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ervans · 6 months

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Care for You (Mizu x F!reader)

warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, and violence, soft sex, fingering (r! receiving)

a/n: wow. it's been a minute since i've truly sat down and wrote something. i'm absolutely obsessed with BES and mizu, i haven't felt so passionate about something since TLOU. this is my adaptation of what seems to be the most cliche scenario in this fandom so far: reader finding an injured mizu. i'm a bit rusty when it comes to writing so any and all feedback is welcome and appreciated, follows and notes as well. i have more ideas for works surrounding mizu (including a brothel fic muahahaha) so keep your eyes peeled for my posts :))

The sound of your sandals shuffling against the ground and your heavy pants were the only noises that pierced the otherwise quiet night. The moon, stars, and faint glow of your home in the distance were your only source of light as you trekked up the hill where the soft orange hue was coming from. The walk up this specific hill usually caused you no trouble, having done it dozens of times; however, this time was a tad bit different. Why? The limp, unconscious body that was currently draped over your shoulder.

Earlier in the evening you had heard a commotion down at the lake below the hill your home rested on. It was normal for stragglers, crooks, and opium addicts to travel through this part of Japan and mixing those groups of people usually ended up in some sort of fight. You had paid no mind to the noise, continuing with your cleaning. It wasn’t until you realized you needed more water for your tea that you made your way down the hill. As you reached the shore and saw the mess in front of you your stomach lurched.

Four bodies laid lifeless in front of you on the sand. From what you could tell they all had various stab and slash wounds across their bodies. Fifteen feet away from the tattered bodies lay another smaller one clad in baggy black trousers and stockings, a dark blue haori, and white scarf around his neck with a brown straw hat, round glasses with an orange tinted lens, and a sword, the telltale sign of a samurai on the ground beside him.

From where you stood you could see his chest still moving as he tried to shallowly breathe in oxygen from the air surrounding his struggling body. That brings you to where you are now, struggling up a damn hill trying to save this unknown samurai’s life. Was he responsible for the four bodies you had pushed into the lake? It didn’t matter to you; you weren’t one to judge in a world where it was kill or be killed.

You push the door to your house open and lay the injured stranger onto your mat near the fire. You start to boil water to disinfect whatever wounds he had and open a drawer to grab a needle and thread just in case stitches were needed. They very much were. You quickly realized the source of what seemed like never-ending blood on the top half of his body as you stripped the bloodstained clothing away. A gash about 4 inches long and deeper than you’d like it to be starting towards the base of his ribcage, skin around it starting to turn a yellowish color. It almost distracted you from the way the stranger was wearing chest wraps. Almost.

You frowned looking down at the shallow breathing of the samurai’s chest. Why would he need chest wraps? You thought, fingers brushing over the once white cloth now stained. Unless? You slowly started to undo the bindings, telling yourself you needed to anyways to properly clean the wound. As the cloth unraveled in your hands your small suspicion was confirmed. Two small breasts sat atop the chest of the slender samurai that laid before you, nipples hardening as they became exposed to the air. Your eyebrows raised, head tilting slightly to the side. A female samurai? How? Questions began to fill your mind as you started to clean the wound, gently washing it with the now hot water. It was unheard of for a woman to even touch a sword as it was said to make the blade impure. Where had this woman gotten her sword? Who did she get taught by? Clearly from the mess on the beach she knew her way around a fight.

You finished cleaning and stitching the larger wound and got to work on disinfecting the smaller cuts and scrapes on the upper half of her body. Once you were satisfied with your work, you began removing the woman’s trousers and stockings, revealing another deep gash running from the top of her knee down to her shin. Sighing you started the same process as her chest and prepared yourself for the unknown amount of time you would be caring for this mysterious female samurai.

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It took three days for the samurai to fully regain her consciousness. In those days you had changed the dressings on her wounds, forced broth and water down her throat for some form of sustenance, and carefully studied her whenever you found the chance to. You noticed small things others would easily miss. The way her face seemed like it was always in a permanent frown, her subtly toned muscles from what had to be from years of training, how her calloused hands would twitch in her sleep, stress being the cause of it you had concluded after watching her for a good hour whilst you sipped on your tea, and how insanely handsome she was. Wait what? Handsome? That thought scared you so much that you had refused to watch her for the remainder of the evening besides checking her wounds thoroughly before you went to bed. But you couldn’t ignore those thoughts that plagued your head as your touch lingered for more time than it should’ve.

You were sat cross-legged waiting for your tea to steep when you heard a thud from behind you. Quickly turning around to find what the source of the noise was, you were met with the samurai staring back at you, blue eyes shining in the dimly lit space. And oh, were they blue. You had never seen or known something could be as piercingly blue as the eyes that met yours.

“Who are you? Where am I?” The samurai demanded in a gravelly voice that sent a shiver up your spine. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer right away, mouth slightly agape with shock at the stranger who had, just minutes ago, been passed out. “I asked you a question, now answer it.” She said sternly after a beat of silence between the two of you.

You blinked, raising an eyebrow and rising to your feet. “Well that’s no way to talk to someone who saved your life now is it?”

The woman, stern frown never leaving her features, quickly looked around the room taking in her surroundings. She then looked down at herself, usual blue haori missing and replaced with a softer red one. You hadn’t wanted to leave her bare in the middle of your home and opted to dress her in one of yours while you worked on scrubbing the stains out of hers.

You saw her tentatively try to move, and the flash of pain the appeared on her face for just a second didn’t go unnoticed by you. She pursed her lips and looked back up at you. “Thank you for stitching me up, but I would rather not stay a hostage here any longer. I have more important places to be.”

Your eyes widen and you scoff. “Hostage? Are you fucking serious? By all means you can leave, makes my life ten times easier if you do.” You were lying, you quite enjoyed caring for the handsome samurai, but you would never admit that to her. At least not now. “Good luck walking on that knee by the way, I’m sure it won’t be any trouble for you though.”

You crossed your arms and leaned against the wall as the blue-eyed woman looked you up and down once more before attempting to get up. After a few minutes she was standing, hand against the top of the fireplace to keep her from falling over. You could see her chest rising and falling quickly from the struggle of just standing. She looked back over at you, still leaning with your arms crossed. “Where are my belongings?”

“On the table to your right.” You responded, eyes never leaving hers. You watched her glance over to the table. It was about five feet away; it should’ve been no problem for her to walk over and grab her things. Should’ve. It took her almost ten minutes to reach the edge of the table, her injured leg making it difficult to have a full range of motion. She opted to shuffle inch by inch over to the edge. By the time she got there she was out of breath, looking down at her hands placed on the wood in front of her. You hadn’t moved at all, the only change being your expression shifting from annoyance to amusement as you watched the fit samurai struggle.

After a moment she let out a shaky breath. You saw her knuckles tighten as if she was having an internal battle with herself. “Can you help me back to the mat?” She asked so quietly you almost missed it. You pushed yourself off the wall and walked over to where she stood, taking notice in the way her legs were shaking from lack of use over the past three days. She refused to look at you as you placed her arm over your shoulders and helped guide her back to the mat on the floor. “Thank you.” She muttered.

You looked at her, worry spreading across your features. “Of course. I’m here for anything you need. Consider me your personal caretaker.” You joked. “Although, a good caretaker should know her patients name.” Your words hung in the air for a moment before she responded.

“Mizu.”

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It had been three weeks since Mizu had introduced herself to you. She didn’t talk much about her personal life, which you respected, instead filling the silence between the two of you with your own stories from your childhood. In that time her leg wound had been healing considerably quick, mostly due to the bedrest you ordered her to stay on. The only time she was allowed to move her legs was when she needed to relieve herself or when you would do small stretches with her to keep her blood flow moving. After some time, she was able to get up and walk for short periods of time on her own. The only problem with her quick recovery in her leg was the fact that her chest wound had hardly any progress to it.

Since Mizu couldn’t walk for some time, she exerted all her energy to her upper half, much to your dismay. She would sit up on the mat doing stretches on her arms and shoulders, sometimes raising them so far up you were afraid a stitch was going to pop. It did.

Mizu had been practicing arm movements with her sword, stating that “If I want to achieve my goals, my skills must always be honed and sharp.” Bullshit you thought. She just wanted to aggravate you. How could you tell? The small smirk that would grace her lips whenever she went to pick up her sword, even after you told her it was dangerous, and she could hurt herself anymore. Alas, she was a stubborn woman and it’s how you ended up rushing inside from chopping wood after hearing a sharp yelp from inside your home.

She sat on her mat, one hand clutching the spot above her wound while the other reached for the needle and thread you always kept close by. Once you realized she was going to try to stitch herself back up you rushed over to snatch the needle from her hands and straddle her lap, careful of the wound on her knee. She looked startled for a moment before her whole face turned a deep shade of red once she realized the position you both were in. You had a faint blush as well as you plucked the thread from her hand as well.

“I’m not letting you stitch yourself. You’re going to make your injury worse.” You said looking down at her. She looked up at you with those damn blue eyes you could get lost in for ages, cheeks still red but an amused expression on her face.

“You don’t think I know how to stitch myself up?”

You laughed awkwardly. “Well, no. I just…you just…you just popped a stitch by doing something I told you not to do! How can I be sure you’ll do it correctly?!” Mizu laughed. A sound so beautiful you were sure it would play through your mind for months to come. “I guess you have a point. C’mon then doc, fix me up.” She smirked. You felt your face grow even hotter.

Still straddling her you pushed her robe off her shoulders revealing her chest wraps with blood from the reopened wound soaking through them. You gulped. To stitch her back up you’d have to remove her bindings. And this time she was awake. And would definitely take notice in the way your eyes would roam her chest. Sensing your hesitation, she smiled looking up at you. “What? It’s not like you haven’t seen them before, obviously you have, or I wouldn’t have stitches here.” She was teasing you, you realized. “Here I’ll make it easier for you.” Her hand reached around to begin to undo her wraps. You sat there dumbfounded as they fell to the floor and her breasts were exposed to you once again.

“You just gonna stare sweetheart or are you gonna patch me up?” Mizu’s teasing question broke you out of your trance as you swallowed thickly and got to work on restitching her wound. You felt her piercing gaze on you the entire time and did your best to try and ignore the warm feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Later that night after the excitement of the day you sat sipping on your tea while Mizu slept next to the fire. You couldn’t stop thinking about her. Those beautiful blue eyes, the way her lips turned up into a smirk whenever it seemed you were flustered, and the sound of her laugh plagued you. You hadn’t felt like this in a long time.

Suddenly Mizu woke with a gasp, shooting up from the mat. You turned to her startled as you took in her appearance. Eyes wide with fear, chest heaving up and down, and her hands gripping tightly onto her blanket. “Nightmare?” You asked softly as to not startle her even more than she was. She just nodded as she looked at you, eyes bright in the darkness.

You softly rose to your feet, padded over to where was sat up, and sat down next to her. Her eyes had never left your figure as you made your way to her. You looked down at the blanket, then back up to her asking a silent question.

Slowly she lifted the blanket up and laid back down, giving you room to scoot in next to her. You wrapped your arms around her and brought her closer to your chest in the most intimate position the both of you had ever been in. You had never slept as well as you did that night.

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It had been four days since Mizu’s nightmare, and every night since then you two had slept together, arms wrapped around each other. The dynamic between you had changed drastically, lingering touches and glances to each other becoming a new normal.

Tonight was no different to the past few. You lay facing Mizu while her back was turned to the fire, tracing circles into her rough and calloused hands. The silence was comfortable, but you chose to break it in that moment.

“When do you think you’ll leave?” A flash of hurt ran across Mizu’s face.

“I can leave whenever you want me to, I think I’m healed enough by now. Would you like me to leave tomorrow?” Your heart clenched at the sadness in her voice. You didn’t want that at all.

“No,” you whispered. “I don’t want you to leave me. Ever.” Her eyes softened, moving closer to you she brushed her nose against yours.

“Then I won’t.”

Your lips met her soft ones in a searing kiss, one that knocked the air right out of your lungs. You let out at soft noise as she titled her head, running her tongue across your bottom lip to deepen the kiss and ask for permission to enter. You parted your mouth for her, tongues running against each other as she rolled on top of you, straddling your hips. Her fingers ran down your sides and under your top, tips of them brushing the underside of your breasts as you pushed your chest up into her, silently asking for more.

She pulled away from the kiss, a trail of spit the only thing keeping you connected, and smiled. “I’m going to need you to tell me you want more. Tell me you want it and I’ll stay.”

You moaned at her words. “Yes! Mizu please I want it, I need you.” She leaned down to kiss you once those words left your lips, fingers moving up to circle and pinch your hardened nipples. You let out a gasp into Mizu’s mouth at the sensation and she smiled into you, moving her head to trail kisses down your face to your neck, sucking a purple mark just below your ear.

You raised your arms over your head as she stripped you of your top, eyes lingering on your now bare breasts. “Beautiful.” Was all she said. You let out a whimper at her words. She kissed down your shoulders to your breasts and licked a long stripe up your nipple, the sensation causing you to moan and buck your hips up into hers. As she continued her assault on your breasts, her hand traveled lower down your stomach and slipped her hand into your trousers to run a finger through your slick folds.

You were a moaning, withering mess below her at this point. Between her mouth on your tits and her finger slowly brushing against your clit, you weren’t sure how much more you could take. “Please Mizu. I need you, please.” You begged, grinding your hips up into her hand hoping she got the message. She did. Slowly she pushed her middle finger into your wet heat, savoring the noise that left your lips as she did. Experimentally she curled her finger, finding that spongy spot at the front of your walls.

It wasn’t enough for you. “More, I need more.” You whimpered. Smiling against your breast, she pushed another finger in, thrusting at a quicker pace. You were close, she could tell by the way your pussy clenched around her digits. You just needed one last thing to push you over the edge. Removing her mouth from your nipple, she brought her forehead against yours admiring the way your mouth was slightly agape and the furrow between your brows.

“Open your eyes. You’re to look at me when you cum.”

At her words and her thumb suddenly circling your clit matching the pace at which she thrust, your eyes shot open meeting her icy blue ones, the last thread keeping you from falling snapping.

“‘m gonna cum Mizu, fuck m’ gonna fuckfuck-“ You were sent over the edge, cunt clenching and gushing around her fingers while your back arched off the mat, eyes never leaving hers as she guided and talked you through it.

As you caught your breath, chest heaving, she peppered soft kisses all over your face causing you to giggle breathlessly. She smiled down at you as you looked up at her still panting. “Give me a second, let me return the favor.” She leaned down capturing your lips once again as she removed her fingers from your core, wiping the slick on her pants and rolling to lay next to you. She pulled you into her chest and nuzzled her nose into your hair.

“You’ve taken care of me these last few weeks, let me take care of you. We have all the time in the world, I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

And Mizu always kept her promises.

#blue eye samurai x reader #mizu x reader #mizu blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai #bes #blue eye samurai netflix #blue eye samurai mizu #mizu smut

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ikinremu · 6 months

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Please can you do either a John or Thomas Shelby one where the reader is a brat and gets spanked by either John or Tommy? Love how you write these smutty stories btw 😍

Hi, thank you so so much for requesting! For some reason, this request didn’t come through until a few days ago - which is a lot later than when it says it was submitted - so sorry about that! And thanks so much for the support on my works, I really do appreciate it. Enjoy! :)

Say It

John Shelby x Fem!Reader

A Smut Oneshot

Tags: Brat Taming, Spanking, Pussy Spanking, Fingering, Light Hair Pulling, Degrading, Orgasm Denial

! Smut Warning !

“You know what I want to hear.” John asserted, a cunning gaze flitting from beneath his lids as he briefly sought a comfortable perch atop his mattress.

If there was to be a single thing you knew, it was what John was after - though, it seemed you were further familiar with the fact you weren’t going to supply it so easily.

“You’re being ridiculous.” You practically spat through rows of tightly gritted teeth, accompanied by a well-trained gaze to the seated man before you - irritation rushing from him like crashing waves.

Somewhat smoothly, John spread his palm over his chin, simply rubbing his jaw with a singular motion, “Say it.”

Disbelief pushes your eyes to roll, reddened fingertips digging at your hips through your - moderately fitted - skirt. Through your very own, seemingly tainted, lens, you hadn’t done anything particularly wrong, perhaps merely pushed John’s buttons a little throughout the day, playfully prodding with his irritations for personal entertainment.

Nostrils rolling a quite thick, weighty exhale, he so lightly spread his legs apart, “Get over my knee.”

You scoff, though a tiny, gradually expanding lump of anticipation catches within your throat, “John-”

“Now.” He very nearly grumbles, “If y’won’t apologise, I’ll just have to get it out of you myself.”

Suddenly squashing all - already rather minimal - distance between you, John’s large, power-ridden grasp seizes your waist, tugging you toward him as your bare feet tumble a little upon the planked flooring.

“Alright alright, I’m sorry.” You, disingenuously, ramble.

“You’re not.” John heaves, an obnoxiously pleased smirk twitching over his pinkish lips as he swiftly pulled your frame across his thighs, “But you will be.”

Throat sparked by a deep, sharp spike of breath, your unsupported elbows quickly flopped to the mattress beneath as John’s curious hands lay the small of your back atop his lap.

He potently raised the coverage of your skirt, speedily resting its dark hem just above your hips, warm - contrastingly callous - digits gliding your underwear to a thick ruffle around your gently buckled knees. A scorching humidity crept up your neck, burning through your cheeks as John found a sudden - moderately lenient - hold of your hair, rather skilfully angling your neck to present himself with a plenty preferable view.

“Not gettin’ all shy on me now, are you love?” His sultry chuckle taints the surrounding air as he strokes a teasing hand over your bare behind.

Warmth flares between your naked thighs, his familiar touch shooting a demeaningly keen, contrasting shiver down your spine. Pushing your back to a shallow arch, John tightens his previously slack grasp before landing his first spank upon your fully exposed ass, a soft whimper wavering beneath the measly shield of your tongue.

"Gonna count em for me, eh?"

It wasn't a question.

"One." You gasped, a shaky intake of breath.

“That’s more like it.” He praised, rather unexpectedly supplying the very top of your head with a kind, tender peck. As you hopelessly revelled in the sweet refresher, John directly snatched you from the realms of any comfort, landing his next hit to the opposing cheek, “Gonna fuckin’ behave for me now, isn’t that right?”

You swallowed the lump lingering within your narrow, tingling throat, feeling the growing slick between your thighs - so shamefully wishing you could diminish its entirety.

"Fuck-" You whine, "Two."

His fingers shifted inside your now untidy hair, a fresh, irregularly chilled breeze briskly sweeping your neck. John quickly planted the next desperately heady smack, so pridefully leaving the thick flesh stinging with an agitating glory.

Growing a little sensitive, you simply winced, arousal fizzling through your heat-ridden skin. The harsh daggers of your teeth bordered on puncturing your lower lip, an airy whine slicing up the tunnel of your throat.

"Don't make me tell you again." John grumbled, "Count."

"Three.." You quaver, mildly squeezing your slickened thighs together in a helpless crave for friction.

With an undeniable abruptness, he picks up the gradual pace, four, five and six flying across in a prickling flurry, your heat-coated behind stinging from each passing strike.

Abruptly, he quickens the heavily taunting pace, four, five and six passing in a flurry, naked ass stinging from the consistent force supplied by each individual hit. Somehow, you felt as though you could feel the intense, rich reddening of your skin. Each passing spank pulls a shameful, yearning whimper from the depths of your throat, wetness so drastically pooling as you squeeze your thighs tighter together.

“Seven..” You heave, burning heat prickling at your skin as you fidget a little atop the thick, firm surface of John’s lap.

He suddenly freezes and you’re rather caught off guard upon the enticing, chilling sensation of meddlesome fingers snaking between your thighs, forcing a little space between them. You simply can’t compress the slip of your keen, intrusive gasp as he grazed a singular, curious fingertip over your drenched folds.

"You're fuckin' soaked." He breathes, a blatantly thick tension to his voice, as though you could hear the richness of his smirk, "Getting you all worked up, hm? Being spanked over my lap like a fuckin' whore."

John’s demeaning remarks only fuel your arousal as he gives your hair a cheek-pinkening, momentary tug, landing yet another punishing hit to your flushed behind.

"Shit-" You mewl, "Eight."

He lands another smack to the opposing - aching - cheek, flesh stinging - so enriched - “Answer me.”

Barely even absorbing much besides his familiarly lustful tone, your tongue rolls out a helpless, breathy fluster, “Yes..”

Knowingly toying with your already worn patience, John’s sultry exhale caresses your unshielded neck, “Want me to punish you over my lap like a worthless whore, huh?”

Far less nonchalantly than was ideal, you nod, sopping cunt desperately begging for any touch of friction.

Once more, John weaves his thick, skilful fingers between your sodden thighs. Teasingly, he merely trails them over your aching folds, digits dampened with the heat of your arousal as he gently brushes them over your deprived clit.

A sudden, rather dense whine pours from your mouth as a light, painfully enticing spank reaches your drenched cunt.

His large, warm thumb so flawlessly toys with your pulsing clit, a bunch of two fingers sinking between your walls, drawing yet another weightless moan as they slid inside.

Somewhat slowly, John’s digits contrive a euphoric rhythm, gradually quickening their taunting pace, pumping in and out of the tight clenches of your hole, thumb - merciless to sensitivity - fulfilling your clit.

“Look at you, just a writhin’ mess on my lap, eh?” He groaned, his torturous words infiltrating your veins - only severely heightening your arousal.

Overwhelmed by the agonising blend of increased sensitivity and the long-awaited yearning of it all, you felt your abdomen twist with the need for a release, helplessly tumbling toward the familiar brink of fulfilment.

Your walls squeeze at his pumping fingers at a relentless pace, hungrily reeling the eventual orgasm nearer and nearer, finally finding yourself just bordering upon its wonderfully familiar slope.

As the build finally grew to the tallest tip of its summit, John so suddenly slid his fingers from your pulsing cunt, snapping all ties of friction with a brutally irritating smugness.

Bordering on totally defying his grasp upon your hair, you whipped your head back, body frantically conflicting with itself over such a sudden, frustrating peak of denial.

"What?" John smirked, placing another spank to your sodden, pathetically convulsing cunt, "It's a punishment, remember?"

Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed! Please feel free to use the requests/asks feature on my page - it’d be greatly appreciated!

#smut #smutty #oneshot #drabbles #peaky blinders #peaky blinders smut #John shelby #John Shelby smut #john shelby x reader #john shelby x you

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industrations · 8 months

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I'm scared that I’ll forget the way it feels.

It’s dark and cold in the small, dingy London flat. Remus doesn’t remember the last time he’d been able to pay for the electricity bill. He’s sitting on the ground in front of the sofa; sometimes, it feels safer. His hands are freezing, and his bones ache. He pulls the wool of his jumper down over his shaking fingers as he reaches for the video camera, turning it on.

Lily’s freckled face comes into view, her emerald eyes bright as she looks up at him behind the lens. “Come on give me that.” There is some rustling as Lily takes over the camera, and he himself comes into view looking awkward, scratching his head.

“Why Do I have to do it? It’s my camera.”

“Because you’re always filming us, and I want to have memories of you too.”

“Lily-”

“Come on, show them!” The camera shakes as Lily hops excitedly. They’re in Lily’s kitchen, and there is flour covering all the surfaces. He sees himself turn around to pick up a lopsided cake. Sixteen candles make a circle around the wobbly letters. ‘Happy birthday Sirius’

Remus quickly switches through the following videos. Peter’s cheeks are red from the cold as he changes into wormtail, jumping through the fluffy layers of snow. James is on his broom, telling them to watch as he does tricks, diving and soaring through the air. At a party, Marlene, Mary, and Lily standing on the table singing the lyrics to Dancing Queen.

His breath catches at the first sound of the barking laugh that spills out of the tiny speakers. Sirius is as beautiful as Remus always remembers. They’re by the ocean, and his black hair whips around him wildly as the shallow waves lick at their feet.

“Moony, moony watch this!” Remus watches as Sirius creeps up to James, jumping on him and dragging him into the waves. James shrieks as they both hit the water.

“Padfoot, you bastard!” They’re laughing and start wrestling, trying to pull the other under. Remus presses the arrow button, and the next video appears.

Sirius in bed, his hair strewn around the pillow around his head like a halo. Mismatched sheets rumpled around him. He lazily turns to face the camera and scrunches his nose when he sees that Remus is filming. “What,” he says, trying to look stern, but his eyes tell a different story.

“Tell me what you just said.” Sirius buries his head into the pillow, and Remus pokes his side, making him jump. “C’mon pads, own up to it.” Sirius turns his head slightly, peeking out with one eye, cheeks flushed with a wide grin.

“I love you more than James.”

The screen goes black. And it’s cold, so very cold. Remus shakes as tears drip onto the tiny screen. He runs to the bathroom and dry heaves into the toilet. His lungs ache from all the smoking. But above all, it hurts; it aches so much as the memories flash before his eyes.

Every week. Every single week, Remus does this. He sits on the floor in his tiny, freezing flat and pulls out the camera. Every week, he clicks through the videos, heart pounding, burning in his chest. Every week, his breath catches when he hears that laugh. And every week, it stings and nags and throbs, eating at his insides. But Remus is scared. Scared that he’ll forget the way it felt, the way it feels. He takes out the camera every week again and again to prove that this was real. That he was real.

#i-#i'm sorry #i'm in a mood #uhm #yeah.#no excuse really #remus lupin the love of my life #writing tag

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bestworstcase · 2 months

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tin hats on. let’s talk about the great war.

first, a general point about the relevant world of remnant spots: qrow narrates all of them. i think this is important to keep in mind when assessing the information provided, because he editorializes constantly, and i do not believe that we are meant to take qrow’s obvious biases at face value. rather, this is a narrative choice to introduce us to this history through a very distorted lens; qrow is ozpin’s man, loyal to the bone before to the revelation of ozpin’s lies, and it is also very likely that he had no formal education prior to his enrollment at beacon academy.

#1: the pre-war kingdoms.

vale sits on the northwestern coast of sanus, sandwiched between “steep mountains” and “waters too shallow for any real monsters to pop out of.” throughout the kingdom’s history, every attempt to expand the kingdom’s borders past the mountain range has ended in “colossal failures”—the most recent of which is mountain glenn, in the post-war period.

however, vale was also engaged in a different expansionist effort in the century preceding the great war: the kingdom was building settlements on “the small islands and peninsulas” of the northeastern coast.

to the north of vale lay the kingdom of mantle. qrow does not give a lot of detail regarding the settlement of solitas, just that “at some point, a group of settlers were crazy enough to venture out into the northernmost continent,” but i submit that the founders of mantle came from northern sanus. why?

mantle’s location at the southwestern tip of solitas is geographically closest to the island of vytal, just off the north coast of sanus; had the settlers come from northern anima, they would have more likely landed on the eastern side of the continent.

qrow says this: “the harsh weather conditions proved to be just as useful as the mountain ranges when it came to keeping the creatures of grimm at bay,” and while anima does have mountain ranges, they’re not remarked upon in WOR: mistral. it is vale that depends upon “steep mountains” to bulwark its eastern flank against the grimm, and vale that has made repeated, unsuccessful attempts throughout its history to expand its borders beyond those mountains.

it is unclear how long mantle existed as an independent state prior to the great war, but we know that it’s not very old; qrow also states that the century preceding the great was “filled with so much tension” that it might as well be “lumped together” with the great war. meaning almost certainly that there were smaller-scale conflicts throughout the whole period. sometime during that century, vale began to build settlements in northeastern sanus. mantle was settled “at some point” by “a crazy group of settlers”—and “i guess when you’re that desperate,” qrow opines, “a frozen hunk of rock doesn’t seem like such a bad place to call home.” mantle is geographically closest to northeastern sanus. there are—there have always been—people living outside the kingdoms, who do not want to be part of the kingdoms.

you do the math. or i will: mantle was founded by people displaced from northeastern sanus by valean expansion, probably in the neighborhood of a hundred years prior to the great war.

meanwhile, mistral was conquering anima. notably—because qrow doesn’t like mistral, particularly—there is less ambiguity on this point than on vale’s settlement of northeast sanus: this expansion was an imperial project. a conquest. mistral was (and based on the language used in the present, still is) an empire, meaning its “territories” are all conquered people or polities from whom the imperial core extracts resources, which—both historically and in the text of this story—includes slaves.

so, argus. during the century preceding the great war, mistral’s attention turned to northern anima. according to jaune and ren in 6.7, mistral’s expansion into the region was stymied by the cold until forming an alliance with mantle; qrow describes mantle as an “unlikely friend” to the empire. the goliath in the room that none of these characters acknowledge (and may not know, given their upbringings—bandit, orphaned young, & very sheltered) is that the region was probably not uninhabited at the time.

empire. conquest. controlled territories. you cannot have these things without also having conquered people. what stymied mistral’s expansion into the region was likely not the cold per se but the logistical burden the cold imposed upon military action here; invading a cold region with an army in the wintertime is famously not a good idea. and, if mantle was founded by people displaced by valean imperialism… well, that explains both qrow’s view of it as an “unlikely friend” and why mantle would make such an overture of alliance to mistral in the first place; vale and mistral were the great world powers, and for mantle—a small, vulnerable, dust-rich but otherwise resource-poor state with every reason to fear its closer southern neighbor—cozying up to mistral would have been just rational politics; hug one great power to insure against invasion by the other.

and then there’s vacuo.

WOR: vacuo is easily the least factually trustworthy episode in the series to the point that i think it is probably all but worthless in terms of the historical narrative given; it’s worldbuilding the modern day cultural narratives about the conquest of vacuo, not the actual history.

(the CFVY novels, i believe, support this reading: in the present, many city vacuans believe the narrative qrow offers here that the old kingdom of vacuo was a “paradise,” but “comfort breeds weakness” and its people were complacent, soft, helpless to defend themselves from invaders from more hardened kingdoms… but the first king of vacuo was a man called malik the sunderer, shade’s history teacher states that it’s been centuries since vacuo was conquered and the real history has been so obscured and distorted by myth that it’s impossible to know what it was truly like, and desert vacuans—the nomadic peoples who don’t live in the kingdom—have a starkly different cultural outlook on hardship that is much more in line with the story’s themes and also reality, valuing community, hospitality, and resilience over “strength.”)

but there is one kernel of very interesting information in this episode: “after the great war, a formal government was finally established.” meaning there wasn’t a formal vacuan government before the great war.

vacuo was not a state before the great war.

of vacuo’s entry into the great war, qrow says this:

Up to this point, Vacuo had done its best to stay out of the fight. Mantle and Mistral, having both already established a small presence in Vacuo territory years before promised to leave them alone, provided they didn't interfere. Soon, those talks evolved. It went from "Don't side with them" to "Side with us and you'll be safe". Vacuo did not much care for that, and they came to the conclusion that if Vale were to fall, there'd be no one left to stop Mistral and Mantle from conquering them next. So they did what they considered to be the logical thing. They drove Mantle and Mistral out of Vacuo and told Vale they had their backs.

at this point in history, vacuo did not have a government. at this point in history, vacuo was not a state. the kingdom of vacuo had been conquered centuries ago (by “more developed kingdoms,” qrow says—by whom?), and according to rumpole (<- an actual authoritative source, given she teaches history at shade!), “few documented accounts or records remain from that far back.”

the conquest of vacuo predated the conflicts of the prewar century (and probably predate the existence of mantle). this illustration in WOR: vacuo implicates all three of the other kingdoms—blue for mistral, white for mantle, green for vale:

so there is no question that vale participated in the butchering of vacuo; it did. but this illustration is also impressionistic, ahistorical, not a literal representation of how vacuo was conquered.

by the time of the great war, vacuo was a territory occupied by mantle and mistral, but vale does not seem to have had a significant presence there. in the present, vacuans harbor a lot of resentment for mistral and atlas, less for vale. vale is also, by virtue of being located on the same continent, the kingdom best positioned to invade vacuo if it so chose.

(qrow asserts that vacuo was conquered by “more developed” kingdoms, but it was also dust-rich—the CFVY novels confirm this—and there is a clear correlation between technological innovation and access to an abundant source of dust. it’s possible that a scarcity of, say, iron inhibited ancient vacuo’s technological development and put it at a military disadvantage, but generally i think it’s more likely that qrow is regurgitating historical propaganda there.)

the point being: vale conquered the kingdom of vacuo and then either withdrew or lost a war with mistral for control over the territory at some point prior to the great war.

regardless of the finer details, the historicity of qrow’s account regarding vacuo’s entrance into the war seems… pretty suspect given that vacuo did not have a government. what sort of “talks” do you suppose the mantle-mistrali bloc was having with the non-state actors of vacuo? what kind of “presence” did mistral, the empire that conquered all of anima, actually have in the vacuan territory?

hmm. i wonder.

vacuo “drove mistral and mantle out” and threw in their lot with vale; meaning, the vacuan side of this war was really a war of independence. vacuo wasn’t “doing its best to stay out of the fight” so much as it was under mistrali control until the vacuan people rebelled, then sided with mistral’s enemy.

#2: salem?? ?

ozpin—and qrow by extension—believes that salem ignited the war with a false-flag op in northeastern sanus (“to this day, no one knows who shot first” + “salem’s smart. she works in the shadows, using others to get what she wants, so that when it comes time to place the blame, we can only point at each other”). much of the fandom not only takes this at face value but also assumes without… really any basis at all that salem was responsible for the “incident” in mantle that the mantelian government used to justify a raft of draconian censorship laws.

but… authoritarian regimes can and will use any pretext to justify repressive new laws whose real purpose is to punish dissenters and strengthen control over the populace; banning art and all forms of self-expression is not a move that anyone would think with any seriousness would protect people from the grimm. qrow is either being disingenuous in purpose or (more likely) just doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about because four years at the monster-hunting college is the sum total of his education: “the people of mantle had come to believe that they would be much safer from the grimm if they could only keep the emotions of the masses in check” is the kind of bullshit nonsense you would expect if the guy doesn’t know how government works, either the modern-day democratic councils or whatever system prewar mantle had; what is the distinction between “the people” and “the masses?”

in. the. unreliable. narrators. show.

mantle’s autocratic government found a pretext to crack down on subversive speech and pumped out a massive body of propaganda to the tune of “we’re just doing what we must for the good of the people :)”—that’s what happened. that’s why mistral imposed the same laws on its territories but not in the imperial core, and why mantle didn’t have a problem with that “selective” enforcement.

maybe salem sent some grimm to attack mantle, maybe she didn’t. maybe there was a public protest that got angry enough to attract grimm. maybe there was a protest that got too rowdy, and who’s going to openly question the government officials claiming that officers on the scene opened fire into the crowd because a grimm jumped out of the sewers? grimm evaporate when they die. kind of a hard thing to fact check.

and in a similar vein… vale’s king rolled out a welcome mat for mistrali colonists who came to colonize valean settlements. it is beyond nonsensical to think that there was no violence involved. colonization is an inescapably and inherently violent process. and remember, the rioting began shortly after mistral imposed draconian censorship laws on its occupied territories, which absolutely would have included parts of eastern vale.

it was inevitable and completely predictable that this situation would explode. might salem have sent someone to fire the first shot? sure? but why would she bother, when the fuse was burning down all on its own?

(and that’s assuming she even had an interest in provoking a massive war at all, which seems rather unlikely given her apparent disinclination to engage in wanton destruction; see also her consistent choices to limit civilian casualties by pulling out of vale quickly / planning a surgical strike on haven academy / not attacking mantle / not sending grimm into the subways of atlas.)

but. but–

they did put her in the thumbnail. the point of this is presumably to imply that she did, in fact, do something to influence these events.

specifically.

they put her in the thumbnail superimposed over the leader of the vacuan rebellion, who:

led what must have been a pretty desperate fight against steep odds to drive an industrialized global power out of vacuo,

kept that coalition together after they won and formed an alliance with vale, and

was a faunus.

ozpin is superimposed over the king of vale because he was the king of vale. so: is the choice to position salem in this way similarly non-arbitrary?

looks into the camera like i’m on the office.

salem is a faunus. she identifies herself as such (“your grace” is the mode of address for menagerie’s chieftain) and she has been socially understood as a faunus for thousands of years (in a time when faunus were hunted and caged like animals, the stories about the witch who lived in the woods among “beasts and monsters” were, uh, probably not referring to wild animals; “beasts” was a euphemism for the people the ones telling those stories hunted and caged.)

to this day, ozpin associates the faunus with salem. he suspects blake of being her spy; he similarly singles out velvet after the massacre of lower cairn (and we don’t get to see what he actually says, only that velvet is in tears by the end). at haven, leo more or less says “the council overruled me and my hands are tied,” and ozpin immediately decides to freeze him out and insinuates to the kids that he suspects leo might be a traitor; meanwhile james “two votes” ironwood is closing atlas’ borders, cutting off the global supply of dust, recalling his troops from an allied state, and behaving so erratically that mistral is evidently anticipating a fucking invasion, and ozpin instructs qrow to take the lamp to atlas anyway. lionheart is a faunus; ironwood is human. the tea set ozpin gifted to lionheart is a replica of salem’s tea set. math.

so the fact that salem is superimposed over the faunus leader here does not seem coincidental; the narrative is very consistent in linking salem to the faunus because she is herself a faunus.

in WOR: faunus, qrow describes the appalling treatment of faunus by humans throughout history (first ostracized and hunted down, later enslaved and exploited) before to the great war and states that, after the great war, “the world was desperate to find compromises that would ensure they'd never see the likes of it again; the faunus were awarded equal rights as citizens of remnant, and as an apology, they were given an entire continent of their own to do with as they pleased. there were some that saw this as fair and just, but many saw it for what it really was: a slap in the face from a nation of sore losers. and so menagerie was born.”

and from the great war:

But whatever the reasoning, everyone bowed to the King of Vale by the time it was over. The Great War had ended. The world was ready to live under the rule of Vale. But the King refused. The leaders of the four Kingdoms met on the island of Vytal, and it was there that they worked together to form a treaty and establish the future of Remnant. Territories were redistributed, slavery was abolished, governments were restructured, and the Warrior King, the last king Vale would ever have, founded the Huntsman Academies and placed his most trusted followers in command of each Kingdom's school.

a few things to unpack here.

first: ozma as the king of vale would have had quite a lot of power to drive the vytal negotiations in the direction he wanted them to go; the other three leaders were given at least a notional say, but these were people who had just seen ozma unleash the horrifying powers of the sword of destruction upon their armies and bowed to him in abject terror—and that’s before getting into the possibility that ozma may have used the crown of choice to compel agreement.

second: “territories were redistributed” mostly appears to mean that mistral was forced to relinquish control over conquered territories that did not want to be part of mistral; vacuan sovereignty was formally restored (…on paper) (shade academy is the de facto government and has been since the war ended, which is worth raising an eyebrow at), parts of western anima were liberated, and… menagerie was given to the faunus.

(menagerie had to have been a mistrali colony before the great war ended, otherwise the framing of “a slap in the face from a nation of sore losers” is nonsensical.)

third: note the implication that awarding the faunus equal rights and giving them an island was a desperate compromise to insure against the perceived threat of a second war. it’s of a piece with ozma’s attempt to appease mistral and avoid war by “sharing” eastern vale with mistrali colonists.

the vacuan leader—his ally in the war—was a faunus, but it sounds very much as though ozma saw her kind as adversaries, at least in potentia, whom he made it a point to appease in the hope of avoiding a war. which is irrational on its face but does make sense in conjunction with ozpin’s clear inclination to imagine connections between salem and faunus, however baseless that suspicion might be.

and on that note, qrow also says this: “a lot of settlements were lost during those years, and most were never reclaimed. rations on food and dust were put into effect, development of technology accelerated, humans and faunus who fought alongside one another became closer and every day, mankind grew more and more efficient at destroying itself.”

pay attention to that rhetorical structure.

many settlements were wiped out

food and dust were strictly rationed

technological (military) development boomed

humans and faunus grew closer

mankind grew ever more efficient at destroying itself

one of these is not like the others.

qrow’s framing of these events likely comes from ozpin, whether directly (things ozpin told him) or indirectly (ozpin’s influence as headmaster over beacon’s curriculum). so the inclusion of “humans and faunus who fought side by side grew closer” into what is otherwise a list of ways mankind “destroyed itself” is perhaps telling of ozma’s mindset at the time; which in turn supports the implication that ozma perceived the faunus as a potential threat to appease after the war.

now!

the question is, how was salem involved—and why?

well. we know that salem is inclined to revolution; she rallied people to rebellion against the brothers millions of years ago, and in her war against the academies in the present, she aligns herself with groups like the white fang. she refers to the global order ozma established through the vytal accords derisively as “your so-called ‘free’ world.”

and we know that salem herself is a faunus, and thousands of years ago she was present enough in faunus culture that their creation myth is just a refraction of her story—transformation into something new by a choice to leap into magical waters.

we know that the faunus did not have rights in any of the four kingdoms before the great war, and mistral in particular is noted for its reliance on (presumably, mainly faunus) slave labor. reading between the lines of qrow’s slanted narration, vacuo was a mistrali territory back then, and in the CFVY novels it’s mentioned that vacuan faunus were regularly enslaved in mistrali-operated mines within that territory.

and we can guess, based on their leader being a faunus, that the vacuan rebels who drove mistral and mantle out of vacuo were predominantly faunus, plus humans willing to follow and fight for the faunus.

in the present, salem preferred sienna khan over adam and dropped adam like a hot potato after he assassinated sienna; she also clearly has no intention to attack menagerie, where the grimm notably do not seem to be a serious problem. salem also implicitly identifies herself as a faunus (“your grace”). so there are grounds for thinking that she does consider the faunus to be her people.

vacuo’s part in the great war was a war for independence. salem is both pragmatic and ruthless; she understands that nothing forces people to cooperate quite like the threat of a common enemy; she has the means to turn the tide of any war by the simple expedient of directing her grimm against the side she wants to lose. if she was in communication with the vacuan rebels—or just had spies—she could have coordinated grimm raids to sever supply lines or winnow defending forces in advance of attacks planned by the rebels, tipping the odds in their favor.

she knows ozma. if she was paying attention to the war, she would have known it began with his futile effort to appease mistral by giving away parts of vale; she has to know he sees her in the shadow of every faunus. the vacuan rebels—most of them faunus, led by a faunus—saved his bacon by joining the war he very much seems to have been losing (the frontlines were in vacuo by the end of the war; all of eastern vale was destroyed, and the king of vale and his army made their final stand in vacuo; vale itself was… probably under mistrali occupation at the time).

i am sure salem did not want, particularly, to throw ozma a lifeline. but she does care about freedom in the abstract—“your so-called ‘free’ world”—and she may think of the faunus as her people. once the war began, once it became clear that vale was losing… well, either vale would fall and mistral would rule the world, which would be undeniably worse for the faunus, or she could grit her teeth and accept helping ozma as a fair price for a shot at liberating the faunus.

and the only thing she would have to do to influence the war’s outcome is use her grimm to disrupt mantelian/mistrali supply lines and specifically target their forces on the battlefield. such attacks wouldn’t stand out against the backdrop of regular grimm activity—there are a lot of grimm in the world beyond her control—but a sustained, deliberate campaign of grimm attacks focused on one side would absolutely add up over time to a significant advantage for the other. especially given that the logistical burden of waging war on a foreign continent is already so much higher than defending your home.

if salem could also keep wild grimm off the backs of vacuo’s and vale’s armies to some extent, a la the apparent absence of a grimm problem in menagerie, that advantage would be even sharper.

…although she probably did not anticipate that ozma would use the sword of destruction to crush everyone who opposed him, or the crown of choice to do… whatever it is he did with it. you win some, you lose some.

#does the god of animals answer prayers for deliverance do you think.

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jahiera · 10 months

Note

You mentioned in a previous Astarion analysis post:

"But, I think, given his behavior, his casual flirtiness, his "You want to lose yourself in me," (another line I can squawk about endlessly in terms of character analysis)"

I am encouraging you to squawk. I think you've got a really good grasp of his character and I love your posts!

UPDATE***written during EA

@littlemisstrancy Sorry for the late reply! I fell down another rabbit hole of replaying haha.... Aww, thank you! I'm so glad, a good grade in Astarion is a Normal and Reasonable thing to want to achieve. But YES, I find his entire sex scene to be extremely interesting (going off of what Larian said that, paraphrased, nonsexual intimacy with some will mean more than sex with others, because of the nature of the relationship.)

What I find most interesting about Astarion's romance scenes is that the scene itself is remarkably much more syrupy than he, by nature, really is. We can point to, "darling," "my love," as evidence of his tendencies for the dramatics, yes, but given that these are petnames he'll throw out to a Tav he hates as much as a Tav he enjoys, the surface meaning and connotations of dramatic flirtations and even more dramatic pre-sex speeches.... shifts.

The way we filter these interactions shifts because we have to filter what is, at first glance, a typical romance scene, through the lens of the character giving the spiel. If Astarion associates dramatic seduction and slinky purring as simply the easiest way to get what he wants--or, perhaps, more than that, the expectation, the only way for this interaction to occur, because hollow dramatics/play-acting have been likely the only pseudo-""romance"" he's engaged in in the 200 years he's been with Cazador, that changes the meaning of everything, including the line: "You want to lose yourself in me." <- sure laddie, just keep objectifying and disconnecting yourself from the experience itself and repeat the habits of behavior that you've learned from 200 years of being someone else's toy and tool where you weren't even a willing participant in what was happening, merely a mandatory one. that'll be really great. no backfiring here whatsoever.

Okay, sorry, under the cut the rest of this goes because I went off on three different tangents to try and tie them all back together again. This is mostly my background reasoning for above. WHAT DOES THE REST HAVE TO DO WITH TAV. Honestly I'm not sure anymore I started talking and then I didn't stop talking.

It feels like so much of the overarching realities of their circumstances fall away for Tav, but it also haunts the entire interaction with Astarion. Shallow charm. Winning over people. A pretty face opening doors. I'd chalk it up to sexy-video-game-scene-writing if it were any other game, but the other romance scenes aren't nearly so grandstanding and are written I think intentionally to subvert that, so this is an Astarion Thing, and likely goes deeper than that first glance. As it stands, Astarion barely even knows who he is now that he's outside of Cazador's control. "Another thing that I've lost." -- His personhood has been nonexistent, and he's been a tool, and he's been, for lack of a better word, dehumanized to the fullest extent for an insurmountable amount of time. So of course the thing he learned best is that the easiest way to get what you want, or get what you need, is to be easily projected unto. He can't keep the facade up for very long, I don't think, but in that scene his "don't ask too many questions just look at how hot I am" mindset is fully on to me.

The thing is that his circumstances with Tav here are entirely different than the ones he's been in before, but just because the circumstances are different doesn't mean that the behavior will be different, or that habits formed out of severe distress/torture in his own words will be so easily let go of. My ULTIMATE POINT is that charm and flirtations are things Astarion clearly separates from himself and his actual beliefs, and he treats what we conceive as "charming" behavior fairly flippantly--once again, that "my love," means... not... a lot. we just met 2 weeks ago, pal. And I don't think he's interested in using it like that anymore, because he's not making a super great effort to be perceived as likeable. It comes out mostly in scenes where flirting and charisma are expected of the interaction and then they're pushed to their most exaggerated format, when he isn't actually typically like that in other conversations. Dramatic and foppish, yes, and enjoys ridiculousness in several formats, yes, but not nearly so egregiously saccharine, at all.

If he is starting to give a fuck about Tav, or even the group, that's something else to grapple with, and it's still at this point I think partly wrapped up in the idea that Tav makes for a "good ally." His scenes where he says: "we're more alike than I thought" "You're stronger than I gave you credit for," feel more genuine and honest to me in some ways than his sex scene speech. His fondness for Tav and his idea that strength/power/security can be found by sticking close to Tav can be true at the same time, in an interesting dance between his growing connection to them and his general ideas on people, power, and control.

So secondary: is Astarion a manipulator who's using this sex scene to control Tav emotionally and that's what he's got going on here? Eh... maybe yes and no? He wouldn't ask Tav if he wasn't interested--as seen by how he'll shut you down if he can't stand your guts. If he's using sex for that, it's up in the air, open to interpretation, depends on your HC, I can see both interpretations and I'm not going to claim one is more true than the other, since there's evidence for both "manipulating" and "not manipulating" and to me, the truth falls somewhere in the middle. I'm sure the thought has probably crossed his mind, but I don't actually think he's good enough at charm to follow through on that, which I will now elaborate on in INTRICATE detail....

Astarion isn't actually concerned about being likeable, or wanted within the group--or, rather, he may be concerned about it (because there's both safety and danger in a group setting), but he also isn't concerned about it enough to not advocate entirely for self-preservation and selfishness at generally every turn. He also isn't concerned about winning over the group enough to abdicate his firmest belief: that the tadpole is an advantage they should use, and a power he intends to keep.

And, if you relent to the group, he calls you spineless in the face of everyone else. So he's not afraid to insult you, Tav, either, certainly not to preserve some loose semblance image of ""charming,"" which he's already really bad at maintaining in general, because his brand of everything can just as easily piss people off as compel. Bad taste central.

Hell, his intro scene displays this best: He lures you in with a silly little lie that makes him sound weaker than he is ("You can kill it, can't you? Like you killed the others!") and then he strikes when your back is turned. Shallow charm is an accessible tool, he doesn't have the patience for long-lasting plots or extended slinky charm. Or if he does, and he's been manipulating all of us, he's not doing a great job, since half the party is making faces at him the whole time. Buuut....

During the mirror conversation, if you tell him vanity is a weakness:

(Text - Astarion: It's an indulgence, I'll grant you, but a weakness? A well-presented face can open a lot of doors.)

There is an awareness of beauty and charm that Astarion references often. He isn't really afraid to objectify himself for his own means, or being perceived as weaker than he is (except in certain circumstances). He knows these things are quite relevant, socially. Beautiful people are treated better. Beautiful people typically can get away with more. Actually I could probably approach this from a Class and Wealth related lens too, because his history as a magistrate probably also influences this mindset a lot, but that is. a THIRD separate essay.

He seeks to be strong enough to beat Cazador, at least partly through the same means that Cazador himself uses. The tadpoles give us absolute authority, in the end, and Astarion has zero qualms inflicting onto others what was inflicted onto him when we use them. But prior to the tadpole, what tools did Astarion have at his disposal? Very few, and most of them revolved around empty charm, quick-thinking, and trying to predict unpredictable moods and then enduring whatever came of those moods. That hollow charm falls under these kinds of tools, which gave him very short-term influence over at least the people he would lure back to Cazador. Likely the only form of control or power he had within all of that, and where he himself was without control as his entire being was under someone else's thumb. And those habits will likely persist for awhile, until he relearns who and what he wants to do and be outside of Cazador's purview. Which could mean anything, this is not to make him sound softer than he is or sweeter than he is. His vainglorious bitch syndrome is 4D chess of truth and not truth, empty cloying, vicious lashing out, and 10 degrees of identity issues wrapped up in all of that, so it's difficult to pin down just one thing as Real or Not Real, and I don't think even he knows what's Real and Not Real right now.

#Hi Sorry. Guess who can't shut up. That's me.#astarion #bg3 meta #bg3 #This is fairly incoherent rambling.... I didn't actually have an end in mind when I started talking so you can hear the #pepe silvia meme vc in the background here #COMPLEX CHARACTERIZATION indeed. I want to bite down and chew on him #I'm still not sold on any of this either -- my interpretation of him shifts with the wind and every other thing he says #But these are my first.. initial... thoughts anyways...#thank you again for asking! so sweet of you hgfhghf

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grison-in-space · 1 year

Text

Wrapping up the Guards! Guards! reread, I hit this passage from Vetinari to Vimes and have to pause to snicker because Vetinari is just so damn young here:

“A great rolling sea of evil,” he said, almost proprietorially. “Shallower in some places, of course, but deeper, oh, so much deeper in others. But people like you put together little rafts of rules and vaguely good intentions and say, this is the opposite, this will triumph in the end. Amazing!” He slapped Vimes good-naturedly on the back. “Down there,” he said, “are people who will follow any dragon, worship any god, ignore any iniquity. All out of a kind of humdrum, everyday badness. Not the really high, creative loathesomeness of the great sinners, but a sort of mass-produced darkness of the soul. Sin, you might say, without a trace of originality. They accept evil not because they say yes, but because they don’t say no. I’m sorry if this offends you,” he added, patting the captain’s shoulder, “but you fellows really need us.” “Yes, sir?” said Vimes quietly. “Oh, yes. We’re the only ones who know how to make things work. You see, the only thing the good people are good at is overthrowing the bad people. And you’re good at that, I’ll grant you. But the trouble is that it’s the only thing you’re good at. One day it’s the ringing of the bells and the casting down of the evil tyrant, and the next it’s everyone sitting around complaining that ever since the tyrant was overthrown no one’s been taking out the trash. Because the bad people know how to plan. It’s part of the specification, you might say. Every evil tyrant has a plan to rule the world. The good people don’t seem to have the knack.”

Ah, yes, sir: because you are very evil, what with the assuming power largely, as far as I can tell, because you're offended by how poorly the system works; you whose first career move was to work to create stability in the city in a bid to minimize blowback, you who are above everything else practical and focused on utilitarianism. Uhhuh.

He's so young. Almost everyone in Guards! Guards! is, of course--Carrot with his law book most obviously--but with Vimes the alcoholic depression and the despairing cynicism has its hooks in so deeply that the overall impact is hard to see. By contrast, moving from Making Money to Guards! Guards! reveals a Vetinari who is almost embarrassingly green relative to the Vetinari who trains Moist: he is constantly making arrogant mistakes (ie "there's no dragons, that's nonsense") that his older self would be mortified to see, and then there's little pronouncements like this.

And for that matter, Vetinari himself should know full well that his "bad people" don't necessarily bother with much planning, either; just look at Mad Lord Snapcase. It's possible to view this through a Doylist lens--we just know a lot more about the history of Ankh Morpork by later books than Pterry did when he was writing this one. But I like to integrate Watsonian interpretations into my readings of the text, and so I enjoy thinking about this as partly a bid to undermine any support Vimes might be lending to any bids for power Carrot might make. After all, Carrot hasn't made any commentary about his sword one way or another; it's unclear to both Vetinari and the reader whether Carrot knows about the long lost heir of the city thing, and even more unclear what Carrot might choose to do in the absence of a giant flaming dragon having declared itself king.

Vetinari is in a fairly precarious place in this book, having been Patrician for only a relatively short time as far as I can tell, and after all there has just been an extraordinarily popular movement to replace the entire office of the Patrician with a hereditary king. If Carrot chose to, he could make life quite difficult for Vetinari: he might not win a theoretical power struggle, but he could certainly cost quite a bit of political capital and considerable public belief in Vetinari's ability to create stability. And Vimes, as Carrot's immediate supervisor and erstwhile human mentor, is the single person most likely to be able to influence Carrot away from that leg of the Trousers of Time.

It's an interesting way to plea for the support of a man like Vimes, I'll put it that way. It's wholly truthful and quite earnest, and it's not particularly manipulative: if anything, it paints Vetinari in quite a lot worse light than he could make a reasonable claim to being. It also avoids tugging on at least one equally truthful argument that could be expected to tug on Vimes' own sentiments: Vetinari is, for all his flaws and autocratic opinions, at the very least not a king. While he holds power, there will be no monarchs, no Lorenzo the Kinds to claim divine right to rule. I suppose it's also possible that Ventinari simply didn't know, of course, but--it's such an interesting little speech from a character perspective.

#discworld #guards! guards!

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txttletale · 4 months

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must we frame the patriarchy entirely as an abstract personal philosophy as opposed to something systemic? a few of these arguments popping up are really shallow "but men are made to suppress their feelings" - that's a true statement in the abstract. there's scenarios where it happens at the individual level. there's broad cultural, historical, sociopolitical trends that inform it on a population level. but you can't extrapolate "men are uniquely disadvantaged" from that information alone, it says nothing about the incidence of it across different groups, it says nothing about the mechanics through which these norms are enforced, it says nothing about how they manifest or where. "but men do this to each other" - again that's a true statement. you can see it on an individual and a population level. and again, it's a terrible lens to use if you wanna understand how the patriarchy manifests in material terms! obviously saying it as an offhand remark doesn't preclude someone from understanding that. but some of the attempts at extrapolating it into a deeper critique (with seemingly nothing else as a point of reference) are invariably going to end up strange

i don't understand how any of these statements talk about abstract personal philosophy or preclude systemic critique. i think molsno's post (which you are talking about here i assume) is very clear that this happens because there are real material incentives to doing it and those are the driver of this behaviour at both a large and (mostly) a small scale. like the way the patriarchy manifests is in people following the incentives that broader patriarchal structures (institutions, organizations, social circles) give them. i don't think there is anything 'abstract' or 'philosophical' in discussing concrete and specific ways in which masculinity is societally policed to meter access to the real and material benefits of patriarchy

#ask

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signalburst · 3 days

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Shōgun Historical Shallow-Dive: the Final Part - The Samurai Were Assholes, When 'Accuracy' Isn't Accurate, Beautiful Art, and Where to From Here

Final part. There is an enormous cancer attached to the samurai mythos and James Clavell's orientalism that I need to address. Well, I want to, anyway. In acknowledging how great the 2024 adaptation of Shōgun is, it's important to engage with the fact that it's fiction, and that much of its marketed authenticity is fake. That doesn't take away from it being an excellent work of fiction, but it is a very important distinction to me.

If you want to engage with the cool 'honourable men with swords' trope without thinking any deeper, navigate away now. Beyond here, there are monsters - literal and figurative. If you're interested in how different forms of media are used to manufacture consent and shape national identity, please bear with me.

I think the makers of 2024's Shōgun have done a fantastic job. But there is one underlying problem they never fully wrestled with. It's one that Hiroyuki Sanada, the leading man and face of the production team, is enthusiastically supportive of. And with the recent announcement of Season 2, it's likely to return. You may disagree, but to me, ignoring this dishonours the millions of people who were killed or brutalised by either the samurai class, or people in the 20th century inspired by a constructed idea of them.

Why are we drawn to the samurai?

A pretty badly sourced, but wildly popular history podcast contends that 'The Japanese are just like everybody else, only more so.' I saw a post on here that tried to make the assertion that the show's John Blackthorne would have been exposed to as much violence as he saw in Japan, and wouldn't have found it abnormal.

This is incorrect. Obviously 16th and 17th century Europe were violent places, but they contained violence familiar to Europeans through their cultural lens. Why am I confidently asserting this? We have hundreds of letters, journals and reports from Spaniards, Portuguese, Dutch and English expressing absolute horror about what they encountered. Testing swords on peasants was becoming so common that it would eventually become the law of the land. Crucifixion was enacted as a punishment for Christians - first by the Taiko, then by the Tokugawa shogunate - for irony's sake.

Before the end of the feudal period, battles would end with the taking of heads for washing and display. Depending on who was viewing them, this was either to honour them, or to gloat: 'I'm alive, you're dead.' These things were ritualised to the point of being codified when real-life Toranaga took control. Seppuku started as a cultural meme and ended up being the enforced punishment for any minor mistake for the 260 years the ruling samurai class acted as the nation's bureaucracy. It got more and more ritualised and flowery the more it got divorced from its origin: men being ordered by other men to kill themselves during a period of chaotic warfare. I've read accounts of samurai 'warriors' during the Edo period committing seppuku for being late for work. Not life-and-death warrior work - after Sekigahara, they were just book-keepers. They had desk jobs.

Since Europe's contact with Japan, the samurai myth has fascinated and appalled in equal measure. As time has gone on, the fascination has gone up and the horror has been dialled down. This is not an accident. This isn't just a change in the rest of the world's perception of the samurai. This is the result of approximately 120 years of Japanese government policies. Successive governments - nationalist, military authoritarian, and post-war democratic - began to lionize the samurai as the perfect warrior ideal, and sanitize the history of their origin and their heydey (the period Shōgun covers). It erases the fact that almost all of the fighting of the glorious samurai Sengoku Jidai was done by peasant ashigaru (levies), who had no choice.

It is important to never forget why this was done initially: to form an imagined-historical ideal of a fighting culture. An imagined fighting culture that Japanese invasion forces could emulate to take colonies and subdue foreign populations in WWI, and, much more brutally, in WWII. James Clavell came into contact with it as a Japanese Prisoner of War.

He just didn't have access to the long view, or he didn't care.

The Original Novel - How One Ayn Rand Fan Introduced Japan to America

There's a reason why 1975's Shogun novel contains so many historical anachronisms. James Clavell bought into a bunch of state-sanctioned lies, unachored in history, about the warring states period, the concept of bushido (manufactured after the samurai had stopped fighting), and the samurai class's role in Japanese history.

For the novel, I could go into great depth, but there are three things that stand out.

Never let the truth get in the way of a good story. He's a novelist, and he did what he liked. But Clavell's novel was groundbreaking in the 70's because it was sold as a lightly-fictionalised history of Japan. The unfortunate fact is the official version that was being taught at the time (and now) is horseshit, and used for far-right wing authoritarian/nationalist political projects. The Three Unifiers and the 'honour of the samurai' magnates at the time is a neat package to tell kids and adults, but it was manufactured by an early-20th century Japanese Imperial Government trying to harness nationalism for building up a war-ready population. Any slightly critical reading of the primary sources shows the samurai to be just like any ruling class - brutal, venal, self-interested, and horrifically cruel. Even to their contemporary warrior elites in Korea and China.

Fake history as propraganda. Clavell swallowed and regurgitated the 'death before dishonour', 'loyalty to the cause above all else', 'it's all for the Realm' messages that were deployed to justify Imperial Japanese Army Class-A war crimes during the war in the Pacific and the Creation of the Greater East Asian Co-Properity Sphere. This retroactive samurai ethos was used in the late Meiji restoration and early 20th century nationalist-military governments to radicalise young Japanese men into being willing to die for nothing, and kill without restraint. The best book on this is An Introduction to Japanese Society by Sugimoto Yoshio, but there is a vast corpus of scholarship to back it up.

Clavell's orientalism strays into outright racism. Despite the novel Shōgun undercutting John Blackthorne as a white savior in its final pages - showing him as just a pawn in the game - Clavell's politics come into play in every Asia Saga novel. A white man dominates an Asian culture through the power of capitalism. This is orthagonal to points 1 and 2, but Clavell was a devotee of Ayn Rand. There's a reason his protagonists all appear cut from the same cloth. They thrust their way into an unfamiliar society, they use their knowledge of trade and mercantilism to heroically save the day, they are remarked upon by the Asian characters as braver and stronger, and they are irresistible to the - mostly simpering, extremely submissive - caricatures of Asian women in his novels. Call it a product of its times or a product of Clavell's beliefs, I still find it repulsive. Clavell invents (nearly from whole cloth, actually) the idea that samurai find money repulsive and distasteful, and his Blackthorne shows them the power of commerce and markets. Plus there are numerous other stereotypes (Blackthorne's massive dick! Japanese men have tiny penises! Everyone gets naked and bathes together because they're so sexually free! White guys are automatically cool over there!) that have fuelled the fantasies of generations of non-Japanese men, usually white: Clavell's primary audience of 'dad history' buffs.

2024's Shōgun, as a television adaptation, did a far better job in almost every respect

But the show did much better, right? Yes. Unquestionably. It was an incredible achievement in bringing forward a tired, stereotypical story to add new themes of cultural encounter, questioning one's place in the broader world, and killing your ego. In many ways, the show was the antithesis to Clavell's thesis.

It drastically reigned in the anachronistic, ahistorical referencees to 'bushido' and 'samurai honor', and showed the ruling class of Japan in 1600 much more accurately. John Blackthorne (William Adams) was shown to be an extraordinary person, but he wasn't central to the outcome of the Eastern Army-Western Army civil war. There aren't scenes of him being the best lover every woman he encounters in Japan has ever had (if you haven't read the book, this is not an exaggeration). He doesn't teach Japanese warriors how to use matchlock rifles, which they had been doing for two hundred years. He doesn't change the outcome of enormous events with his thrusting, self-confident individualism. In 2024's Shōgun, Blackthorne is much like his historical counterpart. He was there for fascinating events, but not central. He wasn't teaching Japanese people basic concepts like how to make money or how to make war.

On fake history - the manufactured samurai mythos - it improved on the novel, but didn't overcome the central problems. In many ways, I can't blame the showrunners. Many of the central lies (and they are deliberate lies) constructed around the concept of samurai are hallmarks of the genre. But it's still important to me to notice when it's happening - even while enjoying some of the tropes - without passively accepting it.

'Authenticity' to a precisely manufactured story, not to history

There's a core problem surrounding the promotion and manufactured discussion surrounding 2024's Shōgun. I think it's a disconnect between the creative and marketing teams, but it came up again and again in advertising and promotion for the show: 'It's authentic. It's as real as possible.'

I've only seen this brought up in one article, Shōgun Has a Japanese-Superiority Complex, by Ryu Spaeth:

'The show also valorizes a supreme military power that is tempered by the pursuit of beauty and the highest of cultures, as if that might be a formula for peace. Shōgun displays these two extremes of the Japanese self, the savagery and the refinement, but seems wholly unaware that there may be a connection between them, that the exquisite sensibility Japan is famous for may flow from, and be a mask for, its many uses of atrocious domination.'

Here we come to authenticity.

'The publicity surrounding the series has focused on its fidelity to authenticity: multiple rounds of translation to give the dialogue a “classical” feel; fastidious attention to how katana swords should be slung, how women of the nobility should fold their knees when they sit, how kimonos should be colored and styled; and, crucially, a decentralization of the narrative so that it’s not dominated by the character John Blackthorne.'

It's undeniable that the 2024 production spent enormous amounts of energy on authenticity. But authenticity to what? To traditional depictions of samurai in Japanese media, not to history itself. The experts hired for gestures, movement, costumes, buildings, and every other aspect of the show were experts with decades in experience making Japanese historical dramas 'look right', not experts in Japanese history. But this appeal to 'Japanese authenticity' was made in almost every piece of promotional material.

The show had only one historical advisor on staff, and he was Dutch. The numerous Japanese consultants, experts and specialists brought on board (talked about at length in the show's marketing and behind the scenes) were there to assist with making an accurate Japanese jidaigeki. It's the difference between hiring an experienced BBC period drama consultant, and a historian specialising in the Regency. One knows how to make things look 'right' to a British audience. The other knows what actually happened.

That's fine, but a critical viewing of the show needs to engage with this. It's a stylistically accurate Japanese period drama. It is not an accurate telling of Japanese history around the unification of Japan. If it was, the horses would be the size of ponies, there would be far more malnourished and brutalised peasants, the word samurai would have far less importance as it wasn't yet a rigidly enforced caste, seppuku wouldn't yet be ritualised and performed with as much frequency, and Toranaga - Tokugawa - would be a famously corpulently obese man, pounding the saddle of his horse in frustration at minor setbacks, as he was in history.

The noble picture of restraint, patience, refinement and honour presented by Hiroyuki Sanada as Toranaga/Tokugawa is historical sanitation at its most extreme. Despite being Sanada's personal hero, Tokugawa Ieyasu was a brutal warlord (even for the standards of the time), and he committed acts of horrific cruelty. He ordered many more after gaining ultimate power. Think a miniseries about the Founding Fathers of the United States that doesn't touch upon slavery - I'm sure there have been plenty.

The final myth that 2024's Shōgun leaves us with is that it took a man like Toranaga - Tokugawa Ieyasu - to bring peace to a land ripped assunder by chaos. This plays into 19th century notions of Great Man History, and is a neat story, but the consensus amongst historians is if it wasn't Tokugawa, it would have been some other cunt. In many cases, it very nearly was. His success was historical contingency, not 5D chess.

So how did this image get manufactured, to the point where the Japanese populace - by and large - believes it to be true? Very long story short: after a period of rapid modernisation, Japan embraced nationalism in the late 19th century. It was all the rage. Nationalism depends on a glorified past. The samurai (recently the pariahs of Japanese history) were repurposed as Japan's unique warrior heroes, and woven into state education. This was especially heated in the 1920s and 30s in the lead up to the invasion of Manchuria and Japan's war of aggression in the Pacific. Nationalism + militarism = the modern Japanese samurai myth, to prepare men to obey orders unquestioningly from a military dictatorship.

This persists in the postwar period. Every year since 1963, Japan's state broadcaster NHK commissions a historical drama - a Taiga Drama, where many of this show's actors got their starts - that manufactures and re-enforces the idea of samurai as noble, artful, honourable people. Read a book - read a Wikipedia article! - and you'll see that most of it stems from Tokugawa-shogunate era self-propaganda. It's much like the European re-interpretation of chivalry. In Europe's case, chivalry in actual history was a set of guidelines that allowed for the sanctioned mass-rape and murder of civilians, with a side of rules regarding the ransoming of nobles in scorched-earth military campaigns. In Japan's case, historical figures that regularly backstabbed each other, tortured rival warriors and their lessers, and inflicted horrific casualties on the peasants that they owned (we have a term for that) are cast as noble, honourable, dedicated servants of the Empire.

Why does this matter to me? Samurai movies and TV shows are just media, after all. The issue, for me, is that the actors, the producers - including Hiroyuki Sanada - passionately extoll 'accuracy' as if they genuinely believe they're telling history. They talk emotionally about bushido and its special place in Japanese society.

But the entire concept of bushido is a retroactive, post-conflict, samurai construction. Bushio is bullshit. Despite being spoken of as the central tenet of 2024's Shōgun by actors like Hiroyuki Sanada, Tadanobu Asano, and Tokuma Nishioka, it simply didn't exist at the time. It was made up after the advent of modern nationalism.

It was used to justify horrendous acts during the late Edo period, the Meiji restoration, and the years leading up to the conclusion of Japan's war of aggression in the Pacific. It's still used now by Japan's primarily right-wing government to deny war crimes and justify the horrors unleashed on Asia and the Pacific during World War II as some kind of noble warrior crusade. If you ever want your stomach turned, visit the museum attached to Yasukuni Shrine. It's a theme park dedicated to war crimes denial, linked intimately to Japan's imagined warrior past. Whether or not the production staff, cast, and marketing team of 2024's Shōgun knew they were engaging with a long line of ahistorical bullshit is unknown, but it is important.

It's also important to acknowledge that, having listened to many interviews with Rachel Kondo and Justin Marks, they were acutely aware that they weren't Japanese, to claim to be telling an authentically Japanese story would be wrong, and that all they could do was do their best to make an engaging work that plays on ideas of cultural encounter and letting go. I think the 'authenticity!' thing is mostly marketing, and judicious editing of what the creators and writers actually said in interviews.

So... you hate the show, then? What the hell is this all about?

No, I love the show. It's beautiful. But it's a beautiful artwork.

Just as the noh theatre in the show was a twisting of events within the show, so are all works of fiction that take inspiration from history. Some do it better than others. And on balance, in the show, Shōgun did it better than most. But so much of the marketing and the discussion of this adaptation has been on its accuracy. This has been by design - it was the strategy Disney adopted to market the show and give it a unique viewing proposition.

'This time, Shōgun is authentic!*

*an authentic Japanese period drama, but we won't mention that part.

And audiences have conflated that with what actually happened, as opposed to accuracy to a particular form of Japanese propaganda that has been honed over a century. This difference is crucial.

It doesn't detract from my enjoyment of it. Where I view James Clavell's novel as a horrid remnant of an orientalist, racist past, I believe the showrunners of 2024's Shōgun have updated that story to put Japanese characters front and centre, to decentralise the white protagonist to a more accurate place of observation and interest, and do their best to make a compelling subversion of the 'stranger in a strange land' tale.

But I don't want anyone who reads my words or has followed this series to think that the samurai were better than the armed thugs of any society. They weren't more noble, they weren't more honourable, they weren't more restrained. They just had 260 years in which they worked desk-jobs while wearing two swords to write stories about how glorious the good old days were, and how great people were.

Well... that's a bleak note to end on. Where to from here?

There are beautiful works of fiction that engage much closer with the actual truth of the samurai class that I'd recommend. One even stars Hiroyuki Sanada, and is (I think) his finest role.

I'd really encourage anyone who enjoyed Shōgun to check out The Twilight Samurai. That was the reality for the vast majority of post-Sekigahara samurai

For something closer to the period that Shogun is set, the best film is Seppuku (Hara-Kiri in English releases). It is a post-war Japanese film that engages both with the reality of samurai rule, and, through its central themes, how that created mythos was used to radicalise millions of Japanese into senseless death during the war. It is the best possible response to a romanticisation of a brutal, hateful period of history, dominated by cruel men who put power first, every single time.

I want to end this series, if I can, with hope. I hope that reading the novel or watching the 1980 show or the 2024 show has ignited in people an interest in Japanese culture, or society, or history. But don't let that be an end. Go further. There are so many things that aren't whitewashed warlords nobly killing - the social history of Japan is amazing, as is the women's history. A great book for getting an introduction to this is The Japanese: A History in 20 Lives.

And outside of that, there are so many beautiful Japanese movies and shows that don't deal with glorified violence and death. In fact, it makes up the vast majority of Japanese media! Who would have thought! Your Name was the first major work of art to bridge some of the cultural animosity between China and Japan stemming from WW2, and is a goofy time travel love story. Perfect Days is a beautiful movie about the simple joy of living, and it's about the most Tokyo story you can get.

Please go out, read more, watch more. If you can, try and find your way to Japan. It's one of the most beautiful places on earth. The people are kind, the food is delicious, and the culture is very welcoming to foreigners.

2024's Shōgun was great, but please don't let that be the end. Let it be the beginning, and I hope it serves as a gateway for you.

And I hope our little fandom on here remembers this show as a special time, where we came together to talk about something we loved. I'll miss you all.

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coal15 · 8 days

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ALL OF THIS LONGASS POST IS JUST MY OPINION. I REPEAT, JUST MY OPINION:

Remember when 90% of the fandom shipped Buck with Eddie, or if not, at least hc bi Buck and/or gay Eddie? We were basically a united queer front. And now that Buck's bi narrative is being told through the lens of a romantic connection to another dude some viewers are gravitating toward that romance. Which I personally don't see as them gravitating away from the depth or importance of Buddie's relationship, it's just that another romantic queer option has been presented and it's drawing some fans. Why not? And it's simply not possible for Bucktommy shippers to be "betraying Buddie" because it's a freakin' ship, not a religion. They've just developed a new ship preference for their own reasons, and that's fine. (or enjoying things as they are for the moment which is also fine).

And I think the reason Tommy/Lou/Bucktommy has thrived and become popular when previous love interests didn't goes deeper than "those girls are getting in the way of our ship." At least not directly. It's that even bringing in those women in was always a sad attempt at "romances" when the network knew damn well the bulk of fandom wanted to see a queer narrative for them with or without Buddie (yes Buddie was the driving interest, but still, it was a bigger issue than that or at least I thought so) The audience preference was clear so the only reason for FOX to keep insisting on female love interests with not a breath of the words gay or bisexual beyond "wink-nudge jokes" was to aggressively tell us THEY'RE CLOSE BROS, YOUR SHIP IS JUST CLOSE BROS FOREVER AND EVER SO START SHIPPING THEM WITH THEIR GIRLFRIENDS RIGHT NOW! OH YOU DON'T LIKE THOSE GIRLFRIENDS? OKAY, HOW ABOUT THESE ONES?

That shit immediately put a sour taste in my mouth. And FOX would have kept the cycle going forever, sending in a revolving door of girlfriends whilst we continued to insist on seeing the clearly more meaningful and important queer narrative onscreen. So while I do ship Buck + Happiness at the end of the day, queer rep was important enough to me that the only girlfriend I would have accepted or welcomed would have needed to be bisexual (or pan, or demi, something) to wake him up to his queer identity beyond just being another shallow (comphet) love interest.

Tommy being the character to wake Buck to his queer identity automatically makes him more meaningful and important in the narrative than Buck's girlfriends. If I was placing bets I'd still put my money on Buddie as the probable endgame, that's just me, but there are good reasons why previous love interests were pushed off the show by fan rejection (some of which had to do with problematic actresses *cough*honorary latina*cough*) and why Tommy/Lou/Bucktommy is being embraced by so many.

****caveat: I don't mean to imply that there weren't some buddie fans coming from a place of misogyny when ripping apart past female love interests, I just think for the most part that criticism was a wild oversimplification, painting our whole fandom with the same ugly brush in order to invalidate our very valid pro-buddie (at least or pro-queer Buck and/or Eddie) arguments.

#Buddie #Bucktommy #911 abc #911 fox #Evan Buckley #Eddie Diaz #my long rambling thoughts about queer stuff #I have too much free time

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outofgloom · 6 months

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EYES

The first thing you noticed was that the sand of Karda was not like the sand from Outside, beyond the gate. It was all grains of pulverized crystal. It crunched beneath your feet and the feet of your companions as you marched along the track which wove between the many dunes.

Ahead, the fore-Matoran stopped beside a stone marker and signaled a halt. The fore shaded his eyes against the diffuse light in the sky ahead and looked further down the track into the great shallow bowl of Karda.

“We are near,” he said, moving back up the path now and opening his pack. “Align yourselves and remove your masks.”

Everyone complied, bracing against the wave of weakness which followed mask-removal. The fore-Matoran went down the line and placed a semi-transparent object into the visor of each mask, indicating to replace the mask afterward.

When he reached you, you asked: “What is its purpose?”

“Unknown,” the fore said. “Replace your mask.”

You complied. It was a lens of some kind, covering your eyes. Perhaps a dust-shield. You got used to it quickly, like it wasn’t even there.

∵∴∵∴∵∴∵

The Central Construct was vast: a shimmering shape at the heart of the desert. Protometal ribs rose into a sphere-like form, joined by horizontal crossbeams at regular intervals. The lower two-thirds of the sphere were already complete, and a web-like scaffold ringed the Construct, allowing access to the upper levels.

Sparks showered from the welding points around the scaffold, and there was a sound of tramping feet as pallets of newly wrought protodermis were marched up the circular ramps. Cranes lifted and distributed other materials for the workers to use in the construction.

You were stationed on the north hextant of the scaffold, one of the many welders who worked tirelessly to build up the Construct’s outer shell. A grid of metal lines filled the space above you, feeding out the safety-line that attached to your own harness. Below, the inner shell was visible, mostly complete at this point: a dense weave of struts and metal plates which concealed the interior of the Construct. Very soon, the inner shell would be entirely enclosed by the outer. Perhaps another ten cycles, you estimated.

The tone rang in the air, signaling the rotation of workers. You leaned back from your welding and looked it over. The new beam was fixed in place, ready to hold another set of shell-plates. You secured your tools, checked the safety line, and stepped across the gap, back onto the scaffold beside you. The next shift was already on its way up the ramp. Your group would now return back through the gate in order to rest.

Too late you saw the flaw in the protometal beam beneath the one you had just added. It bent suddenly under the strain of the newly-added structure, and its hard edge cut clean through the scaffold you were standing on. A cascade of snapping pins and rods followed, and you were falling down, down through crisscrossing metal into the dark space below.

Your safety-line went taut, as it was designed to do, and decelerated you abruptly a bio before you hit the ground inside the Construct. Tools and other debris clattered and rang on the hard surface below, and your mask came off with a pop as the air was forced from your lungs. Then you were just hanging, suspended, and your heartlight was beating very fast.

Voices echoed down, and there was a commotion as additional braces were pounded into place and spot-welded. You were the only one that had fallen. They would reel you up any second now.

Your mask lay on the ground below you, out of reach. The floor was polished silver, running up in a smooth arc to meet the wall just in front of you. The wall had a mirror-finish; you could see your reflection in it. And behind you, the rest of the space opened up into

The rest of the space opened up into

The space opened up into

Opened up

Opened up into

Eyes

∵∴∵∴∵∴∵

Ahead, the fore-Matoran stopped beside a stone marker and signaled a halt. The fore shaded his...eyes...against the diffuse light in the sky ahead and looked further down the track into the great shallow bowl of Karda. Then he looked at you.

“We are near,” he said, moving back up the path now and opening his pack. “Align yourselves and remove your masks.”

Everyone complied, bracing against the wave of weakness which followed mask-removal. Except you. Your mask was already off, for some reason. The fore-Matoran went down the line and placed a semi-transparent object into the visor of each mask, indicating to replace the mask afterward.

When he reached you, you asked: “What is its purpose?”

“Look at me,” the fore said. “Look at me.”

You didn't want to. You grabbed at the lens in his hand.

“I need that,” you said. “Give it to me.”

“Look at me,” he said.

You managed to snatch the lens away from him at last. You placed it into the visor of your mask, and slapped the mask back on your face.

“Look at me,” he said.

The lens wasn't fitting right. You pressed the mask harder. It was too...reflective. Not transparent. It reflected your eyes back into...into your eyes. Into your eyes.

And behind the reflection of your eyes there was something else, off to each side. It was moving and moving and looking at you. It was trying to pry its way around the sides of your face, around your eyes.

Look at me.

You pushed harder.

Look at me.

You pressed your face against the mirrored surface, but you couldn't shut it out.

It moved and moved and looked at you with eyes and eyes and eyes and

∵∴∵∴∵∴∵

The cable-reel whirred to life, and the line coiled up bio on bio, loop on loop. The damaged scaffold had been reinforced, and a medic-Matoran had already been summoned. Work had ceased all around the Construct, and the faces of many workers looked on as the operation proceeded.

Bio on bio, loop on loop the line came back. Slow but steady, the cable piled up on the reel, and at last, you appeared. Straight up out of the inner shell you came, still wrapped in your harness, up to where the pulley was affixed above the scaffold, and many hands reached to haul you in.

The medic set to work immediately, checking limbs and joints and heartlight. Another Matoran stepped forward quickly. It was the fore-Matoran. He stopped in front of you, and his eyes widened.

“Your mask?” he asked.

There was a moment of silence.

“Your mask,” he repeated, gesturing. “Is it still below?” He pointed down toward the inner shell.

I nodded slowly.

“And your tools, did they cause any damage to the interior?”

I shook my head.

“Very well.” He turned to the medic. “Injuries?” The medic indicated no damage. “Good,” he continued. “You will not need to be replaced.”

“Thank you,” I thought, then realized:

“Thank you,” I said with my mouth.

The harness was still tight around my waist. I realized this when they loosened it, and the sensations I had been feeling–pain, pressure–began to lessen. They helped me down the ramps, down to the ground. The fore was there ahead of me, along with the rest of my work group. He had retrieved a new mask for me. He immediately placed it on my face. The rush of energy felt...good.

The next shift was already starting at the top of the scaffold again, repairing the damage and moving forward. Simple as that. We would return to relieve them on the next cycle, apparently. For now, it was back into the desert, back to the gate.

I looked forward to it.

∵∴∵∴∵∴∵

The first thing I noticed was that the sand of Karda was not like the sand from the Outside–the real Outside, where I had been born, before They stuffed me in here with these Matoran to mindlessly regulate Their dials. It was all grains of pulverized crystal. It crunched nicely beneath our feet as we marched through the dunes. The other Matoran didn’t really appreciate it like I did though.

Ahead, the fore-Matoran stopped beside a stone marker and signaled a halt, then he looked further up the track out of the great shallow bowl of Karda, as always.

“We are near,” he said like clockwork, moving back down the path now. “Align yourselves and remove your masks.”

Everyone complied. Even me, though I didn't like the weakness that followed. The fore went down the line and carefully removed the semi-transparent objects that had been fixed in the visor of each mask, placing them back in his pack.

When he reached me, I asked: “What was its purpose?”

The fore stopped and squinted at me. “...Unknown,” he said slowly.

“Would you like to know?”

“Replace your mask,” he said after a confused moment, “and avoid redundant questions.”

I complied. Wearing a mask was new to me. All of this was, really, but I was getting used to it. I was malleable like that. I was made that way.

The gate was ahead. Soon I’d be out. Very soon, and then…

My mind flicked back for a moment, back over the crystal-sand, back into the metal shell, the metal prison that They had built for me, back into the wet writhing thing there that was Me, and I heard the thoughts of the other mind I’d left in my place while I was away.

Obviously you were not made for this. You were trying feebly to move your too many limbs, trying to look out through your too many eyes.

But in the polished silver space, there was nothing to see. It was mirror all around, reflecting and refracting, so that all you could see was you…me…you. All you could see was–

“Eyes,” you were saying, or thinking rather. “Eyes, eyes, eyes, eyes.” You had…I had…You had no mouth, after all.

Just eyes. Eyes everywhere, all around.

“Eyes eyes eyes eyes,” you were thinking.

You are thinking it right now.

Don’t worry. I just need to stretch my…legs, yes. See the scenery. I won’t be long. They’ll find me out sooner or later, and then They will send me back, I expect. To tend the dials again.

“Eyes eyes eyes eyes.”

I know, I know.

You’ll get used to them.

#bionicle #art #writing #fanfiction #outofgloom #works #tren krom

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radioactivepeasant · 6 months

Text

Snippets: Free Day Thursday

Adopted Dadmas: Dadmas versus Haven

The red light was blinking on Jak’s talk-box again. Damas was no fool, he knew that meant someone was spying through the floating comm -- or attempting to. Doubtless, the eavesdropper thought they were being very subtle, keeping silent whenever adults were present. As if they believed Jak would keep their presence a secret. As if they believed he would never tell.

Damas tore a circle of flatbread into pieces and used them to scoop a mixture of cooked peppers onto his plate. He pretended not to notice the talk-box hovering next to Jak’s elbow in a terrible attempt at stealth, instead choosing to engage Daxter in a conversation. He was determined to get the kid apprenticed to the head of the merchant guild one way or another. Daxter had a head for business and trade that Jak, simply put, did not. He nodded along when his friend talked, but privately Damas thought it would do Daxter good to be around adults who could encourage his interests.

Periodically, Jak cast swift glances at his talk-box during the meal. He seemed like he was expecting someone to speak at any moment -- or more like he was expecting orders of some kind. His shoulders were tense, and he was shoveling down food much too quickly, like he thought he wasn't going to have time to finish it.

"Slow down, young one. The shrimp isn't going anywhere, and neither are you," Damas admonished.

Jak didn't slow down much, but he did start chewing a little more thoroughly. Small victories. Still, he looked tired, and on-edge. Had Ashelin or the sage been badgering him again when no one was around?

The initial idea had been to lay a trap. To feign ignorance and bait the spy into speaking aloud, thus forcing Unpleasant Diplomatic Discussions with Haven's motley assortment of would-be leaders. But just now, Damas decided, the health and wellbeing of his son took precedence over strategy. And he still had the element of surprise, anyway.

"Talk-boxes off at the table, Jak," he announced, gesturing directly to the lens watching them, "This is a meal, not a media interview."

The boy flinched and looked guilty. He had no reason to; he'd been open with Damas about the demands for labor since he first returned from Haven. But then, he'd been groomed from such a young age to believe that bad things happened because he didn't work hard enough for his "friends". Perhaps he still feared retaliation for establishing healthy boundaries? Better to confront the issue head-on then, Damas decided.

"If your uninvited watcher has an emergency, they are free to petition me directly," he said, leveling a stern glare at the talk-box. "On their own time, not yours. Come on, switch it off."

Someone made a muffled sound, barely picked up by the talk-box's speaker. It seemed they were not expecting to be so casually acknowledged.

"Jak-!" the watcher tried to protest, but Jak reached for the power button.

"Right. Sorry, Pa."

Once the light had faded from the little camera, Damas nodded, satisfied. He picked up a shallow bowl with tomango in it and held it out to Jak.

"Here. You need the vitamins."

Begrudgingly, Jak took two slices, then a third when Daxter gave him The Look across the table.

The ottsel cleared his throat meaningfully.

"Pal, you gotta get better at telling those people no. They can't hurtcha!"

Jak hunched over his plate, frowning.

"I know," he muttered sullenly. "I- I do know that, okay? They just don't listen!"

Daxter sighed and his ears drooped. "Yeah...I know. Old Greenstuff only hears what he wants to hear. Always has."

With a frustrated groan, Jak rubbed his eyes. "After everything he's done, I shouldn't be having trouble cutting Samos off. Why do I keep going back?!"

"He's familiar," Daxter admitted, and not without a touch of loathing. "He was all we knew for like, our whole lives. I hate him -- I'll always hate him -- but I get being afraid to lose that last connection to Sandover."

"....yeah." Jak winced. "I um...I think you're right. It's just. It's hard."

"I know, pal."

"And he knows I have two artifacts that go with those weird pillars in the forest!" Jak continued, "What do I do when he starts asking why I haven't brought them?"

"You end the call," Damas interrupted firmly, "or you give the line to an older Wastelander. Collecting those relics serves the interests of our people, and our people will be working in teams to locate them."

Perhaps this was Jak’s fight as much as anyone else's -- this Daystar and its coming threat -- but Damas was reluctant to involve him. Wasn't losing one son bad enough? He'd never survive losing a second one!

Besides, even someone as talented at sneaking into hidden places as Jak couldn't infiltrate places locked by the Seal of Mar. Whatever the Grand Council of Haven wanted with the catacombs, it was a matter for Damas to deal with, not the boys.

Jak picked at his tomango slices almost glumly. Whether it was his own struggles with setting boundaries that bothered him, or Damas’s advice for dealing with future calls, no one knew. But Daxter and Damas both knew that Jak wouldn't keep it bottled up for long. Sure enough, after a couple minutes of mangling his food without eating it, Jak finally looked up.

"You didn't tell me you were sending other people to look for the relics I told you about."

It was almost a question and almost a complaint.

"No, I didn't," Damas acknowledged, and sipped his tea. "The topic hadn't come up between us yet. Is there something about it that concerns you?"

Jak had difficulty putting his thoughts into words. He started and stopped three times before muttering, "It's dangerous. What if someone gets hurt and I'm not there?"

"What if someone doesn't get hurt and you're not there?" Damas countered. He leaned an elbow on the table and gestured to himself almost self-deprecatingly. "Age does not grace the Spargan who is careless, nor are many years added to the foolish. Do not worry so much about people who were hunting metalheads for sport before you were even born, son."

"Admittedly," said Daxter, "We're still getting used to the concepts of adults who can actually fight their own battles. Am I complaining? Only when they decide it's "Take Your Ottsel To Work Day". But even I still go into jobs expecting to have to save everyone's butts at some point."

"Justified with the monks." Jak pointed a piece of tomango at his best friend.

"Yeah, justified with Mime Club."

Damas threaded his fingers together under his chin and watched the boys a moment.

"How about this," he offered, "If an artifact is located but not yet retrieved, I will give you the option of participating in the mission. Or, you can wait until everything has been gathered, and we will go to the pillars together."

For a moment, Jak brightened. Then he looked pensive again. "What if there's trouble? I mean. I was never really- I never claimed Haven, but they act like I belonged to them. What if me bringing another nation into their forest makes trouble for Spargus?"

"Hmph. Perhaps it is better to settle this now, rather than engage in hypotheticals."

Damas held out one hand.

"Give me your talk-box."

Jak narrowed his eyes. "What are you going to do?"

"Not your concern."

"Papá...." somehow Jak managed to sound both suspicious and scolding.

Damas remained unmoved. "Hand it over, boy."

Reluctantly, Jak did so. He cringed when the device powered on, and Keira's voice poured out.

"Jak? Are you okay? Daddy came in fussing about someone interfering with- you're not Jak! Where's my friend?!"

By the mortified expression on his son's face, Damas guessed this was the sage's daughter. The childhood friend Jak still sort of had a crush on.

"Tell your father to stop harassing my son," Damas said shortly. "Especially during hours set aside for family meals. Was he raised in a barn? In fact, ask him that for me."

"Pa, no!" Jak hissed, making a futile grab for the talk-box.

"Your son?! Who are you? Who- hey, Daddy, c'mere. You know this guy? He says he's Jak’s dad!" Keira became muffled for a moment, stepping away from her own device to drag her father over. "Why's this guy think you're harassing Jak? We've only called him twice since he left. Right?"

"Insisting he keeps his comm on at all times so that you can all monitor every moment of his day is not an acceptable use of Federation communication lines," Damas cut in. "I shouldn't have to tell you that spying on the nation of Spargus in such a way could be taken as an act of war."

"This-! This is bigger than Haven or the Wastelands!" Samos sounded flustered- even a bit nervous. "Surely you understand the claim destiny has upon Ja-"

Damas made a dismissive sound in his throat, cutting the sage off. "Pah. Destiny. I should think the recent Praxis regime and my own continued existence would be enough to call concepts such as destiny into question. As it stands, my claim on Jak supersedes "destiny" -- or more accurately, you."

"The fate of the planet hangs in the balance!" Samos cried, though somewhat subdued compared to his usual confidence. "Can't you see that?! Don't be so bullheaded, Jak is needed-"

Jak recognized the glint in the king’s eyes as mischief. Daxter looked a little too eager to see where this was going. Jak resisted the urge to cover his face in embarrassment. Why and oh why did Keira have to be the one to answer the line?!

"Oh? Are you planning to challenge me for custody of my son?" Damas bared his teeth in an unfriendly smile. "Please, by all means! The Arena is ready whenever you are."

"Pa!" Jak gripped the sides of his head and stared at the man. "Not in front of Keira!"

"Look, old man-" Damas ignored Daxter's delighted cackle. "This planet will survive through united efforts, not by sitting back and hoping one boy alone will get the job done. Now, if Haven wishes to negotiate a temporary alliance to get this done sooner, there is no one stopping them from requesting a meeting with the Wasteland Federation. In the meantime, the Federation intends to continue preventing the apocalypse with or without your participation."

"You are?" Keira cut in over her father again, sounding genuinely curious. "You mean there's more people who can get into ruins?"

Jak got up and moved to the head of the table. Damas moved the talk-box out of his reach preemptively, but Jak made no move to grab it.

"That's their whole thing, turns out. You know Krew? Yeah, everything he sold you, he bought from Wastelanders. Even the defunct power cells."

The slightly warped image of Keira on the screen flickered as she leaned closer.

"Seriously?! I could've cut out the middleman and just worked with them all this time?! Ughhhhh. Hindsight is 20/20 I guess. You want to show them my research from the palace library?"

Behind her, Samos jumped. "The what?! Keira, the library was destroyed with the rest of the palace!"

"The building collapsed, sure," Keira retorted, "But the data cores are still mostly intact in there. If you don’t mind crawling through some tight places and bringing lots of Scout Flies, it's a cinch to get the files for Vin."

Samos looked apoplectic. "Keira! That's far too dangerous for you!"

His daughter rolled her eyes. "What? Jak and Daxter can do it but I can't? Don't you trust me?"

Damas stifled a chuckle and elbowed Jak. "I like this one," he whispered. "Invite her to Spargus sometime."

Jak wished the floor would swallow him.

#jak and daxter #fic prompts #writing prompts #dadmas #king damas #jak and daxter au #free day thursday #adopted dadmas au #keira hagai #samos hagai #samos gets all the side-eye in this house #everytime i wonder if I'm bashing the character needlessly i watch the games and go 'o he's actually Worse'#haven is like 'only the kid we tried to kill via sunstroke can save us!'#and Damas is like 'literally every wastelander does the same thing jak does. some of us even channel.'#giving Keira back the characterization that was denied her in Jak 3 #Keira is busy doing Lara Croft stuff when Samos's back is turned #Jak is playing his own game and Keira is playing Uncharted 🤣

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