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robcognitivepersonality · 1 year

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The Mastermind & the Inspector

How I get along with ISTJs as an INTJ

The MBTI and the rest of the typology culture in general leave a lot of room for improvement. For MBTI at least, I heard it was supposed to highlight the strengths and weaknesses of a personality, providing insights for how to deal with people in a work setting. They’re used for people in HR and managers who want to conveniently put us into boxes. That means a lot of the popular systems based on MBTI only show the external side of us. And that’s crock of shit. Because of that, I’m seen as this badass with superpowers. You are seen as this dumbass yes-sir bean counter.

From my experience, the ones most creative at flipping the middle finger at the authority have been ISTJs. It’s done with such conviction that can only be manifested from deep inside your being. When you stand up against what’s wrong with the world and society, you know you’re right. You know you’re in the right. Anybody can relate and root for you if they catch a glimpse of understanding where you’re coming from. I’d wager that the ISTJ is the strongest and deepest personality type. Hell, perhaps even the most human.

With Introverted Sensing and Introverted Feeling, the ISTJ is the type who’s reality is experienced mainly from reflecting on their identity. You are constantly pondering how you relate with the world around you. Metaphorically, you are sculpting an artwork that symbolizes your story. For any event past, you’re engraving a surface. For any judgement made, you’re carving a line. Each of them tells a tale. And that artwork is yours to revel and reflect on. In other words, ISTJs — you know who you are.

This makes you a much more receptive person than the mindless drones the type descriptions make you out to be. SiFi gives you full control of your own character development. You’re the one who truly understands how life is the best teacher. And it’s the cruelest too. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. There’s no straight line for personal growth. And it was never meant to be easy. That’s just the way it is, right?

Life itself is an invitation to build character regardless of what life actually is. Nobody’s got it all figured out right out of the womb. Wisdom and experience don’t just get uploaded into our minds. We’re not promised anything. And nature has a way to make you suffer when you least expect it. Otherwise, we wouldn’t appreciate what’s good if we don’t know what’s bad. We wouldn’t know what it means to stand for something, to get a sense of who we are, to know what’s meaningful.

"Today we use 100 million barrels of oil every day. There are no politics to change that. There are no rules to keep that oil in the ground. So we can’t save the world by playing by the rules, because the rules have to be changed. Everything needs to change — and it has to start today. So everyone out there: It is now time for civil disobedience. It is time to rebel." - Greta Thunberg

Defining meaning is a philosophical question many people don’t have an answer for. It’s hard to describe what it is, but we know how it feels. It can feel light, heavy, blissful, painful, and any mix in between. That’s all influenced on what we decide to care about; or what we set our goals to be. And what we choose to value becomes an outlet to imprint our will and pour our emotions into; it’s an interplay between reflecting how it shapes us and how we represent it. We start to relate to it, identify with it.

For example, what it does it mean to be a professional? What does it mean to be a friend? A successful person? A person of integrity? “What makes a good King?” Tywin Lannister asked in Game of Thrones. He surely believed that “any man who must say ‘I am the king’ is no true king.” That’s what the T in our 4-letter personality code really means. It’s not just about being logical or practical. Extraverted Thinking is what turns meaning into purpose. It’s an aim for self-realizing, inserting our humanness into the mechanistic world of structure and matter. It’s what we do that defines us.

Very quickly we weed out disorder and inefficiencies to better align ourselves with our objectives. We hold our end of the deal, finish what we start, keep our word. We soldier on until the job’s done. Many misunderstand thinking we’re doing this out of some obligation. No, this is our way of being. It’s how we find our Zen, how we harmonize our individuality with the world. Our only duty is to exist truthfully. We don’t waste time for what’s not true to us. We’re just doing what we’re supposed to be doing. Just being us.

Coupling with Extraverted Intuition, you get that we’re cogs in a big machine. And most importantly, you value that we’re all unique individuals with our own ideas for how to run it. As such, the possibilities for how it could evolve are endless. Time moves forward, and nobody knows what will happen tomorrow. NeTe is an overview orchestrating you and everyone else to do their job to keep that machine running smoothly. It’s a synergistic idea, a set of principles to follow, karmic rules given by the universe.

People mistake this as blindly following traditions or routines. But it’s deeper than that. It’s how you show your individual worth while contributing for something bigger than yourself. It’s giving respect and decency in a world that lacks both. For example, anyone can appreciate the idea of punctuality. Taking a page from the late Anthony Bourdain:

I’m relentlessly, pathologically, a punctual. I think that comes from all those years as a chef, more importantly as a cook. You show up late as a cook you’re letting your people down in very tangible way. Somebody else has to physically do the work, do the setup. Or you lose the shift, or you get fired. Cooks who showed up late, who were disorganized, who couldn’t keep a lot of stuff going on in their heads, they failed. And when they failed, we all went down with them.

When I’m cooking I’m cleaning up after myself, constantly keep things organized. I write lists, I keep my schedule up to date, I am never late. As part of that, if I say to you I’m gonna meet you tomorrow at 12 mins after five, I will be there 5:02, hanging out across the streets discretely observing what time you show up and I’ll be making some very important decisions based on your arrival time.

Everything important I ever learned as a dishwasher and a cook: you show up on time, you stay organized, you clean up after yourself, you think about and respect the people you work with, and do the best you can.

Trust, camaraderie, wisdom, and character are all vague ideas that become clearer with consistent and disciplined performance. They’re NeTe concepts that deepen synergy and provide sense of belonging. But when we talk about belonging with nature itself… it’s so infinitely open ended, it deflects the question of what’s the point of it all. It forces us to come up with our own answers. “Follow your heart and let everything else take care of itself” is a cliché everyone has heard.

But again, life is the cruelest teacher. No matter how much we’re trying to do the right thing, we’ll all eventually experience unfair judgement, bear through trauma, lose loved ones, and carry the burden of our failures. We’re imperfect creatures who have no idea what we’re doing. We just know the future is filled with regrets and mistakes. We’re trying our best here. And this is what separates ISTJs from everybody else. You face these hardships in stride.

These situations are what have shaped you into the person that you are today. You hold yourself accountable, because rationally you are the most constant thing in your own life. How you decide to react and view the world is all within your control. You process through them until you find a way to overcome them. You’re humanity’s rock. Life’s most resilient student. You’re the one most ready to face the harsh unknown, the one we’ll need to make the hard decisions.

"I myself don't know... I never have. Whether I believed in my own abilities, or whether I believed in the decisions of my trusted comrades, in the end no one ever knew what the outcome would be. So I guess... you have to do your best to make a decision that you won't regret." - Levi Ackerman, from Attack On Titan

Before I knew anything about Carl Jung and cognitive functions, I grew up idolizing fictional ISTJs characters. We were the same in my eyes. I, too, march to the beat of my own drum, and let my actions speak for themselves. I learn a lot from seeing how ISTJs handle conflict. Their journeys heavily influence my moral compass. Fiction has a great way, with monologues and expressive close-ups, of presenting their internal process that reality can’t.

However, fiction overdramatizes the story. We watch protagonists coming of age, and superheroes saving the world. With music and aesthetics, it’s all so excessive. The real world is much more mundane. Everyday is the same grind of eat-sleep-work-repeat. Most of us will spend our entire lives just collecting stuff. Most of us won’t be remembered. That’s what I see from the bird’s eye view of Introverted Intuition. It’s all a depressingly boring meaningless cycle.

I want a life worthy of a fictional story. If NeTe is to practice a way of life, SeTe is to fulfill a mission. I want to make this all a game I can win. I won’t stop until I finish it. Extraverted Sensing is the “eye on the prize” function. It’s tunnel vision focusing on a specific goal. It becomes my sole purpose, nothing else matters. If SiFi is to character development, then NiFi is to character endgame. Fixating on the idea of what it would be like to reach max level.

In other words, I’m envisioning the best version of myself, a future self, like get rich or attain enlightenment or something, without caring much for how to actually get there. “These steps are frivolous details,” an INTJ would say. And as long as the important things were heading towards the right direction, I didn’t care how it was done. Whatever my circumstances were at the time, the future was worth it. We were taught growing up to pursue happiness. I took that literally. I didn’t let anything get in the way of my goals, myself included. I won’t be happy until I reach them.

"Travel changes you. As you move through this life and this world you change things slightly, you leave marks behind, however small. And in return, life — and travel — leaves marks on you. Most of the time, those marks — on your body or on your heart — are beautiful. Often, though, they hurt." - Anthony Bourdain

From time to time, I’d have something gnawing at me deep inside. I would neglect those feelings, thinking I had bigger things to worry about. They’ll drift away like everything else anyway. Nothing lasts forever. Nothing is worth holding sentimental value. Memories fade away. They were replaceable. We were replaceable. I looked down at the world thinking I figured it all out. I grew numb with everything, forever aloof with what was in front of me.

Many times I’ve projected that, and sneered on those who got caught up with the small things. I soured relationships, isolated myself, and withdrew from what was real. Whatever. They-just-didn’t-get-me™. I’ve never belonged anywhere anyway. I thought I was doing the right thing for being patient and sticking to my plans. For one day, I’ll be rewarded. One day, my sacrifices, my delayed gratifications, will be paid off. One day, I’ll prove I’ve been right and establish my place here.

A friend once called me a legless bird, a mythical animal famously referenced in a 90s Hong Kong cult movie called Days of Being Wild. The plot follows Yuddy, a 20-something playboy in search for his mother who left him in a brothel at birth. Growing up in a shaky past, he leads an empty life obsessing over finding his mom, avoiding commitment, and running into trouble. He identifies with “a kind of bird without legs that can only fly and fly, and sleeps in the wind when it’s tired. This bird only lands once in its lifetime… That’s when it dies.”

Yuddy eventually finds her, and realizes she doesn’t want to see him. She never did. His lifelong mission, the one thing he was fixated on, failed. The movie progresses with Yuddy mentioning again about the legless bird who spends its entire life in the air. He infers “that it actually hasn’t flown anywhere, it was dead from the beginning.” Such tragic poetry that he finally got physically close to his mom, only to subsequently find himself into another altercation that led to his death.

Now I don’t think I’m like Yuddy. But I wouldn’t say my friend was wrong about me. Like the legless bird, I can’t deny that I’ve always needed to fly towards a goal, in fear that I would die without one. But she made me realize that maybe I never really lived in the first place. It never occurred that maybe those little gnawings I’ve ignored was nature’s way to tell me I was dying inside. I’ve been a bad student.

"I wanted to back to the way I used to be! Back to being a cruel and cold-blooded Saiyan and fight you all-out without concern for others! I hated it! I hated how, before I realized it, I was influenced by all of you and became soft. I, of all people, started a family... It was a good feeling. I began to like this comfortable life on Earth." - Vegeta, from Dragon Ball

One time, my friend was consulting me about how she was supposed to emotionally deal with something. I wasn’t expecting this kind of humility from her. She dealt her little gnawing right away. It was admiring, even humbling. More and more intensely I felt her love for self-help books, her job, the foodie scene. She looked happily at peace gazing at the New York City skyline — I saw that she was in a place she could call ‘home’. And there was nothing she would change about it.

Joining her starring at the skyline, I softened my gaze. I felt the vibe above the buildings. There was nothing woo-woo about it. It’s an emergence of human cause and effect, a sum of our hopes and beliefs. We’re all in it and contribute to it. For a little bit, I started appreciating being part of something bigger than myself. I started to believe the world is pregnant with meaning, because we’re the ones giving it meaning. I started to understand what ‘home’ feels like.

Home is also an abstract concept. Pizza is home. There’s more to it than its ingredients. I used to balk at materialism, ironically I looked at the world too literally. I didn’t care that it was your grandma’s recipe. I didn’t care about how she lifted the hearts of her community with her baking during the rough times of years past. I didn’t care that what you’re doing is carrying on her legacy, and for it to continue being an influential part in people’s lives. I looked at the pizza for what it was, not what it represented.

Suddenly this pizza carried loads of meaning. Thinking about the stories that led this slice to land on my plate, it started to taste better. And then I thought about how I discovered pizza from Ninja Turtles, my first time eating it at Papa Gino’s, my start of liking spicy food from the pepperonis, attending random college events because pizza was free and I was dead broke… Pizza has held a lot of meaning for me too. So that made it taste even better!

"I've known good criminals and bad cops. Bad priests, honorable thieves. You can be on one side of the law or the other. But if you make a deal with somebody, you keep your word. You can go home today with your money and never do this again. But you took something that wasn't yours. And you sold it for a profit. You're now a criminal. Good, bad one? That's up to you." - Mike Ehrmantraut, from Better Call Saul

For being such a big picture person, I missed the forest for the trees. I got too caught up with my own thoughts. I got too attached to an idea that only existed inside my head. My pride couldn’t let go. Truth has been starring at me since the beginning. Mortgaging my present self for a future self accrued a lot of emotional debt. It was time for me to get back on the ground and face reality.

The reason that I’ve been drifting around is because I’ve been scared of admitting who I really am. Having a God complex hid the fact that I couldn’t bear the thought of being imperfect. I’ve been conflict avoidant to myself, the exact opposite of the ISTJ characters I looked up to. I was doing things backwards: I followed objectives and let my heart take care of itself. I wasn’t proud of how rotten it was, and swept it under the rug.

Since that time watching the skyline, I learned that true strength means to listen to my heart attentively. That accountability means to deal with my shit now, no matter how big or small. That pursing happiness means to find it within me, not out there by some metric. That no end can justify the means of neglecting my present wellbeing. It all seems to be very tough, but there’s no just shortcut for doing right by me.

With this new perspective, what was once mundane now sparks little magical experiences beyond my senses. A great morning starts with my own way of brewing coffee. The best times are catching up with old friends over beers. Perfection is when I can say “I’d come here again” after a meal. Even with the hard times that test my hope and faith, it’s hard to not come out a little appreciative. For the pains and sufferings made me stronger, wiser, and more compassionate. Overcoming them led me to look even more forward to the future.

Taking in the fond memories, the tough times, and everything else that came to be for me to be standing where I am now, I’m drowning in gratefulness. There’s no need to fly anywhere. Like when work doesn’t feel like work. Life doesn’t feel like suffering anymore. This cycle that was so depressing now feels like playing my new favorite song on repeat. There’s nothing I’d want to change about this. I hope to savor this for a good while. It’s hard not to feel and act a certain way here. I can see why you’d do anything to stay at this place.

"The world is like a ride in an amusement park, and when you choose to go on it you think it’s real because that’s how powerful our minds are. The ride goes up and down, around and around, it has thrills and chills, and it’s very brightly colored, and it’s very loud, and it’s fun for a while. Many people have been on the ride a long time, and they begin to wonder, 'Hey, is this real, or is this just a ride?' It’s just a ride. And we can change it any time we want. It’s only a choice. No effort, no work, no job, no savings of money. Just a simple choice, right now, between fear and love." - Bill Hicks

Maybe there’s truth to life being but a dream. Maybe it’s all fate, I don’t know… I guess everything really does take care of itself as long as I follow my heart, have faith, and trust the process. Maybe everything does happen for a reason. I’m just trying my best to be happy. Maybe I earned it. Maybe it’s pure luck. In any case, of all things that could’ve happened to me, I’d never have imagined it’d be like this — to finally feel at home, to feel like I belong.

To say living has been a privilege is a little weird, since living in itself doesn’t have meaning. We’re the ones providing it. Therefore my appreciation goes to those who played a part of making who I am today. So, from the bottom of my heart, to my family and friends, to the essential workers who keep my community safe and running, to the brightest minds who push our health, education, and environmental technologies to a sustainable future, and to so many others, thank you for helping making this world feel like home.

And to you ISTJs. You, who’s just as proud and straightforward, yet whose worldview is so different than mine. Thank you for helping me see what my eyes couldn’t. It’s been a privilege knowing you.

#intj #istj #intj thoughts #mbti intj #istj personality #mbti personality types #personality types #mbti #16 types #16 personality types #myers briggs #jungian #cognitive functions

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pynkhues · 2 years

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How much redemption do you think is possible for the characters in succession? I think someone like Greg is still young enough and new enough to the game that he might snap out of it, and obviously the golden trio are very very tentatively taking the first steps out of Logan's influence. But how about someone like Logan? Is he too old and steeped in his cycle of abuse to ever get out of it, or could he have an Ebenezer Scrooge awakening after everyone he loves abandons him? Or would that make him even harder? I LIVE FOR YOUR META THANK YOU

Thank you, anon! And oh, that's such an interesting question.

I always have a million complicated feelings about the idea of redemption generally, in particular who gets to make the call that someone's been redeemed? And how do we make these decisions when someone's done or been complicit in terrible things? I don't think that onerous should fall on any one person's shoulders really, and particularly not a victim of that person, but then that poses the question how do we decide as a society what redemption looks like, and what it means?

All that said, I definitely believe in rehabilitation and the concept that anyone can change in real and meaningful ways through support services, therapy and a desire to evolve.

(This got long and a bit rambly, haha, so I'm popping it under a cut).

In a very broad way of speaking, I'm a prison abolitionist, and I do think it's important for us socially to view any system of punishment as one that aims, before anything else, to bring people back to society and community, not separate them further from it, which is what our current system does in many parts of the world. To write anyone off is, I think, dehumanising in what should be a very human process, and has a significant trickle down effect where many people are able to justify systemic issues around race, class and certain backgrounds by treating crime as a problem when it's frequently just a symptom of deeper social problems.

(Of course, one of the difficult things about prison abolition and this concept of bringing people back to community is that it can potentially put others at risk when those people have a history of violent and sexual crimes, and full disclaimer, I have no answers for that, but I don't know. I remain an optimistic realist, and I say that as someone who's life has been impacted by violent crimes.)

This is all a bit of a roundabout way of saying that yes, I think on paper (and the emphasis here is on paper, haha) any of these characters are capable of meaningful change, if not redemption. I've talked about it a bit on here before, but I think particularly with a character like Logan who himself is shaped by abandonment and abuse, he could change. With him losing most of the genuine relationships in his life as of 3.09, that feels like it could be an awakening as much as it could be an even further shutdown/shut out.

If he did, would that ever make up for the years of trauma and abuse he's inflicted on his children? His wife, ex-wives and girlfriends? Staff? To say nothing of the crimes he's been complicit in?

No, I don't think so. He still did what he did, and the suffering he inflicted is very real, but he could one day (again, on paper, haha), step into a future where he made the choice to be a better man, and it would be up to his children, the women in his life, and his staff to decide what that meant to them.

That choice though is a big part of it, and it's fascinating to me that Greg and Logan are the two characters you mention in your ask, because I think they're in a lot of ways the characters who present the most interesting moral quandry, but for very different reasons.

In a lot of ways, I actually think Tom's the character who's most similar to Logan. They're both good at what they do, they latch onto staff they feel they can trust, use and abuse in equal measure (Greg for Tom, Gerri and Frank for Logan), they both endured abuse, however differently (Tom from Shiv, Logan from Noah), they both married up as a form of class mobility (Tom married Shiv, Logan married Caroline), and they both in turn abused the people they loved (Tom with Shiv, and Logan his children). It speaks to the ruthless survivalism in both of them, but also the sort of ways they internalise the external, and become hard off the back of it.

They both do terrible, terrible things, but those terrible things don't come out of a vacuum. They survived the jaws of a beast and became a beast themselves.

Greg on the other hand, I think, is one of the worst characters on the show. (An unpopular opinion!) There's certainly a bit of a survivor in Greg, especially across his first weeks in New York when he was living in poverty, but the reality is that that was always going to be a brief tour for him. Greg has always had options and opportunity, but Kendall was right in 3.07 – Greg is a parasite. He's up close and personal to the abuse and the moral carnage and the trauma inflicted upon trauma inflicted upon trauma, and he sits eating cake at his great aunt's wedding the day after his second cousin's tried to commit suicide – the cousin he's been closest to for the last six months – and says 'what am I going to do with a soul anyway?'

I think the thing with all of these characters is that, like anyone, they are their choices, and increasingly, they're making informed choices. Tom knows what he's doing when he's siding with his wife's abuser, just like Logan knows what he's doing when he dials Caroline in to tell their children he thinks they're worthless, just like Greg knows what he's doing when he chooses to step into moral bankruptcy with Tom.

These characters are always capable of making the other choice, the good choice, but they don't, and, increasingly, they're exerting power by removing the choice for others. Tom took away Shiv's choice by telling Logan behind her back about the coup, Logan took away Kendall's choice when he didn't let him cash out, and Greg even took away Comfrey and the Contessa's choice by not telling either of them about his feelings or each other.

I think intent and accountabilty is integral to stepping forwards and into rehabilitation and community, and it's really, really fascinating to me that Kendall, Roman and Shiv each had moments of that in the finale while Logan, Greg and Tom each decided to shirk it. In that sense, yeah, I think it's always possible for them to make the choice towards a type of redemption, but whether or not any of them will choose that? Well, I think that's increasingly unlikely.

#thank you again anon!#i think the ship's sailing particularly fast for greg tbh #he sold his soul long before 3.09 #it's a p fascinating area #and interestingly the more i think the logan + tom + greg team up makes a terrifying amount of sense #logan roy #greg hirsch #tom wambsgans #there's also something here about characters who feel remorse #and interestingly it's rarely the characters you'd think should #greg + logan + tom #hbo succession #succession 3.09 #welcome to my ama #succession meta

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wavyhairedbabyy · 3 years

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Idiots - Part 1

Karl Jacobs x gn!reader

tldr: They’ve both got a crush. Sucks, since they’re the only ones oblivious to it. (Slow Burn!)

CW: some swearing(not at each other), fluffy as a teddy bear.

a/n: I got a random influx of followers ;-; Tysm for enjoying my works and sharing them. I haven’t written in 6 years, in case it wasn’t obvious lmao, so even one is super meaningful to me :) this ended up being way longer than I intended it to be so I’m splitting it into 2 parts.

edited yet: yes - let me know if I missed anything!

Part 1 - Part 2

Y/n and Karl met when Karl was still going to college in New York before dropping things to move to North Carolina. They met the fall of their sophomore year at the campus café when Karl was trying to shoot a piece of paper into a trash can. The problem was he couldn’t aim and it landed right in y/n’s mug of coffee, quickly dissolving into a paper coffee soup. For anyone else it would’ve been okay but being that coffee was y/n’s life line, especially during finals, it most definitely was not.

“You’re buying me another, right?” they asked, “I would highly recommend it or you might see a side of me you don’t want to see.”

Being the good guy he was, and the slight fear of their bad side, he did with no questions.

“So, since there’s a side of you I don’t want to see, and I bought you a new coffee, do I get to see the side of you that I do want to see?”

“Find me next semester and you might.”

And he did.

***

“Karl, if you don’t give me that sword, I’m going to hurt you!” Y/n screamed as they lunged toward him. It was y/n, Karl, and Chris hanging out at Karl’s place until it was time to leave for a Mr. Beast project. They sat in his living room, Karl with a foam sword that y/n was desperate to take from him.

“That’s the problem! If I give it to you, you will hurt me with it!” He yelled back, jumping out of their reach.

“Okay children, why don’t I just take the sword so we can end all of this?” Chris intervened in an attempt to stop the ruckus.

Both of them paused, looking at him in disbelief. They shook their head and in unison scoffed, “No!”

The two continued their play fighting, one holding on to the sword for a short period of time before the other pulled it from their grasp. This went on until it was time to leave the house.

While this was all going down, Chris watched Karl’s behavior. He noticed how he let y/n hold on to the sword a little longer, even when he could’ve easily reached out to grab it from their hands. He noticed how he was much more careful with his movements, almost scared to be too rough with them.

With anyone else, Chris knew Karl’s pride would have taken over in this situation. He thought back to any other time he had any of his SMP friends over. With Nick or Alex, he would have hogged the sword and brutally whacked either of them with it as much as he could. He would happily tacked them and pinned them to the ground. With y/n though... there was a gentleness with them, and Chris did not fail on picking that up.

“Okay lame-os, let’s get on over to the warehouse. Y/n, you coming?” Chris asked.

Y/n shook their head, “Nah. I’m gonna unpack my stuff and relax from the flight. Plus, word on the street says that tomorrow is when the cool stuff is happening so I’ll come then.” they replied.

“Well the street is right, but they’re still a dummy,” Chris looked at Karl for reference.

“Hey...” Karl faked a sad look before staring at y/n for defense.

Y/n giggle and just shrugged, waving goodbye to the both of them, “If you don’t bring me back Burger King fries, don’t bother coming back at all!”

***

Chris and Karl sat in the car, Chris driving and Karl in the passenger seat. With some music on in the background, the two were discussing the plan of action for what was going to be filmed for the day.

“Do you know how long it’s going to take?” Karl asked, “I feel bad leaving y/n by themselves so I want to try to get out as early as humanly possible.”

“I’m not really sure. I’m sure Jimmy wouldn’t mind you scootin’ out a little early,” Chris replied. He took the opportunity and leaned over to his friend, “Speakin’ of y/n, anything going on there? Y’know, anything special?”

“Uhh- whaddya mean special?” Karl haphazardly, “We’re best friends. I think that’s pretty special.”

“No, idiot. I mean is there anything there besides just being best friends,” Chris paused for a second, “I dunno. I just noticed you’re different with them, man. You know you would never treat Nick or Alex the way you treated them.”

Karl paused, trying to think of a response but failing. He sighed, “Yeah, there’s definitely something there on my end. I mean, I’ve been attracted to them since we first met. I just don’t think they reciprocate it.”

“You never know if you don’t try. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“I’d rather not think about it,” Karl sunk into his seat, thinking of all the bad endings that could happen if he told y/n his feelings.

***

Meanwhile this was happening, y/n was making themselves comfortable in Karl’s guest room. They planned on staying for a week and a half which meant packing a month’s worth of clothes. Before starting to unpack their things into the dresser, they FaceTimed their other best friend that was back in New York to keep them company.

“You’re calling me now? Your flight landed 4 hours ago! I was sure you crashed in the middle of the ocean - gone like that Malaysia flight,” y/bff answered.

“Hi to you too,” y/n responded as they started to place their clothes in the closet, “ You are so dramatic. My flight didn’t even go over the ocean. And don’t act like you weren’t tracking my flight. You knew damn well I was fine.”

“All this worrying and caring, and this is how I’m being treated?” Y/bff shook their head as the wiped their fake tears away “The disrespect.”

“Pft, the only disrespect I’m seeing here is the lack of questions about my day,” y/n said, “I had a great flight. I got those yummy blue chips and had a nice drive from the airport in a Tesla.”

Y/bff gasped, “What kind of Uber driver is driving around a Tesla? We need more of those people up here.”

“Dude, it was Karl,” y/n replied, “I was shocked. Last time I saw this kid he was driving a hunk of junk. One year down here and he’s driving around like he’s Elon Musk.”

“Well, I’ll tell you this now. If you don’t cuff him, I will!” Their laugh echoed through the phone

Y/n rolled their eyes, “Oh please, if he doesn’t like me like that then you’re in no good luck.”

“So you told him then?”

“No, not yet,” y/n paused, “I dunno. We’ve been friends for 3, almost 4, years now. If he liked me, he would’ve said something by now. Plus we live so far away from each other now. I just don’t wanna ruin a good thing, y’know?”

“Well, I still say do it. You can tell him and spend your life in peace knowing his answer, or keep it to you yourself and spend the rest of your life wondering ‘what if?’ And I’ll tell you now, the latter always ends with regret. With the first answer, you’ll at least have a chance of a happy ending.”

Y/n shrugged, putting away the last piece of clothing from their luggage, “I know, I know. I’ll think about it. Thanks for the chat, but I’m gonna go relax now before he gets back. I love and miss you already.”

They exchanged their goodbyes and hung up. Y/n flattened their luggage and slid it under the bed. Moving back to the dresser, they found some comfortable clothes to change into after a shower.

Y/n knew y/bff was right. They just couldn’t bring themselves to share their feelings. What if Karl didn’t feel the same way? Would it ruin their friendship? Would this be the last time they ever saw each other? No, y/n knew it wouldn’t end their friendship, but it would make it awkward for a little while. They moved to the bathroom. Maybe a shower would help them compose their thoughts.

***

“I’m back!” Karl shouted as he kicked the door shut behind him. The project took a few hours so the sun had set and nighttime was settling itself in North Carolina. There was no response. Karl continued, “And I have Burger King fries!”

“You should’ve started out with that! Coming!” Y/n yelled from down the hall. Karl rolled his eyes and walked over to the living room table. He started making room for the food when he heard fast footsteps coming toward him.

“Incoming!” Y/n yelled, tackling him to the floor with a hug. They were giggling as if they just pulled the best prank in the world.

“Hi to you too,” he groaned from his body hitting the floor. Y/n continued to chuckle as they got up, grabbing Karl’s hand to help him up too. They sat on the couch, looking at the food in front of them.

“A whole whopper meal? What did I do to get the honors, Mr. Jacobs?” Y/n remarked in a posh accent, popping a fry into their mouth.

“You existed,” Karl giggled out. Y/n smiled, but the butterflies in their stomach couldn’t feign their excitement. It was small shit like that that made y/n fall for Karl. He continued, “Plus I didn’t know if you ate or not so I thought better safer than sorry.”

“Aw, you’re the sweetest,” they gave him a tight hug before returning to the spot they were in on the couch, “So, what’s the plan, Stan?”

“I’m kind of tired from filming, I hope you don’t mind-”

“Actually, I completely mind” y/n replied sarcastically. Karl shook his head at them.

“So, I was thinking we could just watch a movie or watch a show,”

“Ah yes, head empty activities. I’m down. Can we watch a movie though? Not in the mood for a show right now,” y/n replied.

“Sure let’s scroll through and find something,” Karl switched on the TV and the two munched on their food while they decided what they were going to watch. After 20 minutes of scrolling, which really was 20 minutes of fighting over who had better taste in movies, they finally agreed on Wall-E.

Before the movie started, y/n looked over to Karl. Their hands were in the shape of finger guns, pointed to each other and the tips of their index fingers touching. They had a pout on their face when they asked, “Can we cuddle while we watch?”

“No,” Karl shook his head quickly, keeping a stoic, straight face. Y/n’s pout got bigger. He continued, “I absolutely hate physical touch.”

They both immediately broke out into giggles, y/n grabbing the nearest pillow and smacking him with it, “You are so lame.”

Karl continued with his fit of giggle, “The day I say that and mean it is the day hell freezes over.”

As the intro to the movie played, the two came closer, y/n’s legs tangling up with Karl’s. When they finished up their food, they moved closer with Karl’s arm around y/n’s shoulders and their head laying on his chest.

Y/n gave a playful scoff, reminiscing on their past memories together, “This reminds me of the time we had a Disney movie marathon before spring break.”

Karl laughed, “Yeah, and you made my old roommate cry beforehand because he wasn’t doing his dishes all semester.”

“In my defense, I gave him warnings. He didn’t wanna listen and there’s no way I was letting you live in a house with a sink full of fruit flies.”

“I’m not sure if you did that for me or because you practically lived with us.”

“Don’t get it mixed up, pretty boy. That was for you.” Karl smiled at those words, looking down at the person laying on their chest. He wanted to believe there was more than friendship behind those words. The warm feeling he would always get with them filled his chest as he turned his focus back to the movie.

“I really missed you.” He whispered.

“I really missed you too.”

***

Part 2

#karl jacobs x reader #karl jacobs x reader fluff #karl jacobs fluff #karl jacobs fanfic #karl jacobs #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt x reader

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possiblyimbiassed · 3 years

Text

The lying liars who lie

Years and years late to the party, I’ve finally gotten my hands on all the DVDs of BBC Sherlock, and I thought it would be fun to watch the extra material carefully, one piece after another, and also listen to at least some of the show makers’ commentary of the episodes. But at this point, after S4 where DVDs seemed to be a constant lying device in general, I tend to look at them with a bit more suspicious eyes...

I still love the show of course, but now that I’ve taken this deep dive into all the special features, I find them a truly hard thing to try to wrap my head around. Even this long after the fact, I’m amazed by the amount of shameless, self-congratulatory BS in the DVDs, where the people involved can’t have enough of complimenting each other and their show, while they skillfully avoid to discuss anything actually meaningful about the plot line. ;) For example, Moffat claims in the S2 DVD that “In fact, you’ll never see a more obsessively authentic version of Sherlock Holmes than this one”. But if we follow their light-hearted commentary, which basically takes the show at face value, I’d call that not just hyperbole, but an outright lie. If you want to see the ‘authentic’ stories from ACD’s work in this show, you’ll definitely need to go much deeper into the subtext and meta levels - neither of which are mentioned on these DVDs of course. Here’s my own (rather subjective) ‘review’ of the whole thing, trying to pinpoint why I view most of the commentary of the show from its own makers as an advanced art of deception.

(My musings under the cut)

Series 1 - a wealth of extra material

First of all - as many of you probably knew already - the whole of the Unaired Pilot is added to the DVD of S1. In the extra material about the making of the series, they (Sue Vertue, Mofftiss and others) talk about what things they changed between the Pilot and ASiP, claiming that many changes were necessary improvements once they knew that they had a whole series and a lot more time at their disposal.

Which I can perfectly understand and agree with in general. But I think what’s missing in their discussions is more interesting than what’s actually there (”Mind the gap” ;) ). Things that I would expect from the show makers when they go to the trouble of comparing the pilot version with the aired product. There’s not a word, for example, about the fact that they added both Mycroft and Moriarty to the story in ASiP - two characters who later turn out to play major roles and appear in almost every other episode until the end of TFP. Or about the choice that one of the screenwriters would play Mycroft.

Neither do they discuss why they chose to relocate the place where Sherlock was challenged by the cabbie from 221B to Roland Kerr’s School of Further Education. Instead they focus on the details, like for example the new design of the interior of 221B.

Not to mention the fact that almost every scene in the Pilot is mirrored in ASiP (as pointed out long ago by @kateis-cakeis X), but at Angelo’s in the Pilot Sherlock follows the events with the cabbie while looking in an actual mirror. I even noticed that in the Pilot the cabbie is offering Sherlock dark-coloured bottles with the pills in them, while in ASiP those bottles are transparent, as if the cabbie is offering Sherlock to play Black or White in the chess game that he is simulating. What’s with all these mirrors, though? Not a word on the DVD... ;)

Now, even though these rather remarkable choices are neglected together with a great bunch of minor ones, I still think that the most interesting fact about all this is that they actually included the whole pilot version within this DVD, which is sold by the franchise. Why even do this, when it raises far more questions than it answers? The only logical reason I can come up with is that they’re laying out a track of little hints that anyone with a deep enough interest in the show to actually buy the DVDs can try to follow. And it seems to me that lying by omission is one of the first steps in the long line of cryptic and misleading author comments on this show. But at the same time, they clearly want the fans to have access to it all, even the abandoned version.

Moving on to Series 2, time for bigger lies

In the extra material of this DVD Benedict himself describes how his character "faces one of his deadliest enemies in the shape of Love, and it comes in the form of Irene Adler, who is this extraordinary dominatrix [insert here a bunch of superlatives regarding Adler]...”. And then we see how Adler whips Sherlock with a riding crop (without any kind of consent, I have to add) while he’s lying on the floor, and we have Lara Pulver telling us how it was to have a go at Benedict on set. So Holmes whips dead bodies and Adler whips living; seems like a match made in hell! :))

Gatiss claims, grinning with his whole face, that “they’re clearly, absolutely made for each other”. OK, so I think we can see Sherlock being intellectually impressed by Adler, and even trying to protect her from Mycroft, and we can see John acting jealously. We can also see her being dressed and styled as a perfect, female mirror of Sherlock. But I’m still at a loss what all this has to do with love on Sherlock’s part? Especially since he’s not even responding in any fashion to her various attempts at seducing him.

And there’s more: Paul McGuigan, the director of ASiB, claims that the scene where Sherlock has a conversation with Adler inside his Mind Palace about the crime case with the car that backfires "is a part of a kind of love story, if you like...” No, I don’t. Maybe it’s just me, but if their aim really was to convey to their audience a love story between Sherlock and The Woman, I think they failed miserably. All I see is a guy ’mansplaining’ to a clever woman how to use her brain, while she’s trying to flirt with him by expressing her admiration (to no avail, though) and make deductions at the same time. Nothing new under the sun, really. John did the same thing repeatedly in ASiP (without making own deductions) and got far more attention from Sherlock, but I’ve never heard any of the show makers call that ”a love story”. But by ’lie-splaining’ the scene with Irene to the audience, they try to manipulate us all to see it as such...

In all the direct commentary of this episode, where Steven, Mark, Sue, Benedict and Lara are present, I get the impression that every time they even touch on the relationship between Sherlock and John, they hurry to add the term “friendship” or “man love” or similar words in case they forgot them at first, avoiding even the tiniest possibility that there could be anything more going on between them. They even explain that when Irene calls them “a couple” she does not mean anything romantic. This whole approach feels almost paranoic in the midst of all the laid-back jokes and light-hearted talk about the filming. It’s as if a sort of restrictive, heteronormative filter or blanket is being constantly applied, to teach the audience the ‘no homo’ lesson of it all. And the more I listen to this, the more tiresome it becomes.

In the commentary Moffat does reveal an interesting detail, though: that the ‘Flight of the Dead’ in ASiB was inspired by a cut out scene in the Bond movie On Her Majesty's Secret Service. To me this is just one more reason to question the ‘authentic’ quality of this scene, as opposed to possibly taking place in Sherlock’s Mind Palace. But I digress...

Listening to the commentary in general, it’s like it’s aimed to distract the attention from what’s going on at the screen rather than highlight it and try to explain their intentions. They do mention that Irene didn’t actually ‘beat’ Sherlock in the end of ASiB, but there’s no explanation of this obvious deviation from canon, where Adler does indeed fool Holmes, taking advantage of his prejudices.

The rest of the extra material of S2 is mostly about technical stuff, special effects and such, and also about filming techniques and Benedict’s delivery of fast deductions. But the part I really do love is the one where Andrew Scott talks about how much he enjoyed playing the scene where Moriarty dances before breaking into the Crown Jewels. That’s one of my favorite scenes of he whole show. :) Also, the takeaway message from this DVD is Moffat’s words at the end:

“These are still the formative years of Sherlock Holmes, and the most important thing about this series is not that it’s updated; it’s the fact that those two men are still young and they’re still at the beginning of what they don’t yet know is gonna be a lifelong partnership”.

And then comes Series 3...

...and its extra material, with the most blatant attempts at deception so far, I believe. At this point Sherlock is called a “psychopath” by both the show’s characters, John’s blog, Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman as if it were true, which is a big deviation from ACD canon. That simply doesn’t happen there; while Holmes is sometimes described as eccentric, no one in the books is ever claiming that Sherlock Holmes has some kind of mental illness leaning towards cruelty and egotism - not even his enemies say this about him. In the show, however, they begin in ASiP with making him torture a dying man for information (something that is not included in the Pilot). And in S3, where they avoid discussing the reason why they turned Mary Morstan into a ruthless assassin, this major shift is glossed over by the fact that in the same episode (HLV) they also turn Sherlock into a murderer, who cold-bloodedly blows the brains out of a blackmailer for threatening to make said assassin’s crimes public.

But without ever getting into the “why” of it all, the cast and crew seem overly happy and smiling describing these rather morbid choices as something positive; “fantastic”, "fresh and new” and "amazing” are their choice of words. Benedict claims that Mary, who has literally shot and almost killed Sherlock in HLV, is now "a new best friend of Sherlock’s”. Amanda claims that Mary “is protecting John” when she shoots Sherlock in the chest. Now they’re both psychopaths, and poor little John is forced to stomach them both because he’s addicted to danger. In Amanda’s words, Mary also “kind of gets in between the two of them, but she wants them to be together as well”. Which is a load of BS considering that Mary tries to kill the protagonist of the story.

Lars Mikkelsen thinks it’s “such a good script” because “you’re mislead as an audience”. But he never gets the chance to expand on what the misleading actually contains, because then Mofftiss cut in to express how much they love playing with “what ifs”. As if this whole mega-budget project of a show were just a big experimental playground without any actual story to tell.

Benedict repeats his line from HLV that Magnussen “preys on people who are different” and Moffat also says he “exploits people who are different”. Which is really confusing, considering what we can see Magnussen actually do in the show. Lady Smallwood and John Garvie are two well-established, powerful governmental politicians whom Magnussen blackmails by finding their respective pressure points. In Garvie’s case his pressure point seems to be alcohol problems in his past, but according to media he’s later arrested on charges of corruption. Lady Smallwood is blackmailed on the basis of her husband having sent compromising letters to a minor many years ago, in spite of later claiming that he thought she was older and stopped when he found out the truth. And then Magnussen is blackmailing an assassin who recently threatened to execute him but shot Sherlock Holmes instead, in order to try to get at Sherlock’s brother Mycroft, another powerful governmental figure.

But what does media seeking out dirt on certain people in power and their families have to do with “people who are different”? Despicable as the method may be, isn’t this unfortunately how political power play usually works in our society? Or are TPTB somehow a repressed minority group now? Unless this whole “people who are different” accusation is actually about something entirely different, something that none of the show makers even cares to mention... ;)

In these DVDs, none of the involved persons is ever discussing the change of roles with regards to canon, though, or the (lack of) logics in this turn of events, or even a hint about the narrative motivation behind them. It’s all about the great Drama, the extraordinary visual effects and the aim to endlessly “surprise the audience”. Which is fine by me to a certain extent, but when this is all that’s being said, it feels extremely superficial, as if the audience is merely seen as a bunch of consumers that have to be triggered more and more by horror, special effects and cliff hangers to be able to appreciate the show. (“Warm paste” indeed, like Gatiss has later criticized some viewers of wanting...) While the "why”; the idea behind this surrealistic adaptation, made by self-proclaimed fanboys of ACD, is not even touched upon. Around this, the silence is total and therefore totally confusing.

Maybe I shouldn’t even go into Series 4...

...but why not, since I’ve already started? :)

First of all, there’s a lot of extra material on this DVD and I particularly love the parts about the music and composing and Arwel Wyn Jones’ work with the design and build-up of John’s and Mary’s flat and the interior of 221B. Those bits are truly enjoyable. What I could live without, though, is the leading commentary that kind of instructs us, the audience, how we should interpret the show.

Benedict is on it again on this DVD, telling us that in TST they picked up where they left off in S3 and “It’s a very happy unit of three people that then become four.” Why does he feel the need to make this statement, considering how S3 ended? Actually, if there’s anything I totally fail to see in S4, it’s happiness. The banter between the three of them may seem entertaining for a while, but who could have a relaxed, warm relationship with someone who tried and almost succeeded to kill you less than a year ago? Without any sign of remorse? Now there’s a dark tone of discomfort and mean jokes that feels forced and not even a bit happy to me.

But Martin tells us how excited John and Mary are about starting a family and Amanda mentions how much they’re looking forward to the baby. Again and again it’s repeated, as though trying to rub it in: “they’re in a good place, they’re a loving, married couple”. Yeah, right - a child that (judging by TSoT) wasn’t at all planned and now with an assassin for a mother... Twice we see the new parents complain that their daughter has the mark of Satan on her forehead and debate which horror movie she’s from. The clichéd hypocrisy of it all is sickening, and I’m willing to bet that it’s really meant to be. ;)

But Gatiss chimes in, deciding for us all that the christening of Rosie is “a funny scene” and “they’re enjoying each other, enjoying being on adventures as a three”.

An interesting detail is that Gatiss also tells us that the working name of this episode was “The Adventure of the Melting power Ranger”. So this little blue guy was that important? :) And - even more interesting - is when he says: “Cake is now the code for violent death”. So how should we interpret Sherlock, John and Molly going out to have cake in TLD then, on Sherlock’s (supposed) birthday?

These might be jokes, though, but when they tell us that Sue cries every time she sees Mary’s death I strongly believe they must be joking. How could anyone feel truly moved by this overly sentimental long monologue where far more efforts are put into reacting to Mary’s speech than saving her life? And John’s mooing like a cow, is that also moving? :)

One thing Martin says about TLD that actually disgusts me is regarding the morgue scene where John assaults Sherlock and Sherlock lets it happen: “From there, really, their relationship can only sort of rebuild, that’s the absolute worst it can get”. As if outright physical abuse would be something that makes you want to rebuild a relationship? Wow - just wow... How far can they go with this crap?

Anyway, when we finally arrive at the absurdity of TFP and Sherlock’s ‘secret sister’, everything is of course discussed as if she actually does exist on the given premises, and everything she does is ‘real’, no matter how impossible it would be in real life. The abandonment of any attempt to have the story line make logical sense is skillfully covered up by more distraction with fascinating technicalities of the film making process. This is where Gatiss makes his now almost classic statement that after Sherlock and John jump out of the window at 221B when a grenade explodes there, it’s just “Boop! And they’re fine.”

Of course there’s no serious attempt at explaining this logically. Except perhaps Gatiss claiming that they both landed on Speedy’s awning - whatever good that would do to them, since the awning is leaning downwards, but never mind... But we never even saw that happen, did we? A great deal of time is then dedicated to show all the precautions to have Martin and Ben jumping safely at low level onto a madras supported by empty cardboard boxes.

Sian Brooke did say something interesting about Sherrinford, however, that got me thinking. She said that Eurus “wants revenge for the years and years that she has been held captive” there, isolated, and that in TFP the Holmes children are now “lab rats” and “it’s an experiment”. On a meta level, I think we can indeed see this episode - and maybe the whole show - as a kind of experiment, but maybe we, the audience, are also lab rats? Since Sherrinford is slightly shaped like a film camera (not commented in the extra material, of course), it leads my thought to all the adaptations through the years and years where Holmes and Watson have not been allowed to be together. A whole century when Sherlock Holmes has been held captive, restricted by the very same sort of heteronormative filter that all this extra material imposes; it’s like Sherrinford, isn’t it? Which gives all the more meaning to Moriarty’s arrival to the island, accompanied by Freddy Mercury’s “I want to break free”...

I think I’ll let the final words in this little exposé come from Mark Gatiss in The Writers’ Chat (my bolding):

“Moriarty is a fascinating thing in that in our sea of ongoing lies, one thing we’ve genuinely been completely consistent about is telling people he’s dead. But no-one believes it! And it’s a rather brilliant thing.” Again - self-congratulatory statements. But instead of providing some actual evidence of the death of this character, who has kept popping up in almost every episode since his supposed demise, they think that the more a confirmed liar repeats something, the truer it gets? And the more we’re supposed to believe them? Well, all we can do is wait and see. :)

Tagging some people who might be interested:

@raggedyblue @ebaeschnbliah @sarahthecoat @gosherlocked @lukessense @sagestreet @thepersianslipper

My earlier meta on a similar topic (X)

#bbc sherlock dvds #Deception in BBC Sherlock

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angelguk · 4 years

Text

→ pu$$y fairy — a jeongguk scenario

member: jeon jungkook

word count: 3.2k

genre: smut + college!au + jeongguk and oc are in a weird fwbs without the friendship part just the benefits except jaykay lowkey has feelings + virginity au

warnings: virgin!oc / blowjob / we talk about dicks for a bit / oc is strange / jaykay is confused / cum swallowing / first times / not really edited / mingyu the meddling best fwend

soundtrack: on the way, jhene aiko + hold on (slowed and reverb), the internet

Jeongguk doesn’t hate Mingyu. He truly doesn’t. He is one of his closest friends after all; he’d held him up after Jeongguk had dumped half a keg down his throat and his legs had promptly collapsed. He’d also been a successful wingman for when Jeongguk was aiming to add Seolhyun to the list of girls he’d bagged, sent pictures of his organic chemistry notes when Jeongguk had missed more than half of the classes in high school and didn’t laugh at him when he was heart-broken over Sua and borderline depressed. He was a true friend; someone Jeongguk could rely on. It was a simple brother-like relationship that Jeongguk deeply treasured. So no, he could never hate Mingyu – but he could absolutely long to punch that insufferable asshole in the face.

He should have known this was going to go downhill exceptionally fast the moment you stumbled into his room, wide-eyed and nervous in your unsure steps. When his pants had hit the ground, the shock in your eyes was a dead giveaway to how messy this whole arrangement was going to be. The second clear sign was when you jumped out his window because the sight of his bare dick terrified you.

And this was all the result of Mingyu being a meddling shit who didn’t know when to mind his business.

He remembers it with a clarity that makes his shoulders tense, how Mingyu had snuck you into the conversation while twisting a soju bottle in his hands.

“Yo… JK…. You mind if I ask you a question?” He’d said. Jeongguk shrugged, focused on flipping the meat on the grill because he was starving and the prospect of cooked meat was a lot more appealing than feigning interest in a conversation. “Alright…," Mingyu took his silence as a cue to speak. “Have you ever fucked a virgin?”

He should have known then. He really should have known.

“I don’t know. I don’t ask any questions when I’m hard,” Jeongguk had replied, unknowing of the dangerous path this conversation was guiding him down.

“Yeah and most of the time you don’t fuck on an actual bed. I’m not even surprised you don’t ask questions.”

“Hey!” Jeongguk had swung the tongs around. “I ask important ones, like consent and making sure we’ve got a condom around. But virginity? Not my concern.”

“Seems a bit…. Whorish to me.”

“Not whorish. I just have my priorities elsewhere… Like cumming for example.”

Mingyu had sighed as he poured him a shot, the air leaving his lips heavy. “I shouldn’t even be asking you to be honest. You’re a decent guy but your kind of a dickhead when it comes to sex.”

“How does not pondering on virginity make me dickhead? Again, as I said, priorities are elsewhere.”

“Dude you’ve never even tried to have meaningful sex at least once in your life. When was the last time you were actually emotionally invested in the person you were sleeping with? Hmm?”

The answer was Sua and he knew that but Mingyu was decent enough to keep her name out of his mouth, the judging look in his eyes saying enough.

“You know… I don’t do well with the whole emotional thing. I prefer it physical. It’s less messy. But what does this even have to do with virginity?” Jeongguk hated to admit it but he was somewhat interested in where this conversation was going. If only he knew it was leading to a massive train wreck of the one thing, he steered clear from – emotions.

Mingyu had just sighed again, tipping the soju bottle into his shot glass once more. “There’s a girl who I’d like you to meet.”

He’d scoffed, mouth stuffed with a perilla leaf wrap. “You know I don’t do blind dates.”

“It’s not a blind date,” Mingyu had retorted, the glance he threw at his friend’s direction precarious. “She wants you to take her virginity.”

Jeongguk had choked. Of course, he had. Even if sex didn’t mean much to him, taking someone’s first time like that felt very transactional. And Jeongguk wasn’t that big of a dickhead. But then Mingyu had opened his mouth, spewing various details about your life to him that he would rather have not heard over a KBBQ lunch. You were a friend from one of his business lectures, rather eccentric but sweet and funny. You were also a virgin and terrified of approaching men on your own, one of the reasons Mingyu had sprung up this arrangement. Jeongguk wasn’t one to fall into things like this but it was too late. Mingyu was a marketing major for a reason, he knew how to spin words in his favour, convince people into agreeing to things that they normally would not. And that’s how Jeongguk found himself staring at your retreating figure after you’d thrown your body right out his window, landing hard on the lawn of the house he rented with Namjoon and Seokjin. The crazy thing was that you’d gotten up immediately, not showing any sign of a broken bone or injuries, before promptly sprinting down the road to the bus stop. He should have known then. He really should have known. And yet, here he is, pants discarded on the floor of his room and his dick aching from being unrelieved for longer than it’s ever been, while you crouch over him, squinting at his penis like it’s a foreign object that could kill you.

“Could you please stop staring at my penis like that.” He says it out of frustration, but also the way you’re examining his length makes him feel self-conscious in a way he hasn’t felt like in a long time.

“Sorry,” you murmur, not breaking eye contact with his dick. “I’m just… fascinated. It’s rather….” The sentence tapers out and you swallow hard as if it pains you to admit it, “...Ugly.”

Jeongguk decides then and there he hates you.

“I mean... It’s not that it’s ugly!” you swiftly attempt to amend, catching the glare he directs at you. “It’s also big!”

“I know. And you just said it was ugly,” Jeongguk retorts, weighing the options in his head. Either get a poor blowjob from a girl he’s terrified of (but also bizarrely attracted too) or kick you out of his room and finish himself off. The situation sucks either way but it’s better than the last time when you’d leapt out of the window like a gazelle.

“I misspoke,” you say, gently falling onto your knees. You flash him a shy smile, a soft delicate little thing that makes your eyes glitter and Jeongguk instantly picks the first option. “It’s just different to what I expected it to look like.”

He scoffs, swallowing hard on the sudden lump in his throat. “There’s no way you haven’t seen a dick before. You don’t watch porn?”

The grimace you make is enough of an answer. “I have… Not all the time though, it’s too much for me sometimes. Also, it’s weird seeing it in real life and not, like, through a screen.”

“Noted. But still, it’s not that ugly,” Jeongguk murmurs, trying not to compare his penis to the visuals he has in his head. His pride is wounded from that comment he won’t deny it.

“It kinda is,” you reply. Jeongguk flicks your forehead in retaliation. “Ow! Why’d you do that.” There’s that stupid pout in your lips as you glower at him. He despises how his dick twitches at the sudden thought of your pretty mouth wrapped around his length. Despises it even more when you gasp at the slight motion trembling through him. “It moves?!”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk sighs, wondering how on Earth you’re over the age of twenty and still like this. “It does. Also, don’t insult my dick. It’s rude.”

“Sorry again,” you pause as if you’re considering whether what you might utter next is offensive. You open your mouth anyway, unable to comprehend the fact that your words are slowly chipping away at his ego. “It’s kinda scary that it moves.”

“Oh my god, you are the literal worst.” Jeongguk thinks his boner might evaporate. It’s a miracle it’s lasted this long. You’d sauntered into his room around half an hour again and he’d been hard from the get-go. Truly amazing his balls hadn’t shrivelled up yet. “You know you’re about to blow me off right?”

“I know… I’m stupid,” you counter, eyebrows furrowing together like you’re attempting to figure out exactly how Jeongguk’s dick works. It’d be very simple if you just asked him. It’s essentially an up and down motion, some swirls, a lot of wetness. Nothing too difficult. But when you glance up at him, the innocent glaze over your eyes almost hopeless, he can tell it feels the same as defusing a bomb. “I just… Don’t know what to do. Show me?”

And there it is - the foolish little thing that landed Jeongguk here half-naked on the edge of his bed in the first place. Even though you were mildly repulsed by the male autonomy you were still so eager to learn. Something Jeongguk didn’t know he would be into until you posed that question and his balls tightened in a way they have never done before.

“Okay,” he mumbles, hoping you don’t suspect the twitch that runs through his length when you say that. Not like you would, to be fair.

But then you sweep your hair back, lean in fast, no preparation or anything before your breath is brushing against his crotch and Jeongguk nearly screams.

“Woah, woah, woah! I thought you just asked me to show you? What are you doing?” Maybe he scuttles further down the bed, terrified of the rush of heat you send straight to his gut.

Your eyes flicker upward, bright and ingenuous. “Am I doing it wrong?”

“You’re not -,” Jeongguk sighs breath weighing through the air. “You’re not doing it wrong. I just think... We should go slow right? It’s your first time? Maybe don’t rush into it?”

“I watched a YouTube video and they said to do it like that,” you reply. Jeongguk can’t help but blink at you, brain reeling from attempting to understand your being.

“You watched a - never mind. You’re giving me a headache. And I thought you knew nothing. Porn would have been a better research alternative but to each their own.”

“I did it for preparation! I didn't know it’d be this nerve-wracking in real life. And, I told you, real dicks are gross. She used a dildo.”

“How is a dildo any different to a real dick?” Jeongguk fingers dig into the mattress a little harder when you lean it once more, gingerly resting your head against his knee.

“It’s just different. Less grotesque. And they come in various colours.”

He might just actually scream. “It’s literally made to replicate a penis.”

You sigh, your breath skipping against his skin. The room is suddenly tight, closing in on him and you’re not even really touching him. And then you catch your lip between your teeth, pressing down with a quick thoughtful bite. “I think you’re deflecting right now.”

“I’m not,” he splutters. “Why would I even be deflecting right now?”

“I mean, we’re having a conversation about dildos when your dick is hard and I’m meant to be blowing you. Sounds like deflection doesn’t it?” He hates the way your eyes glitter, bright and captivating as your gaze locks into his.

“Like I said,” Jeongguk retorts, “We should take it slow.”

“Okay then. I’m done talking about dildos unless you have anything else to add?”

“I don’t,” he murmurs, “Okay then, onto giving a blowjob.”

“Onto giving a blowjob,” you reiterate. And then, like a psychopath, you smile. “Where should I start?”

He hates that body is on edge right now, hands trembling even though he hides them by squeezing his bed-sheets tight. “Try giving it a lick first? You can put your hand around the base too - if you want to.”

“Here?” His knees nearly buckle when you wrap your warm palm around his length, grip firm around the base of his cock. But that’s nothing to the gentle lap of your tongue against the side of his cock, a quick little thing and nearly launches him off the bed.

“Oh - uh - yeah, there.” His voice sounds far off and without warning your mouth is against him once more, tongue a sinful little thing that slips along his length, wet and warm and so sneaky he’s unsure of what to respond with apart from an instinctual buck of his hips. It’s easy like this, your tongue pressed against his cock and your hands slowly dragging upwards, placing a perfect pressure along his length that leaves him sighing into the air of his bedroom. Your movements grow more direct, reading the increasing desperation in Jeongguk’s body as he moves closer and closer to you, waiting until you feel sure enough. And then, finally, your mouth sinks onto him.

He nearly whimpers. Nearly. There’s a heat pooling in his gut and ebbs through every muscle and nerve, the coil of his desire springing tighter with each inch that slips down your throat. You take him so well, Jeongguk can’t help but watch in awe, the wideness in your eyes making him harder than he’s ever been in his life. Even with your inexperience, the way you swallow his cock is obscene. It’s an imagery Jeongguk engraves in his memory, purposefully stored because he knows he’ll think about it whenever his desires override his logical thoughts again. You lap him up like you want this, a soft moan echoing from your throat and along his length as you move deeper, mouth plaint to his dick. He forces himself to sit still, give you the time to adjust, lick and taste to your leisure, forcing the impending wave of heat back down into his gut. He holds it there even when you move away, the sound of your wet mouth popping off his dick permeating the air.

And of course, you lick your lips afterwards, a swift swipe of your pink tongue against them, your eyes trained on his.

“Like that?” you ask.

Jeongguk’s going to die. He is. And you’ll be the reason why listed on his death certificate.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, chest tight with want. “Like that.”

You lean back in without question, mouth taking his length like you were made for it and your hand works against the parts of him you can’t reach just yet. His mind wanders as his eyes take in this sight of you, on your knees and mouth open wide just for him. Someday he’d like to see if you could truly take his length, all of it. Down your throat. Hard and fast like his hips wanted to go. But this is more than perfect. How you concentrate on blowing him like you want to see him spill himself down your throat. It’s almost adorable, the earnestness in your gaze every time your eyes flicker upwards as your mouth moves along his cock. He likes this more than he’s willing to admit, the slowness in your pace, how your tongue is shy sometimes when it laves against his tip. It’s a change from what he usually gets - and a welcome one too. A tiny part of him feels like it would be fitting to hold your hand. You’re so pretty too, especially when your lips are on him. He’d like to take care of you, see what your face looked like when his tongue was deep inside of you, know what your taste like as you moan out his name. He doesn’t even register the words as they leave his mouth, head lost in the images colouring his thoughts.

“Taking me so well, baby,” he can’t help the grunt, the pet name natural to him, “So pretty with my cock in your mouth.”

And you hum like you like it - like you like pleasing him, sinking further down until his tip bumps against the back of your throat. The zip down his spine nearly sends him spiralling.

“Baby,” he feels it then, when your eyes shift to meet his, the snap in his gut. “F-fuck, I’m gonna cum. You need to stop right now if you don’t want to down your throat.”

But you don’t, moving faster like the twitch of his dick in your mouth spurs him on, your lips firm as they wrap around him. He doesn’t hold in his moves this time, hips gently moving up to meet your mouth, the tremor running through his bulky thighs nothing but a warning before it hits him hard. A wave of heat, melting through his muscles as his eyes flutter shut, your tongue lapping him right up, no protest as he unravels down your throat. It’s over in an instant but Jeongguk feels like mush, head floating and his bones soft with how hard his back hits the mattress. You pull off his length a second later, letting him feel you swallow all of him first.

“Holy shit.” His mouth is still disconnected from his brain.

There’s a beat of silence, so awkward that Jeongguk shuffles himself back onto his elbows even though his bones feel like giving way. And then your laugh tinkles through the air, a soft gentle thing that makes his heart seize in his chest.

“That… wasn’t so bad,” you say, staring at him with an ease that spikes an urge to press his lips against yours in his heart.

“Oh,” he replies, like an idiot. “You liked it?”

“Well, it didn’t suck… pun intended. Your moans are really loud.”

Jeongguk blushes - he blushes - even after the stupid joke you made.

“Um, yeah. I do, I guess. Sorry, I kind of forgot to show you what to do. But you’re a bit of a natural, to be honest.” He abhors the diffidence in his voice.

“I guessed that,” you retort, the smile on your face hypnotic, “From your really loud moaning.”

“Can you - fuck how do you ruin any intimate moment when it happens?”

“Guess I’m a natural at that too,” you say it with a laugh, and Jeongguk can’t help the smile that tugs against his lips.

“Um,” he tries, fully aware of the front view seat you were getting of his soft dick. He sits up to try and shield it, feeling awfully exposed. “If you’d like… I could return the favour?”

“No, I’m good.” There’s zero hesitation in your voice and you’re up before Jeongguk can think of a decent excuse to keep you in his room. “Maybe another time? I’ll text you. Bye Jeongguk.”

It’s then he regrets not encouraging you to undress earlier, his assumption that this would be the worst blowjob of his life incredibly incorrect. Perhaps if your clothes were scattered around his bedroom he could have found a way to convince you into his sheets while you searched for them. But you’re fully dressed, already bounding out of his door like his dick wasn’t down your throat moments ago. He watches you go with forlornness, mouth dry with words he’s incapable of expressing at this very instance and his heart oddly warm at the sight of your skipping away with a carefreeness he admires. He still hates that you’re leaving, perhaps the only positive of this situation is that you’re using his bedroom door instead of his window.

“Bye,” Jeongguk mumbles into the vacant air. You don’t even catch it, shooting him a quick grin before you’re bounding down the stairs as if this doesn’t even matter to you. A stumble on a stepping stone to something greater. He plucks up his phone, pants still lost somewhere on the floor. Blocking Mingyu for twenty-four hours should be enough of a punishment, right?

mingyu the man [10:21pm]

bro..

you alive?

jaykay [10:26pm]

i focking hate u

u know that right?

mingyu the man [10:31pm]

you dont my g

how was it?

did she jump out the window this time?

jaykay [10:34pm]

worse

mingyu the man [10:37pm]

bro wtf wot she do??

jaykay [10:40pm]

she actually gave me head

mingyu the man [10:45pm]

????

how is that worse dude you’re just as weird as her

jaykay [10:46pm]

ITS WORSE CAUSE I LIKED IT

mingyu the man [10:51pm]

damn....

you like crazy coochie don’t you

jaykay [10:52pm]

WHAT R U EVEN

MAN FUCK

I HATE U

mingyu the man [10:53pm]

lmao u don’t i brought her into your life u lurve me

im best man for the wedding

not jaehyun

u got dat right

jaykay [10:56pm]

i hope you fall into a ditch and die

mingyu the man [10:58pm]

okay big man

you gon see her again tho?

jaykay [10:59pm]

....maybe

idk man im fucked up right now

like???

SHE JUMPED OUT THE WINDOW??

mingyu the man [11:01pm]

and u still invited her over to suck your dick again

crazy coochie got u bad bruh

jaykay [11:06pm]

FUCK U

mingyu the man [11:11pm]

mhmm if thats what u say

i have a class wid her to tomorrow

any messages u want to pass on?

hello?

[mingyu the man is blocked]

hello? jaykayyyyyy

JAYKAY

SEAGULL

damn he got it bad

#jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #smutcentralnet #btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #hey kristy #shoutout 2 ella kristy and luna 4 beta reading mwah

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choices-and-voices · 3 years

Text

So the Foreign Affairs finale is in 3 days and we all know that there is no way our remaining questions can be answered in one chapter, but – I’m sad & salty about it, so I thought I’d actually make a list of all those questions just to REALLY hammer it home.

What exactly is Winston’s part in all of this? (I personally don’t think you can argue that Winston doesn’t have a part in it, but even if he doesn’t, we’re left with the questions of a] why he’s so desperate to know who MC’s LI is and b] why he’s so desperate to cancel the Peace Summit)

What’s actually going to happen at the Peace Summit? Are we going to see the magical repair of Ardona’s & Rutherland’s relationship, or is it actually going to go as terribly and violently as all the foreshadowing claims? And if so, how is that going to get resolved in one chapter? Are our diplomacy points with our friends going to mean anything at all?

Is MC’s mother definitely going to be re-elected now that Lewis Wright is discredited? Or does he still have a trick up his sleeve/is Rutherland more than a 2-party democracy?

What was actually the point of the masked attack on MC? I understand Wright wanting to discredit MC and their mother with a scandal, but why did he think that throwing red paint on MC and leaking photos of it to the press would advance that aim? It came across as a warning more than a staged undermining, but what was it a warning about? Is it just bad writing? Or is it a sign that there’s something deeper going on? (*cough cough* Winston *cough cough*)

On a completely different note – our MC and LI can’t live in secret forever. So will their relationship come out? Will they purposefully reveal it to the world, or will it get leaked? Will it be accepted? Will they have to fight for their right to make free choices despite their patriotic duty, which has been a major theme of this book but hasn’t really gone anywhere, or will they be forced to choose between politics and love? Basically, will my MC get to marry Tatum Mendoza, please and thank you, I know that isn’t the main point of this book but I think he’s been dreaming of it since he was about 12 and would gladly leave the rest of Rutherland behind for it.

Speaking of relationships, what about Dionne and Peter? What about Henri and Alexei/Evelyn? What about Blaine’s relationship with their parents? What about – ?

What about Ayna’s father? And is MC’s mother ever going to introduce healthcare reforms, and has MC’s view of her as politically progressive actually been skewed by proximity? This is a REALLY interesting theme that was brought up in chapter 13 and has literally never been touched on since, and I’m still mad about the wasted potential tbh.

You know what else was brought up in chapter 13 and has literally never been touched on since? The Dean’s and Professor Masako’s odd behaviour around MC. What was all that about? Was it just a red herring? Will we ever know?

In chapter 1 of Foreign Affairs – literally in one of the first dialogue boxes of the entire book – MC tells us this:

This is the question that frames the entire book. Away from Rutherland for the first time, MC is figuring out who they are and who they want to be, and the point of Foreign Affairs is for them to get to someplace meaningful on that journey. So my biggest question is: what is MC heading towards in their future? Will they stay at Vancross? Will they stay in politics at all? Do they have clearer values, clearer goals, clearer ideals, than when they first arrived on that plane? Will they – and by extension, we – get to make that final, ultimate choice? Because if we don’t... the whole book has fallen apart. And I’m not mad at PB for it, because I’m pretty sure it’s more about Nexon’s profit quotas than about them, but... I’m just tired. It’s been 18 months now since Nightbound was cancelled, and you’d think that would have been long enough to figure out a balance between steamy romances that ‘keep the lights on’ and more in-depth stories told in full. But honestly, things have gotten worse instead of better. And I know it’s not the end of the world, I know there’s more to life than an app game, but... it’s still just really sad 😥

#playchoices #choices: stories you play #foreign affairs #blaine hayes #tatum mendoza #ayna seth #sorry for the long post #i’m on mobile and don’t know how to add a read more #fandom essay #original post

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nytech · 3 years

Text

Teaching Entrepreneurship with Shaun Johnson

This interview is part of our “Getting to Know You” series, featuring brilliant entrepreneurs from the NY Tech community.

Shaun Johnson is an experienced entrepreneur who has worked across the fields of technology acceleration, early-stage investment, and ecosystem development. He lives in New York City and teaches entrepreneurship at Fordham University & Parsons School of Design. Shaun is also a Board Member of the NY Tech Alliance. He agreed to speak with us about his career journey, the lessons learned along the way, his take on diversity in tech, and what makes a successful entrepreneur.

“One piece of advice I’ve been given and still sticks with me in a perplexing way would be to say that perception equals reality. Even though this isn’t always a universal truth, I often wonder if it’s true, untrue, or sometimes true — as there are times one can influence the other, and other times, not at all.”

Tell us about yourself

I like to describe myself as a helper of people, and that has taken a lot of different shapes and forms. I actually started my career in the federal government, then as a management consultant, and finally transitioned into the world startups as an early employee at Techstars, where I ended up spinning out a company called Startup Institute — a career accelerator aiming to equip people with the network skills and mindset to be immediately impactful in the startups that they join.

You teach entrepreneurship ー according to you, what are the skills one must develop to become a successful entrepreneur?

In teaching entrepreneurship, there are a lot of things that are important, especially at the university level because there’s always this tension between “can entrepreneurship be taught?” or “should you just go out and do it?”

The mentality of doing and learning through action is definitely a skill worth acquiring, whether in the field or the classroom.

There will always be a lot of little failures along the way, and that’s actually a good thing, but it can be counterintuitive for folks who aren’t used to accepting failure on their way to success. Grit is also another important factor. And then the last one, just because I want to leave it at three, is empathy. To have a deep understanding of your customer, the mission that you have, and the people that you’re building around helps you to build exceptional teams, exceptional products, and ultimately, address your market in an exceptional way.

What’s your favorite thing about teaching entrepreneurship?

The people. Students are always so different. People come from multiple backgrounds, different parts of the world, different industries, and with different perspectives. Even if you are teaching one specific course on entrepreneurship, it’ll never look the same because it’s always dependent on the people who are there. Everyone brings their unique personality, and the diversity and plurality come together to create a unique experience.

My desire and appreciation for plurality reflect my sentiments about New York City itself. The city is made of 8 million people coming from different backgrounds and places, who all have unique personalities, desires, hopes, and dreams.

We all have to interact with each other and try to build a better future. Whether it’s through entrepreneurship or just our own coexistence, I think that there’s something productive and meaningful about that.

How do you think the tech industry can become more diverse?

I think one of the challenges is that we tend to take one shade or one arc of diversity, drill in on that and assume that we’ve done our job. For example, one aspect of diversity can be ensuring your company hires people of color, or getting women into the tech ecosystem and make sure that there’s equal pay and that gender rights are respected.

But can you actually look at this kaleidoscope and not just say, ‘Hey today we want to focus on, like, LGBTQ rights?’ Or ‘today we want to focus on Black people or women.’ But instead, the dialogue has to answer the question of: “How can we actually approach inclusion and value creation that is accessible to all?”

Rather than trying to identify a specific group on its own, let’s actually think about how we can lift everyone up together while also valuing their uniqueness.

Is this part of the reason or the reason why you wanted to become involved with the NY Tech Alliance?

I’ve been a huge fan of the NY Tech Alliance since my career in startups has begun. Before I was living in New York City, I would take a bus from out of state to attend NY Tech Meetups, to see that the energy in the room with so many different people there.

It just felt like a panorama of what the startup ecosystem has to offer. It was a great entry point for me. And the NYTA still serves in that capacity for others and provides a jumping-off point, an entry point, and a point of connection, learning and motivation for people.

When given the opportunity to serve on the board, it was something that I couldn’t pass up.

Which trends do you think will emerge in the tech industry in the near future?

You know, I never pretended to be a fortune teller, but I think the year we just survived showed us that despite quarantine and isolation, we still need to connect with each other and be productive. It has been great for Zoom but so many people are zoomed out and looking for different ways of connecting with people that may not just be from the shoulders up.

You’re also seeing some trends around climate tech. The conversation is now rightly shifted from climate change to the climate crisis, and it is attracting a lot of bright minds and big dollars. And I think that’s great because it’s imperative for our survival as human beings.

How has a past failure set you up for success?

I mean, I guess I’m always failing at something. If you’re not failing, you’re probably not trying hard enough. I think the little failures along the way are indicative of trying to do something audacious or something that you’re unsure of. I couldn’t point to one specific failure because there’s just a butterfly effect of one thing leading to the next thing. But overall, the lesson in failure is really to process it and move on to the next thing, ideally in an upward fashion.

As New Yorkers, there may not always be the time or space to do that. You know, we move so fast. We break things, we execute, and there’s so much going on that we can forget to stop and reflect for a minute, look objectively at failure and ask “What could I have done better? What did I learn here? What would I do next?”

It’s important to reflect in a way that builds off of that failure rather than just repetitively coming right back at the same scenario, which is likely to lead to the same outcome.

What was the biggest challenge that you faced in your career?

Walking away from something that just wasn’t for me at the time. With an early career as a management consultant, a lot of things about that job were great: the prestige, the nice fancy suits, the travel.

But then you start to just understand what your calling is, what motivates you or what nourishes you. Changing your career to pursue your calling can be risky, but it ultimately is good for the soul. At the time, I didn’t know exactly what my calling was going to be. And it took courage and conviction to just say “Ok, all these things are good and everyone else loves them for me. But I just don’t love them as much, and I’m willing to look out into the abyss and seek out something that actually is more aligned with who I am and who I want to be.”

It was really scary and that’s one of the biggest moves I’ve made. That’s the advice I give to my students. Do what you love. Life’s too short!

What was the best advice you’ve ever been given?

One piece of advice I’ve been given and still sticks with me in a perplexing way would be to say that perception equals reality. Even though this isn’t always a universal truth, I often wonder if it’s true, untrue, or sometimes true — as there are times one can influence the other, and other times, not at all.

I apply that saying as a prompt for a lot of different things, from looking at analytics and wondering what’s going on with your company, checking in with your mental health and wondering if all of this anxiety or depression is actually real or if your perception influences what you’re feeling. And it’s also a way to keep yourself grounded.

Any final words?

Yeah. If Alicia (interviewer) says or types anything that makes me sound stupid, that was her edit. Everything that I said was brilliant (laugh). And she’ll make sure that it comes across!

To connect with Shaun on LinkedIn, click here.

To learn more valuable lessons from Founders, watch our NYTA Founder Spotlight series on YouTube.

#entrepreneurship #teaching #nytech #education #entrepreneur #startup lessons #nytechalliance

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cal-kestis · 3 years

Text

You Will Never Be Alone Again | Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

(Epilogue of The Aftermath of Losing Everything)

moodboard/sketch/gifs made by me, please don’t repost :)

Summary: Each morning, he’s there, holding you with his smiling lips pressed against your neck and his heart beating against your chest. (Set after S2) Rating: M Word Count: 3018 Warnings/Tags: Soft!Din, FLUFF, no use of ‘Y/N’, suggestive content

[PART I] // [PART II] // [PART III] // [Read on AO3] // [Series Masterlist]

xi.

It’s strange not waking up by yourself, strange to feel blanketed in a kind of warmth and comfort, not even the early morning suns could radiate.

Sometimes, you think this must be some wild fantasy, a sweet sublime dream that could evaporate into smoke if you dare open your eyes.

But each morning, he’s there, holding you with his smiling lips pressed against your neck and his heart beating against your chest. It’s no secret you love him, it’s written all across your face even with a peripheral glance. Falling for him happened fast and a long, long time ago. Yet in these quiet moments when you’re in the place between wakefulness and sleep, you think you’re still cascading over the crest — falling for the tiniest pieces of him that others would need a magnifying glass to see.

Like those delicate wrinkles that frame the corners of his brown eyes when he looks at you, the way they deepen as he smiles. It’s hard to describe how beautiful those lines are… what they mean. Wrinkles don’t develop overnight. No, he’s smiled enough times for those creases to permanently etch themselves into his skin. It makes your heart soar knowing that, despite all he’s been through, he’d allowed himself those sparse moments of happiness. You’ve hopelessly fallen in love with the lines beside his eyes, evidence that a bright side can exist even in the darkest of hours.

And still, perhaps something you love even more is the way he kisses you until you forget every night you’d ever lay awake feeling alone in the universe.

It’s all so strange in the best, most beautiful way.

Din has given you so much and you only hope he can see your heart, the words carved on it — poems about him, his eyes, the charming lines that tug at the corners. You hope he can see how you’ve kept every word he’s every whispered against your skin, how you’ve inscribed them onto your beating soul: secrets and promises only the two of you will ever get to know, your own name scribbled by his lips a thousand times. You’ll treasure the invisible markings forever. Your heart’s covered in him and you just hope he can see.

With Din, life seems more meaningful, peaceful, beautiful… full. And though frightening shadows still lurk, you know you don’t have to face them alone.

Of course, there are times you worry, moments when he still seems trapped in his head, sinking into deep waters with that silver ball clutched in his hand. But he has you now, his liferaft, one with patched up holes and dents that will always come to pull him back up to the surface.

On those nights when he gets lost in the treacherous tsunami of his mind, you try to give back to him everything he’s so generously offered you. And even as you draw rasped sighs and choked cries and broken moans from his lips, your fingers painting patterns across his body… you know what heals him most are the moments after: the way your breath slows down to match his, how your lips press so gently over his eyelids until they close and project dreams of you as he sleeps.

Meant for me, he’d once said. Or maybe, meant for you.

—

xii.

In the sacred moments you and Din have to yourselves — no quarry to chase, no demons to face — you find yourselves on beautiful secluded planets like this one, surrounded by towering trees and lush rolling hills and long blades of grass and calm creek cadences. Somehow, each new system is more stunning than the last, and every time he opens the ramp to his ship, he intently watches your wonderstruck reaction as your eyes take in a fantastical new planet and gorgeous environment.

Visiting new planets off-duty comes with its own routine. He walks with you as you explore with wide eyes, sits beside you when you find a colorful plant to draw, lifts his helmet ever so slightly when the desire to kiss you — your cheek, your temple, your shoulder — becomes too overwhelming. And when night falls, you both retire to his ship, where he can freely remove every piece of armor and kiss every inch of your skin until it’s all you can dream of.

Since the confrontation at the Imperial base, Din’s also taken it upon himself to train you. Not in the ways of the Jedi, of course. That, you’re learning to study on your own. Din trains you like a Mandalorian — a zealous approach to weapons and warriorship. He’s a patient and compassionate teacher, and it only ties your heart to his in a tighter knot. With his gentle guidance, handling a blaster is hardly an obstacle and it only takes a month or two before you become well-acquainted with the darksaber he’d hidden in his storage cabinet for so long.

When he’d finally told you the story of the ancient weapon of legend, gravity had seemed to press harder against his back, making his shoulders slope and his head hang even lower. Because, on the day he’d parted with his son, he’d not only removed the mask of his Creed, he’d also acquired the crown of a cursed planet. And he still doesn’t know which one weighs heavier atop his head.

After that, you’d dedicated yourself to training with renewed vigor — wanting to be prepared if ever the target on his back brought upon old Imperial enemies or new ones who sought to usurp him from the throne he never wanted.

Today, much like the other times you’d trained with him, it’s mostly just chopping at trees and bushes. You can’t deny how much stronger you feel just holding the Mandalorian weapon and knowing you can defend yourself even without the Force.

There’s a part of you, however, that feels like Din’s holding back. Whenever you’d asked when you’d be ready to spar with him, eager to test your newfound skills against something that can actually fight back, he’d simply readjusted your stance with gentle hands and asked you to show him the different sword strokes he’d taught you.

“Very good,” Din praises as you step forward and swing the darksaber through the air, slicing clean through a thin branch.

“Well, that tree had it coming,” you scoff, crossing your arms with over-exaggerated toughness. “I’ve had enough of your bark, tree. It’s about time you leaf.”

“Puns. You’re upset,” he says, not a question.

“I’m not upset,” you lie, trying to put on your best sabacc face. But his helmet tilts in a way that’s far too knowing for a darkened, T-shaped visor, and you sigh in defeat under his scrutinizing stare. “Fine. I just… I just think I’m ready to up the ante here. And I feel like you’re holding back.”

He stares at you for a moment, studiously looking you up and down.

“Your posture is too slouched,” he explains, changing the subject again. “Go back to ready position.”

“Don’t do that,” you heave out another exasperated sigh.

“Ner kar’ta...”

“No, don’t ‘ner kar’ta’ me. Just because you’ve got this shiny sword,” you argue, the glowing saber humming in your hand as you brandish it back and forth, “and you’re technically a king or whatever—”

“Mand’alor,” he interrupts. “And I’m not.”

“—doesn’t mean everything you say is law. I want you to fight me. I’m ready,” your voice softens, stepping closer to him as your pleading hands wrap around the back of his neck. “I want to really learn from you.”

“We’re not doing this,” he answers, despite willingly staying trapped in the cage of your arms.

But you don’t back down. Instead, you lean forward, lips barely a hair's breadth from his helmet before you boldly kiss the spot where his mouth would be, lingering and watching how the tinted panel fogs up. The print of your mouth marks the dark visor and it makes you grin.

“Fight me, Mando,” you whisper, all sultry bravado laced with a tease that prickles the skin beneath Din’s armor.

“Ready position,” he rasps like he’s annoyed at himself.

A metallic, musical sound rings in the empty forest as he unsheathes the beskar spear behind his back. And like a giddy child, you bounce on your feet and step backward, swinging the darksaber in your hands before taking your stance.

Din stands sturdy just a few feet away, spear gripped tightly in his gloves. He slowly lowers himself, knees bent just slightly, an air of strength and confidence surrounding him. Then, hardly perceptible, he nods.

You dig your heels into the soil, your boots squashing the grass below your feet. With your legs spread wide, you draw the darksaber up to the side of your head, the blinding glow casting a white halo on your cheek. Narrowing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you charge forward at lightning speed, zeroing in on the shiny armor in front of you.

At the last second, Din dodges your attack, stepping to the side and watching as you rush past him. You somehow manage not to trip over your own feet and hastily twirl around to face him again. But Din’s already got the point of his spear aimed at the side of your throat.

“You’re relying too much on your speed,” he explains, spear hovering just below your ear. “Size up your opponent first. Figuring out their weakness is more valuable than using up all your strength. Go again.”

You huff at him but get back into ready position, breathing deep in through your nose and out through your mouth. This time, you take a moment to assess him for weak spots. There aren’t many of course, not visible at least. But you decide the side of his stomach is your best bet.

The moment he nods his head, you take a leap forward and twist your wrist, swinging the blade toward his waist. His spear spins swiftly to block the strike, your weapons meeting in a clash of sparks and high-pitched whistles. You summon all your strength to push the saber against his spear, watching as the silver metal turns orange under the intense laser’s heat. And just when you feel like you’re gaining the high ground as Din’s body bends under your advance, he sweeps his boot beneath you and you fall backward, losing grip of the darksaber.

“That was better,” he says with approval, scanning your body as you lay on the ground and groan loudly. “You okay?” He gently wonders, coming closer and extending a gloved hand toward you.

With shaking fingers, you reach for him. And the moment you feel his grip tighten around your hand, an idea sparks. Without another thought, you yank him forward onto the ground beside you. He lets out a surprised grunt when he hits the dirt and you take full advantage of his shock, straddling his hips and trapping his arms beneath your legs. You extend your hand out to the side and, within seconds, the darksaber comes flying back into your fist. With a bright flash, you ignite the laser blade near his throat.

“That’s cheating,” he says, but you can hear the proud smile in his voice.

“I simply assessed my opponent’s weakness,” you grin, retracting the saber into its hilt and leaning down until you’re nose-to-nose with his helmet. “Just so happens, his weakness is me.”

“Good girl,” he says, and you can’t fight the way his praise sends a fluttering warmth to your belly.

You kiss his helmet again with an exaggerated smacking sound before getting off of him and saying, “Let’s go again.”

Din spars with you for nearly two hours, offering gentle advice each time he bests you (which is most of the time) and showering you with praises whenever you find a way to get the upper hand. It fills you with unmatchable strength and confidence.

“That’s enough for today, verd’ika,” he says, slightly breathless as he brushes dirt off your clothes. “It’s getting dark. Let’s head inside.”

You smile at him, filled with an intense urge to kiss him. So, you reach for his helmet, slowly, just in case. His head turns left and right, checking if the coast is clear, before nodding. You lift the beskar slightly, just enough to reveal his mouth and his neatly-trimmed mustache, and press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Thank you, Din,” you whisper as you set his helmet back in its place. You can almost see the bemused look on his face as he stares at you.

And as you walk back to the ship, a re-energized bounce in your step, you decide to tease him one last time, turn around, and smirk. “Meet you in the fresher.”

—

xiii.

Din’s hair hangs in waves over his forehead as he gazes down at you, leaning on his left forearm to stay suspended over your body.

He smells delicious, like his herb-scented soap and the delicious meal he’d cooked for you tonight. His skin is glazed in a radiant sheen and his eyes somehow glow in the dim lighting of your shared quarters.

You’ve learned to appreciate rare nights like this, when there are no jobs to keep him away from you for days at a time. When your eyes get to unabashedly roam over the golden expanse of his skin, without heavy armor or layers of cloth in your way. When you get to listen to his voice for hours on end as his hand traces lines and circles into your skin.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask him, noticing how his entranced stare focuses on your lips when you speak.

He strokes a calloused finger over your cheekbone, then under the curve of your lips, until his thumb finds a resting place over your chin and gently swipes back and forth.

“You,” he answers honestly, leaning down to kiss you, tasting your smile on his tongue. He lingers there for a long moment, hanging from your lips like a man on the edge of falling though he’s already fallen countless times before.

“That’s all?” You whisper, feeling his hot breath brush against your mouth.

He rests his forehead against yours, his nose rubbing along the side of your own.

“And how much the kid would have loved this planet,” he continues wistfully. “Running through the grass and catching frogs or whatever he could eat.”

Your soft laugh is bittersweet as he reminisces over his son, the corners of his eyes wrinkling mere centimeters from your face.

“Thinking about how he would have liked watching us train together. He’d probably cheer for you to win,” Din chuckles when you scrunch your nose and shake your head doubtfully. Then, his face softens and his eyes glisten. “Grogu would have loved you.”

An errant tear falls from Din’s lashes and drops onto your cheek, and there's little you can do to keep your own from getting mixed in — a tiny melancholy river forming atop your skin. Your hands cup either side of his face, and you lean forward to kiss the spot where the tear had left a small trail right below his eye.

“In some ways, it’s like I know him now,” you murmur against Din’s cheekbone. “Because I know you. I can feel it — the pieces of you that will be part of him forever. I would love him too. I already do.”

He whispers your name again and again, and each time, it’s like he’s making a wish on a star.

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum,” you whisper, kissing his lips sweetly.

When you draw backward against your pillow, he latches onto your mouth once more and kisses you until you’re breathless.

“There aren’t words, ner kar’ta, ” he says quietly, fingers brushing gently over your hair. “Nothing can explain what you mean to me.”

When Din makes love, you can feel nothing else but him — his body, his soul, his heart. Every touch and movement is energized by a deep intention to let you know what he sometimes struggles expressing in words. But you’ve become fluent in him, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt how each kiss translates to: I love you.

Each thrust of his hips means: I want you.

Each ragged moan reveals: I need you.

Each soft caress says: I’d do anything for you.

And each time his forehead meets yours, he declares: I have found my family.

As you both try to catch your breath, he flops back down onto the bed beside you. He hums happily when he feels you hold tight to him, squeezing his middle with your arms and placing a kiss over his heart.

“Good night, Din,” you mumble, yawning as you nuzzle your face against his chest and bury yourself deep beneath the covers.

“Sweet dreams,” he says, pressing his lips into your hair.

You tilt your chin up just slightly, wanting the last image you see before you drift off to be his beautiful face. But his stare is far away, lost in thought once again. You follow his line of sight, beginning at his shining eyes and landing on the collection of drawings hung beside his door. And the pictures that reflect in his glossy irises are the finished portrait of him beside the sketch of you and Grogu displayed proudly in the center.

Someday, you swear to yourself, those images will be more than just pencil scratches on parchment. Someday, your small chosen family will be whole.

When you close your eyes — your head resting over the warm skin of his chest, his heart marching steadily under your cheek — you dream of the day Din and his son finally reunite, with you standing by his side. And even if that’s still a far-off fantasy, you can rest easily knowing two things for sure:

Tomorrow, you’ll wake up wrapped in Din’s arms. And, for as long as you live, neither of you will ever be alone again.

End Note: Thank you to anyone who's read this story. It's been a labor of love for me and I'm especially grateful to readers who left encouraging feedback. As for me, I'll be around. I'm working on another Javi x Reader story (inspired by yet another TS song — off evermore this time). If you haven't read my other one, please check it out! It's called "If I Could Never Give You Peace." Talk soon! Mando’a Glossary: Ner kar’ta = My heart (kar’ta = heart [kah-ROH-ta]; ner = my [nair]) Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum. = I know you forever [nee kar-TILE garh dah-RAH-soom] ⎿ “It's the same word as 'to know,' 'to hold in the heart,' kar'taylir. But you add darasuum, ‘forever,’ and it becomes something rather different.” — Republic Commando: Triple Zero Verd' ika = Little Warrior (affectionately) [vair-DEE-kah]

Please reblog & comment to show your support! I’d love to hear your thoughts!!

Taglist: @sarahjkl82-blog @pedro-pastel @mavendeb @tailormotelkamzoil @unexistant @karkii @hwjdykqueillmjwkqu @httpwale @chiara-cannot-sleep @niiight-dreamerrrr

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zoufantastical · 3 years

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What do you think of how much more bad ass they have made Sylvie over Loki in terms of action? (I'm not complaining big fan of it) Do you feel as if the show runner herself is giving Sylvie as much screen time and moments that often eclipse Loki bc she may be a character who's main purpose was to uplift and expand Loki's character, and that was her only original purpose? As if maybe she wasn't intended to last in the Marvel universe, at least in this incarnation? Seeing how most of this show is ran by the point of view of some women, that what we have with Sylvie is what we get bc of this reason? Do u feel it would have been different had it been otherwise? Or do you feel differently then my observation? Would love any point of view.

Why First Impressions Matter

Let me just say I was ecstatic over this ask. Finally something different (not that I don’t enjoy the previous asks) that forces me to talk about something that has been lingering in the back of my mind since the show started.

If you guys could be patient with me, I would appreciate it. I’m going to deviate a lil bit and talk about a point that relates to this ask and basically explains this user’s concern.

So, my mother says that she gives a show around ten minutes or so to grab her interest. At first I thought it was a bit ridiculous, since that means she’s missing out on a lot of great potentials because of this rule. I respected her opinion of course. Now, ever since the Loki show started though, I understand why she believes in it.

Marvel is very lucky they have loyal fans like us who will eat up whatever they spoon fed us. Even amongst heavy criticism. Despite people hating on the character Loki in his show by calling him “Larry” , the writers “clowns” or calling him OOC and a sidekick on his own show (please if you have the time, read the short post I linked), I finally understand their sentiment, which in a way is misplaced because of what I’m going to mention:

The first ten minutes of the first episode of Loki could should have been better.

What do I mean by this? Two things actually.

Imagine that you are a new MCU fan and you want to catch up on the movies or someone wanting to binge watch the entire saga again. You finish the first avengers movie but you decide to deviate and watch Loki, which is based on 2012 Avengers Loki. What’s one thing that’s going to throw them off immediately? Guess.

If you did congrats.

It’s the hair.

As a loyal fan, this will ALWAYS confuse me. There’s also the fact that they shot new scenes with the overly long spiky ends wig. So…why the sudden change in appearance? I started headcanoning that traveling through space and dimensions fucks up your evil blowout just for my sanity.

Already we are on the wrong path.

Now you may think this is minor and shouldn’t matter but appearances DO matter and sometimes we don’t pick up on inconsistencies right away, however, they do stay in our minds and form this domino effect later on which is what is happening with a lot of displeased fans.

The second is this joke of a scene.

If there was any time that Loki needed to display some of his abilities we were introduced at the end of episode two and throughout episode three, this would have been the perfect moment. Loki may be cocky, petty and boastful, but he is not stupid.

He just barely escaped with the tesseract. He would not approach ignorantly and all cocky mighty, a group of people who seem to look very dangerous. This is 2012 Loki. You know the dangerous god that a group of talented individuals joined forces to stop because it would have been the end of their world as they know it? A Loki who will be on high alert because not only will SHIELD and the Avengers be looking for him but eventually the Other and Thanos as well.

What I would have done to rewrite the strength and seriousness of the TVA without outright humiliating Loki in the process, this scene instead should have been a fight scene. Loki would have been full of adrenaline, displaying all his feats only to be caught off guard by B-15 and THEN you could make this infamous scene.

We already know that the TVA agents are trash fighters and easily beaten grunts based on later scenes. A scene like what I recommended would have prepared us for that. Otherwise now we are calling the rest of the fight scenes in this show also inconsistent with what we were presented in their first appearance.

Another rewrite I would have done is NOT start off the show using the Endgame Loki escaping scene. A great majority of people watching the show are because they already KNOW this Loki escaped with the space stone. Starting off with a recap, a recap all the way to the elevator scene no less, is not only way too long but unnecessary.

To peek the audiences’ interest, one should have started with a short scene of TVA hunting The hooded mysterious Variant and the latter killing them. It could be anywhere in time. Not only would that peek ones interest and wonder who this figure is, they’ll assume they are trouble and that they might cause an issue with Loki if they were to cross each other’s path etc basically you’ll have the audience’s mind scrambled and excited. THEN after the marvel logo you can put the recap scene.

[If you made it this far, congrats, because I’m finally going to start answering this user’s question]

What do you think of how much more bad ass they made Sylvie over Loki in terms of action?

And this is why I made a big deal of explaining what I’ve said above. Is not that Sylvie is more badass. In fact, Sylvie should have more scenes than the ones we are given. It’s the fact that the Loki actions scenes started off misplaced and were not started strong enough to make an impactful expression. It’s why they are calling him all sorts of things like weak, clown, OOC, stupid, inconsistent etc even though later on he is shown to be intelligent and strong.

Unfortunately (but not surprisingly) Sylvie’s character has been bound by her male counterpart’s. The majority of her scenes are with Loki, whether they were fighting or developing her character. This…is not the best writing choice but given this is only 6 episodes and time is short, they are pitting these two together as early as episode two in order to establish their partnership/relationship.

This choice sacrifices character screen time so the plot can move forward. Sylvie so far has only three meaningful scenes ever since being introduced (without Loki) and personally I feel that’s not enough.

Being paired with Loki 95% of the time is why you and many believe that she is taking Loki’s shine. We hadn’t had time, as a viewer, to fully appreciate Sylvie despite her not wanting to be called or relate to the name Loki. We haven’t had time to BREATHE and actually enjoy this new character especially since the majority of her scenes she is bounded by the hip to Loki! You are also right to believe that her character seem to have been created to “uplift and expand” Loki’s character-because SHE IS! And the latest episode basically confirms that!

I wouldn’t be surprised if Sylvie is a character exclusively used for the Loki show. So far there are no plans of using her beyond the series. Which is unfortunate because it means that even with female writers behind the script, decisions were made and accepted to have the Sylvie character move and react to the plot along side a male character. It’s fine for that to happen but when it’s the majority of their screen time, then it’s an issue. So your observation is correct.

Don’t get me wrong, I have been enjoying the show so far. Not loving it but it’s been entertaining despite some of it’s…creative choices. One thing that has been in common so far in MCU series is that they aim too high with a big budget only for them to not put the same time and care on a story they want to tell.

It really is unfortunate because there are moments in the show that has been done great! But again many choices has to do with the fact that Marvel and Disney are obsessed with keeping up this schedule and milking a show as much as they can. Because that’s their brand.

I can’t tell you additionally what I would have done differently. I guess we would have to wait till the Finale for me to properly answer that question.

#Loki #Loki show #Loki series #mcu loki #mcu #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki friggason #Sylvie #Sylvie laufeydottir #marvel #disney plus #loki negativity #loki discourse #asks

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bedlamsbard · 3 years

Text

Part two of the reluctant roommates AU concept! A reminder that my concept writing is deliberately not titled, chaptered, or betaed and is generally low pressure writing. (I think to some extent I burned myself out on the titled stuff, but that’s for another post.)

Previous: Part 1

About 8.2K below the break.

Please note that while I don’t generally do content advisories, this contains discussion of fairly severe (unnamed) depression and anxiety, as well as physical abuse (about the same as other Inquisitor!Kanan concepts).

Agent Syndulla’s fear made Kanan’s back teeth ache, leeching into his dreams and giving him a flurry of nightmares that he knew had to come from her, not from within himself. He woke with a start and lay in the unfamiliar bunk with one arm thrown up over his eyes, feeling like a voyeur despite the fact that he hadn’t done it on purpose. Dreams weren’t a reflection of reality by any means, but they often had more to do with it than most people wanted to believe. From what he had seen in Agent Syndulla’s dreams, most of them had been drawn from her memory. He wished he didn’t know that.

At least it made a change of pace from his usual nightmares.

Eventually he made himself get up, wincing as his recently broken ribs twinged with the movement. They were mostly healed now, but were still fragile and painful, liable to get broken again if he wasn’t careful for the next week or so. With any luck, this particular assignment wouldn’t involve getting shot or stabbed or thrown off in any cliffs, though given the way the past decade had gone Kanan wasn’t sure he really believed in luck anymore. He still felt as though he had used up whatever he had remaining to him getting away from the Hunter for however long that lasted.

He dressed slowly, careful of the ribs as well as the rest of his assortment of healing bruises, cuts, and other miscellaneous injuries. Some were from the assignment where he had gotten his broken; some were the Hunter’s parting gift, since his master had been extremely displeased by the order that split them up for the foreseeable future and Kanan had taken the brunt of his ire. He touched his tongue to what he thought was a loose tooth and winced at the confirmation, feeding the Force through it to reseat it in the gum.

He could sense the Agent Syndulla was awake now, her attention focused on something other than her fear. Kanan delayed leaving his cabin again as long as he could, not wanting to disturb her, but eventually had to answer the call of the refresher. He was washing his hands when he sensed her sudden realization that he was awake and the spike of terror that followed, and winced. He was used to people being afraid of Inquisitors, but usually his master got the bulk of that kind of attention; when it was aimed at Kanan it tended to be mixed with an odd kind of pity and relief. People in the Imperial service expected nonhuman Inquisitors; they didn’t expect human Inquisitors, especially one with the right accent and one who was so obviously subordinate – as well as other things – to a Pau’an. Service members looked at the Hunter and felt fear; they looked at Kanan and thought, thank the gods that isn’t me. It shouldn’t have surprised him that a nonhuman officer would feel differently.

He splashed water on his face, running a finger along the line of his jaw and the new growth of beard there; he eyed it in the mirror and decided to leave it for now. It was something he hadn’t had at the Crucible, anyway, and at the moment he felt rather desperate for anything to remind him he wasn’t just the Hunter’s Hound.

He ran his damp fingers through his hair, finger-combing it, then drew it back into a short tail at the back of his skull. When he couldn’t think of anything else he could do to delay, he went back out into the corridor, and then up to the cockpit where he could sense her presence.

She jumped as the door slid open, having obviously not heard his approach, and Kanan flinched back, startled by her reaction. They stared at each other for a few moments as her astromech grumbled threateningly at him, then Agent Syndulla dropped her gaze back to the datapad she was holding.

She was a beautiful woman, the kind of woman he would have tried to seduce back before the Hunter had dragged him to the Crucible and beaten the spirit out of him, and he thought he probably could have succeeded, too. He was hardly about to try now; for one thing, she was clearly terrified of him, and for another, the idea of letting anyone else touch him after the past few years was agonizing. Even a pretty girl.

He said, “Can I get you some caf, while I’m up?”

She gave him a wary look, then said hesitantly, “All right.”

“How do you take it?”

“Milk and sugar,” she said after a moment. “A lot of both.”

Kanan nodded to her in what he hoped was a friendly fashion – he wasn’t sure he knew how to do that anymore – and let the door slide shut between them as he stepped back. He took his time making the caf, pouring equal amounts of milk and sugar into her cup, and enough sugar into his that the spoon nearly stood up. He had started drinking caf while he was in the field with the Grand Army of the Republic a decade ago, and after the first time he had spat out his mouthful – to the uproarious laughter of Styles and Gray and Depa Billaba’s barely concealed amusement – any clone who had made it for him had sweetened it enough to be tolerable for his palate. He’d never lost the taste for it that way.

He took both mugs back to the cockpit. Agent Syndulla didn’t jump when he came in this time, but she had clearly been braced for his return. She took the mug from him with polite murmured thanks but didn’t sit back in her chair, sitting with the balls of her feet pressed against the deck, as if bracing herself against the need to suddenly flee. Kanan prudently took the seat furthest from her and only belatedly realized it was the one nearest both exits. He could tell from her fast, sideways glance towards the door to the living quarters and the hatch to the hold that she knew it too. The droid grumbled again, rolling so that he was placed defiantly between the two of them, then swiveled his dome to glare at Kanan.

Agent Syndulla took a sip of her caf, looking a little wary at first, then surprised. “I didn’t know it could taste like this,” she blurted out.

“I worked in a tapcaf once,” Kanan offered. “Some of it stuck.”

She looked badly startled by that response.

He could have told her that he hadn’t always been an Inquisitor, but he wasn’t in the mood for the kinds of questions that might inspire. He sat back and drank his own caf instead; neither the caffeine nor the sugar would do much for him, since Force-users processed most kinds of stimulants too fast for them to have any meaningful effect, but the taste helped wake him up.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, drinking their caf, until Agent Syndulla finally settled herself, as if bracing for a fight, and said, “I’ve been looking at the files you sent me.”

Kanan raised his gaze to her. She was, if nothing else, lovely to look at, but she wouldn’t have made it to the ISB or lasted this long if she was just a pretty face. She clearly didn’t enjoy being under his scrutiny, though – most people weren’t when it came to Inquisitors – so after a moment he flicked his gaze slightly away from her.

“There’s an auction the day after we’re scheduled to arrive,” she went on, after a moment’s brief hesitation. “We could call in the local Imperial garrison for backup, but if the regulars could deal with this, then they would have done so by now.”

“This isn’t the sort of thing they’re really equipped to handle,” Kanan said. If it had been, no one would have bothered to send an Inquisitor and an ISB agent to deal with it. Though he had his suspicions about why the Whip had assigned it to him as his first solo assignment. He was less certain about what it had to do with Agent Syndulla and didn’t have enough of an idea about the ISB’s internal politics to even begin to guess.

She nodded in response to his comment. “Depending what the situation is like, we might want them later, but Barzhun doesn’t have a large Imperial presence. As far off the beaten path as it is, it’s not impossible that the local garrison has some sort of relationship with the black market there. It isn’t unheard of.”

And was usually the job of the ISB to deal with, though on occasion the Inquisition dealt with corrupt officials instead. Kanan nodded. “What do you want to do?”

She looked a little surprised that he hadn’t just tried to give her an order. Kanan said in explanation, “Most of my assignments have either interfaced directly with the local garrisons or been – ah, more direct. And my ma – I wasn’t the one who did any of the planning.”

He saw her lekku twitch slightly at the slip, but she didn’t ask about it. Instead she braced her shoulders again and said, “Can you pass as a civilian?”

Kanan glanced down, giving the question due consideration because it had been a long time since he had been in a position where that was even an option and he wasn’t immediately certain of the answer. “Yes,” he said eventually, “but I don’t have any civilian clothes.”

When she looked a little worried, he added, “I’ve got clothes that don’t have the Imperial seal on them.” And there were plenty of civilians who only wore black or gray. “You’ll have to lend me a blaster, though.”

She met his gaze for an instant. “Can you use one?”

“I wasn’t always an Inquisitor.” He looked her over, this time with a more a critical eye than he had done before; past her prettiness she was muscled under her gray ISB field uniform, her holstered blaster a natural extension of both uniform and self. He had also noticed earlier that her lekku signals were erratic, not quite explicable to anyone familiar with Twi’leks “Can you pass as a civilian?”

“I’ve done it before.” She glanced down, clearly uncomfortable under his inspection. “Chopper too.”

“That I can believe,” Kanan said.

That startled something that was nearly a smile out of her, a quick flash of amusement that warmed the Force for no more than an instant as the astromech grumbled at them both. Then she dropped her gaze again. “The HoloNet posting on the darknet said that there would be a reception the night before the auction for potential bidders to review the items up for auction. I assume that you’ll recognize what we’re looking for?”

Kanan nodded. “I’ll know.” And a Twi’lek and a human together wouldn’t make anyone look twice at them, no matter how they played it. Both were common species and common in company with each other.

Agent Syndulla looked at the chrono, then said, “We should be making planetfall in two hours and the reception is in six.”

“All right.” He started to stand up, putting his hand out for her empty caf cup.

She handed it to him once she realized what the gesture meant, then hesitated, looking up at him. Kanan stopped rather than leave the way he had intended to. “What is it?”

“I can’t call you ‘Inquisitor’ in the field,” she said, sounding uncomfortable. “Do you – do you have a name? That I can use, I mean?”

Kanan bit his lip. She didn’t know how loaded that question was, and he wasn’t about to answer her with “the Hound.” Still, it took him a surprising amount of effort to say, “It’s Kanan.”

No one had called him that in almost four years. Sometimes he was surprised that he could remember it at all.

Something about either his face or his voice must have made her realize the gravity of the confession. She said, her voice suddenly very shy, “Thank you.” She hesitated, then said, “My name is Hera.”

He hadn’t been expecting that, and the surprise must have showed on his face. She shifted uneasily in her seat, then looked away, embarrassed. “I’ve sent you the ISB files on the local garrison and government,” she said. “I wasn’t sure if you had them.”

“I don’t. Thank you.” He looked back at her for a moment, putting personal name and surname together, and blurted out, “Syndulla is a clan name.”

Her eyes went wide. He felt her low-grade anxiety snap into sudden fear, jolted from its previous course onto a new path. “Yes,” she said eventually, small-voiced, and then, with a defensive edge, “There are thousands of Syndullas.”

“I’m sorry,” Kanan said; he could tell he had said something that he should have avoided.

She dropped her gaze, but it didn’t do anything to hide the unease juddering along the Force.

“I’m sorry,” Kanan said again, then fled before he said anything else stupid.

Hera knew from personal experience that she mostly just looked uncomfortable in civilian clothes, which wasn’t exactly something she could do anything about. She suspected that if she had been human she could have attended the black market auction in an Imperial uniform, if not an ISB one, and not had anyone look twice at her, but a Twi’lek in uniform always got attention. At the moment she felt even more obvious in her plain dark spacer’s trousers and jacket, as if she was wearing a beacon or a sign that said “I’m an Imperial agent, ask me how.”

She snuck a sideways look at the Inquisitor, who was slouching in the co-pilot’s chair next to her. Hera didn’t like having him that close, but since they were working together she couldn’t exactly justify not letting him be there as long as he didn’t touch anything. She supposed that he had to be able to fly, though she doubted he had ever flown a freighter like the Ghost before. Basic piloting was required for officer candidates at the Imperial academy, but unless you were tapped for pilot training, the Naval Academy, or the ISB Academy, most officers never actually had to fly anything larger than a landspeeder or anything faster than a speeder bike. She had no idea what Inquisitors learned or how they were trained.

Without his armor or his lightsaber he looked less like an Inquisitor than she had been worried about – less so than she still felt she looked like an Imperial agent, even dressed in all black. He wore the DL-18 blaster pistol she had found for him – its grip was too big to be comfortable in her own hand, so she had thought it might work for him – and somehow managed to look as if he had been carrying a blaster for most of his life, not a lightsaber.

He straightened up as they entered atmosphere and entered one of the flight lanes on approach to the planet’s capital city. If any of the other ships in the flight lane happened to glance into the Ghost’s cockpit, they would see a pilot and a copilot both apparently doing their jobs, though Hera hoped the Inquisitor didn’t actually touch anything.

“You can fly, can’t you?” she asked him reluctantly.

He flicked a glance at her. “Yes.”

“Freighters or just starfighters?”

“I’ve flown freighters,” he said after a moment. “Not recently, but I’ve done it. Cargo freighters, mostly, short-haul – longer haul sometimes, but not as a regular thing.”

Hera turned to look at him in surprise, trusting Chopper not to let the Ghost veer off course. The Inquisitor was stubbornly not looking at her, his gaze fixed on the viewport in front of him. I wasn’t always an Inquisitor, he had said a few hours ago. She had assumed that that meant he had been elsewhere in the Imperial service before he had been recruited by the Inquisition, though he wasn’t that much older than she was. Well, people came to the Academy from all walks of life, especially those recruited by the flight academies, who could sometimes skip normal Academy training. Presumably the Inquisition operated similarly.

She didn’t have anything to say in response to him and he didn’t seem to expect one, so she turned her attention back to their flight path. She set down in one of the spaceports in Kethun City, the planet’s capital, and had the Inquisitor transmit the docking fee while she and Chopper shut down the ship’s engines.

Hera eyed him again once they were outside the ship, standing in the small docking bay and trying not to frown at the drift of wind-blown dirt and yellowish pollen that coated the floor. She sneezed involuntarily, her eyes watering, and dug into her pocket for the allergy tablets she had grabbed when she realized what season it was here. She dry-swallowed them and hoped that on this occasion they wouldn’t make her sleepy, which they seemed to do at entirely random intervals rather than consistently.

In the thin light of the overcast sky that filtered down through the open hatch doors above them, the Inquisitor’s dark garments looked pale, nearly washed out. Black didn’t suit him, especially in daylight. Hera looked at him, sneezed again, then wiped at her streaming eyes and said, “We should probably get you more clothes.”

He flicked a wary glance at her, then relaxed slightly at whatever he saw on her face. “Is it that bad?”

“If we’re going to several days of receptions and auctions,” Hera said. On some of her ops he would be unremarkable, but he would stand out amongst the kind of people who attended black market auctions, and not in a good way.

“All right,” he said, sounding more weary than anything else. “Let’s go find the market.”

Hera was startled at how much the addition of colors to his garments changed the Inquisitor’s appearance. He looked deeply uncomfortable, as though he knew he wasn’t supposed to be wearing anything other than black and gray, but his green shirt brought out color in his face and pale eyes and eased some of the hollows in his scarred cheeks. Hera thought that he wouldn’t raise eyebrows or twitch tentacles in company now, or at least not for the reasons he would have done before. He also looked younger, more vulnerable, less dangerous; she wasn’t sure whether or not that was a good thing, but there was nothing she could do about it.

Hera hated paying any attention to her appearance other than making sure that her uniform was neat and that none of her caste markings were showing, but for this particular occasion she made sure that she was wearing something that at least suggested she had more money than the average spacer. She didn’t even own any clothes that could pass muster as something a high-caste Twi’lek would wear, not that that was a distinction that would make much sense off Ryloth or outside the enclaves. Maybe not even the enclaves, but Hera avoided them whenever possible and had no idea what went on there. Being among other Twi’leks made her so nervous that it was often debilitating; she had almost failed her ISB Academy field trials for just that reason.

She left Chopper with the Ghost; even though this wasn’t her usual kind of op, she knew that in this setting an astromech droid might stand out – Chopper certainly had no talent for being unobtrusive. She and the Inquisitor got their cloaks and the speeder bikes from the Ghost’s hold – while the city was small enough they could have walked, there was always the chance that they would need to make a quick getaway. Hera felt a little better with the handles under her hands, anyway.

She watched the Inquisitor out of the corner of her eye as they sped down the road towards the site of the reception. He handled his speeder with a light, delicate touch, less heavy-handed than a scout trooper – more like a starfighter pilot than anything else, but not a TIE pilot, she decided after a few minutes of silent observation. That puzzled her, since privately owned starfighters were illegal except under very rare circumstances – not that you couldn’t make those circumstances come about with enough credits – and the vast majority of those available were TIE-variants. He must have learned on one of the others, since she knew Inquisitors flew TIEs. If he was aware of her attention, he didn’t show it.

They pulled up in front of a neon-lit nightclub, where they handed their speeder bikes over to a parking droid and received a claim token in exchange. Hera tucked it away, bemused, and fell into step with the Inquisitor as they made their way to join the queue at the door. The sound of pounding music from inside made her wince; she hated clubs and crowds alike.

The bouncer let both of them in after relieving them of their blasters, for which they both received claim tokens. If the Inquisitor had his lightsaber on him, the scanner didn’t turn it up; Hera wasn’t certain whether he had brought it or not, and hadn’t been about to ask. Hopefully he wasn’t so trigger-happy as to pull it out without absolute necessity, but having never seen him in action Hera had absolutely no idea.

Once they were inside and past the initial crush of people at the door, Hera surveyed the wide dark room beyond with distaste; it was full of beings of various species dancing, drinking, and eating, with a stage set up at the far end and a band playing something that she supposed technically counted as music, assuming you had no taste.

She glanced at the Inquisitor to make sure he followed her, then edged around the dance floor, past several shadowed – and definitely occupied – nooks. Hera fixed the instructions from the darknet posting in the front of her mind and hoped that the Inquisitor remembered them too.

After several minutes and a handful of propositions – to both of them, not just her, which was a refreshing change – they made it to the back of the club. A back hallway led to the kitchens and some refreshers that Hera suspected were intended for the staff rather than the patrons, as well as a door with a keypad on the control next to it. Hera punched in the code from the darknet, holding her breath until the door slid open, revealing descending stairs. It slid shut again as the Inquisitor stepped in after her and the pounding music from the club vanished as cleanly as if it had been cut by a knife. Hera let out her breath in relief.

She went down the stairs with the Inquisitor at her back and emerged into another room. It was a little smaller than the dancefloor above them, but more brightly lit and with far fewer people. There were still a good number of beings, but they were older than the club-goers and mostly more finely dressed. A pair of Togruta lounge singers draped themselves over the top of some kind of big instrument being played by a Nautolan who struck keys with a number of small hammers held expertly between his fingers.

A serving droid came up to Hera and offered a tray with a selection of stemmed and un-stemmed glasses holding a variety of colored liquid. “Drinks, madam, sir? I have alcoholic or non-alcoholic as you prefer –”

“Non-alcoholic,” Hera said; she could tell she was in the mood where alcohol would make her paranoid and angry, even if she drank on the job, which she didn’t unless there was no choice.

“The same.” The Inquisitor’s voice was soft.

The droid obligingly rotated the tray for Hera. “I have fruit juices, carbonated beverages, flavored waters from a variety of worlds –”

Hera accepted a glass of what she hoped was meiloorun juice – it was about the right color – and was gratified to find she was right when she tasted it. The Inquisitor chose a glass apparently at random and took a perfunctory sip; she suspected he had taken it mostly to have something to do with his hands.

Once the droid had gone, she sipped her drink and looked around the room. Another look revealed that there were a number of tall display cases placed at regular intervals; the beings gathered around them had obscured them from Hera’s initial observation. She flicked a look at the Inquisitor to make sure that he had seen them too, then moved towards the nearest one.

The beings already there – a trio of Rodian males, an Ithorian couple, and a human of indeterminate gender – all glanced up at their approach, briefly registered their appearance, then went back to their conversation. The male Ithorian moved aside so that Hera and the Inquisitor had a better look at the contents of the display case.

She heard the Inquisitor hiss softly through clenched teeth. The sound made the Rodians twitch, looking over at him before apparently deciding it was an expression of interest rather than – whatever it was. Hera glanced up at him worriedly, decided it was unlikely that he was going to snap and go on a murder spree – at least not in the next thirty seconds – and looked back at the case.

The contents were unremarkable, at least to her eyes – a set of four small sculptures of various near-human beings in long robes holding upraised lightsabers in different poses. They were made of some pale gray stone she didn’t recognize.

Hera was trying to figure out a discreet way to ask if this was what they were looking for when she realized that under the current circumstances, there was no real point in being discreet. She looked at the Inquisitor and said, “Is that it?”

He nodded without saying anything, his expression grim.

They moved onto the next display case, which held more statues and a stained glass window propped up with a light behind it. Hera glanced at the Inquisitor again and saw the tightness in his jaw; she didn’t bother asking this time, since his face was answer enough.

They rotated through several more display cases, all of which got the Inquisitor’s nod. Now and then someone new would come down the stairs, but by and large the occupants ignored each other, except for a handful who all obviously knew and liked each other well enough to speak to one another. Hera supposed that there weren’t too many people in the galaxy who traded in Jedi relics and most of them were probably in this room with her; she wished she had dared come down with a recording device so that the ISB could match known names to faces.

The serving droid came up to them again to take their empty glasses – well, to take Hera’s empty glass; the Inquisitor had barely touched his, but handed it over anyway. Hera accepted another glass of fruit juice and drifted over to the nearest case that they hadn’t inspected yet.

She felt the air change as the Inquisitor went absolutely still beside her.

Because she knew what he was, she looked at him first, not the contents of the case; some of the other occupants of the room had felt the shift as well and were looking around warily at each other or at the cases.

He was shaking so badly that she could hear his teeth chattering together, his stillness transmuted into fury that she could feel like a weight in the air. Hera shot a look at the case to see what it was that had upset him so badly and saw a collection of innocuous-looking thin braids and strings of mismatched beads; they struck something in her memory, but she couldn’t remember what at the moment. She set that aside to worry about later, hesitated for an instant, and grabbed the Inquisitor’s arm.

He flinched violently at her touch, his eyes gone suddenly wild with shock. She could feel muscle beneath her palm, stiff as steel cording; as much as she wanted to she didn’t release him. “Calm down,” she said to him, pitching her voice low but not whispering. “Do you need some air?”

He didn’t look around, but she saw awareness bleed into his panicked eyes. He shook his head slightly and Hera felt the pressure in the air lifting as he forced himself to something resembling calm, pulling his furious response back inside his own skin. She could still feel him trembling beneath her hand.

She pushed her half-full glass of fruit juice into his other hand. “Drink that,” she said.

He hesitated, and she snapped, furious and embarrassed, “It’s not tainted just because a tailhead drank from it.”

He shot her a startled look and said, sounding genuinely baffled, “Why would you think I thought that?”

Hera stared back at him, so surprised by that reaction that she briefly forgot why she had handed him her drink. “Humans –” she started to say, then shook her head. “Just drink it.”

He drank it.

She kept her hand on his arm until he had stopped shaking, then released him, tucking her hands awkwardly into her pockets to have something to do with them. When he had finished the glass, he stared at the display case again, then dragged his gaze away and went off to the next one, handing the empty glass off to the serving droid as he did. Hera followed, hoping her fury wasn’t plain on her face. The other guests veered away from him, though something about the way they did so made Hera think they didn’t know or understand why they were doing it.

The next case only held more art, to Hera’s relief. The Inquisitor stared blankly at the delicately figured tiles as if he didn’t really see them, though Hera suspected he knew exactly what was on them and – going by his reactions so far – what they meant.

“I suppose some of these still have some juice in them,” a passing Quarren woman said in her watery voice, and laughed. Hera saw the Inquisitor’s shoulders tense in response.

She stepped tentatively up beside him. “We’ve seen most of it,” she said. “We’ll be back for the auction tomorrow.”

He shook his head. “I need to see all of it.” He shut his eyes tightly, clearly trying to calm himself down even though he was still badly upset.

Hera eyed him doubtfully. Looking at him now, it was hard to remember that he was in all likelihood one of the most dangerous beings Hera had ever met; all of that coiled threat that had been there only a few moments before was gone, replaced by real distress.

She recognized the expression abruptly. She had seen it in the mirror, on one of the occasions when she had been back at the Academy and invited to some event or another at the home of a local potentate on Naboo. He had been a collector – “of everything,” he had said while showing cadets around his estate. He had looked at Hera as if he was considering collecting her too, but she had managed to avoid being in any proximity to him for most of the evening, and once the other cadets began drinking heavily she had made her excuses and left early, for which rudeness she had been roundly rebuked the next day. She had been looking at his displays – arranged in order of what he thought was most attractive, not in anything that made sense – when she had turned a corner and found herself looking at a kalikori.

It wasn’t a Syndulla one, not her family’s and not from any of the patrician Syndulla families; she had known that immediately. She hadn’t recognized the clan, but kalikori were intimately personal to each family; no one would ever let it pass out of a family line except through marriage or adoption. But there had been a lot of looting done during the Clone Wars, and more during the Imperial occupation.

Searching further through the collection and trying not to make it look as though she was doing so, Hera had found a lararium, the household shrine each family kept, and the little figures that represented the protective spirits of a Twi’lek family, the ancestral genius and the patron lares, both separated from the lararium and the kalikori alike and jumbled together on a shelf of other small statues that Hera hadn’t recognized. She hadn’t thought, at that point, that she had much Twi’lek feeling left after four years in the Academy. Apparently she had been wrong about that.

It was the same expression on the Inquisitor’s face now.

She raised her gaze to the Inquisitor again, keeping her voice low as she said, “Those braids in that case – they aren’t from the High Republic, are they?”

He shook his head a little, his face a mask of grief and fury fighting for calm. Then he looked at her sharply, some of that starting to bleed into alarm. Hera could guess why; she didn’t know much about Jedi, but she had known enough to ask. She met his pale gaze, resisting the urge to look away; she hated making eye contact with other people and there was something disorienting about him.

It was the Inquisitor who looked away. He swallowed, his throat working, and looked back at the tiles in the case in front of him. “I’m sorry,” he said eventually, then swallowed again. “I need to see the rest of the items up for auction.”

Hera bit her lip. “I want to get a feel for the crowd,” she said to him. “Will you be all right on your own for a few minutes? I don’t think we need to stay long.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said a little distantly. “I was surprised. It won’t happen again.”

“All right,” Hera said. She stepped away from him, hoping that he actually could behave himself if left to his own devices. It was balanced against her own nervousness about interacting with other people; she wasn’t particularly worried about being recognized as an Imperial agent, since in her experience no one ever looked at a young Twi’lek woman and came to the conclusion she was an ISB officer, usually including other members of the service, often including times when she was in uniform. Hera was a decent field agent, but she knew that she hadn’t exactly lived up to Agent Beneke’s desires for her, which was how she had gotten this assignment with the Inquisitor in the first place.

She got another drink from the serving droid, this one a fermented fruit juice with some bubbles in it that looked alcoholic at a glance but wasn’t, and settled her shoulders before she went back to the case with the figurines in it, which had a small group of people gathered around it. She lingered on the edge of the group, drinking her juice and listening in on the conversation – a trio of scholars debating the authenticity of the figurines, apparently. After a few minutes of that she drifted away to another case, which held what looked like ornaments. She glanced up to track the Inquisitor’s location in the room and saw him steadily working his way through the remaining cases, his mood like a thundercloud keeping people away from him.

“Lovely, aren’t they?”

Hera turned, pasting a polite smile on her lips, and saw a thin, white-bearded Pantoran male standing beside her. “It’s very intricate work,” she said.

He smiled with as much appreciation as if he had been the creator rather than some long-dead Jedi. “Mirialan,” he said, indicating a pair of round belt buckles propped up on display. “Do you see the floral work around the rims and the eclipsed suns at the centers? Variations on those themes have recurred amongst Mirialan Jedi for centuries – millennia, perhaps, though the older examples are disputed. They stem from an old Force cult on Mirial, one that hasn’t been active since before Mirial joined the Republic. We know nothing about that cult, not even its name; it no longer has any worshipers on Mirial, but until a decade ago there were still elements of it amongst the Jedi.”

He gestured to a collection of small coppery rings, each about the length of a knuckle and inscribed with knot-like decorations. “Weequay hair ornaments – for their braids, yes? You still see some Weequay wearing them today, but if you ever have the occasion to examine them closely, you’ll see that the finework is all different. That’s because Weequay Jedi had their own patterns that were used back on Sriluur before the Hutts conquered the world more than eight thousand years ago. Another Force cult, perhaps. When Weequay were first recruited into the Jedi Order, they took the symbols with them; you won’t see them on Sriluur or the other Weequay worlds today.”

“Eight thousand years is a long time,” Hera said, since she couldn’t think of anything else to say and it seemed like the point in which he expected a response.

“Perhaps longer. The Hutts – especially in the days of the old Hutt Empire – prefer to destroy the records of their conquered worlds, so that those worlds might seem to begin with their coming. It’s hard on historians.” He sighed wistfully, then looked at her more closely.

Hera resisted the urge to double-check that her markings were covered, since he seemed like the sort of person who might know that caste markings were more than just decorative tattoos the way most non-Twi’leks thought.

When she didn’t say anything one way or another, he seemed to decide that she was interested and pointed at a quartet of ivory bangles inside the case. Each one was a double-curve, small enough to fit around a near-human’s wrist, and incised with intricate patterns, some of which had been filled in with black, red, or gold, others of which were bare. The ivory was yellowing with age. Something about them was familiar and Hera frowned, trying to place them.

The Pantoran saw her expression and smiled, open and pleased rather than malicious. “Ryloth river hog tusks,” he said. “I can’t pronounce the name in Twi’leki –”

“Ruti’ara,” Hera said after a moment of thought. “From a region in the equatorial jungle. They’re extinct now.” She didn’t say that there was a set of similar bangles in her mother’s jewelry case back on Ryloth, a gift from Cham’s grandmother – then the clan head – when they had married; they had been passed down among the women of the family for a thousand years.

She looked back at the bangles in the case, now seeing the pattern of half-familiar clan markings amongst the carvings. “Fenn,” she said slowly. When the Pantoran blinked, she said, “The geometric patterns, there – in black. Those are Fenn clan markings. They’re a curial clan on Ryloth –” And had been in vendettas with the Syndullas no less than three dozen times over the past thousand years, including after the Curia’s ban two centuries earlier (which everyone on Ryloth had just taken as a strong recommendation for the first few decades), but who was counting.

“The clan is still extant?” the Pantoran asked, sounding a little disappointed.

Hera fought back family feeling she didn’t know she still had and resisted the urge to reply unfortunately. Instead she said, “Last I heard, yes. There was some scandal a few years ago, but they’re still around.”

“There is a clan that has died out, though, yes?”

Hera bit her lip. “There are a few, mostly smaller patrician clans. You’re probably thinking about the Indahs. They were a curial clan like the Fenns and the Sy – the Securas. They were in a –” She had to search for the word in Basic before going on. “– a vendetta, a blood feud, with the Fortunas. That’s another curial clan. The Fortunas tricked the curial family – the Indah Hid Indah – into agreeing to peace talks. When the Indah Hid Indah and the heads of the patrician families in the clan were all at table for the banquet, the Fortunas slaughtered them. Then they hunted down all of the other Indah patricians and killed them too, not to mention most of the plebeians. When news got out, the Republic Senate wanted the Jedi to come in and arbitrate it, but the Curia – that’s the governing body on Ryloth – wouldn’t let their ships land. They sent the Fortuna – the clan head, I mean – into the Bright Lands and ostracized most of the patrician family heads, and banned the Fortunas from being able to vote in the Curia for twenty years. They also banned the vendetta, so there aren’t supposed to be blood feuds anymore. The only Indah patricians who survived were the ones who had married into other clans cum manu, and when you do that you give up your clan rights – they weren’t legally Indahs anymore, I mean, they were legally members of their spouse’s clans. I know at least one petitioned to revoke her marriage, but there weren’t enough Indahs left for there to still be a clan. And the Fortunas had destroyed their lararia and kalikori, burned the shrines. That’s supposed to destroy the clan’s connection to their ancestors and the genii – the – the earth-gods, I suppose is the closest thing you can say in Basic. Since the Indah Hid Indah were a curial clan, they traced their line in direct descent from one of the gods – I think it might have been the –” She fumbled for the Basic again, aware that her Ryloth accent was starting to come out very strongly, and if anyone knew enough to recognize it, that it was the purest high-caste Twi’leki. “The Son of Sands. There are other curial clans descended from the Son of Sands too but the Indah Hid Indah were very, very old, as old as – the Fenns.”

She had almost said “as old as the Syndulla Tann Syndulla.” One of the surviving Indahs had actually been married to the Syndulla prime heir at the time, and had almost succeeded in convincing her and her twin brother to declare vendetta against the Fortunas themselves before the Syndulla clan head had gotten wind of it and stopped them.

“This was a long time ago?” asked the Pantoran.

“Not really,” Hera admitted. “About two hundred years.” She tensed in expectation of a comment about how barbaric Twi’leks were, never mind that there were humans on plenty of worlds who still practiced various forms of blood feud, but none came.

“An old custom?” the Pantoran said instead.

“Um, yes,” Hera said. She was too embarrassed about having given a speech about the Hid Indah Massacre to offer up that the vendetta went back to the days of the gods, when the children of the Mother of Mountains had torn Ryloth apart in war with each other after the Son of Sands had murdered his sister’s lover. It was why so much of the planet was desert, except for the equatorial jungle; their oldest records showed that millennia earlier much more of the planet had been jungle and there had still been enough ocean to separate the continents. “What does that have to do with the ruti’ara tusks?”

“Ah. Nothing.” The Pantoran beamed at the case again.

Hera let out her breath through her teeth, annoyed. She could feel heat in her cheeks, traveling up to her ear-cones and the base of her lekku.

“The marvelous thing about the Jedi is that they were so very, very old and had members from all over the galaxy, all kinds of species, so customs, traditions, peoples – animals, even – were preserved within them like insects in amber, passed down from master to apprentice over so many generations few sentient minds can really comprehend them. They provide a window into a past where there are no other windows – no holograms, no texts, no oral memories. And yet that past was preserved amongst the Jedi – it was still a living thing. The Empire might have you believe that the Jedi stole children from thousands of worlds, stripped them of their identities, their cultures, their species, and made them all Jedi and nothing else, but if that was true, then how would there be any of this?” He swept an arm around at the room and its display cases. “When I was a very young, there were pirates preying on my family’s station, and a Jedi came to deal with them – a Togruta woman, very beautiful. She wore the akul teeth headdress of a Togruta warrior, an animal which those among the Togruta who wish to prove their strength hunt and kill. Why would she do that if she was not Togruta as much as Jedi?”

He looked back at the case and sighed. “Many of those here are here for the money, or are enthusiasts for the forbidden – some for the Jedi. Others enjoy beautiful things, the rarer the better.” He flicked a glance at the Quarren who had passed Hera earlier, his expression disapproving. “When they were destroyed, it was not merely the Jedi who were lost, but a thousand others who were preserved only amongst the Jedi.”

“Most of the people on those worlds pay attention to their own history,” Hera said hesitantly.

“Ah. Yes. Some do. Others would, but their histories were stripped from them – the Hutts, as I said. The Empire, more recently. Even the Republic, in its way, as you said yourself.”

Hera blinked. “Did I?”

“When you said that your people would not allow the Republic to take over the punishment of its wrongdoers,” the Pantoran explained patiently. “Others were not so stubborn; at other points, the Republic would not have cared about their wishes.”

“They’re not –” my people, she wanted to finish, but she couldn’t get the words out.

“But sometimes history is just lost,” he went on sadly. “Not maliciously or in war or natural disaster, it just…falls out of use, and then out of memory, and if there are traces at all, then they are traces we cannot recognize. By the time one realizes it is gone, it is just not there to find.”

Hera bit her lip.

“You make it sound as if the Jedi are only the composite of others, with nothing of o – of their own,” the Inquisitor said quietly from behind Hera.

She almost jumped out of her skin. She hadn’t heard him approach, and from the way the Pantoran flinched he hadn’t noted the Inquisitor’s arrival either.

“No – no, of course not,” he said, when he had gotten control of himself. “But my – my interests have always lain elsewhere. There are so many who are interested in the Jedi and only the Jedi for what they themselves are, and not all that they represent.”

“I see,” the Inquisitor said gravely. He sounded more amused than anything else, which Hera decided to cautiously take as a good sign.

Hera half turned so that she could watch him and the Pantoran at the same time. He was looking at the case, not at the Pantoran, his gaze moving over the beautiful objects inside. She realized abruptly that he had used the present tense, not the past. And that he had started to say “our,” not “their.”

“You are an enthusiast of the Jedi, perhaps?” the Pantoran said, recovering.

Hera tensed again, but the Inquisitor just raised an eyebrow. “I have an interest.”

The Pantoran turned to Hera again. “And you, you are a student of history, I see?”

The Imperial Academy’s version of history was “things were terrible until the Emperor took control” but she wasn’t about to tell him that. “Just a few things,” she said instead. “But I enjoyed our conversation,” she added, because she did know how to be polite; not something she had learned from the Empire. She took a chance and laid her hand on the Inquisitor’s arm, suspecting that he was probably aware of her brief hesitation before she made contact. “I think we’ve seen what we came here to see,” she told him.

He was tense under her palm, giving her the impression that he didn’t like to be touched any more than she did. None of it showed in his face as he glanced down towards her and nodded.

“I will see you tomorrow evening, perhaps,” the Pantoran said.

“Perhaps,” Hera agreed, and hoped a little vaguely that she wouldn’t have to arrest him.

She released the Inquisitor as soon as they turned to walk away. They were silent all the way up the stairs into the noisy, crowded club, as they retrieved their speeder bikes, and on the ride back to the Ghost, the wind from their passage whipping Hera’s lekku back behind her.

Hera was stowing her bike and trying to decide whether the appropriate thing to do in this situation would be to debrief the evening when the Inquisitor said, very tiredly, “I’ll see you in the morning,” and vanished up the ladder. A few moments later she heard his cabin door slide open and shut again.

“Well,” she said to Chopper, who had come down to make sure she was all right. “That was interesting.”

#cut scenes and concept writing #reluctant roommates au tag #as always comments are appreciated #I'm trying for a bit more plottiness with this concept

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goldenkamuyhunting · 3 years

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Ramblings and crazy theory time about GK chap 269 “Wilk’s way of doing things”

So we’re finally dealing with a new chapter in which we can say...

...yeah, poor Wilk... as while yes, he was also responsible for his own downfall, what happened to him was surely terrible.

The first page is a quick summary of how the Ainu killed each over conveniently letting Wilk alive and not having him kill a single soul.

For start we can see Wilk is the only one who’s apparently without a rifle (his right hand looks empty at least). We can also see that the group split basically in two, a part is pro-Wilk (or, at least, let’s-not-kill-Wilk) and the other is let’s-murder-him-right-now.

So, Irenka (pro-Wilk) places himself in front of Wilk. He has a rifle but doesn’t seem to aim to shoot anyone, just to defend Wilk and calm things down.

Oskeporo (kill-Wilk) aims at them with his rifle and is knocked out by Mesira (pro-Wilk).

Ratci (kill-Wilk), who’s a friend of Oskeporo, aims his rifle at them.

Irenka gets shoot and, same as Tamai did, as he dies accidentally shoot and seems to hit Oskeporo who, fires as well.

At this point things are a bit hazy.

Siromakur, who seemed to be in the let’s- not-kill-Wilk team before (he was shown at Wilk’s side), is shown bleeding from a hole in his chest. Was he the one hit by Oskeporo. The guy is supported or used as a human shield by Sukuta. We see a knife in the image but that one is actually Siromaku’s if the draws on the handle has to be believed. It’s clear Siromakur isn’t the one holding it as we can see both his arms so they probably took it from him.

The next image shows us Ratci firing, the knife in his belly.

The very last image shows Oskeporo and Sukuta on the ground, likely dead.

Yeah, there’s plenty of holes in this page who’s just meant to drive home Wilk didn’t kill anyone, the other Ainu just started shooting, some by purpose, some by accident, some in self defence.

Possibly Siromakur didn’t kill anyone either, I’m not sure.

The image is not really clear on what exactly happened because Noda wants to keep it secret some details for a little longer.

Anyway we see Ratci crawling away and, interesting enough, two more bullets being shoot behind him. He also hears something being said but we don’t get what it was.

The only Ainu of the rebels group that weren’t shown dying or being wounded to death was Mesira… but it’s hard to tell if he didn’t go shoot earlier since the images showed us so little.

We flash forward a little to Kikuta questioning a dying Ratci, asking him if Wilk was killed too and if others survived. Ratci dies before answering and the group then collects his body along with the heads of the other 6 Ainu, which were cut from their bodies. The total dead count is 7.

Usami wonders about who chopped their bodies since there should have been 7 Ainu and now their heads are all accounted for.

He tries to pick up Irenka’s head to see the head slip out of the skin which is something I expected. Usami figures out all the heads were skinned and the skins swapped around. He also notices the heads are missing eyes.

All this doesn’t faze Tsurumi in the slightest. He correctly figures one of those skinned head should have belonged to Kimuspu, which would mean that there were 8 Ainu.

We’ve a flashback in which Kimuspu is shown wounded and holding a rifle which means the group had keep him alive and he had taken part to the battle. That’s probably why we weren’t shown the full battle in the intro page, to hid he was involved as well.

Tsurumi, holding the head covered with Wilk’s skin in a Hamlet’s fashion, then easily sums up Wilk’s plan.

The Ainu were 8 and Wilk used Kimuspu (which nobody knew was among them) to fake his own death.

The eyes were then removed because Wilk’s eyes were distinctive.

He then seems to kiss Wilk’s skin… and I’m starting to think this might be where his affinity with Edogai was born.

We’re then shown the cover...

...and it’s an image we should be very familiar with as we saw it in chap 1 and used again when Inkarmat wanted to push fowward her Kiro culprit theory in chap 116.

The Ainu are on the ground and a man, Nopperabou, stand above them. Only this time we can see that the man standing above them is Wilk, not Kiro as Tsurumi told Inkarmat and, of course, despite surviving Wilk isn’t the one who did the killing.

Usami notices that people is coming, they’re the gold panners and the hunters who should have head the shoots during the night and are coming to check what happened.

Tsurumi split his forces, Usami is to go at the health resort facility at Noboribetsu (remember? The one in which Kikuta was) and call reinforcements while Kikuta remains there and secure the area. Tsurumi will instead pursue Wilk.

As Tsurumi leaves Usami notices Kikuta pensitive gaze. Kikuta is worried about Ariko. He wonders who will tell him the truth as he thinks Ariko will be upset to discover they were involved in his father’s death.

Usami says there’s no need to tell him as they merely told Ariko’s father about Wilk’s identity and it was the group of Ainu which tore itself apart.

Kikuta points out how their plan relied on sewing discord in the group...

...which yes, it’s true, although Tsurumi clearly didn’t want them to murder each other BEFORE confessing where the gold was. He was hoping to reach them before they all would die, this was a miscalculation on his part.

But this little scene traces a difference between Usami and Kikuta.

While Usami doesn’t really care about how this will affect others (namely Ariko) and doesn’t feel responsible for the consequences of their actions, Kikuta does.

Usami lives in denial of his own sins, where Kikuta looks straight at them, which matches with how he’s a man who told Sugimoto in hell they’ll be rolling the red carpet for him. Kikuta knows what he’s doing is wrong, Usami doesn’t even stop to think if it is, or if it can have consequences on the others.

The following scene shows Sugimoto and Shiraishi meeting up with Ariko (evidently they managed not to get discover despite their car crash… no idea how since they should have made noise worth checking… unless Nikaidou also has left his guard post?).

We also gets a panel of Kikuta looking down under the rain. No idea what he’s watching but he’s sure sad and, I bet, he’s thinking at Ariko.

The fact that he and Ariko are on the same page yet divided by the panel with Sugimoto and Shiraishi is meaningful.

There’s a tie between this two men… but there’s also something between them.

Meanwhile Tsurumi goes on in his narration.

He’s impressed by Wilk’s resolve to cut away his face. He figured Wilk, given the situation, expected to be labelled as the murderer and was worried of how this would affect Asirpa.

Thanks Tsurumi, after such a gruesome story, Asirpa really needed you to push on her the blame of her father’s actions. I get you want to manipulate her but this can also backfire because it proves Wilk’s actions were done out of love for her.

Anyway Tsurumi is just impressed by how Wilk not only came up with such plan but could also manage to carry it to execution quickly as cutting his own face off isn’t something a person would be able to do.

I agree and I would say it’s not just for the unbearable pain and the psychological trauma but also because it doesn’t seem that easy to do. I would expect a person to end up cutting a muscle or a blood vessel. But whatever, it’s a manga, and I’m not really an expert in skinned faces… and I like to remain as such, so let’s go on.

Tsurumi anyway thinks the plan was perfect if not for a detail, HE was the one chasing Wilk.

This isn’t said for a lack of modesty. Tsurumi just knew Wilk, he recognized his skinned face, he figured out his plan and, when he sees an Ainu with his face bandaged, he immediately recognizes him as Wilk due to the colour of his eyes. Another person, who had never met Wilk, might not have managed to do so.

Add to this that Wilk makes a mistake because he too recognizes Tsurumi (who back then looked a lot more like his younger self as he wasn’t disfigured yet), calling him ‘Hasegawa-san’ and giving away his identity.

Tsurumi doesn’t tell us what happened after.

There’s clearly a timeskip and then we’re shown Wilk escaping on the lake, Tsurumi shooting at him and causing Wilk to end in the water and the boat to sink.

Among the things that sank there was Kimuspu’s face, which Wilk has taken away. Tsurumi runs, trying to reach Wilk but Wilk, after discharging his Ainu clothes, is faster at reaching a prison lodge where convicts were kept illegally.

Wilk asks who’s the boss of the guards, who’s of course nothing else but ‘slave-convict-trader’ Inudou, who was of course abusing of his power to illegally use prisoners in that area as well.

Wilk tell them about the 7 dead Ainu and claims to be the one who know the location where those Ainu hid the gold.

As the 7th division couldn’t get around with the people ruling the prison the result is that the guards carry Wilk to the prison in secret and Wilk becomes Nopperabout.

Asirpa asks Sofia about Kiroranke and Sofia explains once he freed himself Kiro began to search for Kimuspu as well and, while doing so, he heard the commotion and ended up on the crime scene while the 7th division was carrying away the bodies of the Ainu. He saw Wilk’s head being carried away as well and crumbled on his knees, crying and mourning Wilk.

No matter how mad he was at Wilk for his own decision, back then Kiro was still his friend and cared for him. He even wondered if he would be able to understand him by starting his own family in Hokkaido.

However, once he was back from the Russo-Japanese war he hears the rumour that Kimuspu was among the Ainu corpses. An Ainu testified that due to him recognizing the tattoos on Kimuspu’s hands.

Due to this Kiro too starts piecing together things.

He believed the Ainu had let Kimuspu go once they gotten the location of the gold… but now that he knew they were 8 and only 7 bodies were found he believed one of them killed the other 7.

Hijikata coming to ask about Asirpa, the rumours about Nopperabou and the tattoo code… all lead Kiro to think that Wilk is Nopperabou… and, likely, that Wilk was the killer.

Kiro goes on saying despite having a family in Hokkaido he couldn’t arrive to the same conclusion as Wilk, he still believes that if the gold was used for the Far Eastern Federation this would protect the Hokkaido Ainu too.

Kiro thinks barricading themselves away was a pathetic way of thinking that would never allow them to win against Russia or Japan.

Tsurumi nods in agreement.

I’ll discuss my two cents in a while.

We’ve then a flashback in which Kiro gives the sign and Wilk is shoot and then we see Kiro’s expression.

His eyes… are void of light but not black, grey as he thinks that Wilk was a wolf within the pack who has grown weak and that therefore Kiro followed the “way of the wolves” Wilk admired and did Wilk the kindness of killing him. As he says so we see a flashback of Kiro, Wilk and Sofia drinking together and being happy, Kiro with his arm around Wilk and trying to get him to drink something and Wilk holding Kiro’s wrist.

Although Sofia is included so that they look a single unit, a single ‘body’, it’s clear the picture focuses more on Kiro and Wilk, in how they touch each other, in how their heads are close.

It’s not meant to be romantic, it’s meant to deliver how those two men were close, as close as two best friends could be in the past.

So okay, let’s go back.

I think I lost count of how many times I criticized Wilk’s plan, both the early one the ‘Far Eastern Federation’ and the new one the ‘Free Hokkaido only’ plan not because they’re wrong per se but because they’re horribly planned so this time I’ll spare you of them.

I’ll discuss a bit of the why Kiro, despite making a family in Hokkaido doesn’t just switches like Wilk.

The key is likely that Kiro, differently from Wilk, had no reason to switch.

Let’s go back a little. In the flashbacks located in Russia Wilk was presented like an idealist, his plan a beautiful utopia for which he was willing to bet his own life and the one of his teammates.

He has lost his village, likely his parents were already dead and he was on his own. Sure, he was friend with Kiro and later with Sofia but their attachment for them was, compared to his own goal, his own ideal, minor. He has devoted his life to that goal and that’s it.

And because no one is special in his eyes “All are equal” among the minorities.

That’s also what allows him to keep a cold, practical mind setting, that he doesn’t get deeply attached.

When he moved to Hokkaido he did a mistake.

Well, no, it’s not a real mistake, it’s just something that caused him to shift priorities.

He grew more attached to his wife and child than he was to his goal.

His priorities shifted and so he could sacrifice part of his goal for the benefit of his Hokkaido family, which he prioritized and, in sacrificing his goal, he accepted he could sacrifice all his Russian allies who had fought with him.

He wasn’t anymore ready to do everything he could to give ALL the minorities freedom.

He wanted to give freedom to his daughter’s minority, if the other minorities wanted to benefit of the freedom he planned to gain for the Hokkaido Ainu, they would have to come to compromise, give up their land, their customs. He would be still willing to help them but at his own conditions as they weren’t anymore part of his priorities.

It’s absolutely human… but it’s also a betrayal of the cause, of his ideal who used to held all the minorities as all EQUAL.

Now, “All are equal, but some are more equal than others.”

For Kiro instead the problem is different.

Kiro has built attachment for the Russian side, attachment that lies especially in Sofia but possibly he also had other companions he cared about. He couldn’t be as cold as Wilk, which means he was more emotionally involved in them.

In fact Kiro’s point as they argued was that “HOKKAIDO never had anything to do with them in the first place”, meaning deep down he prioritized the Russian minorities among whom he lived from childhood and fought together than Hokkaido in which he transferred only recently. He views Russia as his homeland, he views his people as the ones who live in Karafuto and in the Russian far east.

In a desperate attempt to understand Wilk he tries to build himself a home in Hokkaido… but it never worked. Contrary to what some part of the fandom thinks, Kiro NEVER sees himself as an Hokkaido Ainu, he sees his children as Hokkaido Ainu, he’s a Tartar with Karafuto blood from his grandmother side.

In short, marrying with an Ainu whom he loves and having children whom he loves helped him to INCLUDE Hokkaido in his priorities, not in demoting Russia from them.

Therefore, where Wilk started from an “All (minorities) are equal” and then moved to an “All (minorities) are equal, but some are more equal than others” Kiro did the opposite.

That’s why having an Hokkaido family doesn’t help him to embrace Wilk’s idea they should have prioritized Hokkaido but, if anything, pushes him to place Hokkaido and Russia on the same place.

He wants Sofia and Asirpa to join forces also because in this way they will become guarantors for both Russia and Hokkaido, they’ll protect the interests of both parties, of the countries he now both loves. And this too is a human view, same as Wilk’s was, even if it sits at the opposite extreme.

On a sidenote I wonder if the experience in which the Hokkaido Ainu slaughtered each other opened Wilk’s eyes and pushed him to realize that he’s an outsider, that he can’t hope he could just unite and lead them. But whatever, that’s just food for thoughts, it can be he escaped in that direction merely because it was the most convenient direction in which to escape for him and the speculations he was running in that way to bring the gold back to his Russian companions done by various cast members were just that, speculations.

Last but not least, Kiro’s reasoning as he killed Wilk.

We know that Kiro isn’t really that good at murdering people.

He can do it just fine in the heat of the battle or when he sees them as enemies (the Russian guards, the Russian soldiers) but not when he’s up close to them. He lacks Wilk’s coldness, which is what pushed him to hesitate when tossing the bomb to the emperor.

After all his weapon of choice, explosive, is a weapon that allows people to keep distance with their victims and it’s perfect for avoiding to get an empathic connection with them. Murdering people up close is a lot harder.

Although Inkarmat got in the way he didn’t mean to kill her and when she got stabbed by accident his first reaction was to try to help her, when Tanigaki let him know he was there to avenge Inkarmat he didn’t feel like finishing him off and he didn’t want Ogata to shoot Sugi.

Wilk though had betrayed them when he made clear he didn’t plan anymore to pursue their partisan group’s goal, circumstances paint him as the Ainu murderer and the fact he’s entrusting the gold to Hijikata, a Wajin, and Asirpa, Asirpa who has no idea about the other minorities, only worsen the picture.

Wilk, the NEW WILK who killed the OLD WILK and betrayed them, had to die.

It’s something Kiro likely knew Wilk had to die even before the Ainu incident, because partisans killed who betrayed them, yet he wasn’t ready to face, in fact, as soon as he believed Wilk died, he broke down and cried.

When it turned out Wilk instead survived, he could have been the one behind the Ainu murder and acted none the wiser by basically entrusting the gold to Hijikata, killing him for betrayal at that point was mandatory.

Yet the mental gimmick Kiro does to manage to condemn Wilk is interesting. Not only he has Ogata do the job but manages to persuade himself he’s doing Wilk a favour. The NEW WILK is a WEAK WILK and, according to Wilk’s ideas about ‘the way of the wolves’, the weak has to be killed.

Basically Kiro persuades himself he’s not hurting Wilk, he’s doing it an act of kindness according Wilk’s own mind setting (Kiro had no idea why Wilk was called as such but the volume version added a scene in which Wilk saw a lone wolf and talked with him and Hasegawa about ‘the way of the wolves’ so Kiro knew about it).

That’s probably why the image shows us a Kiro with no light in his eyes, a Kiro who’s blinding himself to the truth with a lie to cope with the guilt of killing his best friend otherwise he’ll probably break.

And this probably ties in with how, when their group was threatened by the Russian border guards, Kiro exposed himself to save the Orok and then called it ‘Kamuy Renkayne’, “thanks to the Gods”. What Kiro did is similar to what Sekiya was doing.

Before acting Kiro thought at how they murdered the Emperor, which is likely why they are held under fire but was also the moment in which Wilk, with an amazing coldness, grabbed the bomb and took care to correct Kiro’s mistake by placing the bomb in the royal coach. He likely gained Kiro’s loyalty with that act.

And by taking an amazing personal risk Kiro basically tested the will of the Gods to prove himself if he was right or wrong. If the Gods hadn’t spared him then his actions toward Wilk were wrong.

On a sidenote… it’s not a common occurrence for wolves to kill a weak wolf.

Normally they actually protect the weak in their pack by bringing them food and by defending them from larger predators because they’re like a big family, although they won’t hesitate to kill wolves that don’t belong to their pack, weak or not.

Wolves kill or drive out of the pack a silk or a weak or an old wolf only if they’re in conditions of great stress, for example if food is scarce.

Long story short, I’m more tempted to think the wolf Wilk saw as a child was killed not merely because he was weak but because he didn’t belong to the pack of wolves which found him.

Probably that wolf was kicked out by his own pack, trespassed into the area of another pack and was killed.

Anyway the irony is great and tragic.

We saw Wilk killing a member of his group due to ‘the way of the wolves’ mind setting and probably part of this mind setting is what made him cold when Hasegawa daughter and child were killed or when he left behind Sofia or now, that he decided only Hokkaido had to be saved… and yet this mind setting came back to bite him when his friend judged him through the same lens Wilk used to judge others.

His pack came back to him, only to get rid of him because he has grown weak in a perfect application of the contrappasso law.

Still, I’m sad for Asirpa. She didn’t deserve to see it.

But well, with this we likely have finished with the flashback for now… unless they’re going to include how the cat alliance formed, which I doubt as I expect Noda to save it for another time.

So, with the murder of the Ainu out of the way and all the tattooed convicts tracked down all that remains for the plot is to solve the code.

Oh well, we’ll see where this will lead us.

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armageddon-generation · 3 years

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Articulating Why His Dark Materials is Badly Written

A long essay-thing with lots of specific examples and explanations of why I feel this way. Hopefully I’ve kept fanboy bitching to a minimum.

This isn’t an attack on fans of the show, nor a personal attack on Jack Thorne. I’m not looking to ruin anyone’s enjoyment of the show, I just needed to properly articulate, with examples, why I struggle with it. I read and love the books and that colours my view, but I believe that HDM isn’t just a clumsy, at-best-functional, sometimes incompetent adaptation, it’s a bad TV show separate from its source material. The show is the blandest, least interesting and least engaging version of itself it could be.

His Dark Materials has gorgeous production design and phenomenal visual effects. It's well-acted. The score is great. But my god is it badly written. Jack Thorne writing the entire first season damned the show. There was no-one to balance out his flaws and biases. Thorne is checking off a list of plot-points, so concerned with manoeuvring the audience through the story he forgets to invest us in it. The scripts are mechanical, empty, flat.

Watching HDM feels like an impassioned fan earnestly lecturing you on why the books are so good- (Look! It's got other worlds and religious allegory and this character Lyra is really, really important I swear. Isn't Mrs Coulter crazy? The Gyptians are my favourites.) rather than someone telling the story naturally.

My problems fall into 5 main categories:

Exposition- An unwillingness to meaningfully expand the source material for a visual medium means Thorne tells and doesn't show crucial plot-points. He then repeats the same thing multiple times because he doesn't trust his audience

Pacing- By stretching out the books and not trusting his audience Thorne dedicates entire scenes to one piece of information and repeats himself constantly (see: the Witches' repetition of the prophecy in S2).

Narrative priorities- Thorne prioritises human drama over fantasy. This makes sense budgetarily, but leads to barely-present Daemons, the Gyptians taking up too much screentime, rushed/badly written Witches (superpowers, exposition) and Bears (armourless bear fight), and a Lyra more focused on familial angst than the joy of discovery

Tension and Mystery- because HDM is in such a hurry to set up its endgame it gives you the answers to S1's biggest mysteries immediately- other worlds, Lyra's parents, what happens to the kids etc. This makes the show less engaging and feel like it's playing catch-up to the audience, not the other way around.

Tonal Inconsistency- HDM tries to be a slow-paced, grounded, adult drama, but its blunt, simplistic dialogue and storytelling methods treat the audience like children that need to be lectured.

MYSTERY, SUSPENSE AND INTRIGUE

The show undercuts all the books’ biggest mysteries. Mrs Coulter is set up as a villain before we meet her, other worlds are revealed in 1x2, Lyra's parents by 1x3, what the Magesterium do to kids is spelled out long before Lyra finds Billy (1x2). I understand not wanting to lose new viewers, but neutering every mystery kills momentum and makes the show much less engaging.

This extends to worldbuilding. The text before 1x1 explains both Daemons and Lyra's destiny before we meet her. Instead of encouraging us to engage with the world and ask questions, we're given all the answers up front and told to sit back and let ourselves be spoon-fed. The viewer is never an active participant, never encouraged to theorise or wonder

Intrigue motivated you to engage with Pullman's philosophical themes and concepts. Without it, HDM feels like a lecture, a theme park ride and not a journey.

The only one of S1's mysteries left undiminished is 'what is Dust?', which won't be properly answered until S3, and that answer is super conceptual and therefore hard to make dramatically satisfying

TONAL INCONSISTENCY

HDM billed itself as a HBO-level drama, and was advertised as a GoT inheritor. It takes itself very seriously- the few attempts at humour are stilted and out of place

The production design is deliberately subdued, most notably choosing a mid-twentieth century aesthetic for Lyra’s world over the late-Victorian of the books or steampunk of the movie. The colour grading would be appropriate for a serious adult drama.

Reviewers have said this stops the show feeling as fantastical as it should. It also makes Lyra’s world less distinct from our own.

Most importantly, minimising the wondrous fantasy of S1 neuters its contrast with the escalating thematic darkness of the finale (from 1x5 onwards), and the impact of Roger’s death. Pullman's books are an adult story told through the eyes of a child. Lyra’s innocence and naivety in the first book is the most important journey of the trilogy. Instead, the show starts serious and thematically heavy (we’re told Lyra has world-saving importance before we even meet her) and stays that way.

Contrasting the serious tone, grounded design and poe-faced characters, the dialogue is written to cater to children. It’s horrendously blunt and pulls you out of scenes. Subtext is obliterated at every opportunity. Even in the most recent episode, 2x7, Pan asks Lyra ‘do you think you’re changing because of Will?’

I cannot understate how on the nose this line is, and how much it undercuts the themes of the final book. Instead of even a meaningful shot of Lyra looking at Will, the show treats the audience like complete idiots.

So, HDM looks and advertises itself like an adult drama and is desperate to be taken seriously by wearing its big themes on its sleeve from the start instead of letting them evolve naturally out of subtext like the books, and dedicating lots of scenes to Mrs Coulter's self-abuse

At the same time its dialogue and character writing is comparable to the Star Wars prequels, more childish than media aimed at a similar audience - Harry Potter, Doctor Who, Avatar the Last Airbender etc

DAEMONS

The show gives itself a safety net by explaining Daemons in an opening text-crawl, and so spends less time showing the mechanics of the Daemon-human bond. On the HDM subreddit, I’ve seen multiple people get to 1x5 or 6, and then come to reddit asking basic questions like ‘why do only some people have Daemons?’ or ‘Why are Daemons so important?’.

It’s not that the show didn’t answer these questions; it was in the opening text-crawl. It’s just the show thinks telling you is enough and never shows evidence to back that up. Watching a TV show you remember what you’re shown much easier than what you’re told

The emotional core of Northern Lights is the relationship between Lyra and Pan. The emotional core of HDM S1 is the relationship between Lyra and Mrs Coulter. This wouldn't be bad- it's a fascinating dynamic Ruth plays wonderfully- if it didn't override the Daemons

Daemons are only onscreen when they serve a narrative purpose. Thorne justifies this because the books only describe Daemons when they tell us about their human. On the page your brain fills the Daemons in. This doesn't work on-screen; you cannot suspend your disbelief when their absence is staring you in the face

Thorne clarified the number of Daemons as not just budgetary, but a conscious creative choice to avoid onscreen clutter. This improved in S2 after vocal criticism.

Mrs Coulter/the Golden Monkey and Lee/Hester have well-drawn relationships in S1, but Pan and Lyra hug more in the 2-hour Golden Compass movie than they do in the 8-hour S1 of HDM. There's barely any physical contact with Daemons at all.

They even cut Pan and Lyra's hug after escaping the Cut in Bolvangar. In the book they can't let go of each other. The show skips it completely because Thorne wants to focus on Mrs Coulter and Lyra.

They cut Pan and Lyra testing how far apart they can be. They cut Lyra freeing the Cut Daemons in Bolvangar with the help of Kaisa. We spent extra time with both Roger and Billy Costa, but didn't develop their bonds with their Daemons- the perfect way to make the Cut more impactful

I don't need every single book scene in the show, but notice that all these cut scenes reinforced how important Daemons are. For how plodding the show is. you'd think they could spare time for these moments instead of inventing new conversations that tell us the information they show

Daemons are treated as separate beings and thus come across more like talking pets than part of a character

The show sets the rules of Daemons up poorly. In 1x2, Lyra is terrified by the Monkey being so far from Coulter, but the viewer has nothing to compare it to. We’re retroactively told in that this is unnatural when the show has yet to establish what ‘natural’ is.

The guillotine blueprint in 1x2 (‘Is that a human and his Daemon, Pan? It looks like it.’ / ‘A blade. To cut what?’) is idiotic. It deflates S1’s main mystery and makes the characters look stupid for not figuring out what they aren’t allowed to until they did in the source material, it also interferes with how the audience sees Daemons. In the book, Cutting isn’t revealed until two-thirds of the way in (1x5). By then we’ve spent a lot of time with Daemons, they’ve become a background part of the world, their ‘rules’ have been established, and we’re endeared to them.

By showing the Guillotine and putting Daemons under threat in the second episode, the show never lets us grow attached. This, combined with their selective presence in scenes, draws attention to Daemons as a plot gimmick and not a natural extension of characters. Like Lyra, the show tells us why Daemons are important before we understand them.

Billy Costa's fate falls flat. It's missing the dried fish/ fake Daemon Tony Markos clings to in the book. Thorne said this 'didn't work' on the day, but it worked in the film. Everyone yelling about Billy not having a Daemon is laughable when most of the background extras in the same scene don't have Daemons themselves

WITCHES

The Witches are the most common complaint about the show. Thorne changed Serafina Pekkala in clever, logical ways (her short hair, wrist-knives and cloud pine in the skin)

The problem is how Serafina is written. The Witches are purely exposition machines. We get no impression of their culture, their deep connection to nature, their understanding of the world. We are told it. It is never shown, never incorporated into the dramatic action of the show.

Thorne emphasises Serafina's warrior side, most obviously changing Kaisa from a goose into a gyrfalcon (apparently a goose didn't work on-screen)

Serafina single-handedly slaughtering the Tartars is bad in a few ways. It paints her as bloodthirsty and ruthless. Overpowering the Witches weakens the logic of the world (If they can do that, why do they let the Magesterium bomb them unchallenged in 2x2?). It strips the Witches of their subtlety and ambiguity for the sake of cinematic action.

A side-effect of Serafina not being with her clan at Bolvangar is limiting our exposure to the Witches. Serafina is the only one invested in the main plot, we only hear about them from what she tells us. This poor set-up weakens the Witch subplot in S2

Lyra doesn’t speak to Serafina until 2x6. She laid eyes on her once in S1.

The dialogue in the S2’s Witch subplot is comparable to the Courasant section of The Phantom Menace.

Two named characters, neither with any depth (Serafina and Coram's dead son developed him far more than her). The costumes look ostentatious and hokey- the opposite of what the Witches should be. They do nothing but repeat the same exposition at each other, even in 2x7.

We feel nothing when the Witches are bombed because the show never invests us in what is being destroyed- with the amount of time wasted on long establishing shots, there’s not one when Lee Scoresby is talking to the Council.

BEARS

Like the Witches; Thorne misunderstands and rushes the fantasy elements of the story. The 2007 movie executed both Iofur's character and the Bear Fight much better than the show- bloodless jaw-swipe and all

Iofur's court was not the parody of human court in the books. He didn't have his fake-Daemon (hi, Billy)

An armourless bear fight is like not including Pan in the cutting scene. After equating Iorek's armour to a Daemon (Lee does this- we don’t even learn how important it is from Iorek himself, and the comparison meant less because of how badly the show set up Daemons) the show then cuts the plotpoint that makes the armour plot-relevant. This diminishes all of Bear society. Like Daemons, we're told Iorek's armour is important but it's never shown to be more than a cool accessory

GYPTIANS

Gyptians suffer from Hermoine syndrome. Harry Potter screenwriter Steve Kloves' favourite character was Hermione, and so Film!Hermoine lost most of Book!Hermoine's flaws and gained several of Book!Ron's best moments. The Gyptians are Jack Thorne's favourite group in HDM and so they got the extra screentime and development that the more complicated groups/concepts like Witches, Bears, and Daemons (which, unlike the Gyptians, carry over to other seasons amd are more important to the overall story) needed

At the same time, he changes them from a private people into an Isle of Misfit Toys. TV!Ma Costa promises they'll ‘make a Gyptian woman out of Lyra yet’, but in the book Ma specifically calls Lyra out for pretending to be Gyptian, and reminds her she never can be.

This small moment indicates how, while trying to make the show more grounded and 'adult', Thorne simultaneously made it more saccharine and sentimental. He neuters the tragedy of the Cut kids when Ma Costa says they’ll become Gyptians. Pullman's books feel like an adult story told through the eyes of a child. The TV show feels like a child's story masquerading as a serious drama.

LIN-MANUEL MIRANDA

Let me preface this by saying I genuinely really enjoy the performances in the show. It was shot in the foot by The Golden Compass' perfect casting.

The most contentious/'miscast' actor among readers is LMM. Thorne ditched the books' wise Texan for a budget Han Solo. LMM isn't a great dramatic actor (even in Hamilton he was the weak link performance-wise) but he makes up for it in marketability- lots of people tried the show because of him

Readers dislike that LMM's Lee is a thief and a scoundrel, when book-Lee is so moral he and Hester argue about stealing. Personally, I like the change in concept. Book!Lee's parental love for Lyra just appears. It's sweet, but not tied to a character arc. Done right, Lyra out-hustling Lee at his own game and giving him a noble cause to fight for (thus inspiring the moral compass of the books) is a more compelling arc.

DAFNE KEENE AND LYRA

I thought Dafne would be perfect casting. Her feral energy in Logan seemed a match made in heaven. Then Jack Thorne gave her little to do with it.

Compare how The Golden Compass introduced Lyra, playing Kids and Gobblers with a group of Gyptian kids, including Billy Costa. Lyra and Roger are chased to Jordan by the Gyptians and she makes up a lie about a curse to scare the Gyptians away.

In one scene the movie set up: 1) the Gobblers (the first we hear of them in the show is in retrospect, Roger worrying AFTER Billy is taken) 2) Lyra’s pre-existing relationship with the Gyptians (not in the show), 3) Friendship with Billy Costa (not in the book or show) 4) Lyra’s ability to befriend and lead groups of people, especially kids, and 5) Lyra’s ability to lie impressively

By comparison, it takes until midway through 1x2 for TV!Lyra to tell her first lie, and even then it’s a paper-thin attempt.

The show made Roger Lyra’s only friend. This artificially heightens the impact of Roger's death, but strips Lyra of her leadership qualities and ability to befriend anyone.

Harry Potter fans talk about how Book!Harry is funnier and smarter than Film!Harry. They cut his best lines ('There's no need to call me sir, Professor') and made him blander and more passive. The same happened to Lyra.

Most importantly, Lyra is not allowed to lie for fun. She can't do anything 'naughty' without being scolded. This colours the few times Lyra does lie (e.g. to Mrs Coulter in 1x2) negatively and thus makes Lyra out to be more of a brat than a hero.

This is a problem with telling Northern Lights from an outside, 'adult' perspective- to most adults Lyra is a brat. Because we’re introduced to her from inside her head, we think she's great. It's only when we meet her through Will's eyes in The Subtle Knife and she's filthy, rude and half-starved that we realise Lyra bluffs her way through life and is actually pretty non-functional

Thorne prioritises grounded human drama over fantasy, and so his Lyra has her love of bears and witches swapped for familial angst. (and, in S2. angst over Roger). By exposing Mrs Coulter as her mother early, Thorne distracts TV!Lyra from Book!Lyra’s love of the North. The contrast between wonder and reality made NL's ending a definitive threshold between innocence and knowledge. Thorne showed his hand too early.

Similarly, TV!Lyra doesn’t have anywhere near as strong an admiration for Lord Asriel. She calls him out in 1x8 (‘call yourself a Father’), which Book!Lyra never would because she’s proud to be his child. From her perspective, at this point Asriel is the good parent.

TV!Lyra’s critique of Asriel feels like Thorne using her as a mouthpiece to voice his own, adult perspective on the situation. Because Lyra is already disappointed in Asriel, his betrayal in the finale isn’t as effective. Pullman saves the ‘you’re a terrible Father’ call-out for the 3rd book for a reason; Lyra’s naive hero-worship of Asriel in Northern Lights makes the fall from Innocence into Knowledge that Roger’s death represents more effective.

So, on TV Lyra is tamer, angstier, more introverted, less intelligent, less fun and more serious. We're just constantly told she's important, even before we meet her.

MRS COULTER (AND LORD ASRIEL)

Mrs Coulter is the main character of the show. Not Lyra. Mrs Coulter was cast first, and Lyra was cast based on a chemistry test with Ruth Wilson. Coulter’s character is given lots of extra development, where the show actively strips Lyra of her layers.

To be clear, I have no problem with developing Mrs Coulter. She is a great character Ruth Wilson plays phenomenally. I do have a problem with the show fixating on her at the expense of other characters.

Lyra's feral-ness is given to her parents. Wilson and McAvoy are more passionate than in the books. This is fun to watch, but strips them of subtlety- you never get Book!Coulter's hypnotic allure from Wilson, she's openly nasty, even to random strangers (in 2x3 her dismissal of the woman at the hotel desk felt like a Disney villain).

Compare how The Golden Compass (2007) introduced Mrs Coulter through Lyra’s eyes, with light, twinkling music and a sparkling dress. By contrast, before the show introduces Coulter it tells us she’s associated with the evil Magisterium plotting Asriel’s death- “Not a word to any of our mutual friends. Including her.” Then she’s introduced striding down a corridor to imposing ‘Bad Guy’ strings.

Making Mrs Coulter’s villainy so obvious so early makes Lyra look dumber for falling for it. It also wastes an interesting phase of her character arc. Coulter is rushed into being a ’conflicted evil mother’ in 2 episodes, and stays in that phase for the rest of the show so far. Character progression is minimised because she circles the same place.

It makes her one-note. It's a good note (so much of the positive online chatter is saphiccs worshiping Ruth Wilson) but the show also worships her to the point of hindrance- e.g. take a shot every time Coulter walks slow-motion down a corridor in 2x2

The problem isn’t the performances, but how prematurely they give the game away. Just like the mysteries around Bolvangar and Lyra’s parentage. Neither Coulter or Asriel have much chance to use their 'public' faces.

This is part of a bigger pacing problem- instead of rolling plot points out gradually, Thorne will stick the solution in front of you early and then stall for time until it becomes relevant. Instead of building tension this builds frustration and makes the show feel like it's catching up to the audience. This also makes the characters less engaging. You've already shown Mrs Coulter is evil/Boreal is in our world/Asriel wants Roger. Why are you taking so long getting to the point?

PACING AND EDITING

This show takes forever to make its point badly.

Scenes in HDM tend to operate on one level- either 'Character Building,' 'Exposition,' or 'Plot Progression'.

E.g. Mary's introduction in 2x2. Book!Mary only listens to Lyra because she’s sleep and caffeine-deprived and desperate because her funding is being cut. But the show stripped that subtext out and created an extra scene of a colleague talking to Mary about funding. They removed emotional subtext to focus on exposition, and so the scene felt empty and flat.

In later episodes characters Mary’s sister and colleagues do treat her like a sleep-deprived wreck. But, just like Lyra’s lying, the show doesn’t establish these characteristics in her debut episode. It waits until later to retroactively tell us they were there. Mary’s colleague saying ‘What we’re dealing with here is the fact that you haven’t slept in weeks’ is as flimsy as Pan joking not lying to Mary will be hard for Lyra.

Rarely does a scene work on multiple levels, and if it does it's clunky- see the exposition dump about Daemon Separation in the middle of 2x2's Witch Trial.

He also splits plot progression into tiny doses, which destroys pacing. It's more satisfying to focus on one subplot advancing multiple stages than all of them shuffling forward half a step each episode.

Subplots would be more effective if all the scenes played in sequence. As it is, plotlines can’t build momentum and literal minutes are wasted using the same establishing shots every time we switch location.

The best-structured episodes of S1 are 1x4, 1x6, and 1x8. This is because they have the fewest subplots (incidentally these episodes have least Boreal in them) and so the main plot isn’t diluted by constantly cutting away to Mrs Coulter sniffing Lyra’s coat or Will watching a man in a car through his window, before cutting back again.

The best-written episode so far is 2x5. The Scholar. Tellingly, it’s the only episode Thorne doesn’t have even a co-writing credit on. 2x5 is well-paced, its dialogue is more naturalistic, it’s more focused, it even has time for moments of whimsy (Monkey with a seatbelt, Mrs Coulter with jeans, Lyra and Will whispering) that don’t detract from the story.

Structurally, 2x5 works because A) it benches Lee’s plotline. B) The Witches and Magisterium are relegated to a scene each. And C) the Coulter/Boreal and Lyra/Will subplots move towards the same goal. Not only that, but when we check in on Mary’s subplot it’s through Mrs Coulter’s eyes and directly dovetails into the main action of the episode.

2x5 has a lovely sense of narrative cohesion because it has the confidence to sit with one set of characters for longer than two scenes at a time.

HDM also does this thing where it will have a scene with plot A where characters do or talk about something, cut away to plot B for a scene, then cut back to plot A where the characters talk about what happened in their last scene and painstakingly explain how they feel about it and why

Example: Pan talking to Will in 2x7 while Lyra pretends to be asleep. This scene is from the 3rd book, and is left to breathe for many chapters before Lyra brings it up. In the show after the Will/Pan scene they cut away to another scene, then cut back and Lyra instantly talks about it.

There’s the same problem in 2x5: After escaping Mrs Coulter, Lyra spells out how she feels about acting like her

The show never leaves room for implication, never lets us draw our own conclusions before explaining what it meant and how the characters feel about it immediately afterwards. The audience are made passive in their engagement with the characters as well as the world

LORD BOREAL, JOHN PARRY AND DIMINISHING RETURNS

At first, Boreal’s subplot in S1 felt bold and inspired. The twist of his identity in The Subtle Knife would've been hard to pull off onscreen anyway. As a kid I struggled to get past Will's opening chapter of TSK and I have friends who were the same. Introducing Will in S1 and developing him alongside Lyra was a great idea.

I loved developing Elaine Parry and Boreal into present, active characters. But the subplot was introduced too early and moved too slowly, bogging down the season.

In 1x2 Boreal crosses. In 1x3 we learn who he's looking for. In 1x5 we meet Will. In 1x7 the burglary. 1 episode worth of plot is chopped up and fed to us piecemeal across many. Boreal literally stalls for two episodes before the burglary- there are random 30 second shots of him sitting in a car watching John Parry on YouTube (videos we’d already seen) completely isolated from any other scenes in the episode

By the time we get to S2 we've had 2 seasons of extended material building up Boreal, so when he just dies like in the books it's anticlimactic. The show frontloads his subplot with meaning without expanding on its payoff, so the whole thing fizzles out.

Giving Boreal, the secondary villain in literally every episode, the same death as a background character in about 5 scenes in the novels feels cheap. It doesn’t help that, after 2x5 built the tension between Coulter and Boreal so well, as soon as Thorne is passed the baton in 2x6 he does little to maintain that momentum. Again, because the subplot is crosscut with everything else the characters hang in limbo until Coulter decides to kill him.

I’ve been watching non-book readers react to the show, and several were underwhelmed by Boreal’s quick, unceremonious end.

Similarly, the show builds up John Parry from 1x3 instead of just the second book. Book!John’s death is an anticlimax but feels narratively justified. In the show, we’ve spent so much extra time talking about him and then being with him (without developing his character beyond what’s in the novels- Pullman even outlined John’s backstory in The Subtle Knife’s appendix. How hard would it be to add a flashback or two?) that when John does nothing in the show and then dies (he doesn’t even heal Will’s fingers like in the book- only tell him to find Asriel, which the angels Baruch and Balthamos do anyway) it doesn’t feel like a clever, tragic subversion of our expectations, it feels like a waste that actively cheapens the audience’s investment.

TL;DR giving supporting characters way more screentime than they need only, to give their deaths the same weight the books did after far less build up makes huge chunks of the show feel less important than they were presented to be.

FRUSTRATINGLY LIMITED EXPANSION AND NOVELLISTIC STORYTELLING

Thorne is unwilling to meaningfully develop or expand characters and subplots to fit a visual medium. He introduces a plot-point, invents unnecessary padding around it, circles it for an hour, then moves on.

Pullman’s books are driven by internal monologue and big, complex theological concepts like Daemons and Dust. Instead of finding engaging, dynamic ways to dramatise these concepts through the actions of characters or additions to the plot, Thorne turns Pullman’s internal monologue into dialogue and has the characters explain them to the audience

The novels’ perspective on its characters is narrow, first because Northern Lights is told only from Lyra’s POV, and second because Pullman’s writing is plot-driven, not character-driven. Characters are vessels for the plot and themes he wants to explore.

This is a fine way of writing novels. When adapting the books into a longform drama, Thorne decentralised Lyra’s perspective from the start, and HDM S1 uses the same multi-perspective structure that The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass do, following not only Lyra but the Gyptians, Mrs Coulter, Boreal, Will and Elaine etc

However, these other perspectives are limited. We never get any impression of backstory or motivation beyond the present moment. Many times I’ve seen non-book readers confused or frustrated by vague or non-existent character motivations.

For example, S1 spends a lot of time focused on Ma Costa’s grief over Billy’s disappearance, but we never see why she’s sad, because we never saw her interact with Billy.

Compare this to another show about a frantic mother and older brother looking for a missing boy. Stranger Things uses only two flashbacks to show us Will Byers’ relationships with his family: 1) When Joyce Byers looks in his Fort she remembers visiting Will there. 2) The Clash playing on the radio reminds Jonathan Byers of introducing Will to the song.

In His Dark Materials we never see the Costas as a happy family- 1x1’s Gyptian ceremony focuses on Tony and Daemon-exposition. Billy never speaks to his mum or brother in the show

Instead we have Ma Costa’s empty grief. The audience has to do the work (the bad kind) imagining what she’s lost. Instead of seeing Billy, it’s just repeated again and again that they will get the children back.

If we’re being derivative, HDM had the chance to segway into a Billy flashback when John Faa brings one of his belongings back from a Gobbler safehouse in 1x2. This is a perfect The Clash/Fort Byers-type trigger. It doesn’t have to be long- the Clash flashback lasted 1:27, the Fort Byers one 55 seconds. Just do something.

1x3 beats into us that Mrs Coulter is nuts without explaining why. Lots of build-up for a single plot-point. Then we're told Mrs Coulter's origin, not shown. This is a TV show. Swap Boreal's scenes for flashbacks of Coulter and Asriel's affair. Then, when Ma Costa tells Lyra the truth, show the fight between Edward Coulter and Asriel.

To be clear, Thorne's additions aren’t fundamentally bad. For example, Will boxing sets up his struggle with violence. But it's wasted. The burglary/murder in 1x7 fell flat because of bad editing, but the show never uses its visual medium to show Will's 'violent side'- no change in camera angle, focus, or sound design, nothing. It’s just a thing that’s there, unsupported by the visual language of the show

The Magisterium scenes in 2x2 were interesting. We just didn't need 5 of them; their point could be made far more succinctly.

In 2x6 there is a minute-long scene of Mary reading the I Ching. Later, there is another scene of Angelica watching Mary sitting somewhere different, doing the SAME THING, and she sees an Angel. Why split these up? It’s not like either the I Ching or the Angels are being introduced here. Give the scene multiple layers.

Thorne either takes good character moments from the books (Lyra/Will in 2x1) or uses heavy-handed exposition that reiterates the same point multiple times. This hobbles the Witches (their dialogue in 2x1, 2 and 3 literally rephrases the same sentiment about protecting Lyra without doing anything). Even character development- see Lee monologuing his and Mrs Coulter's childhood trauma in specific detail in 2x3

This is another example of Thorne adding something, but instead of integrating it into the dramatic action and showing us, it’s just talked about. What’s the point of adding big plot points if you don’t dramatise them in your dramatic, visual medium? In 2x8, Lee offhandedly mentions playing Alamo Gulch as a kid.

I’m literally screaming, Jack, why the flying fuck wasn’t there a flashback of young Lee and Hester playing Alamo Gulch and being stopped by his abusive dad? It’s not like you care about pacing with the amount of dead air in these episodes, even when S2’s run 10 minutes shorter than S1’s. Lee was even asleep at the beginning of 2x3, Jack! He could’ve woken from a nightmare about his childhood! It’s a little lazy, but better than nothing.

There’s a similar missed opportunity making Dr Lanselius a Witchling. If this idea had been introduced with the character in 1x4, it would’ve opened up so many storytelling possibilities. Linking to Fader Coram’s own dead witchling son. It could’ve given us that much-needed perspective on Witch culture. Imagine Lanselius’ bittersweet meeting with his ageless mother, who gave him up when he reached manhood. Then, when the Magisterium bombs the Witches in 2x2, Lanselius’ mother dies so it means something.

Instead it’s only used to facilitate an awkward exposition dump in the middle of a trial.

The point of this fanfic-y ramble is to illustrate my frustration with the additions; If Thorne had committed and meaningfully expanded and interwoven them with the source material, they could’ve strengthened its weakest aspect (the characters). But instead he stays committed to novelistic storytelling techniques of monologue and two people standing in a room talking at each other

(Seriously, count the number of scenes that are just two people standing in a room or corridor talking to each other. No interesting staging, the characters aren’t doing anything else while talking. They. Just. Stand.)

SEASON 2 IMPROVEMENTS

S2 improved some things- Lyra's characterisation was more book-accurate, her dynamic with Will was wonderful. Citigazze looked incredible. LMM won lots of book fans over as Lee. Mary was brilliantly cast. Now there are less Daemons, they're better characterised- Pan gets way more to do now and Hester had some lovely moments.

I genuinely believe 2x1, 2x3, 2x4 and 2x5 are the best HDM has been.

But new problems arose. The Subtle Knife lost the central, easy to understand drive of Northern Lights (finding the missing kids) for lots of smaller quests. As a result, everyone spends the first two episodes of S2 waiting for the plot to arrive. The big inciting incident of Lyra’s plotline is the theft of the alethiometer, which doesn’t happen until 2x3. Similarly, Lee doesn’t search for John until 2x3. Mrs Coulter doesn’t go looking for Lyra until 2x3.

On top of missing a unifying dramatic drive, the characters now being split across 3 worlds, instead of the 1+a bit of ours in S1, means the pacing/crosscutting problems (long establishing shots, repetition of information, undercutting momentum) are even worse. The narrative feels scattered and incohesive.

These flaws are inherent to the source material and are not the show’s fault, but neither does it do much to counterbalance or address them, and the flaws of the show combine with the difficulties of TSK as source material and make each other worse.

A lot of this has been entitled fanboy bitching, but you can't deny the show is in a bad place ratings-wise. It’s gone from the most watched new British show in 5 years to the S2 premiere having a smaller audience than the lowest-rated episode of Doctor Who Series 12. For comparison, DW's current cast and showrunner are the most unpopular since the 80s, some are actively boycotting it, it took a year-long break between series 11 and 12, had its second-worst average ratings since 2005, and costs a fifth of what HDM does to make. And it's still being watched by more people.

Critical consensus fluctuates wildly. Most laymen call the show slow and boring. The show is simultaneously too niche and self-absorbed to attract a wide audience and gets just enough wrong to aggravate lots of fans.

I’m honestly unsure if S3 will get the same budget. I want it to, if only because of my investment in the books. Considering S2 started filming immediately after S1 aired, I think they've had a lot more time to process and apply critique for S3. On the plus side, there's so much plot in The Amber Spyglass it would be hard to have the same pacing problems. But also so many new concepts that I dread the exposition dumps.

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