised him and loved him like his own son, killed. Sure this time it wasn't letting a mugging go by without stopping it when he could have. This time it was even worse. He'd been so wrapped up in himself, wrapped up in his guilt for getting Sam in this horrible situation in the first place. So busy feeling his guilt at watching Sam kill that first time, and every time after. He'd known Sam was trying, he'd known Sam was trying so hard. But he'd thought… he'd thought Sam was in as real danger of death as his opponents, and if only Sam… if only he'd do something, anything different...

He'd seen Sam for the first time in months and the first thing he did, first thing he said, he asked Sam why he'd enjoyed killing them. Every day Peter tried to forget and every night he relived it. Every night Peter watched himself crush Sam more thoroughly than the gladiator pits of chitauri prime ever had or ever could.

Peter deserved death. But he kissed Sam instead. Sam didn't kill him. He didn't do anything. Peter kept kissing him, trying to speak at the same time, "Sam, Sam, God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Sam" Peter said, nearly choking on his words.

Sam's mouth opened under Peter's and Peter deepened his kiss with frantic desperate energy. Sam shuddered, wrapped his arms around Peter, and fell into him as if he was marionette whose strings had been cut.

Peter moved his hands from Sam's shoulders and pulled him close. The only thing Peter could get out of his mouth, when he wasn't desperately kissing Sam, was 'Sam' and 'Sorry' and 'Stay please God stay'.

Sam shuddered again, then sobbed out his name. Peter lifted him up to hold him even closer. Sam clung to him, arms around his shoulders and legs around his hips.

"Peter," Sam sobbed again. Peter pulled his face away from Sam's. But instead of letting him look at him and maybe say something more helpful than the loop he'd gotten stuck in, Sam used leverage Peter hadn't realized he'd given him to flip him onto the table and kiss him back. More teeth and tongue than lips and sweetness but Peter took it all the same. "Peter," Sam sobbed out again.

"Sam," Peter gasped, damn near sobbing himself.

They kissed. Again and again. Peter tried to show Sam now what he should have been doing all along. After only a few more frenzied kisses, Sam pulled away. He pressed his head against Peter's shoulder and broke down in earnest. Peter held him close, crying into Sam's too long hair.

"Peter, how… how can you still stand me?" Sam choked out around his sobs.

Peter made a wretched sound and laugh-sobbed uncontrollably for way too long. Eventually he managed to say, "I hurt you. You asked for me, me! Out of everything in the Galaxy! And I hurt you! And kept hurting you! And you're asking me how I can stand you?"

Sam clearly didn't understand. Peter successfully bit back his sob. He'd broken Sam so thoroughly that he wished Sam really had killed him. But he hadn't and he still wasn't and here they both were.

"Please Sam, stay," Peter said, voice cracking.

Quiet. So quiet that Peter only heard him due to his enhanced hearing. Sam answered. "Okay."

#cheezygg writes #spideynova #plz reblog #sam alexander #peter Parker

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