#he can make all these weapons and all these tools for war and destruction but cant help the person he cares about most | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

uselesssomebody · 11 months

Note

could you maybe do poe comforting an overwhelmed reader by giving them his jacket to wear 🥺

𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕜𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕒𝕓𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕠𝕟 - poe dameron x reader

complete masterlist | poe dameron masterlist

words || 𝟠.𝟟𝕜

summary || in which poe kinda makes the reader's life hell

a/n || 8,7k??? what is wrong with me

➵ nonnie you're gonna have to sift through like 8k words to get to the request but star wars fics need good world building

➵ yo send me moon knight requests or any oscar/pedro characters i'm banging them out right now

➵ not edited (yet)

➵ send me requests if you have ‘em. enjoy!

warnings || fluff/angst

her tools fall out of her hand with a distinct clatter, as she rises from her haunches for the first time in about an hour. she runs a gentle finger over the the edge of the removed metal plate, examining her handiwork at re-configuring, and then bettering the main control center.

it’d looked like hell when she'd first seen it, just 10 minutes after the black squadron had returned to d'qar - after a particularly nasty run in with some tie-fighters after attempting to survey a first order base. though all the members had bore a part of the violence and destruction, he who bore the brunt of it was their oh so brave leader - poe dameron.

of course, his extreme courage, and never-ending headstrong-edness did enough to serve his position as the resistance's golden boy. on the other hand, though, that same bravery owed to her consecutive long nights.

see, no one thought about the little guy - dameron was probably basking in the praise he was receiving at the moment, while no one ever remembered that the only reason his shots were so good was because she'd tinkered with the weapons system until perfection. the only reason he could ever complete any of his complicated maneuvers was because she ensured his controls ran smoothly - never jamming - and that the wings of his starfighter weren't falling off. though that may seem like a base requirement of her job, she knew that wasn't an occasional fix; no, it was much closer to weekly.

it was dark on the surface of the base, and she was beside a measly lamp to finish her work. she lightly tapped against the metal on the outside of the x-wing, satisfied with the adjustments, and, when she finally stretches out her body, standing fully upright, she feels the quirk in her shoulder from the hunching, and the cramp of her forearms and palms at her meticulous but firm grip on her tools. she sighed deeply as her bleary eyes made her see spots.

she hears footsteps approach her, and she collects her items as her close friend and fellow mechanic rose comes up behind her.

"how's it going?" she hums discontentedly in response.

"i'm done, at least." it's not a great answer, but rose understands, a soft smile gracing her lips as she grabs the lamp, holding onto it to allow her friend to place her tools away.

rose's own x-wing was one of the new recruits, given a lesser brunt during missions and scouting. thus, she'd finished ensuring it was in the best shape ages ago. she'd decided to finish up some other things in the meanwhile, before doubling back to see her eternally overworked friend's progress.

"you wanna head back to the bunks?" she rubs her nose as she thinks about rose's question. as they begin leaving the flight deck, she can hear the light echo of people from afar.

"if you want to, don't wait up for me. i need a drink, though." she finally decides, not wanting to deprive her friend of sleep, but also knowing that she needed something to help her unwind from the busy day. rose simply shrugs, gesturing to the both of them making their way to the cantina.

as they enter, a decent amount of people are still milling about, though many look ready to begin wrapping up their nights. there's a empty table a ways away from the bar so, upon taking rose's request, she urges her friend to sit down as she heads to the bar.

the bartender's a lovely guy: a weequay called aid-zarg, that everyone just refers to as 'ay' or, if they're close, 'zarg'. he'd been a bit against the nicknames, but had eventually caved to them.

"ay - how're ya?" she slides into a stool in front of him, attempting conversation tentatively. he shrugs - his expression seems cold, though she knows that's just how his face is.

"alright. long night?" she smiles, but it's almost a grimace.

"something like that." she orders for her and rose, and patiently taps against the wood counter as he prepares them. when he finally slides them over, she gives him a nod of appreciation, and he returns it with a nod of acknowledgement, before she turns back to join rose.

rose glances at her as she slumps into her seat, looking half-ready to pass out.

"maybe you should talk to the general about your schedule. you're half-asleep all the time; that can't be good for a resistance member." rose takes a sip of her drink as she presents a solution to her friend's never-ending dilemma.

"i - i would, but it's not fair to assign extra work to anyone - everyone's got a specific part of the base to tend to, or a specific ship, or fighter, or whatever." she thought about her hesitance as she watched the slosh of her drink, "everyone else's already working, and i don't want to make it anyone else's baggage just 'cause my pilot has an ego the size of a death star." rose purses her lips to keep herself from laughing - not wanting to encourage her friend's catty commentary.

"how'd you end up getting assigned his, anyway?" rose mumbled. her friend laughed into her drink, slowly recanting the reason:

even before she'd come to d'qar, it was common knowledge amongst the mechanics that being assigned to fix up dameron's x-wing meant you'd lose out on a weeknight or two, if it was temporary, and your entire night life - if it was permanent.

so, when she'd arrived, and presented her previous qualifications as a mechanic on tatooine, many knew that she was at least experienced and, at most, very efficient.

so, almost as a rite of passage amongst the mechanics, she'd been assigned the dreaded ship. and she'd fixed it up in record time. at first, it was an achievement she wore like a medal, the surprised faces of the resident mechanics enough to make her beam at her skill, and her knowledge of its contribution to the resistance's efforts.

then, though, it became a permanent assignment. and, for a while, it was manageable. but then, the fights got tougher; the first orders weapons more destructive.

"and suddenly, i'm up at 1 on a work night." she finally concludes. rose, having known her since she arrived, was privy to her friend's sometimes tired, always slightly pent-up rants on any topic that aggravated her, so she waited patiently for tonight's, "it's just-" there it is, "he's so fucking - ugh - would it kill him to just follow the plan? to listen to his instructions, to not be so reckless and not go out of his way to get himself killed - no, fuck that actually - his plane destroyed? i don't know - i get it's important to be versatile, and brave, and whatever bullshit, but c'mon - every time? keeping me up every night?"

rose was sure she hadn't even stopped to breathe in that entire time, but she definitely paused her rant to take sips of her drink, which then spurred on the vent further. she contemplated maybe removing the drink from her hand, but figured that after her long evening, she deserved it, along with a listening ear.

she sighs deeply into her drink as she finishes her story, not exactly expecting an answer from rose, but happy that she could at least get it off her chest.

suddenly, she feels a firm hand on her shoulder, making her and rose squeak and whip their heads to the person. what they hadn't realized was the volume with which they were speaking, causing her eyes to widen as she realizes that the object of her annoyance stood behind her, a goading smile plastered over his - unfortunately - gorgeous face.

“yeah - that guy’s a pain in the ass!” he hisses sarcastically, as though in his group of friends, gossiping, “what’d you say he was again?” he hunches down, so his face is in line with hers. she tries to glance desperately at rose, but all she can make out is her brown overalls behind poe’s jaw. she swallows, but looks him in the eyes, an unwavering look on her face.

“i was saying that he’s reckless. and he’s the reason i’m having a drink - as opposed to, y’know, sleeping. what anyone should be doing this late.” her voice is clear, and she watches the confidence in his face falter for a moment. then, as quickly as it hesitated, his smile returned, rising back up to his full height. he pokes his tongue into his inner cheek, looking between the both of them.

“enjoy your drinks, ladies.” he says it with a shockingly non-confrontational tone, accompanied with a shrug. she feels her cheeks heat in embarrassment as he gives her a slight nod to her, before turning and heading in the direction of one of the newer recruits - frank? flynn? - as she turns back to her drink, eyes closed in humiliation.

finally, she glances up at rose, and sees the uncomfortable grimace mirrored on her face.

“please, please, can you not shout when you complain about someone?” she chastises and begs her friend in the same tone, telling her off for her borderline rude behavior, and for the subsequent awkwardness it caused her. it makes her laugh, as she nods, assuring her that she won't. as rose bemoans she situation, she smiles into the rim of her drink, trying not to think about the warmth that she felt.

she wasn't quite sure if it was still embarrassment, or something else.

as she and rose had finally decided they'd taken enough from the night, and were ready to pass out into the longest sleep they had time to muster, rose heads towards the exit while she rushes to the bar to bid adieu to aid, and to front over the cost of their drinks. the quiet bartender thought her to be funny, so prices were usually discounted, but what did confuse her was the shake of his head and the shrug he passed when she asked to be reminded of the prices.

"already paid for." her eyebrows quirk at the non-descriptive explanation, and she wonders who'd paid for them in the short time they'd sat in the cantina.

"huh? by who?" aid was never great at names, but even he couldn't forget her infamous donor.

"dameron."

the revelation muffled in her mind over the night, as she wondered what exactly had possessed the cocky pilot to pay for their drinks, especially after hearing her bad-mouth him.

perhaps, she figured, it was a gesture of good-will, to imply that her snarky comments did little to actually affect him. and, for a moment she thought it was sweet.

until she passed by him in that same cantina, surrounded by both the members of his squadron, as well as some others, recounting the story of how he'd narrowly ducked in and between the cliffs of some outer rim territory in order to avoid a gang of small-time pirates. he spoke animatedly of how he narrowly made it out from a 20 meter gap in the cliffs, though how, tragically, one of his wings had taken a brunt of impact.

she grimaced at the casualness of his words, and of the enraptured expressions of everyone else, only speaking in order to reiterate how truly amazing they thought he was.

of course she remembered that mission, as she'd spent a grueling 3 days fashioning a new wing tip to add to his starfighter before his next mission - pulling maybe a collective 3 hours of sleep over the 3 nights.

and, suddenly, his gesture seemed almost more of a mockery.

though she knew that he continued to leave her blood boiling, and thus attempted to avoid him as much as possible, he seemed to have a remarkably different idea, deciding that his prevalence as a topic of conversation of her yielded him permission to become the one she spoke to.

he'd greet her as he hopped off of his ship, whenever he passed the flight deck as she worked, and somehow always managed to walk past her just as she knew he was clocking out for the night, leaving her to work an additional few hours - at least - to rescue his overworked vehicle.

poe didn't believe that he was being malicious - not at all. after all, she had no idea how difficult his job was either, so what gave her the right to complain? she didn't know that the only reason he pulled off complicated maneuvers was to divert attention from less experienced recruits, or that the days of planning missions - just for many of them to fail - also left him exhausted, and owed to many of his own contemplative, long nights.

thus, a strange, very aggravating dance occurred between the both of them. she was stubborn - as stubborn as him - but, of course, she - rather stubbornly - would never believe it, owing neither to want to secede and create a more comfortable environment by discussing their issues or - and this was completely off the table - apologizing.

though, due to this, both of their friends were subject to suffer through their passing remarks, or the strange tension that seemed to follow the pair. as the days continued, rose found herself seeking out the amused eyes of finn - poe's good friend - as he took in the scene, smiling or laughing alongside him at the absurdity of their situation.

it was this growing familiarity between their friends, in fact, that had owed to her current lonely late night. the black and green squadrons were responsible for the destruction of a medium, but connected first order base in the mid rim. it was an unlikely victory - outnumbered by tie-fighters at least 2 or 3 to one, but the meticulous plan crafted by finn, poe and a few of the others, and green-lit by the general, had created it.

there was much celebration when they'd headed back - and that spirit soared through the entirety of the base, with everyone coming together to remember their primary goal: weakening the authoritative role of the first order. it had gone on late into the night, as she can still hear the loud, carrying voices from the cantina. she's headed in the opposite direction, though, as she usually does. she'd seen dameron's ship when it'd come in, and - though it didn't look all that rough, she could tell it could do with a tune up.

she hadn't asked rose to stay alongside her, seeing the twinkle in her eyes as she'd spoken to finn in the aftermath of the mission, smiling widely in a way her friend didn't see all that often. so, instead, she’s left in company of just her tools and the occasional creak of the old, overworked machines.

there's quiet squeaks as she's unscrewing the control panel of the starfighter, but the noises are dwarfed by the sounds of steps approaching her general direction. she wonders if someone's forgotten something, or if it's rose stopping by the check on her, but she decides to ignore it, unable to pinpoint how close the other person is. that is, until she sees them round the nose of the x-wing.

it makes her start violently, dropping her tools with a clatter as she jumps. her heart's beating so fast that she can't even see all that clearly, and, when she finally realizes who it is, frustration clouds over her confusion.

"what the hell are you doing here?" it's harsher than she usually is, but it'd been a really long day, and she wasn't excited at the notion of dealing with him.

immediately, poe's defensive.

"kriff, calm down! i just wanted to check in on her." he lightly pats on the nose of his x-wing, as if it were a pet, and she suddenly wonders where his actual pet-droid - the orange one - is, "wanted to make sure nothing happened to it." he continues, not looking at her.

she opens her mouth, wanting to say how dumb of an explanation it was, but she truly can't find the energy to start a back-and-forth with him, so she simply goes back to work, shrugging. seeing that he still doesn’t leave, she drops her head, sighing deeply.

“what - what exactly do you need to know about it - her - dameron? do you need to watch the circuits as i reconnect them, or maybe eyeball every screw i twist in?” he seems shocked by the outburst, mouth hanging open for just a moment, before his hands raise up in a faux-surrender.

“if you want me to leave - i’ll go.” he pauses for a second, but she can still feel that more words are soon to leave his tongue, so she doesn’t say anything, eyes falling down to the circuits she'd just spoken about, “but i’m not exactly excited by the idea of you - someone - down here all by themselves.” she purses her lips.

“well, i’m sorry to inconvenience you - but you are flying again tomorrow morning, and your ship isn’t exactly tip-top.” she’s ready to turn back, hoping it’s enough of an argument to suffice him, but’s he’s adamant.

“at least take a break? everyone else’s at the cantina - it’s not like a drink’d hurt-” she rolls her shoulders, sighing deeply.

“if i agree, will you stop talking?” his voice stops, but a smile grows in its stead. he shrugged.

“you want me to stop? i thought you adored the sound of my voice-” she rolls her eyes, the hint of a smile ghosting over her own lips at the sarcastic joke. muttering a small shut up, she raises to her feet, dusting off her outfit, before stepping away from her work. he gestures to the large doors leading out the flight bay, and she nods, walking to meet his stride.

they reach the cantina in a moment, the silence between them filled instead with the increasing sounds from everyone else. as she enters, she notices the large overflow of people around the bar, evidently still celebrating. she takes a deep breath as she looks around desperately for where exactly she's supposed to do.

poe, keeping a close eye on her so as to not lose her to the crowd, points towards the table where their friends are sitting. she nods, flitting right behind him to benefit as he pushes his way through the crowds. when they finally reach the table, he can see a calm rest on her face, especially in the presence of rose. he follows her gaze to the close proximity between rose and finn, and, when she averts her gaze, she meets his, making him smile with a shrug, as if saying i know, right?

as poe grabs a drink for the both of them, and she's finally able to actually meet finn and speak with rose, she finds herself loosening up, grinning at rose's excited expression, or finn's somewhat deadpan humor, or the sweetness of her drink. sometimes, poe's own jokes forced an unwarranted laugh from her as well - which he definitely took notice of.

for a while, he'd also noticed the apprehension of not being able to finish her work, but he reminds her subtly that his ship hadn't been too beat up: it wouldn't disintegrate if he tried to exit the atmosphere tomorrow, and she'd have time to fix it up before it got to that point. it allows her to really mellow down, and she settles - alongside rose -with a few other members of the black squadron as they discuss the day, their missions, and the base.

poe's more decent, she realizes, than she gave him credit for, as when he's reintroducing her to the other pilots, the first words out of his mouth is acknowledgement for her hard work. it almost makes her giddy, especially after it's followed by miscellaneous praise from the others. she feels a smile creep up on her countenance, and it's only bolstered by the many small, sweet glances he'd shoot in her direction.

though, like all good things, it doesn't exactly last.

as the night drags - and maybe it's also her exhaustion, or the fact that poe's a few more drinks in - she can feel that respect that grew for him begin to chip away again.

his mouth just works too fast for his brain to catch up - she supposes - as she feels annoyance creep over her as she hears him gloat about his many stories as a pilot. though many of the stories have less to do with him giving her more hardship, when she sees the more egoistic parts of his personality reveal themselves throughout the night, she feels that same aggravation that led to that one night of late drinking with rose.

at some point, she feels that hearing him boast over and over and over was just too much to bear, so she knocks the rest of her drink back, waves rose and finn off, and slips out as she came in, deciding a night of good sleep may soothe her turbulent mind.

only a moment after she left, does poe return with a drunken smile, just about to introduce her to one of the many recruits he'd mentored - in order to remind said recruit about the importance of respecting your mechanic.

the smile fell as finn - almost sadly - mentioned that she'd left.

it's been a few weeks since then, and poe's reeled in his antics - much to her pleasure. though, she couldn't help the twang of something she'd begun to feel when he walked past her station, not acknowledging her in the slightest.

she wondered why; after all, that was what she'd initially wanted.

neither could continue ignoring each other, though, when they were called into the communications center of the base by the leader of the division, and the general herself.

she made her way up there quickly and, meeting poe at the door, hoped her confusion wasn't apparent on her face. if it was, he did little to quell it, as he instead focused on opening the large doors.

now, she'd only met the general a few times - and the other she knew only by rank. he, on the other hand, seemed very buddy-buddy with the pair, forcing her isolation for a moment as the three greeted each other. when, finally, they turned to outline the reason for the meeting, she was directed to sit down, and listen carefully.

she was told of how the resistance had recently learned from a rebel spy on an important first order ship that said ship had been collecting significant amounts of data on the resistance, and were soon hoping to transmit that data to a more central base.

the spy had gone on, stating that if there was a way to shut down the servers in the main control room of the ship, the data would be corrupted and would be useless.

there's a pregnant pause after the delivery of this information, and she swallows before speaking.

"what - um, what exactly do you want me - us - to do?" poe's role may seem somewhat self-evident - as in, flying a passenger onto the ship or jetting them out - but her own contribution was a bit more dubious.

after all, this seemed a mission best suited for the few technical analysts on the base, as opposed to the mechanic that she was, if it included corrupting intel and shutting down servers. truly, she didn't know what the first thing about that.

the general, ever so observant, smiles lightly as she understands her question. the comms leader responds for her.

"the spy has mentioned that the core system and servers are held in an old compartment - a remnant of the original empire - and, thus, much of the system is reliant on old, though complex, circuitry." she inhales deeply, better realizing her stake in this. the other person continues, "as one of our best mechanics and - obviously - our best pilot-" okay, that stung a little bit, and the smug little grin on his face definitely didn't help, "myself and the general believe it best we run a covert operation: you will sneak onto the ship, make it to the servers, destroy them, and then come back. it's a bit technically challenging, but the likes of the two of you should ensure a smooth operation."

as they finish speaking, she can feel her heart going a mile a minute - unable to believe that she - she! - was going to try and play super-spy and sneak onto a massive first order ship. she was sure poe now realized her shock, as he gave her a small reassuring nod.

it wasn't particularly reassuring, though.

they were then told that time was of the essence, and that it would be best that they leave as soon as possible. they were told to recruit another pilot and mechanic, in the case of a back-up that may exist on the ship, before being given stolen first order uniforms, correct to their assignments.

as she headed back to the flight bay, poe and the comms leader in front of her, she felt a strange, nervous churn in her stomach. she mulled over who she'd choose as the secondary mechanic, but realized the answer was - quite literally - staring her in the face.

rose joins her at the entrance of the flight bay, curious as to why she'd been called in, and, as she recounts the meeting, she posits the position to her friend. as one of the most competent mechanics she knew, but also someone who knew how to think quick on her feet, she knew that she'd be a great fit.

rose agrees in a heartbeat - her loyalty to both her friend and the resistance unwavering against the fearful mission.

she walks further up the flight bay and, upon seeing dameron similarly speaking to finn - likely to convince him as well - she joins him, now intent on how exactly they would find a ship that would go undetected by the first order.

the general - having planned ahead - had an answer for that as well, taking the four out into a forest clearing behind the main base. two large tie/sf-fighters stood, just slightly battered, on the lush greens of the ground. they're in decent condition, she supposes, for what she knew were likely captured or shot down ships by d'qar's defense system.

they're each handed earpieces, going to guide them as they entered the first order ship, and they are waved off as she and poe enter one of them, while rose and finn enter the other.

"everyone ready?" the crackling of the comms for the mission - led by a lovely ex-bounty hunter called pala - came through, as she adjusted into the gunner's seat, and poe into the pilot's. rose answers first, a chipper 'yes' coming through between the other 4 devices. she nods to no one, as though she were really just trying to convince herself.

"as we'll ever be," she mumbles, owing to a grunt of agreement from finn. taking the answers into consideration, pala transmits the coordinates of the ship to poe and finn.

both vehicles rumble as they lift up off the ground, and she feels herself white-knuckling her seat as she anticipates the flight.

as they reach the range of the ship, poe flies ahead, surveying the entrance and - by extension - the exit points. she hears a deep voice crackle through poe's earpiece, but she can hear it echo along the narrow walkway separating her and the pilot as well. it lists off - what she presumes - is the plane's serial number, and she holds her breath as she waits for poe's response to the question, "what business do you have here?"

"the admiral sent us in for reintegration - i've got a deserter on board." she lets out a gasp at the answer he'd chosen, blatantly throwing her on the bus, but the approving echo left her annoyance to a minimum as, at least, he seemed to have bought it.

they begin lowering down into the ship's flight bay, and, before she can even stand up all the way after it becomes stationary, poe's behind her, helping her up. she doesn't know if she should thank him, but decides that she should definitely not, when she finds him grabbing both her wrists and pinning them - though gently - behind her back.

"the hell? what're you doing?" her words come out more shaky than she maybe intended, but he'd really taken her by surprise.

"you're a deserter, remember. can't exactly take you in like we're the best of friends." his tone is sarcastic and she scoffs, rolling her eyes.

"they only think that because that's what you said." he doesn't dignify her with a response, honestly making her more agitated. he opens the door of the sf-fighter and tightens his grip for a moment, as the two of them are greeted by what looked to be a colonel. it's confirmed as they near him, his nameplate engraved with the title, and poe nods at him - a little too comfortable.

"they caught this one trying to flee three days ago." he gestures to her, and the unrelated sour expression on her face was definitely helping his case. the colonel nodded, looking at her with the utmost disgust.

"and she will be reprimanded accordingly. bring her to the cell bay." poe nods, pushing her lightly as he continues forward.

"you're a good actor." she can feel his goading smirk, and she shakes her head.

"i hate you."

as they enter further into the ship, he finally releases her, their clothes helping them blend in as crew members. her fingers find her earpiece, ensuring it was on, as she spoke into it.

"rose, finn? you guys get in alright?" there's a beat of silence, and her worry grows strikingly, but it quells just as quickly when she hears the familiar tone of finn's voice in her ear.

"we're fine - heading down to the storage to find those back-ups." she glances at poe, who nods at her, before speaking.

"alright - we'll meet near the flight bay after." finn and rose both agree.

pala begins speaking a few minutes later, guiding them through the base as they reach the server room. poe keeps look-out as she crouches beside the large, cylindrical structure. circuits surround it in an orderly manner, but she can tell the ancientness of it - dust floating around, pooling around every crevice.

she reaches into her deep pockets, procuring a small screw before closely eyeing the intricacies, and getting to work.

poe's eyes flit between her frame and the hallway right outside, keenly watching for stormtroopers, and praying that none would come. he feels himself blank for a moment, not used to feeling so helpless - or, at least, not the one taking charge of a solution for a situation. he resigns himself, though, to simply waiting, gripping his blaster tightly as he waits for her to finish.

finally, she stands back up, watching the lights on the server begin flicking on and off rapidly and sporadically, owing her to believe that she'd done something right, and that the information contained was - at least - corrupted due to the circuitry she'd just purposefully fucked up.

she's by his side in a moment, peering out as well to see if they had any company. for a beat, there's nothing, and they think they have the all clear, until she hears rose's voice.

"shit!" her eyes widen at the exclamation, and they both immediately leave the room, heading back in the direction of the flight bay.

"rose? what happened, are you guys alright?" there's an eerie silence, as rose nor finn reach to communicate back through their earpieces.

"-over here! poe, we gotta head back, they're right on us!" finn's voice comes though, finally, but it does nothing to quell the pair's heightened worry.

"wait - finn, they'll chase after you - wait till we-" poe begins.

"we don't have time!" rose's voice is frantic, and the sound of blasters surround it. her eyes squeeze shut as she breathes deeply.

"rose - okay, get out of here. we're right behind you." there's no confirmation from the other end, but she tries not to let that deter her as she and poe continue towards the flight bay.

there's a smattering of patrolling stormtroopers, but her sharp ears and his sharper reflexes keep them from being caught as they slink along the shadows, tattooed to the walls of each hallway.

the large hangar finally comes into view, and they can see the familiar sf-fighter exiting it, evidently being chased by single-manned tie-fighters.

knowing they were unlikely not to be caught in this last stretch, they flee the short distance between the secluded entryway and their awaiting ship, with her rapidly beating against the button to open the door as poe covered her, keeping those whose attention they'd drawn at ever-decreasing bay with his calculated shots.

finally, the panel lowered, and they swapped positions, her shoddy shots managing to continue slowing them down as poe seats himself in the pilot's seat.

no sooner than had the panel closed upon itself are they up in the air, and she desperately straps herself into the gunner's seat, knowing she had to put her limited knowledge of the position to any use. the entrance to the hangar is rapidly closing as the colonel from earlier can be heard through the ship's comms, desperately trying to keep the pair trapped within the base.

she can feel her back imprint against her seat as poe speeds the vehicle up, just narrowly exiting the snapping jaws of the base's exit. as she takes the smallest breath of relief, does it disappear once more.

"'re you guys out? we could do with some help!" finn's voice evidenced that he was trying to keep his cool, but the fear in it was also obvious. poe's responding in a heartbeat.

"we're there in a second!" she can feel the ship begin climbing as poe checked the scanner for any other vehicles. finally, they see the sf-fighter, being narrowly tailed by two tie-fighters. poe - true to his word - comes between the forces in a heartbeat, almost dancing with the tie-fighters as he weaves between the both of them. she feels dizzy at the quick movements, but suppresses the urge to pass out and grips harder at the armrests.

"finn - get outta here, i have them!" poe's speaking through the comms once more and, as he finishes his sentence, the ship's horizontal, peeling away from finn and rose - the tie-fighters hot on his trails, evidently disgruntled by the flashy flying. finn doesn't wait a second, activating the hyperdrive and inputting the coordinates of d'qar.

on the other side of the galaxy, poe's still leading the two tie-fighter's away, but the shitty ship is impeding his ability to duck and weave like he could in his x-wing.

"'m gonna need your help here!" she jolts awake at the request, realizing that she needs to man her station. her eyes desperately flit over the various buttons, before she grips the aim stick. her eyes are trained against the tie-fighter directly tailing them, and she centers it in her view, before aggressively hitting the button to shoot.

and, it's a narrow miss. she curses, trying to refocus, but a dread begins creeping up her gut.

"i don't know what i'm doing, dameron - get us out of here!" it's an order, but, really who was she to order him around.

"we've got this - we can take 'em out." she's used to his confidence and belief in himself, but she knew they truly couldn't.

"will you just-" seeing another clear shot, she takes it. it goes a bit better, with it hitting the end of one of the fighter's wings, causing the ship to dip to one side. her worry is soothed as she celebrates the small victory to herself.

then, as though a higher power was absolutely fucking with her, it all goes to shit.

she feels the ship rumble and heave sharply as she hears a loud crash, and she whips her head around, trying to find the source of it. she desperately grips at the aim stick, trying to keep it steady and ready to fire again, but she doesn't have a moment to use it when another loud blast and creak is heard.

"shit!" her eyes widened at poe's exclamation.

"what the hell just happened - whad'ya mean-?" her words are cut off due to the wind being knocked out of her as she's slammed against one of her armrests.

"we're going - fuck - the engine's been hit - hold on-" his words are breathless against the comms, and she can hear the exertion of effort by the grunts that carry through the hallway. she grips the armrests for dear life as she waits to see what would happen. she can feel the ship make a sharp turn and, behind them, the tie-fighters trail behind a little, as if they were playing with their prey.

"what're we doing?" her fear is evident in her tone, and her voice is a bit croaky in her heightened confusion.

"i'm trying to set us down on that planet over there." she can't see it, looking out from the back of the ship, but she knows that can't be the best idea in their current state. though, seeing the creeping tie-fighters makes it seem like there's no other choice.

she can see as they enter the atmosphere, hearing the shrill whistle of wings singeing on impact. then, she closes her eyes, bracing for impact as the both of them sit in anticipating silence. she's thinking we're going too fast, the ship's gonna blow up with me in it - god fucking dammit-

and that's the last thing she remembers.

he wakes up to a mouthful of dirt, bent very awkwardly over the semi-buried dashboard of the sf-fighter. his window's broken open, and the sun - or suns? - is blinding through it. he blinks aggressively, his vision swimming a spotty as he spits the gunk out of his mouth, wiping his lips against his fucked jacket sleeve. there's enough of a space between the ground and the glass of his window pane for him to just about crawl through, feeling the heavy impact on his legs from the crash. he looks around, desperately wondering where the hell he was.

it's a grassy planet, filled with lush vegetation and small ponds and lakes. the ship was half-sticking out of one, and his pants legs are soaking wet, the skin of his fingertips pruned. he can feel a sharp sting of pane every time he moves his foot and, peeling back the end of the sopping cloth, sees the discolored swelling of his ankle - having been sprained or twisted in the crash. he lets his head fall back - could have been worse, a lot worse.

he looks up at the looming, though destroyed figure of the sf-fighter, and, seeing the other end balanced precariously above the ground. for a moment, he doesn't pay it much attention - until he remembers.

his shoddy ankle sings in agony as he makes large, limping steps towards the other end of the ship, realizing that he didn't yet know the fate of his other passenger - his mechanic.

of course, in the recess of his mind, he had a guess. but he couldn't entertain it.

finally getting to the end. he peers in to see if she was okay. he's panting heavily, desperately trying to ignore the pain as he focused on using the little light on this side to look through the broken glass. he could see her legs, bent a little awkwardly - but not broken - and he traces them up to her head and torso - which was tightly strapped against the seat. it was the only thing keeping her from falling onto the floor, and her heads hanging. she's definitely not conscious, and he can't help but feel his heart sink as he steps closer - ankle be damned - reaching through the broken glass to unstrap her. when he does, her body flops forward - as he believed it would - a bit like a ragdoll and, though the angle definitely didn't help, he did his best to pull her out. when he could finally observe her in the sunlight, he could feel his chest swell in relief at the movement of her chest up and down. pulling her towards him, he could feel her breath against his neck.

so relieved, he doesn't realize, for a moment, the shallowness of those breaths, and the dampness of the cloth around her shoulder. when he does, though, he desperately removes the fabric. he winces at the sight, having to look away for a moment, before looking back down to observe the extent of her injury.

her upper arm got a long, deep gash, and the blood from it had soaked through her sleeve. not wasting a moment, he slides the sleeves of his own jacket off, tearing a thick, long strap from the t-shirt he wore under it. he wraps it as tightly as he can manager around her arm to staunch any further bleeding, hoping it wasn't too late, and trying desperately to ignore the small whimpers or stuttered breaths that she let out at the action.

he rises to his feet, a difficult task, in his condition, and notices a small shade of trees just a bit away from the pair. breathing deeply - almost in an effort to will away his pain - he grabs her good arm and pulls it over his shoulder, hoping his good leg wouldn't give out, as he makes his way there.

she wakes up in a cold sweat, looking up to see the large leaves of a tree under the backdrop of an orange sky. she scrambles to sit up in a moment, unable to fully comprehend her surroundings. her heart's going a mile a minute, her body entering fight or flight mode, before she hears his voice.

"you're alright - you're good. m'here." she recognizes his voice more quickly than she'd maybe be willing to admit and, when she goes to turn to the source of it, she feels a scream of agony in her arm. her sharp grunt of pain is louder than she maybe had hoped, but fuck - did her arm hurt, "yeah - uh, you've got a bad cut." his voice is soft, as if he were trying to lull her into a sense of calm.

it worked. for a moment.

until she remembered what happened. the tie-fighters, her pleads to go the hyperspace, the engine failing, the jolt of the impact of the straps holding her body in place, the blood in her hair from the open wound on her arm, her head going blank and her passing out from the pain.

she remembered all of it. including what he'd said.

'we've got this'

there's a lump in her throat, and she desperately tries to swallow it down as she stares vehemently at the dirt under her. she refuses to look up at him, and hopes he realizes why.

"do - does anyone know we're here?" her voice is more broken than she'd hoped it was but - fuck, she was scared. she can see him shrug in her peripheral.

"i'm sure they'll find us." she sighs deeply, turning away to the extent that she can. there's a calm, though cold, silence between them, before she can hear him sharply inhale.

"helluva trip, huh?" there's a jokey cadence to his voice, and it takes her a moment to actually process what he's said, his casual tongue actually igniting a rageful fire in her.

"what?" it's a whisper - backed by such an anger that she worries if she speaks louder, she'll scream.

"i'm just saying - pretty, uh, pretty crazy thing, right?" she shuts her eyes, and a small part of her brain knows that, at best, this is his way of making the best of a bad situation and, at worst, this is just some shit attempt at small talk. but - be it his words in the past, or the pain of her arm, or maybe even just the fact that all she could hear was his confident words like a low buzz in her ears since she remembered what he'd said - she was furious.

"yeah - it's fucking insane how i'm lightheaded because of all the blood i lost, and how i can't move a centimeter without wanting to cut my arm off, and how i can feel the bruises forming where the straps kept me from splitting my skull open on my broken window. it's a helluva experience." her words are softer than she'd thought they would be, but she knew if she was any louder, she may have screamed at him until her lungs collapsed or her throat gave out - whichever came later.

she doesn't have to turn back to see the expression on his face, and, truly she feels a bit shit for lashing out at him.

but she was on a random fucking planet with a mangled fucking arm and her only company was a pilot with no fucking plane.

so, excuse her for the outburst.

"i-" poe's stammering behind her, but she can't hear it, as her vision swims when she tries to get on her feet. she can see the ship in the distance, and knowing that it was her best bet at company right now, she trudges towards it, "where're you going?"

she doesn't dignify him with an answer.

when she finally reaches the large structure, she situates herself against the pilot's dashboard, gently kicking away the broken glass as she tentatively crouches down. she looks over the panel, hoping that at least one of the comms was still working. she procures her screwdriver with her good arm - well, technically not, but at least it didn't hurt all that much to move - before lightly tapping the back of it against any and all of the buttons, seeing if anything worked.

her arm now had a dull, thrumming pain, and she desperately tried to ignore it as she focuses on identifying what the comms were. she traces over a panel that seems to be promising, pulling the screwdriver towards it to see if she could meddle with any of the circuitry under it to get it to work - however briefly.

pulling it up, she realizes both the awkwardness of her position, and of her grip on the tool, unused to using this hand for it. her muscles ached, her arm ached, her temples ached as she desperately tried to slot the head of the tool into the screw, failing once, twice, thrice, before dropping the tool with a groan of anguish.

she's heaving - no, sobbing, feeling the liquid of her tears roll down her cheeks. she slumps against the glass, palming her cheeks as she desperately tried to muffle her exhausted weeping, only the sound of her small hiccups escaping.

she hated getting like this - crying out in the open, and she only reserved the ordeal for true upsets. though, this was one of them. she was so tired, and in so much pain, and she'd just been so horrible to poe as well - when he'd just tried to lighten her mood.

through the blood rushing in her ears and the motion of her hiccups, she doesn't realize the heavy thuds of poe's limping steps. she only realizes when he's in front of her, blocking the dimming sunlight from her eyes, and she covers her face entirely, not wanting to see her in this state.

he doesn't comment, though, only falling to his own haunches before sitting beside her, granting a respectful silence and, more importantly, friendly contact.

she swallows harshly as she forces her hiccups down. she doesn't look at him, worried it'd make her start up again, but he knows she's not uncomfortable with him there.

taking her good hand, he gently drops an opened bag of nuts. she looks at it, a bit confused.

"always keep 'em on me. emergency snack." he says it so casually and, it being contrasted with the slight childishness of the information, makes her crack the hint of a smile.

maybe she was hysterical.

"- hope they'll make you feel better." he continues, and she nods, popping one in her mouth and absorbing the mild, sweet taste.

"thanks - thanks." she mumbles, and they're quiet for another moment.

she hands them back to her, and, in that moment of contact, he notices her cold skin. he glances over her, realizing her thin top without a sleeve, and he shrugs off his jacket. it's a bit mucked up from the crash, but it's better than nothing.

tentatively, he moves a bit closer to her, gently placing the material around her, careful of her arm. still she winces - but only for a moment. really, she's more confused.

"what're you doing?" she whispers, and he's close enough to hear her now.

"you're cold." he's not wrong, but she still protests.

"and you?" he smiles.

"well, i'm pretty hot-headed. i'll be fine." it's a joke, and she really wants to laugh at it, but she can't help but feel bad once again for her words. taking it differently, poe continues solemnly. “i’m sorry.”

it’s a quiet mumble into the still air. it sounds foreign, coming from his mouth, as he tries to fit the extent of how apologetic and shitty he feels into the fleeting, overused phrase. she stays quiet, the only noise being her soft exhales.

“i - i know.” she mumbles back, unsure of what more to say. of course he was - he’d never intended for this. nonetheless, he’d been subject to her own emotions, to an unjustifiable degree, “i am, too.”

his contemplative expression returns a smile instead, now, and she finally turns to look at him.

"i'll buy us a drink when we get back, okay?" he offers, making her scoff.

"you're so great at apologies." he shrugs, as though it's obvious fact, and not a light jab.

"then what about dinner?" her eyes widen a little at the proposition, and she's speechless for a moment. then, she snorts, pushing her good hand across his face and playfully pushing him.

"get us out of here; then, we can talk about dinner." he smiles widely under her palm, and laughs as she takes her hand off. he leans back just that bit further against the metal, and the readjustment causes the dashboard to shift just slightly.

a small item comes rolling down, and falls right in his lap. he grasps at it and, realizing what it is, his eyes widen. he brandishes it in between the both of them, and she also realizes: it's his earpiece.

he gently presses the input button, and immediately starts calling out for finn, rose or pala. they wait a moment, with baited breath.

"poe - kriff, we thought you were dead!" finn's voice is unmistakable, and the revelation makes the pair's spirits soar.

in no less than a couple minutes were the told that a ship was coming by to collect them, and, as the earpiece's output stops for the moment, she rests more peacefully against the destroyed ship, and he mirrored her movements.

"so, about that dinner?"

#poe dameron #poe dameron oneshot #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron fluff #poe dameron angst #star wars #star wars sequel trilogy #oscar isaac #reckless abandon

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chainofhyrule · 10 months

Text

My Star

There were many so-called “simple pleasures” the Deity had given up hoping for, long ago. Those pleasures, it seemed back then, would forever evade his company. His only remaining hopes had been dashed over the long course of his imprisonment. He never pictured he’d have much of a life of his own, let alone a happy one, where he wasn't ever only needed as a weapon of war. Nor could he have imagined he’d ever be anything but just that; a mere tool made for destruction of mass proportions. Centuries spent as a weapon of war had sharpened his blade yet dulled his spirits, and he’d long ago convinced himself that this was it. That this was all there was to him. He’d even stopped seeing it as a problem.

…But then he met you.

You, so kind, so warm, and so gentle with him in every way, despite his lumbering size and threatening demeanour. Despite everything he was, and had been up to that point. He knew, and so did you, that all it would take was a flick of the wrist, and someone could get hurt, even if only unintentionally. When asked if that frightened you, you’d responded with a smile, and held his hand in yours with warmth entirely foreign to him. Yet it was not unwelcomed.

‘I trust that you wouldn’t, though. Even though you can…I trust that you wouldn’t.’

How the Deity’s heart leaped at the sincerity of your statement, at the time, was far beyond him. You were so small compared to him, so seemingly fragile in his hands. He was afraid to touch you at all for many days after his meeting you, for fear that he would mistakenly harm you. How could something as small and precious as you hold up to a god designed for war? Such a thought that you’d even be capable of such a thing had evaded him.

…Until he saw you in battle.

You belonged, he knew, with the gods. There was no changing his mind on the matter. The Deity even had to convince himself many times that he was not watching a dance or a show, but a fight. Your movements were so carefully precise, so fluid in delivery, and so graceful in execution, he couldn’t help but watch in sheer awe of your divine skills. You were the perfect epitome of beauty and strength, grace and skill. Your blade, barely even visible as you swung it, cut down enemies with such swiftness he had to wonder if you were secretly a deity yourself. However, he knew fate to be much less than kind, especially to you.

Your years would pass in the blink of an eye for the Deity, and he cursed the cruel hand of fate for such an atrocity. Without even so much as another second thought, he found himself wishing he hadn’t even wasted those precious days following your chance meeting, unwilling to even accept your walking beside him for the fear of somehow hurting you. Now, there was nothing he found himself wanting more than to have you by his side, every single day, while he still had you.

From that day forward, the Deity admits he tried forging some kind of connection. With you. He noticed you growing more bold in attempting a bond between yourself and him as well, and he was more than accepting of your affections. For instance, the Deity liked to say that he didn’t require much, so he scarcely ate at meals, if at all. You didn’t seem to take well to that. You even went so far as to force a bowl or plate in his hands, sitting pressed against him in some way to encourage him to eat. All he could think about in those times was how warm you felt against him, and how small, but he knew your capabilities. He always finished his helping.

You cared about him. He quickly found himself reciprocating that care, for you. So now, comparing himself now from the days following your meet, felt so…surreal. So…impossibly, wonderfully true.

He had his back against a tree, sitting straight against it, with your cosy form nestled into the space he’d created for you by crossing his legs. The group of heroes had stopped in a small clearing along the road for the night, after a long day of trying to make it through a field of monster camps. The one called ‘Wild’ was cooking something in an iron pot, with the one called ‘Four’ helping to cut a few things for him. The one called ‘Wind’ was drawing with a stick in the dirt close by. The others each sat somewhere around the clearing, sleeping, or performing weapon or armour maintenance. You, however, seemed content to sit in the Deity’s lap, back against his chest, nose in a book.

The Deity couldn't help but notice how perfectly you fit in his embrace, his body surrounding yours like a living frame. You were so comfortable here, and so at peace. Soft sounds of entertainment left you every so often, from the book or from the group’s antics. Your laughter in response to some of their stories was perhaps the most divine sound he’d ever heard, and though he wished it were him bringing you such joy, he was glad to be here for the sound of it.

Perhaps it was uncalled for, but the Deity had a thought. You were cuddled so naturally against him, the scent of your shampoo—and what he assumed to be the worn pages of your book—assaulted his senses in all the best ways. You were the only thing on his mind, as you would always be. He wanted to somehow express his own content, as he was not always best with his words. You seemed to enjoy his touch, always reaching for it, even in the beginning.

The Deity hummed to himself, and hunched just slightly to wrap his arms around your waist. His chin rested on your shoulder, his nose nuzzling into the crook of your neck. Your startled little yelp amused him, though it caught the attention of the rest of the group. The Deity couldn’t bring himself to care much, however, as he had you.

You, so kind, so warm, and so gentle with him in every way. Should he not at least attempt to reciprocate those attributes? He wanted you to know how grateful he was to you, even if he couldn’t find ways to say it. You were worth every attempt, he thought—that, and anything and everything he could possibly give you. He’d gift you the very stars in the sky above if he could, until you beheld to him a galaxy in your eyes.

“Everything okay, Fierce?” you asked him softly, your book forgotten as you placed it on the ground at your feet. The Deity hummed again, into your neck, sending vibrations down your back. He noticed a slight shiver travel against his chest in return. How interesting.

“I am only making myself comfortable, my star.”

A breathy sound then left your lips, resembling a cross between a light chuckle and a happy exhale. He hoped he hadn’t startled you too much, but you’d surprised him when your hand reached up behind you to cup his jaw, and you twisted your neck to kiss his cheek in a lingering press. A great warmth flooded his chest at the simple gesture, spreading down to his fingertips in a curious phenomenon. One he’d never felt before, but longed to feel again.

When your lips left his cheek, he was perplexed to find how cold his skin felt in their absence. He resisted the urge to touch his fingers to the spot, instead clasping his hands around you.

“Fierce?”

Your voice sounded small. Perhaps it was to keep the others from listening, so he acknowledged you with an equally soft tone.

“Yes, star?”

He heard you exhale quietly, observing the way your cheeks pulled from behind—a sign you were smiling. He wished he could see it.

“Why do you call me your star?” you asked him, your hand falling from his jaw to brush against his hands across your waist. “It’s sweet.”

The Deity took a moment to consider his words, and looked up towards the night sky far above. He had so many things he wished to tell you about his choice of endearment, but struggled to find a way to express them. Eventually, he opted for simple honesty.

“Because, my love, before I had met you, my world only ever consisted of darkness. Confined to a mask, used only as a method of protection against foes of terrible sorts. When not of use, all I endured was a lightless and lonely shadow.” He buried his nose in your hair as he continued to speak, speaking quietly so the others—namely, his previous host—could not hear him. “Until I met you. You, my shining star, became my light—my beacon of guidance—leaving smaller stars in your wake for me to follow. You’ve given me hope for something…far greater than I’d previously thought possible. For that, I shall be forever grateful.”

The Deity took careful notice of your stillness, and leaned to try and get a look at your face. Had he frightened you somehow? He wanted to somehow explain that frightening you was not his intention. The last thing he wanted was to scare you away.

He expected your silence, perhaps not in this context however, but not the sudden strain of movement against his arms around you, as though you were trying to leave. The Deity felt his heart sink, his head feeling oddly heavy on his shoulders, but removed his hands to allow you to go. Even if every muscle in his body longed for you to stay. He would not force you.

He perhaps expected you to run to one of the others, maybe distance yourself from him. If that was your wish, he’d accept it, if somewhat reluctantly. He really didn’t expect you to only turn into him, your arms raising to hug his neck.

“You’re not alone here,” he heard you whisper into his ear, as you hugged him tighter. He didn’t want to move. “I won’t let you be.”

Any doubts clouding his mind cleared way for you, lining your path to his heart with warmth, and the Deity didn’t know how much more he could take before he really scared you away.

You held no shame in your actions, straddling his lap as you held onto his neck, your face buried in the crook of it. Your breath was so warm against his skin, your touch electric. Everything about you clouded his senses, but he’d be the last to wish it away. This was the closest you’d ever brought yourself to him, and the Deity hugged around your back to keep you there as long as he could. Strong arms supported you against him, and if any of the others had anything to say about the display, they kept it to themselves. He’d likely have ignored them anyway.

He had you. You were here, and you weren’t going anywhere. You had his heart in your hands, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit he was weak for you. He longed to have your heart, and he hoped this was a step in the right direction.

That, he thought, would be the greatest treasure imaginable.

(Tap here to return to Masterlist)

#Fierce Deity #Fierce Deity x Reader #x Reader #Legend of Zelda #chainofhyrule #former Ignis post

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odinsblog · 1 year

Text

In the coming days/weeks, you’re going to hear a lot about how Ukraine should accept the terms of surrender (as that’s what they are) offered by Russia—how they’d be “stupid” not to, how Zelenskyy should “do the right thing for his people” and prioritize saving lives, how peace should be the priority and we can’t always get what we want.

Make no mistake: even if Russia intends to uphold these terms once Zelenskyy accepts them, this is a terrible deal for Ukraine and a terrible deal for the world.

First of all, there’s no guarantee that Russia will respect a cease fire or peace treaty. Obviously that’s always the case with war, but it’s especially the case when they’ve already violated multiple cease fire agreements by firing on and murdering evacuating civilians, including children. So there’s your peace treaty.

Second, the terms that Russia has presented include virtually all of Putin’s actual goals for this illegal invasion (obviously “de-Nazification” and “de-militarization” were just lies à la “weapons of mass destruction,” a rhetorical tactic that really ought to be familiar to any self-respecting American leftist). Ukraine would forfeit its claim on the territories Russia has already illegally annexed/recognized, it would be forced to change its constitution (!!!) to commit to never joining any “pacts” (EU, NATO, anything else that forms in the future), and it would retain Zelenskyy as a figurehead while installing a pro-Russian actual government leadership.

This is—and I cannot stress this enough—not a “compromise” or a “peace treaty.” It’s terms of surrender. And the lesson learned here is that Russia can continue invading and terrorizing sovereign states without any actual consequences—remember, Putin doesn’t personally care about Western sanctions. He doesn’t care if his people are plunged into poverty as long as he and his cronies aren’t, and they won’t be. He’s furious about the sanctions because he finds them personally offensive and because they confirm his victim complex, not because he’s legitimately worried for his people like Zelenskyy is.

Third, and perhaps most importantly, Putin has made it extremely clear that he seeks to rebuild a Russian empire. He will not stop with Crimea, Luhansk, and Donetsk. (And make no mistake—Luhansk and Donetsk are not independent sovereign states like Ukraine; they’re simply Russian satellites.) He will not stop with forced regime change in Belorus, Georgia, Syria, and Ukraine. (And even if he did—isn’t that awful enough?) He is not “concerned about Russia’s security” or “worried about NATO’s encroachment” or whatever his extensive social media operation has you believing. He’s not concerned or worried about anything. He’s a dictator expanding his empire. He is exactly what you all feared Trump was.

I believe that this “offer” from Russia to Ukraine serves two purposes, and neither of them is to establish a lasting peace and autonomy for each country. One is to give Putin a potential way to back out of a war that has already gone much worse than he expected and cost him significantly in terms of personnel and equipment. (Not the sanctions—like I said, I don’t think he personally cares about the sanctions and in fact sees them as a political tool to use to his advantage.)

The second and more important goal is to create a way for the international community to blame Ukraine for the continued war. “If you’d just accept the terms, you could save your people and prevent nuclear war.” It’s absolutely classic DARVO tactics that, again, any progressive activist should be familiar with. “Sure, it’s not your fault he attacked you, but you shouldn’t have reported it, made a big deal of it, gotten him ‘cancelled,’ made it public, etc.”

It’s not Ukraine’s responsibility to “prevent nuclear war.” Ukraine gave up its nuclear weapons in exchange for protection—protection that it has not received, although Western aid and military assistance has undoubtedly been helpful. Placing responsibility on Ukraine to accept unjust terms and illegal annexation of its land in order to “prevent nuclear war” only lends credence to the claim that only nuclear weapons can keep a country truly safe—after all, it would mean that Putin’s nuclear threats have allowed him to invade his neighbors, terrorize their citizens, destroy their resources, replace their democratically elected leaders with his own puppets, and steal their land—without even having to make any concessions himself.

So here’s my plea to my American progressive/leftist siblings. Please question what you think you know about Putin, Russia, and Ukraine. There are certainly far-right and neo-Nazi political forces in Ukraine as there are in any country, but Zelenskyy is a progressive, democratically elected JEWISH president. NATO and the EU have their (serious) issues, but they have not pressured or forced any former Soviet states to join—in fact, prior to this war, it seemed unlikely that Ukraine would be admitted. Ukraine WANTED to join to protect itself from Russia, which had already illegally annexed its land, empowered far-right groups within its borders, and forced regime changes in surrounding countries.

Putin is not an anti-imperialist revolutionary; he denounces American imperialism because it’s convenient for him politically and it keeps the American left from putting pressure on our government to divest from Russia. Sure, maybe the Democrats oversold Russian election hacking as an explanation for Trump’s win (although the more I learn about the extent of Russia’s disinfo campaign, the more I question this common leftist talking point), but that doesn’t mean that Putin isn’t bent on conquering Eastern Europe and subduing Western powers by any means necessary. This goes far beyond American electoral politics, and the answers here do not conform to American party lines. Do not fall into the trap of dismissing politicians’ statements about Putin and Russia just because you disagree with the rest of their stances.

Putin is a dictator. Sometimes it really is that simple. A former KGB agent, he came to power by staging the modern Russian version of the Reichstag fire (look up “Russian apartment bombings”), using that as an excuse to start a war and win it, and he has maintained his power through strong-arming and terror. The State Duma is entirely symbolic at this point; anyone who goes against Putin knows that they are likely not only to die, but to die horribly, just like Alexei Navalny almost did not long ago (look up “Novichok” and prepare yourself for some body horror).

I could go on. I won’t right now. But in truth, I deeply regret the fact that I haven’t done more over the past 8 or so years to disrupt the blatant Putinist propaganda I hear from a lot of my fellow progressives. I had other priorities and I didn’t give it the attention I should’ve. To be clear: nothing America or American progressives could’ve done would’ve stopped this war, only delayed it or hastened it. The war was inevitable because Putin wants to conquer Ukraine, and beyond.

So I’ll just say—please, please listen to people who fled Russia/the Soviet Union, and to experts who study Russia. The most likely threat here isn’t a nuclear WWIII; this isn’t about you. The thing people like me fear most is simply that Putin will continue subjugating, terrorizing, and ultimately conquering innocent citizens of sovereign states, and that the West will eventually just accept this as the price of nuclear deterrence.

I’m not a political scientist; I don’t know how to stop this war. All I know is that Ukrainian surrender isn’t it. Listen to Ukrainians, anti-Putin Russians, and other experts, form your own opinion, and most importantly, keep your wits about you. Not everyone in this world is a good faith negotiating partner. Some people are, unfortunately, just evil. Hitler was, Stalin was, Putin is.

(source)

#politics #tankies #ukraine #budapest memorandum #russia #darvo #russian imperialism #russian colonialism #russia is a terrorist state #darvo putin #vladimir putin #vladimir putin go fuck yourself #adolph putin #little putler

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beevean · 4 months

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It intrigues me that some of the most interestingly baffling takes I see about characterisations are on Gerald of all people. There seem quite a few takes here that he was irrevocably evil, rotten to the core, cackling manically as he hurt and damaged the being he'd brought into the world with no regard for Shadow's wellbeing, and so on and so forth. And that is barely putting it as graphically as the statements about all the "torture" "Shadow" "faced" on the ARK I have read before.

But to me, Gerald seems so incredibly heavily driven by love instead? He originally did not even want to create the Ultimate Lifeform, as he deemed it something humanity should not muddle with, but his love for Maria and desperation to save her life made him accept this burden. He very explicitly calls Shadow his son, tells him he's made a mistake with accepting Black Doom's help, and worked to ensure humanity had a defence against the Black Arms. He gave Emerl and Shadow a soul like Maria's, so that these weapons of mass destruction would never fight and only use their powers selflessly. In Battle, Rouge could not spell out more to the nose that he was researching ways to bring hope and happiness to people (similarly discussed by Shadow and Maria in SA2), but forced by those in power to use his creations for war instead. When Gerald goes insane, he himself talks about the fright it gave him, that he can only think about revenge. With the added complete lack of indication Shadow was ever mistreated in any way on the ARK, the idea of Gerald as some conniving bastard gleefully causing Shadow suffering (or even just somberly causing him suffering In The Name Of Science) holds no more water at all to me. He is not at all a flawless person, but until the point he learned he lost Maria, all his concerns were centered around the happiness of the world instead. And personally, I find the idea of a person driven by love to go insane because that love caused him to lose his most important person, which only then makes him hurt his other creation he earlier regarded as a son, a lot more interesting than someone who simply always was evil and disdainful of said creation and just regarded him as a tool to help someone else. Shadow was more to Gerald that just that, of that I am certain.

I'm very glad I did not encounter a single instance of what you saw :) but I don't doubt that some fans really headcanon Gerald as being cruel. After all, apparently some are going around painting Sonic & co. as monsters for not playing therapist for Neo Metal Sonic...

It makes sense. If a fan really wants to imagine that Shadow suffered like hell on the ARK, it goes without saying that in this interpretation Gerald was a bastard who didn't care about his creation.

Anyway, it is inconceivable to me to play SA2 or ShTH (not even including Battle as at this point I think only 5% of the current fandom even remembers it) and come away with the conclusion that Gerald didn't adore Maria and Shadow. But, well. I may have answered my own question :P

@skaruresonic did you see anything resembling this?

#sonic the hedgehog #gerald robotnik #villains motivated by love my beloved #and gerald being scared of his own insanity hurts #anyway i'm glad i never look into the sonic tag <3 #i actually tried now... mostly it's geraldoom lol #but yeah there are posts about shadow's angst and 'ark trauma' and how gerald didn't allow maria to call shadow 'brother'#okay

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the-punforgiven · 3 months

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Y'know, I do deeply love the standard Fighter Mage Rogue Healer style of fantasy party configuration, I do truly feel like more adventurers in fantasy should be like, some sort of hybrid caster tbh

Like, magic is all well and good, but sometimes you just don't have the time to perform some incantation or ritual to cast a spell in the heat of battle, and if you're on the other end of that, some times you just straight-up don't have the time to close distance before someone nails you with a magic missile or something

Plus, with things like Mage Armor, (provided your fantasy story doesn't have some sort of rule against pairing it with regular armor, and having it work like some sort of magical overshield or something) I feel like it could also partially justify some styles with weapons that'd be too big/heavy/impractical to use irl, letting the spell soak up hits that a big heavy weapon that forces you to overswing would give your opponent access to. Better yet, you could make use of some sort of retaliatory spell as well, anticipating someone to try and take advantage of your Big Fucking Sword's recovery and punishing it, while also giving you the raw destructive power of a crazy fuckhuge sword to boot

Also like, I know I touched on it earlier, but I CANNOT understate the importance of Small Magic Projectile That Buys You Time To Close Distance, if you're like me and was The One Who Was Stuck With The Sword during your friend group's nerf wars, you probably know already the advantages of something small you can just whip at people whole you close distance

Or like, if you play Elden Ring while and happen to enjoy using Magic Glintblade the fun way

Edit: ALTERNATIVELY YOU COULD ALSO JUST TELEPORT, I GENUINELY DID NOT THINK OF THAT WHEN I WAS MAKING THIS POST THE FIRST TIME

But even then, it doesn't even have to be a particularly strong of even 'good' spell, doesn't even have to actually deal damage, just has to be enough to buy you a couple steps worth of time, and that's all you need sometimes

Plus, having magic gives you a vast array of elemental tools to work with for any aspiring fighter, so if some lesser miniboss comes in gloating about how he's immune to physical damage you can just like, microwave him

Or, for a wizard fighting someone with magic immunity, bonk him on the noggin

And like, I get that narratively that's what having a full party of protags is for, to showcase each character's unique skills and abilities, but also like, in most fantasy worlds where magic is just like, a field of study, rather than some magic bloodline bullshit or whatever, there's literally nothing stopping any adventurer from doing both magic and melee in tandem

#Pun's text Posts #spellblade rights is what I'm saying basically

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gemini-magic17 · 6 months

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Entanglement Chapter Nineteen

It may have been only a week before Ser Easton arrived, but those were some of my life's loneliest days. Even though I had Calyx and the others I still longed for any kind of human interaction. The sound of the waves crashing amongst the rocks by the shore was soothing. It was so soothing that it put Calyx into a relaxed state as he laid his head on my lap.

From the stories I have heard and read about dragons on would think that they are just ferocious as well as destructive. Though from what I've seen they are just misunderstood and don't want to hurt anyone. Dragons may breathe fire and with that people see the harm and damage they could do. Yet, those rulers bound themselves to dragons by blood using magic. A dragon is not a tool or some kind of weapon that should be used for mass destruction against their will. Breaking me out of the rabbit hole my mind was going down I heard Ser Easton's footsteps approaching.

"If someone told me a couple of weeks ago that I would come face to face with a real-life dragon I wouldn't believe them", he said and I turned my head around to face him with a smile.

"I would have said the same thing", at that statement Calyx moved his head off my lap and started to ascend toward the skies. I got up from my current position and walked to him.

"How are you doing today", he asked.

"As good as one can be doing. Am I going to continue to feel like absolute shit about what I did", I asked.

"Don't worry about that. The feeling that you have right now is going to go away with time", he reassured me. I nodded my head and we made our way to the castle.

As we walked that way we stumbled across the golden-colored dragon I had met the day I arrived. The rest of the dragons that take up residence in Dristarya were all used in the Great War. Yet, when it comes to her she wasn't in any of the books. I mean there was no mention of her or a dragon with the same characteristics.

"Still haven't figured out where she came from have you", he questioned.

"No, and I'm starting to wonder if she was even used in the war. There is no mention of her in the books that I have read so far and nothing believes me to think that she was ever involved", I stated.

"Well if that's the case, where did she come from", he asked.

"I have no idea but if I had to guess I would say right here. She must have been hiding in those caves under the castle during that time. Thats the only logical thing I can think of", I said as I turned to look at her.

"That so then she doesn't have a name."

"Your right", I said and looked closely at her sleeping form.

"What are you going to name her then", he asked and it took me a minute before I could come up with the perfect name for her.

"Kylora. Her name will be Kylora."

"Kylora, it is a beautiful name. A beautiful name for a gorgeous dragon", he said with a smile. I returned his smile and we continued our path. We almost reached the castle doors when I stopped in my tracks and along with Ser Easton.

"Princess, what's wrong", he asked looking at me.

"I wanted to know if you would train me again", as I said those words his face of worry turned into one happiness.

"I thought you never ask. I have been waiting for this day to come but I have to ask are you sure you want to get back into this", he asked.

"I'm sure. What happened between my brother and I was a long time ago. My mother is not here to stop me from stopping me from doing something that I love. I know she just wanted to make sure this would never happen again but stopping this together was something she shouldn't have done", I said, and with that Ser Easton made his way inside to grab the swords while I waited outside.

**Ser Easton's POV

Grabbing the swords and making my way back to Y/n mulling over what she had asked of me brought joy. To know that she was ready to train again and that the fear she harbored about this had dissipated. As soon as I reached her I handed her a sword and we then made our descent to the clearing close to the beach.

"I want to ask you one more time before we continue. Are you sure you want to do this", I questioned and at that, she answered with a sly smile. Instead of answering the question she swung her sword at me almost making a slash on my chest as I stepped back.

"You were supposed to wait before I announced the beginning of training."

"You said so yourself when I was growing up that attacks come out of anywhere and your opponent won't wait until you are ready to do so", she said and ducked as my sword came close to the top of her head.

Y/n all of my attacks up until now as I tripped her and she landed on her side dropping her weapon. From what I can recall she still fights the same as she did growing up. However, something small has changed and it was the fire she held in her eyes as she delivered blow by blow.

"Not bad for someone who hasn't trained in over four years would you say", she laughed out of breathe as she laid on the ground.

"You are still somewhat rusty but you fight with such drive it is remarkable from what I have seen then as what I see now", I said extending my hand to her. She took my hand and as I helped her up the smile that came on her face was genuine.

"I guess you could say that recent developments have brought out that drive in me."

"No, it has always been there. It was just now that it decided to be relinquished."

**Kit's POV

The past few days have been hell! A storm had come the fourth day we were on the ship which almost caused it to sink. Boorman has been seasick this whole time which pisses me off. The constant sounds of him heaving and throwing up make me want to throw him overboard. Then of course there is Amara and the bitchness that she throws my way this entire time has been nonstop since we left Tir Asleen. Speak of the devil here she comes with the loud thuds of her boots across the deck.

"What do you want Amara", I said not looking at her.

"I just wanted to let you know what the captain has informed that in less than two days we will be in Dristarya", she said.

"Alright. If that's all go away your giving me a migraine", I said annoyed.

"You know what Kit I hope we do find Y/n not only to bring her home safe and sound. Bringing her home means that we will find out the reason she ran and I'm betting you are that reason. If so then I can't wait to see what her family is going to do to you, especially King Aiden", she said smirking then proceeded to walk towards the ships compartments.

What she had said rang in my head over and over again. I knew deep down that she was right about the fact I was the reason that Y/n left. I just don't understand why she did it after the wedding and not before. It would have made things easier for her she could have gone without any attachment to me. Instead, she waited and part of me couldn't help but think that she saw Jade and I in the armor. I'm just overthinking things she couldn't have seen the kiss that happened between Jade and I, right?

#kit tanthalos x reader #hazel callahan x reader #willow 2022 #kit tanthalos #willow fanfic #ruby cruz

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ladyloveandjustice · 4 months

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Fall 2023 Anime Overview: Pluto and Scott Pilgrim Takes Off

Pluto

Premise: Somebody- or something- is killing the most advanced robots in the world, along with humans involved with robots (either robot rights activists or scientists). Gesicht, a robot police detective, is trying to track this killer down. But has the detective himself been compromised? What is going on with these strange memories that keep appearing in his head?

Based on an arc in Osamu Tezuka's Astro Boy, this anime is a tense, tightly plotted robot murder mystery that kept me engrossed and invested. Stuff that deals with "android" rights can often feel cringey at best and insulting at worst, but Pluto avoids this by having a future where robots have already gotten their civil rights. It instead largely uses robots as a metaphor for being seen as a disposable tool in a corrupt system, for how if you resist being a weapon for violence and imperialism, those in power will either discard you or fear you. And it asks the question--can robots feel human emotions like hatred? What happens when they do?

Speaking of imperialism, there are some very obvious allusions to the Iraq War in this and I mean obvious like the "United States of Thracia" stars a war with the "Kingdom of Persia" under the pretense of finding "robots of mass destruction". The anime is deeply sympathetic to the, uh, Kingdom of Persia (and very accurate about how much the United States of "Thracia's" government sucks and is imperialistic), but it does feature content that can be tough to deal with (especially right now), and does have some Middle Eastern antagonists, though they're not one-dimensional . I don't feel qualified to dig into it too deeply, but I just have to note it.

Pluto is impressive with it's sizable cast that all have their own distinct stories. It makes you feel for almost every character. A lot of the plot twists punch you in the gut, and the animation is generally stunning. I

I did find parts of the final episode fell flat. It was a solid finale, but the world-ending stakes and the focus on pretty predictable action beats were so different than the gripping, investigative stuff that came before it that it was a bit of a let down. And it really beat you over the head by constantly verbally repeating the central message.

(I also hate the trope of a male character lying to a female character about information she's begging for and affects her deeply, and it being treated as a great kindness. I wish female characters got more to do overall in this, because the two we had were potentially very interesting. It did give a nod to the female robots being just as advanced at the male ones but that being ignored because they weren't advanced in a traditionally masculine way. But you could feel it's Astro Boy roots in how male dominated the cast was.)

Overall, this is one of the most well-crafted anime of the last few years-- a psychological thriller and meditation on humanity and conflict, rich with story and themes, with not a second wasted. I definitely recommend giving it a shot, you'll probably be hooked in no time. And expect it to break your heart. A lot.

Scott Pilgrim Takes Off

Yes, this counts as an anime. It was animated by a Japanese studio, the director is based in Japan and has worked in anime for years. But there are some spoilers in the premise itself here, so I'm going to put it under the cut.

You have been warned!

Premise: Scott Pilgrim meets a cool girl named Ramona Flowers and falls for her, only to find out she has seven evil exes he must defeat. Unfortunately, he seemingly dies at the hands of the first one. This leads Ramona on a journey where she must confront her evil exes and see if Scott is really dead after all.

So, I was a fan of Scott Pilgrim as a teen. Moreso of the comic than the movie, since the movie didn't have the interesting arcs for the female characters the comic did thanks to it's short runtime and what it prioritized. (Ramona, especially, was done dirty). I liked Ramona a lot in the comic, especially how she went from a mysterious figure to someone just as messy and screwed up as Scott is, and the "final boss" was actually the abusive relationship she was stuck in, and she was the one who really had to defeat it. I liked how Knives outgrew Scott, and I liked how Kim exposed Scott's fantasies as not real, and let her crush on him go. I liked how Scott's arc was realizing he'd treated the women in his life badly and that he needed to grow up and stop being so selfish.

So I was a little excited to see a more comic-accurate version... but what we got was even better. A story that was more from Ramona's perspective, that centered her from the very beginning, and which focused on her understanding, and often reconciling with her exes, rather than them being enemies to defeat. I especially loved seeing Roxie finally get her due. (The comic handled Roxie better than the movie's bullshit, but it still left a lot to be desired). Ramona's ex-girlfriend finally gets treated as an ex-girlfriend, with no "just a phase" bs from Ramona and no Scott doing the straight guy "ooh lesbians so sexy" bs. Instead, it's a sincere, emotional look at their relationship and the ways Ramona hurt Roxie, along with a killer fight scene.

It was also great to see Knives thriving without Scott around, and Matthew Patel getting more of a spotlight. The series has grown up over the years ,but the themes are as sharp as ever. It examines the bad decisions Ramona and Scott have made, and not only the fear of growing up as a young adult, but the fear of what you'll grow into. It explores the fear that relationships will become regrets, the messiness of people trying to connect, and how you need to keep trying to communicate and move forward and take risks anyway.

There were a few things I wish we could have seen more of- like Kim and Envy. (And small yet bothersome nitpick, I also disliked how when Ramona talked about her pattern of "running away" from relationships, Gideon was included, despite the fact he was abusive to her in this version too). The English voice cast was also weak with the voice acting sometimes (likely because most of them were more used to being on-screen actors)- though there were some stand out performances like Satya Bahba (Matthew Patel), Michael Cera (Scott) and of course Mae Whitman (Roxy) (I also think Winstead settled into her role well too)-- though I got used to it after a while, and the Japanese cast is aces.

The animation was also phenomenal, and it had a killer soundtrack.

I'm not sure how this anime would hit if you haven't seen either the comic or the movie, (I've heard some newbies say they liked it) but as a fan of the source material, I was very pleased and found it a treat. Definitely worth checking out.

#scott pilgrim takes off #scott pilgrim #ramona flowers #fall 2023 anime #anime overview #pluto #naoki urasawa's pluto #pluto anime #my reviews #finished at LAST I watched TOO MUCH ANIME this season #but to be fair it was an excellent season

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idwtransformers-vibe · 16 days

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Here are some more headcanons oathbreaker Prowl!:

Prowl was possibly already an oathbreaker when he first met his spouse. Much to his surprise, they're not deterred from that. This was the start of him liking them.

He would make frequent stops at the village they lived in. Not caring that it wasn't part of the route, he wants to see his new friend! But this is also because he likes to check in on them, making sure nothing happened during his absence.

His spouse is probably a sorcerer/ess and artifcier who helps him out here and there with his weapons and such. They also always have a meal ready for him in a basket when he stops by. And it's always his favorite meal, too.

He tries to give something in return, like brand new tools, nice and comfortable clothes, and food from different places he visits. He really does want to get them really nice things in return. The funny thing is, though, he never gives it to them in person. He always leaves it at their doorstep.

Now, he never expected to tug his new friend along his adventures until their village was attacked and destroyed completely. He showed up, and it looked like that. He was quick to try and find his friend. He eventually does. They sustained some injuries, but nothing a cleric couldn't treat.

He would carry them bridal style to his horse and hurried out. They're his highest priority right now. And once he does find a cleric to have them healed, he kept them by his side at all costs until he can find a safe place for them to live.

As stated in my other post, he is super protective. After the destruction of his spouses' village. He keeps them in eye sight at all costs. He will most definitely share a bed or bedroll with them. That way, he can sense when they're there or not. (He's also denying his feelings for them)

He has been saved countless times by his spouse, that wild magic sure comes in handy... Until they accidentally turned him into a dog. He glared at them while they slept until the magic wore off.

His spouse does see the darker side of him. The side that makes you go: "Oooh, that makes so much more sense as to why he is an oathbreaker." Because at that point, Prowl can probably break every single paladin oath in one sitting... That's not a flex, but that is impressive. And to watch Prowl be ruthless? It can be unsettling. Someone could be begging for mercy, and you hear clean slice, then everything is silent.

There are times when his spouse does try to reason with him. While he doesn't kill everyone (obviously), there are times when some enemy made him snap, and his spouse is telling him not to do God knows what he is planning to do.

He has accidentally scared them really bad once. ONCE. He felt guilt seep throughout his body. He hasn't felt that way in a long time. He hadn't felt that way ever since he broke his oath. It was a moment he needed to remind himself that they are a citizen, not a soldier, not a mercenary, not a war domain cleric, or paladin. They were sorcerer/ess who was living a peaceful life doing artificer work before they had to tag along. He, on the other hand, is an oathbreaker with a ruthless and bloodied history.

He would hug them and hold them. Explaining why he had to do it. He would keep them close to himself that night, like very close as he tries to comfort them... He's kind of failing... Kind of not... They latched into him, so he considers that a win. After everything settles down and they fall asleep, he leaves a small kiss on their forehead and tucks their head into his chest and underneath his chin.

It also gave his spouse a reminder that day that Prowl is not some normal paladin. While yes, there are paladins with questionable morals, but Prowl is an oathbreaker. He is not bound to an oath, so all bets are on the table for what he could do and how much worse he can make it be. As an apology for scaring them, he buys so much food. Enough food that could last them months.

As for courting, Prowl didn't start courting his spouse until other people started flirting with them at a tavern. He ended up scaring them off, much to their relief.

He would dance with them to a gentle song. If you listen close enough, you can hear him quietly humming. He has such a stoic expression, but there is love and adoration in his eyes.

He'll start gifting them things again. They liked those robes? He bought them. There is a treat they hadn't had since they were a child? Oh, look at that... It's sitting on their bedroll! They really want a horse, mainly because they want to give his horse a break? He got them the best one with a gentle temperament as the cherry on top (Don't ask how he got it), now they have a reliable and sweet horse!

When he does marry them, that's when he finally found a spot for the both of them to live in. Which is deep in the mountains forest. He had homestead built and everything. Which is a relief for him now that his spouse can stay somewhere safe. And of course, people assumed he killed them until they showed their face two weeks later lmao.

He definitely does spend a good bit of time at home, surprisingly. He'll do paperwork and planning there. He'll also make his spouse breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He loves spooning them. He will literally just drag them to bed and cuddle the hell out of them. He'll have them wrapped up in a blanket, face buried in the crook of their neck, and his arms securely wrapped around his waist as he snuggles them.

When he is about to leave, goodbye kisses are a must for him. Especially if he knows that he's going to be gone for a few months. When he comes back home, he will not let them do anything for a while day.

#transformers idw #transformers #idw prowl #idw prowl headcanons #transformers dnd au

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 year

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Cooking by the Book

Part 1 (ft. Riddle and Silver) I Part 2 (ft. Trey and Kalim) I Part 3 (ft. Jade and Lilia) I Part 4 (ft. Deuce and Jamil) I Part 5 (ft. Ruggie and Malleus) I Part 6 (ft. Cater and Rook)

In which Gordon Ramsay-kun is isekai’d into Twisted Wonderland. Part Food Wars, part Hell’s Kitchen, all Master Chef—Night Raven College isn’t ready to take on this Michelin Star celebrity!!

You’ve got to do the cooking by the book! ... But with Floyd and Sebek, that’s an impossible task. Between noodle sourcing squabbles and differences in their approach, how can GR ever rein these two loose cannons in?

dbjsbskdne I was so excited to write this because I love both Sebek and Floyd 😌 They make for a fun dynamic, especially when mixed in with GR~

I was busy around the initial release of this event months ago, so I’m releasing this SUPER late (but it all ends up working out, since a character cameoing in this fic is one of the new Master Chef units for May 2023). I’ll get the Idia and Ace with GR one out in a week or two 😭 Please bear with me!!

Imagine this…

If teaching the Master Chef course at NRC had taught Gordon Ramsay one thing, it was this: the kitchen was an active battle zone, and weapons of mass destruction laid in wait around every corner. It was all open flames and pointed tools... but the most dangerous thing of all to his health and his sanity?

The students.

He had dealt with his fair share of arrogant, ill-tempered chefs. Professionals who thought themselves too good to take advice, newbies who believed they were better than they actually were.

The NRC boys were a whole new ordeal altogether, Gordon realized.

“IEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!”

A bloodcurdling shriek resounded in Ignihyde’s halls. It bounced off the cold polished floors and the metal beams and wires that stitched everything together.

At once, Gordon snapped to attention, pushing himself away from the wall and rushing to the scream’s source. The door snagged, refusing to open--he cursed loudly, slamming his palms against it and roaring, “WHAT’S GOIN’ ON IN THERE?!”

Behind the door, the wailing escalated. There was crashing, screeching, sobbing, begging. His worries ramped up, his pounding, harder and more frantic.

“I THOUGHT I COULD LEAVE YOU TWO UNDERSUPERVISED FOR ONE BLOODY SECOND!!”

Gordon’s palms were raw now, crying out in protest--and, for a wild moment, he considered ramming his entire body against the door. Just as he was preparing to throw himself at it—

Click.

Like magic, the door suddenly swung open. Sebek’s proud face appeared, wearing a smug, triumphant expression. Not good, Gordon thought.

“Rejoice, human!!, Sebek thundered happily. “The merman and I have successfully liberated Ignihyde of its excess of flash fried noodles!! We shall have plenty to use for our cooking lessons!!”

“You did WHAT?!”

“Hmph! Witness our bountiful spoils for yourself!!”

Gordon lifted his head and stared past Sebek.

In the back of the room, Floyd was squatting by Idia’s closet, packet of instant ramen in hand. Boxes and boxes of noodles—rummaged from the deepest recesses of Idia’s mancave—laid in haphazard stacks beside him, teetering precariously atop one another.

Ignihyde’s dorm leader sprawled on the floor, humbly prostrating himself between tears.

“Oi, Firefly Squid-senpai,” Floyd said lazily, using the butt of his frying pan to poke Idia on the head. “This all you got? You’d better tell the truth or else Crocodile-chan and I will squeeze you senseless~”

“Y-Yes, yes, that’s everything!!” Idia squeaked as he cowered in terror. “Y-You’ve already cleaned me out of house and home...!! J-Just take the noodles and leave this nerd alone!!”

“Hmmm...” Floyd laid his frying pan on his shoulder and contemplated. “’Kay! I don’t feel like haulin’ more stuff back to the kitchen anyway.”

“The FUCK is happening here?!”

All eyes landed on Gordon as he stormed in looking none too pleased. Veins bulged on his forehead, and his entire face creased with rage.

A mistake made on his part; he should have known—the students of Night Raven College were the most dangerous aspect in all of cooking.

It had been a sly suggestion from Floyd that started this whole mess. “I heard from a little octopus that Ignihyde’s loaded with noodles. We should go there to pick some up.”

And so Sebek and Floyd had been allowed to go off to collect the ingredients. When they didn’t return in a timely manner, Gordon’s suspicions had set in and he went to Ignihyde himself to investigate—only to stumble upon that shocking scene.

He left fuming, dragging his problem children of the day with him (Floyd) flailing and (Sebek) protesting.

“I said you could get ingredients, I didn’t say you should rob the man blind!!” Gordon grunted, shoving them both through the kitchen doors. “Right, we’ll make noodles by scratch then. Hope you boys remember what you’ve been taught.”

“What? But I don’t feel like it.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you pissed on my mood. To your stations,” their instructor barked, “now!!”

“Maaan... This sucks.”

They reluctantly slunk off, fetching flour, salt, and eggs along the way. Just as Sebek popped open a jar of white granules, Gordon shouted, “Make sure it’s not sugar this time, Zigvolt!!”

Sebek’s cheeks flamed. He shot a fierce glare back, bellowing, “I KNOW THAT!! I don’t need to be told twice! I’ve been expanded my culinary repertoire considerably since the start of this semester!!”

Floyd’s eyes shifted to Sebek’s station. A nasty plot bubbled to the surface of his mind, encouraged by the volatility of his junior’s attitude.

“Ehhh, you sure got guts snapping back to the teach, freshie,” Floyd grinned crookedly as he leaned forward at his counter. “How about you talk big when you can actually own up to it? At least I can cook without a recipe. You’ve been making little mistakes even with a recipe.”

“WHAT!! The only reason we’re even IN this predicament is due to YOUR lapse in judgment!! You INSISTED it would be more cost effective and time efficient to procure noodles in bulk from Ignihyde!”

“You’re the one that went along with me. If you were really smart, you’d have stopped us.”

“Grk…!!”

“Alright, alright, that’s enough out of the both of you!!” Gordon interrupted. “Focus on your pastas instead of stirring the pot here.”

“Tch!! I’ll show him!!” Sebek gruffly tore into a bag of flour at his table. A cloud of fine white powder filled the air, sending him into a coughing fit.

Floyd snickered—he had already shifted his own flour and salt together, forming a well in which he had cracked an egg.

Gordon raised a brow. “… Well? Get on with it then.”

The merman’s lackadaisical smile turned sharp-toothed at the suggestion. “If you say so.”

Without hesitation, Floyd stuck his entire hand into his mound of ingredients, fingers clenching around egg and flower. The yolk burst, viscous yellow coating his hand and flour flying in all directions. A stray speck flew across the aisle and hit Sebek’s forehead.

A low grow came from his throat.

Gordon scowled at Floyd. “That’s not an acceptable mixing technique.”

“That’s right!” Sebek called haughtily. “You should know better!! You’re meant to break the yolk with a fork, then steadily incorporate it into the...”

A fistful of flour suddenly exploded across Sebek’s vision. He jerked back, now boasting a flour-covered face, appalled and mouth hanging agape.

Across the way, Floyd unabashedly smirked. He waggled his yolky fingers at his classmate, incriminating himself. “Oops, my hand slipped.”

“YOU VILE KNAVE!! THIS INJUSTICE WILL NOT GO UNPUNISHED!!” Sebek shoved a hand into his own bag of flour for a counterattack. He raised his arm, and Floyd cackled, knowing his target had taken the bait.

Gordon instantly clued in on his intentions.

This was it: Floyd’s escape from the order to make noodles, to do something more fun.

“TIME OUT!!” The chef abruptly stepped between his students, forming a physical barrier between the two--but alas, too late.

The declaration of war had been made.

There was a battle cry, and then flour flying at him. Gordon fell back, grasping at his face. The world blurred into a white mess, filled with the clanging of pots and pans and erratic shouting.

“Where are you?!” Sebek demanded between coughs (most likely preparing another projectile). “COME AND FACE ME, YOU FISHY COWARD!!”

Shuffling came from within the flour haze, metal and wooden implements rolled or tossed to the floor to attract Sebek’s attention. Wherever Floyd was in the kitchen, he was a master at avoiding detection.

All the while, Gordon swatted at the air and bellowed, “Stand down, get back to work. ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME, YOU FUCKING DONKEYS?!”

The startled cries of the cafeteria ghost chefs started filtering in.

“G-Goodness, what’s happened here?!”

Gordon lurched out of the kitchen, clinging to the doorframe to keep himself upright. He spat up a breath, then dragged a hand over his face to wipe it clean of flour. The man looked simultaneously infuriated and exhausted, the lines on his face seemingly more prominent than they had been before.

“Mr. Ramsay!! Are you alright?! What’s become of the kitchen and the students?!” one of the ghost chefs asked worriedly.

“The students,” Gordon said wearily. “That’s what happened.”

#twst #twisted wonderland #Floyd Leech #Sebek Zigvolt #twisted wonderland imagines #Gordon Ramsay #Gordon Ramsay in Twisted Wonderland #twisted wonderland scenarios #something no one asked for #imagine this #disney twisted wonderland #Idia Shroud #twst scenarios #twst imagines

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mariacallous · 4 months

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2024 is a big election year for the world: More than 50 countries are expected to hold national polls, including large but profoundly damaged democracies such as India, Indonesia, and the United States. Anxieties abound that social media, further weaponized with artificial intelligence, will play a destructive role in these elections.

Pundits have worried that technology might doom democracy since Donald Trump’s election as U.S. president in 2016. It’s true that social media can benefit aspiring autocrats. Populists in particular latch on to social media today as a way to connect directly with people, bypassing restraints on their behavior that political parties would have provided in the pre-internet age. They can also profit from echo chambers, which reinforce the sense that a whole people uniformly supports a populist leader.

Yet social media is not inherently populist. And if populists do well this year, it will not be because there are no tools or strategies to stop them.

To combat populism, democracies need political will. They must not only push for better platform design and regulation but also work to strengthen what some consider a thoroughly old-fashioned institution: political parties that have the capacity to rein in leaders threatening democracy.

Every media revolution in history has caused a moral panic: The printing press was said to have prompted wars of religion; radio gave the world Adolf Hitler; TV enabled McCarthyism. None of these points, still repeated by sophisticated observers today, is completely wrong. But in every case, the technological determinism proved mistaken, as did the assumption that new media would empower irrational masses, always ready to be seduced by demagogues.

At first, social media was greeted with great optimism. In what now feels like a different era, promoters of democracy looked to Twitter (now known as X) and Facebook as tools to help uprisings against autocrats everywhere. But just as the Arab Spring turned to Arab Winter, enthusiasm morphed into pessimism. Panic ensued in 2016, after the double shock of Brexit and Trump’s election. Liberal commentators were quick to identify what they saw as a major culprit of the world’s twin populist disasters: social media and, in particular, echo chambers. Not only did liberals veer from cheering to jeering. They also indulged in nostalgia for a supposedly golden age of responsible gatekeeping by journalists. The wild swings in opinion and the idealization of the past were signs that we have yet to find our bearings when making sense of new media.

Social scientists today know a bit more than they did in 2016: Filter bubbles—or online echo chambers curated by algorithms—exist but are much less common than often assumed; they are not the main cause of polarization, even as they help spread disinformation and propaganda more swiftly; and our offline life is in many ways less diverse than our online existence.

What makes social media unique is that it allows for what can seem like a direct connection between political leaders and potential followers. This is particularly useful for populists, who claim that only they can represent what they often call the “real people.” This implies that all other contenders for power do not represent the people, since, as the usual charge goes, they are corrupt. It also implies that some citizens are not part of the “real people” at all. Think of Trump complaining that his critics are not just wrong about policy but that they are “un-American” or even—as he put it at a Veterans Day rally last year—“vermin.” The point of populism, then, is not just criticism of elites. After all, finding fault with the powerful is often justified. Instead, the point is to exclude people from the people: other politicians at the level of party politics and entire groups—usually already vulnerable ones, such as Muslims in India—at the level of the citizenry.

This seemingly direct connection contributes to the erosion of political parties. Populism is about denying and, eventually, destroying pluralism; well-functioning parties can push back against this and rein in populist political entrepreneurs. Some countries even require parties by law to have internal democratic structures. (The radical right-wing Dutch populist Geert Wilders’s Party for Freedom, which won the most seats in last November’s elections, would not be allowed in those countries because Wilders is the only official member.) Of course, parties unite partisans. But partisans often disagree on how principles they share should translate into policy. There is nothing strange about parties forming legitimate opposition to their leadership, and it has often proved crucial in providing a check on leaders. There’s a reason that populists such as Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi and Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orban run their parties in a highly autocratic fashion.

To be sure, the sense of directness created by social media is an illusion. Social media mediates, after all. Yet the prospect of an unfiltered encounter—however misguided—promises authenticity and a sense of connection that was once available only at exceptional moments, such as at a party meeting or mass rally. The political theorist Nadia Urbinati has suggested the paradoxical-sounding term “direct representation” for this relationship: Anyone standing between citizens and their representatives seems to have disappeared.

The work of getting people to the polls used to be done differently. As the political scientist Paul D. Kenny explains in his book Why Populism?, before the age of social media, mobilization depended on clientelism or a well-organized (put more bluntly: highly bureaucratized) political party. Parties and candidates promised supporters material benefits or bureaucratic favors in exchange for votes. This was costly, and costs would rise steeply if political competition intensified or more power brokers entered the fray. Bureaucratic parties are also expensive to maintain. Party officers have to be paid, even if they can count on volunteer work from idealists who sacrifice their weekends to distribute leaflets or canvass door-to-door.

As Kenny points out, social media cuts the costs of mobilization, especially for celebrity candidates such as Trump, who can draw on their pop culture credit. In the old days, when print and TV were dominant, propaganda feedback loops would have been constructed at great costs by party strategists; today, they are created for free by companies that want to maximize engagement for the sake of profit.

As with influencers, a politician’s online presence requires constant curation, so it is not entirely costless. Trump might have written his own tweets, spelling mistakes and all, but others need to pay tech-savvy teams. Social media might work best for those who already treat parties as instruments for marketing a personality rather than developing policy. Take former Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi, whose public relations specialists created the Forza Italia party for him in the 1990s and organized it like a fusion of soccer fan club and business enterprise. It is not an accident that Berlusconi joined TikTok before the most recent Italian elections in 2022 (even if the ragazzi he tried to appeal to might have found his performance, as young adults would say, cringe).

The most successful politicians can tap into both forms of support. For instance, Modi, with his enormous cult of personality, has emerged from a mass membership party with a bureaucratic apparatus and can rely on the free labor of partisan foot soldiers. Yet he has also built a following online, where he has been able to present himself as a celebrity above party politics.

Once populist leaders establish the illusion of direct connection, they find it easier to discredit traditional mediators, such as professional journalists, by claiming that they distort politicians’ messages. That can translate into fewer pluralistic debates and fewer opportunities for reporters to ask inconvenient questions. Modi and Orban have not held a genuine press conference in many years; Trump and Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu have declined to join debates before elections. Trump’s refusal to appear onstage with current Republican candidates might seem like a risky gamble: As candidate Ron DeSantis has tried to point out, the front-runner seems afraid to engage the rest of the pack; plus, he’s losing an opportunity to fully display his knack for the memorable put-down. But Trump is following the autocrat’s playbook: to appear above the fray and portray yourself as the unique embodiment of the popular will. Why stoop to the level of the competition if you’ve already told your supporters that everyone else is corrupt or, at the least, completely unrepresentative of their views?

Filter bubbles can therefore help populists sell their core product: the notion of a homogeneous people united behind the populist leader. Algorithmic curation designed to increase engagement with like-minded users amplifies this dynamic. Platforms often suggest what to watch or click on next. Anyone looking up Orban on X, for instance, will likely find an assortment of far-right content. When I recently checked his account, I was shown tweets from the Russian foreign ministry and U.S. presidential candidate and conspiracy theorist Robert F. Kennedy Jr.

To be sure, these online bubbles do not form in a vacuum. In the United States, plenty of people do live in a far-right bubble, without any contact even with center-right outlets such as the Wall Street Journal. This bubble is not the result of Facebook or X, however. As social scientists at Harvard University demonstrated in a 2018 study, its contours were shaped by the enormous success of right-wing cable news and talk radio in the 1990s. Social media just came on top of that infrastructure. If social media itself made for a world where conspiracy theories and hate always reign, we would see the same outcome in every country—but we don’t.

Democracies must overhaul how platforms are governed to make it harder for populists to use them to their advantage. One problem with social media in its current form is that it gives too much power to a few people. Platform power—the control over the means of connecting with others online—is today’s great unchecked power. As the social scientist Michael Seemann has written, platform power stems from the ability to give access to platforms or deny it, either through outright bans or harassment from online trolls.

As Elon Musk’s changes at Twitter have demonstrated, those who control platforms and their underlying machinery can manipulate online discourse. Since he took over the platform in 2022, Musk has not only arbitrarily suspended journalists but also weakened the rules—and reduced staffing—for content moderation. As Musk has replatformed white supremacists and other hatemongers, minorities such as transgender people have become less protected.

In halfway-functioning democracies, capricious oligarchs such as Musk get to govern platforms almost singlehandedly. In countries on the path to autocracy, the state itself can successfully pressure platforms to do its bidding, as India has done with Twitter by forcing it to block politicians, activists, and even the BBC. In outright autocracies, governments are perfecting what the social scientist Margaret Roberts has called friction and flooding. Rather than simply rely on fear created by widespread repression, as traditional dictatorships would, autocracies now “flood” the web with information to distract users and use intentional technical glitches (“friction”) to make it more difficult for citizens to access certain sites. These regimes know that censorship can draw attention to scandalous content; the truly savvy make it disappear. Such techniques are ubiquitous in China, as is surveillance. Aspiring autocrats, including right-wing populists vying for power in democracies, will no doubt try to copy this repertoire.

To be sure, populists cannot be prevented from building their own counter-publics online, just as parties cannot—and should not—be hindered as they bring together followers. Freedom to assemble and associate means that like-minded people have every right to get together with others who share the same commitments. One would not want authorities to start shutting down safe spaces for groups devoted to empowering minorities, for instance, just because they happen to be insufficiently pluralistic. Ideas to combat online homogeneity through injecting viewpoint diversity into online life are well intentioned but impractical. The jurist Cass Sunstein, for example, has suggested a “serendipity button,” which could very well come out as, “Now that you’re looking at the feminist viewpoint, how about clicking on the anti-feminist one?”

A more nuanced view of online political life does not mean that democracies must tolerate the incitement of hatred. Platform design makes a difference: As the political scientist Jennifer Forestal has shown, Reddit, for instance, makes for a more diverse conversation than Facebook Groups. Reddit allows for communities to form but keeps borders between subreddits permeable; it also empowers both moderators and users to stick to rules agreed on by an online community.

Content moderation in particular should be mandatory, as it is in Germany, rather than a luxury that a platform controller such as Musk has the power to dispense. Moderation can be abused, but that is the case with any attempt to control media power. (Libel laws can be—and are—exploited by undemocratic actors, but that does not mean we should dispense with them altogether.) To forestall this, content moderation must be as transparent as possible and subject to proper oversight; the “black boxes” of algorithms should be opened at least to researchers so that they can help policymakers understand how social media platforms are run. This might sound like a pipedream. But the European Union has been pursuing these goals with its recent Digital Services Act and Digital Markets Act, which so far have prevented Facebook from launching its X clone, Threads, in the bloc due to its failure to comply with privacy regulations.

Legislation and education will be important tools for democracies. The business models of social media, which are based on maximizing engagement through offering ever more extremist content, are not beyond political regulation. Democracies should also invest serious resources in teaching media literacy—something that many leaders affirm in the abstract but that, just like civic education, always gets short shrift in the end, since “hard” subjects such as math are seen as more important for global economic competition. Not least, democracies must not treat social media in isolation. If they foster a healthier media landscape, including by reinvigorating local journalism, and regulate political parties, it will be much harder for populists to succeed.

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power-chords · 1 month

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Then I saw their fate come upon them and that was terrible past speech. It came upon them as they walked the streets of their city. I have been in the fights with the Forest People—I have seen men die. But this was not like that. When gods war with gods, they use weapons we do not know. It was fire falling out of the sky and a mist that poisoned. It was the time of the Great Burning and the Destruction. They ran about like ants in the streets of their city—poor gods, poor gods! Then the towers began to fall. A few escaped—yes, a few. The legends tell it. But, even after the city had become a Dead Place, for many years the poison was still in the ground. I saw it happen, I saw the last of them die. It was darkness over the broken city and I wept.

[...]

I told and he listened. After that, I wished to tell all the people but he showed me otherwise. He said, "Truth is a hard deer to hunt. If you eat too much truth at once, you may die of the truth. It was not idly that our fathers forbade the Dead Places." He was right—it is better the truth should come little by little. I have learned that, being a priest. Perhaps, in the old days, they ate knowledge too fast.

Nevertheless, we make a beginning. it is not for the metal alone we go to the Dead Places now—there are the books and the writings. They are hard to learn. And the magic tools are broken—but we can look at them and wonder. At least, we make a beginning. And, when I am chief priest we shall go beyond the great river. We shall go to the Place of the Gods—the place newyork—not one man but a company. We shall look for the images of the gods and find the god ASHING and the others—the gods Lincoln and Biltmore and Moses. But they were men who built the city, not gods or demons. They were men. I remember the dead man's face. They were men who were here before us. We must build again.

Excerpted from "By The Waters of Babylon," by Stephen Vincent Benét, 1937

#stephen vincent benét

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attonitos-gloria · 9 months

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If the main tension in the last seasons of Game of Thrones was between Jaime and Dany, what would that look like? How would it have changed things?

friend, thank you for this ask. This is going to be very long heheh sorry in advance. writing Jaime's arc is the most satisfying part of IKTE for me so I'm very happy for this, thank you truly.

Jaime is a character traumatized by fire. Not the only one - but he is prominently traumatized by it, and indeed his entire reputation was built around the fact he has broken sacred vows because of a Targaryen king who used fire as a tool of intimidation and social controlling. More than any other character in the show, Jaime knows the political implications of fire as a weapon. And if the daughter of said king comes back from the ashes of House Targaryen to conquer Westeros and re-establish her father's dynasty... using fire-breathing monsters as her main weapon... do you get it 😭

(that scene of Jaime trying to get Drogon killed is so good - the way the camera focused on his face, on the fire and ashes and smoke and the people burning alive around him ! he was reliving the Throne Room he was a knight trying to kill the dragon he was trying to make it right and tyrion was THERE on the enemy's side but watching him ;-; they were so close of getting it right WHY NOT LEAN INTO THAT !! It was delicious!!)

You can argue that Jaime is barely aware of this, since, true to his Lannister name and blood and inheritance, he spends his life in denial about this trauma. I would agree with this statement, which is why I think putting Jaime between Dany and Cersei as political choices is more interesting than putting Jaime between Cersei and Brienne as love interests in the most bland way possible.

If Jaime is going to leave Cersei at some point, why not earlier, at the end of season 6 when Cersei pulled an Aerys against the Tyrells?? Their relationship already is, in a way, a coping mechanism against the institutional violence of knighthood; he is the knight and she is the queen, everything is justified because of that. Their idealized versions of each other only exist in their heads anyway. Imagine if the Sept of Baelor is the last straw in a relationship that has been in crumbles for a while now. All their children dead and Cersei the very embodiment of Aerys. (Forget the pregnancy plot. It was stupid.)

And then there are so many possibilities from then on when Daenerys arrives in Westeros. The show sets her up to be rejected. I can follow that. I truly cannot conceive, in show canon, a happy ending for Dany - and by happy ending I mean everyone loving her and welcoming her as their Queen. I think her dragons are an ethical problem that needs to be addressed; the show and books themselves already pointed in that direction. The Dance of the Dragons is a cautionary tale about this, the entire story of House Targaryen is about this. I do love Dany and I believe she is a good person at heart, but also. Consider. She has the canon equivalent of nuclear weapons. The dragons are useful to kill the true enemy (the Others) and you can argue that there is an ethical justification to use them to end slavery, but then what. Then what comes next. When the enemy is defeated and this woman is the only person in the world with weapons of massive destruction. What do you do with the weapons after the War is over - I cannot be the only person who thinks this is an issue like 😭 Jaime has reasons to be wary more than anyone - yes, even more than Sansa; Sansa has reasons to be concerned and to worry about the North, but Daenerys was coming with aid in the War, and I don't see any reason why Sansa didn't even >>try<< to be mildly diplomatic, except that the writers wanted the conflict to rise. I don't know; I'm grumpy about this, and it is very hard to make sense of Sansa's actions in season 8 for me, but I will stop myself right here because this isn't about her. This is about Jaime !!!

I feel like a lot of what we call Jaime's redemption relies on his romantic feelings for Brienne; even in the show, he leaves Cersei and goes North to fight for the living because it is the ~right thing to do~, but the subtext kind of says that he went for Brienne. And it's not that I don't ship them: I do! But falling in love with Brienne is not a redemption arc, doing things because Brienne would approve is not a redemption arc. It has been said before, by people smarter than me, but Jaime is not in a redemption story; he is in an identity crisis story. I feel like the show tried to give him an redemption arc only to pull the rug at the end going like "nope, sorry, people don't change" - and since said redemption relied completely on his romantic feelings for Brienne, it wasn't enough to knight her; he had to sleep with her. Since the point being made was that people don't change, that meant necessarily ending his affair with Brienne and cruelly breaking her heart so she would let him go back to Cersei. Because what else is there to say about Jaime Lannister other than which woman he chooses to fuck by the end of the story?

Do you get what I'm saying? Like, I know he is pretty. But the choice of framing Jaime's story as primarily a love story between two women, the good one and the bad one, is wild to me. Really? That is the most relevant thing about this man?

Did he change? Did he find a solution to the problem of knighthood? That doesn't mean loving Brienne (he did say "I have never slept with a knight before" to her, after all. The man literally wanted to fuck knighthood! in every meaning, layer, and way! okay Jaime). That means *becoming* what Brienne already is - a person who is willing not only to kill, but in fact, to die defending the vulnerable and the innocent. And I felt like the show shaped this like "will Jaime choose Brienne or Cersei?" And everything else was secondary to that, when I think the romance could really stay in the background and the knighthood crisis should come into focus on main stage. And because Dany and Cersei are meant to be each other's foils, both in their similarities and differences, I do like the idea of Jaime being stuck between these two Queens who are, each in their own way, Aerys, who made him who he is (a Kingslayer).

SO. There are many ways this could go about:

Maybe Dany demands Jaime to kill Cersei in exchange for royal pardon; this man, after all, killed her father in an act of betrayal. She forgave him way too easily in the show. All that tension! For nothing!!!! Do we want a grim ending? No problem. Maybe he does kill Cersei and then kills himself (favorite book ending, for me). Maybe he can't handle being confronted with the reality that his life is built on an empty lie. Maybe he looks at Cersei and sees wildfire and madness and Aerys, and there is no escape, and he does not know how to live with himself with or without this woman. This has always been the cost of knighthood: blood. It has been this way since Arthur Dayne knighted him. And he cannot stand the idea of serving the daughter of Aerys for the rest of his life; he would literally rather die. Maybe love can't save the day this time.

Or: maybe Jaime vows to kill Cersei and publicly and officially bends the knee to Dany, only to break his vows again and betray her, killing Dany instead, before she can set King’s Landing on fire. Or even better: after. After he sees her as Aerys' extension. Maybe Jaime is in a time loop, doomed to repeat this, doomed to kill the dragon. Do we want grim endings for everyone? No problem: this time, he actually suffers the consequences of high treason - he is sent to the Wall, he takes the Black; or he is exiled. You can get away with killing your Monarch once, but not twice. For once, he is not rewarded for an act of brutal violence and betrayal. No cathartic death for him: he only needs to live with the consciousness that he saved the world twice, but he had to sacrifice his soul twice to do it. And no one sings his praise. He's still the Kingslayer.

Are we tired of grim endings? We don't want Jaime to be the Kingslayer? Also, no problem. Because the memory of the War that traumatized him, the trigger for it, is embodied alive in the person of Jon Snow. The boy Jaime's heroes and brothers-in-arms died trying to protect. Maybe Jaime is tired of being torn between two Mad Queens and he decides to give his life to put Jon, Rhaegar's son, on the Iron Throne. He is not the Kingslayer anymore. Fuck that. He is the Kingmaker. Kind of like Criston Cole, but cool and less catholic. He could even be Hand of the King to Jon.

Or maybe it bothers you, as it bothers me, the fact that Jaime actually pushed a child out of a window, and that event is treated like a small detail in his story once he gets North. It was not a thing Cersei commanded him to do. Cersei did not take his hand and forced it to do it. Jaime tried to kill a boy. He permanently damaged Bran's body. Any attempt at redemption that does not address this is flawed. Maybe the only way to redeem Jaime is to make him Bran's ally because Bran is one of Dany's strongest narrative foils, right there with Cersei and Tyrion: some characters have magical attributes, things they are able to do; some characters have magical things happening to them; but Bran and Dany *are* magical in themselves. They carry the power along with them. And, by the end of the show, Bran is KING. He is one of the most powerful creatures alive - he can travel in time AND control people's and animals' minds/bodies - and he apparently has been PLANNING the whole thing (why do you think I came all this way, etc) all along. Does that even make sense? What is it about Bran that allows him to be powerful and in charge by the end of the story, to the point of allowing the destruction of a city in order to get what he wants, while Dany has to be sacrificed and is deemed too power-hungry? Why is Dany's inability to have children a problem, and Bran's assumed inability to sire children presented as a solution? And more importantly- what does Bran WANT? (To hell with that ableist "Bran has no feelings or desires and can't be tempted" bullshit). And given all that: if Bran and Dany are foils and parallels, what if Bran gets things done with Jaime's help? (Not necessarily as heroes). Because he kind of owes Bran. He is the man who put Bran on that wheel-chair and changed the course of Bran's entire life. And Lannisters pay their debts, or so we are told. Maybe we could even try to actually say something relevant about magic as a weapon and the people in power wielding it.

I feel like you could still pull something out of the fact that 1) Jaime's alleged last chance of honor (Sansa) is already antagonizing Dany and 2) His little brother sided with Dany after killing their father, and he actually forgave and forgot about that too easily in the show too. There is a lot of implied drama and nuance because so many relationships in Jaime's life are bridges to Dany. I just wanted to see it explored to the last of its potential.

Anyway. I'm rambling at this point. but the gist of it is that if Dany needs an antagonist in Westeros, a character to embody her rejection, Jaime is a better candidate than Sansa, imo. This man needed to be used in a political plot as a relevant, game-changing player at the end of the show. Some of those ideas I don't even like lol all they have in common is that they force Jaime to own his bullshit and stand up to something and put his skin in the game instead of running between Brienne and Cersei through 8 seasons, and I say this as someone who appreciates both Jaime/Cersei and Jaime/Brienne from a shipping perspective.

#got #jaime lannister #game of thrones #ask me stuff #long post

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