#cea rambles

[twasforresearch]

for reasons unknown i will be [BLASTS THE MARRIAGE OF BIGFOOT AND MOTHMAN ON LOOP]

[what-aboutno]

Need to be freed from school work so I can make content of my blorbos ☹️

[dare-i-say-asexual]

is it okay for me as a trans boy to feel a lot more sympathy for women and female characters in media and prefer 10000000 times more than lads

valid bc me too

[definite-human]

Sometimes you just have to say "fuck it" and down 5 shots in order to survive your emotionally controlling mother's push for a perfect Norman Rockwell Christmas eve

[thefudge]

Do you have any Romanian (language or just content-wise) media recs? Particularly novels and poetry but really any must-sees/must-reads are welcome!

uuuu! 

my brain is too fried right now to do any kind of exhaustive list so i’m gonna rec a few things that i know you could get your hands on/available in translation:

for two thousand years, by mihail sebastian - really heartbreaking yet also lucid, adventurous and darkly humorous memoir of a Jewish writer in his youth at the height of nazism in romania (there’s even a Penguin classic of it)

diary of a short-sighted adolescent by mircea eliade - a funny and bittersweet bildungsroman about a bookish teenager who wants to read everything now and be the cleverest person alive while also struggling with being super lazy and unmotivated because he’s young and restless, it’s very #relatable. but it’s also fascinating to read this in opposition with “for two thousand years” because eliade entertained legionnaire nazi sympathies at one point. (also, you should check out his novellas too, especially the fantastic ones)

anything you can find in translation by gabriela adamesteanu - just lovely, delicate prose about growing up, being an adult, inhabiting your body and your feelings in an oppressive world 

the hatchet by mihail sadoveanu (apparently, there is a translation) - a lot of people give this novel flak, mostly because we had to read it in high school, but it’s a great and deceptively simple little novel that says a lot more about people than it cares to admit. the action takes you through several villages in the East-Carpathians, where a peasant woman goes in search of her missing husband. it’s a fascinating mixture of crime and folklore and mythology. 

any novella by costache negruzzi, but especially “alexandru lapusneanu”, another classic we had to read in school and which gets a lot of flak. it’s so bonkers and #quality-trash. let’s just say there’s a scene where the power-hungry voievod/prince lapusneanu enacts a red-wedding situation and builds a pyramid of freshly severed heads to impress his lady wife *swoon* 

the forest of the hanged by liviu rebreanu - i know people argue this isn’t his best novel, but it’s got the most heart. it’s the story of a soldier/philosopher in WW1 who falls in love with people again. that’s it. he falls in love with people, and the war and everything in between doesn’t matter anymore. or it matters only as it pertains to people, and people alone. 

gallants of the old court by mateiu caragiale - a bizarre gem of early 20th century Romanian nightlife, a wonderful, orgiastic fugue, feverish and infuriating. it’s mostly about rich men and social-climbers getting into existential trouble, but also into real trouble. normally, because the action takes place right before WW1, this would signify the end of an era. but we don’t really have a beginning or end. we are part-balkan, part-french imitators, part-whatever-sticks. nothing moves us, and everything does. and that’s why it’s a sort of love/hate letter to romanians 

in terms of poetry, some personal faves:  nichita stanescu, ana blandiana, monica pillat, marin sorescu,  a.e. baconsky, lucian blaga, emil brumaru, nora iuga, marta petreu, nina cassian. and yes, mihai eminescu, our national poet, though i’m often in two minds about him.  

poetry in translation is really hit and miss because of the “untranslatable”, so here’s two lines from a poem by nina cassian, because i want to show you what i mean:

            De când m-ai părăsit mă fac tot mai frumoasă             ca hoitul luminând în întuneric. 

this roughly and poetically translates to:

          Since you left me I’ve grown more beautiful

           like the corpse lighting the dark 

and this is sort of lovely on its own, but you’d need to know and hear and taste the word “hoit” in romanian to really feel the abjectness, because “hoit” is a smelly, ugly yet also alluring, already decomposing version of “cadavru” aka cadaver/corpse. also “ mă fac tot mai frumoasă” cannot be accurately summed up in “i’ve grown more beautiful”. a literal translation would be “I make myself more beautiful”. in romanian, this is obviously idiomatic and not literal. and yet, these strange self-reflexive valences make these lines strong and eerie, as if the speaker were authoring her beauty, shaping it out of clay and darkness and “hoit”,  like a butterfly cracking the corpse’s shell to get out, but also retaining some of its mesmerizing stench. why did i pause to do a close-reading of romanian poetry??? anyway, you catch my drift

in terms of movies, a recent one i really loved was sierranevada by cristi puiu, which is a neurotic family drama that drains you but also lifts you up 

and yeah, the hype is real, 4 months, 3 weeks and 2 days by cristi mungiu really is that good (about two young women trying to get an illegal abortion in communist romania. it won the palme d’or for very legit reasons. it breaks you in small ways. the very last shot of the film you’ll carry with you forever). i also liked graduation by cristi mungiu, where a young overachieving girl is about to graduate high school and go on to study abroad, until a terrible event unmoors both her and her family. the movie turns almost hallucinatory at one point, filled with ambiguity and a kind of sleep-walking quality 

tales from the golden age by cristi mungiu (him again!) is also fantastic for anyone who wants to get a taste of communist romania and the sad-funny absurdities of everyday life. this movie is split in 2 parts and the format is that of an anthology, almost like watching several short films at once. and there is one film in the anthology that always turns me inside out, and it’s really silly, it’s this bonnie and clyde type story about this girl and boy who meet at a party and devise an ingenious get-rich scam and just run around a few neighborhoods trying to put it into practice and it’s...the sweetest, most incomplete thing. there is such a strange, lovely connection there that never gets realized, and there is a MOMENT between them where he helps her step down from this ledge and he holds her briefly to him and i remember being in the cinema and thinking THIS, this is THE MOMENT where i felt these people were real. it was such an honest, lovely moment. like the equivalent of this song. ANYWAY, why am i rambling so much??? this ask was supposed to be SHORT. 

aferim! by radu jude is also a really neat movie and provides a look into the historical romanian/rroma relationship and why it’s so messed up, yet also so organic

the death of mr. lazarescu by cristi puiu is also a great little film about a man who gets sick and goes to the hospital. and...dies, as you can tell from the title. on the surface, he dies because of institutional ineptness and a broken healthcare system. at a deeper level, he dies because we no longer know how to help people. various hospital staff in the film do try to help him and fail for various stupid or quietly heartbreaking reasons. it’s a movie about being physically unable to care. there’s indifference, sure, but also this great exhaustion of the human spirit. but the movie is also darkly funny. might not be a great pandemic watch, but then again it might be exactly what you need 

there are soooo many other classics in terms of books (morometii by marin preda, for instance, about a patriarch in a small village in the South who slowly realizes the world he used to live in doesn’t have room for him anymore, and maybe it never had) but i’m gonna end on a quote from ion creanga, one of the most cryptic classics of romanian lit:

“Şi eu eram vesel ca vremea cea mai bună şi şturlubatic şi copilăros ca vântul în tulburea sa”

my translation: “and I was cheerful like the best weather and frolicsome and childish like the wind in its cloudiness” 

and again, the words in romanian and their particular sound and bite (”şturlubatic”, “tulburea”) immediately take me elsewhere. creanga writes about childhood, but it’s never really childhood. he writes as an adult who, in my opinion, was never really a child, but a weird, small god of the land. i mean the word “tulburea” can mean both “turmoil” and “muddiness”. the wind can be anguished, but also just a little cloudy, just a little hazy, shrinking its agony, howling it in the child. it’s eerie and gorgeous. so, that’s what he does: creanga writes about children as if they were wind-like spirits. he writes stories about devils and the peasants who trick them and school books filled with spit and flies, and warm eggs stolen from nests and fairy-tales of a world that is buried somewhere inside us, but not too deep, things hidden under our clothes or nails or even in our hair. and it’s all so physical and convoluted, just like his prose. and i don’t think anyone will ever make sense of him and that’s what makes him so discombobulatingly great.

anyway, this was supposed to be...like, really short! and not gassy! i’m sorry. i love waxing about all this gay stuff. i’m so gay about it. 

realistically tho, the nearest thing you’ll find in your local bookshop is probably books by famous ‘theater of the absurd’ playwright, eugen ionesco, or novels in translation by contemporary author mircea cartarescu. both are pretty good, so go for it! (if you want to start small, i’d recommend REM by mircea cartarescu, because it’s so trippy and meta and captures that summer holiday eeriness so well. it goes well with this romanian song sung in english)

okay byeeeee 

[regenderate-fic]

Finish Line

Fandom: Doctor Who Ship: Thirteenth Doctor/Rose Tyler Rating: General Series: Fanzine Prompts Word Count: 1,116 Crossposted from AO3. Originally posted on 27 August 2019. Link to original.

The minute Graham comes into the console room, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and tucking his cheese-and-pickle sandwich into his jacket pocket, the Doctor jumps up and starts rambling about where they might go today, listing off every place that comes to mind— New Venice Beach, Kriterra, a dwarf planet so small it has no name— places she’s never even remotely wanted to go, but places she’s now considering just because she needs to run.

NOTES: originally written for day two of thirteen week with the prompt "run"

At the age of eight, the young of Gallifrey are invited to look into the time vortex.

Not all choose to take the risk.

Those who do become Time Lords.

But only some can take it.

The Doctor couldn’t.

She saw the vortex, at eight years old, and she ran. And she ran, and she ran, and—

There was nowhere else to run. She was a child, she had no TARDIS, she had no plan.

It’s been two thousand years since then. She made it off Gallifrey, and has had years and years and years of adventures besides.

She’s still running.

She doesn’t know what she’s running from.

She thought it was Gallifrey, but then Gallifrey was gone, and she just wanted it back. And then when it came back, she realized the Time Lords’ opinions didn’t matter so much to her anymore.

She’s still running.

Sometimes she thinks she’s running from others, from her friends, from their questions and their stares and their expectations. But she knows that’s not true every time Yaz smiles at her or Ryan tries to show her how to do a fist bump or Graham puts a hand on her shoulder.

And she still doesn’t know what she’s running from.

It’s not until a particularly difficult adventure that she realizes, sitting in the console room, curled up on the floor, that she’s running away from herself, and she has been for years. She had to make decisions, decisions that could have killed millions but only killed thousands, and she hates herself for them, wants to escape, wants to become someone else, someone not responsible for these things.

She could, she knows. She could follow the fam back to Sheffield, or set up shop on some tiny backwater planet somewhere, and decide she’s never making another decision ever again. It’s just that, well— the Time Lords aren’t exactly active these days, and so if she stops, then there’s no one.

She sits with this realization for a moment. It hurts. It’s always hurt, though, and she just hasn’t always known it’s been hurting— now she knows, she can’t forget, and the pain is so much sharper, but that in and of itself is a sign that it’s always been there, grinding away at the back of her mind.

So she’s been living with it, and she can keep living with it. Good. She has to. She has to keep running, because if she’s still, she’s still with herself.

She barely keeps it together until the others get up. The minute Graham comes into the console room, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and tucking his cheese-and-pickle sandwich into his jacket pocket, the Doctor jumps up and starts rambling about where they might go today, listing off every place that comes to mind— New Venice Beach, Kriterra, a dwarf planet so small it has no name— places she’s never even remotely wanted to go, but places she’s now considering just because she needs to run.

They go to a few of them. A couple tourist traps, a couple backwaters, a couple cities. Nothing big happens, which is probably for the best. The Doctor needs a break. Until they’re in an art museum on Cea 3, stuck in a crowd, and the Doctor can’t take it anymore. She can’t move, there’s a crowd and she can’t move, can’t breathe, needs to get out, needs to leave.

She taps Yaz on the shoulder.

“I’m going to go off and see if I can find the toilets,” she says. “Meet you at the other end?”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Yaz asks.

“Nah, I’m all right,” the Doctor says, although her wobbly smile says she’s not all right.

Yaz, bless her, ignores the wobbly smile and says, “Okay, then,” before turning back to the sculpture they’d all been trying to get a glimpse at.

The Doctor flees. She pushes through the crowd as fast as she can, elbowing people right and left until she gets to a doorway into an emptier room, and then she walks, not looking where she’s going, towards the next doorway, consumed with the need to leavegetoutrunaway go.

She walks right into someone, between the abstract sculpture and the ancient paintings.

She doesn’t know who it is, she just knows she's got half an apology already out of her mouth before she registers that they haven't backed away, haven't apologized, haven't pushed past her. They're just-- inexplicably, they're holding her, and they whisper— “It’s okay, Doctor.”

“It’s not,” she says, before she even thinks to ask, “Who are you?”

“Oh, you know me,” the person says, and their voice is a little louder, and it sparks a sort of recognition the Doctor thought was long dead.

“Rose?” she breathes, her voice high and desperate. “Oh, don’t give me hope, please.”

“It’s not hope,” Rose says. “It’s me.”

The Doctor finally looks up and—

It is her, but it feels like a fever dream, and there are warm arms around her and soft eyes meeting hers and if it’s a dream she doesn’t want to wake up because this is so much better than having to do anything alone.

“I was running,” the Doctor says.

“I thought you were,” Rose agrees.

“How are you here?” the Doctor asks.

“Bad Wolf,” Rose says, smiling. “I’m connected to the TARDIS. Sort of part of her, now. I just didn’t figure it out until I lived out a good long human life without aging and got myself back into the universe with your TARDIS.”

It doesn’t make sense, but somehow it makes perfect sense.

“Breaking all the rules of time and space,” the Doctor says. “That’s my Rose.”

Rose doesn’t answer that. She just holds the Doctor closer.

“Run with me?” the Doctor asks, already thinking how much less painful it’ll be with Rose along, balancing her, helping her make the tough decisions, connected to the TARDIS and the Time Vortex and so, so good. It’ll still hurt, but— Rose always made her feel better. Less like she needed to run away from herself and more like she needed to run to the next adventure and run with Rose by her side.

“I’ll always run with you,” Rose says, and the Doctor almost cries right then and there. “I established that years ago. And I’ll stand still with you, too.”

“I wish I could,” the Doctor says into Rose’s shoulder. “Stand still. Go off somewhere with you.”

“I know,” Rose says. “Let’s just settle for seeing the art for now, yeah?”

The Doctor nods against Rose’s jacket, and then she pulls away.

She takes Rose’s hand.

This time, they walk.

[aquilaofarkham]

title: the harder the rain, honey, the sweeter the sun rating: T+  word count: 3,015 summary: Trevor and Sypha never thought that vampires—even half vampires—could ever get sick but when Alucard succumbs to a fever during a rainstorm, they discover that there’s still much to learn about their friend. 

For @kamek 💛 Thanks so much for commissioning me!

READ HERE

“You’ve been coughing for an hour.”

It hasn’t actually been an hour; or has it? It feels that way. Time flows differently when it rains as a constant, all-consuming mist. Things seem to go on for much longer than they really should. The annoyed hunter and his equally annoyed companion could have been working on their wagon’s broken wheel for as long as he just suggested, or a mere ten horrid minutes could have passed instead. Who can say in such miserable circumstances.

“You exaggerate.”

Alucard’s voice comes out not as smooth, dulcet tones but as a hoarse, ugly rasp. Rather than the words themselves, he coughs them out half-formed and pained. Trevor wishes he were in a better mood so that he could jest and say he sounds like his late grandmother whenever she smoked strong tobacco in her curved pipe. Instead they work in frustrated silence, not one inch of their bodies dry. At least Trevor does what he can to cover himself; Alucard doesn’t seem to care that his good coat and gloves with their gold embellishments are both ruined beyond repair. Nor does he notice how his long strands of hair stick against his forehead then tumble down his face like soaked rags.

A hooded figure in blue sits at the front of the wagon keeping a watchful eye on the road, though there isn’t much to be seen. Not long ago, she used to wait in anticipation for whatever creatures might mistake their caravans as an easy dinner consisting of one distressed damsel and her two manservants. A few steps closer then flames would fly, the blade of a needle sharp sword would sing, and Trevor would forgo his whip in favour of fists just for the challenge of it all.

Today she waits for the rain to stop and for the boys to stop fiddling with that damn wheel before one of them breaks a finger. They’ll survive one night with their transport incapacitated.

Sypha curls in on herself, using her robes as both dry shelter and a warm blanket; a way of giving herself momentary comfort. This personal method feels more familiar to her than the two men working tirelessly (and fruitlessly) behind her do. Most times it’s a failed effort, which is why Sypha has always preferred the company of others so that she doesn’t have to shoulder a sense, or rather, the responsibility of loneliness.

Alucard likes to be alone sometimes; Trevor is overly familiar with it as well. He grew up with loneliness like it was a childhood friend. Sypha can’t stand to be alone. It’s not in her nature nor in her blood.

Rain always makes her mind wander, often to places she would rather it stay away from. To distract herself from those sorts of thoughts, she tries listening to whatever Trevor and Alucard are saying to each other. Perhaps some of their usual banter or one upmanship they’ve become masters of. What she hears does nothing to ease her concerns. Trevor’s is the only voice she can make out clearly. Alucard barely sounds human.

“Keep… keep holding up… the wagon, you…” Every other word is interlaced with a chorus of dry coughs into his elbow. Trevor doesn’t want to know what comes after that “you” and Alucard has no energy to tell him.

“Fuck the wagon and the wheel. You need to drink something.”

“Why don’t you… give me a drink… from you…” Alucard keeps an arm over his mouth while his other hand steadies himself against the canvas covering. By drink, Trevor assumes he meant his blood, but Alucard’s worsening state already ruined any levity of his poorly executed quip. He watches how his friend sways from all sides, his head lobbing around as though it were a boulder attached to his neck. If Alucard weren’t coughing or paler than ever, he might be mistaken for a drunk.

And if Trevor were the same man he was mere months ago, he might feel some sick pleasure in seeing the sulky half-vampire prince like this—but that was then. A time he doesn’t look back upon fondly.

“Let’s get you inside.” He lets go of the wagon before it leaves any more splinters in his skin and places them on something he’d much rather hold instead.

“Let me go… we need to… fix and go…”

“You need to shut up before you run your throat raw and bloodied.” For once, Alucard is rather complacent in Trevor’s arms (he has no energy to struggle against him otherwise). Are half blooded vampires usually this warm? No, Trevor tells himself. This sort of warmth burns and hurts. As he helps Alucard into the wagon, Sypha joins them.

“What’s wrong? Did he injure himself?” Once inside, they remove their hoods and clear an area for a makeshift bed. Hay and blankets may seem beneath the Tepes prince but for Trevor and Sypha, they are luxury items.

“No. Stubborn ass just got himself sick. Probably from all that cold and rain.”

“I never thought that could happen to him of all people.” Sypha’s comment is one of both curious surprise and genuine worry.

“Well, we learn something new everyday.”

“Are we near any villages?”

“Not for miles.” Trevor isn’t even sure if he wants to leave Alucard in the care of a normal Wallachian healer. Too many risks, too many possibilities that he might leave this world the same way his mother did. “Can’t you perform a healing spell or something?”

“My magic can only manipulate elements like fire and water, not the human body.” Without thinking (and perhaps knowing), Sypha picks at the scars on her right bicep, healed by her own flames. “If I were a scholar of that kind of magic, I would be invincible and there’s no fun in that.”

“Garlic…” A weak voice interrupts. Trevor and Sypha turn their attention downwards at Alucard, eyes shut, struggling against the resistance of his own worn throat. “Get… garlic… echin… cea…”

“What was that last thing?”

“Ech… what?”

“Flower… purple petals…”

Deciphering Alucard’s request comes easier to Sypha than to Trevor. “Echinacea! It’s a flower that can be used for medicine. If we mix it with the garlic in a broth, it might help him.” Before Yrevor can come up with a cynical response regarding the lack of garlic and echinacea with the rest of their dwindling supplies, Sypha has her hood raised and a basket in hand. “I’ll go look for some in the woods.”

“Will you be alright out there?” Trevor glances through the canvas slit leading outside; the skies went dark minutes ago and the rain has picked up.

“Of course! You look after Alucard, I will be back shortly.” A quick kiss on Trevor’s cheek and a light caress across Alucard’s burning forehead before they lose Sypha to the outside world. The optimism in her eyes, the same kind that matches her tone, used to be so infectious. But Trevor is too distracted by the heavy drops of rain battering down upon their meager shelter.

--

Alucard’s breathing doesn’t occur naturally; what little air there is in his lungs forces its way out through trembling colourless lips. More strained whimpers than breaths. Like Sypha, Trevor never believed it was possible for him to be in such a weakened state he can barely lift his head. His eyes are shut tightly but he cannot sleep. Every time Trevor lowers a cloth, wiping away as much sweat as he can from his forehead and cheeks, he can feel Alucard’s unbearable warmth. It seems no amount of cold rainwater collected in a bucket will help bring him respite.

“Come on.” Trevor says, wringing out the cloth before repeating the same process, the only thing he can do for now. “You survived Dracula twice. A little cough isn’t gonna be the end of you.”

Alucard always has something to say, always some witty repartee or equally sarcastic remark. Never before has the sulky, brattish, beautiful half-vampire left Trevor in absolute silence. If it’s not through spoken words then it’s through gestures; a smile coupled with a raised middle finger that’s not to be taken seriously. Never before until now.

“You’ll be fine you dramatic bastard.”

None of this seems right, not to Trevor at least. Vampires never feel sick; they never feel anything according to the family bestiary. Only the agony of fire and consecrated steel among others. That side of Alucard’s heritage should offer him some protection against nature’s uglier natural causes. We learn something new everyday. This unwelcome discovery concerning their companion weighs heavy on Trevor’s confidence and fragile optimism. It’s not long before they’re both killed outright despite his best efforts.

“Sorry. I know this isn’t your fault. None of this is.”

On the surface, Trevor apologizes for nothing. Yet still, he knows he must acknowledge what’s underneath. Everything from the mounting frustration over that broken wheel, the worry he feels regarding Sypha’s whereabouts, and the misplaced anger that someone as strong as Alucard could succumb to something so stupidly human. Saying it all while Alucard is more delirious than a nun who has just found rapture might be cheating, but at least he can say it.

“I’m not good at this sort of thing. For as long as I can remember, I had to take care of myself and... it was always rough love with me. No one cares that you’re hurt or if you feel like shit, get up and keep moving. Probably not the best approach. To be honest, I panicked a little when Sypha told me to look after you.” Another pause and Trevor wipes his forehead again, only with more tenderness.

“I’ll do my best to treat you better than how I treated myself.”

Alucard stirs, shifting his head away from the damp cloth. Trevor backs off with the fear that he heard every single ramble he should have kept locked away in his closely guarded heart. A few strenuous groans later and he finally speaks.

“Blanket… Lisa gave me… water…”

Trevor discerns three words: blanket, Lisa, and water. He can give Alucard two of those; the third one might be harder. Scrambling from one corner of the wagon to the next, Trevor covers him with a second blanket and guides his mouth towards the opening of a leather water canteen.

“Come on, one more sip. That wasn’t so hard, was it? Sypha will be back soon and you’ll be right as rain.” They’re not lies persay, but Trevor still cannot say them with certainty. Before he has the chance to give him more, Alucard interrupts.

“Miss her… so much. No time… I never said… goodbye I never… said… thank you. For every… thing.”

Alucard’s eyes close even tighter along with his lips, as though desperate to hold something back. Something he’ll never let anyone see. Trevor places a tentative hand on his matted hair, drenched in sweat. A gesture of empathy or he knows what it feels like to never say goodbye to those gone from your life as well.

“Sleep. Just sleep.” A tall order to ask of him.

--

Sypha once read a book she found in the annals of the Belmont archive; a series of poems collected into a singular narrative originally written in Italian. She managed through the introductory cantos before pulling herself away from the temptation of distraction. There wasn’t much to remember from what little she read save for the first few lines.

Midway upon the journey of our life

I found myself within a forest dark

For the straightforward past had been lost

As Sypha continues further into the woods, basket empty and soaked down to her bones, those lyrics prode at her thoughts like devilish taunts. She’s not lost, but she must admit that her trek through mud and prickly bushes has gone on for longer than she hoped for. Not even the poor little light emanating between her index and pinky finger is enough to withstand the downpour of rain along with the darkness of night.

Another outsticking root catches Sypha’s root, causing her to stumble forward. Though it doesn’t show on her face, her mind flies into a rage. How fucking hard can it be to find some fucking common plants in the middle of the fucking forest? If Trevor or Alucard ever heard her say that, they would be shocked into silence. Yes, she can explode a vampire’s internal organs into flames but god forbid she curse as much as her two boys do.

Sypha stops to catch her breath and refocus her thoughts. Anger is good, anger helps push her forward. It’s been with her since childhood, helping her survive, but this anger is directed at nothing. All it does is exhaust her more than the rain. It won’t make her dryer, it won’t clear a path through the dense foliage, and it certainly won’t make wild garlic and echinacea flowers magically appear in her hands. Sypha has to do that herself.

The light between her fingertips begins to fade but only because Sypha’s attention is somewhere else. She looks ahead and sees the same sort of light amongst the trees, dim yet noticeable against the monsoon. They float off the ground as graceful little flames of blue and form a path where there was none before. There they stay, patient, waiting for somehow to follow.

Sypha is very much aware of these tiny creatures. They have many names ranging from fairy lights to wil-o-wisps; frivolous, unassuming names that mask their true motives. How they lure lost travelers to their death for they too are the remaining souls of those who met their ends in nature’s grasp. A bedtime story meant to warn children about walking alone in the woods, but like most Wallachian stories, it holds true.

Sypha takes her first step along their path. She may regret this in the worst way but what else is there to do. The thought of Trevor and Alucard (Alucard especially) propels her, even if she is putting her fate in the hands of dead spirits.

A few more twigs and branches scrape at her wet cheeks. One foot begins to cramp up, causing a limp in her step, and yet she follows the lights nonetheless. At least she isn’t dead yet.

Sypha won’t die; not tonight. Upon reaching the end of the pathway, she finds herself surrounded by the very things she needs so desperately. For the first time, and what might be the only time, she’s grateful for Wallachia’s creatures.

--

Dreams, memories, and hallucinations all mean the same to Alucard. They meld together until he can no longer differentiate between reality and whatever his mind conjures up. He thinks he’ll stay in this one at the moment, for it’s a happy moment this time. Where everyone called him Adrian, not yet Alucard. Warm underneath a quilted blanket made by his mother and father, sheltered by the walls of his sanctuary.

A woman with the same golden hair as his leans over him and removes a stick-like device from his mouth. She examines it with a furrowed brow before placing something soft next to his head: a hand sewn wolf doll stuffed of downy feathers with glass eyes and a leather nose. “It’s a good day to stay in bed.” The woman tells him, rubbing his hot forehead with her soft hand. She smiles; always smiling in his memories of childhood.

After tucking him in and disappearing for only a moment, she returns holding a steaming bowl. Alucard does his best to sit up while the woman guides a spoonful of soup into his mouth then another. It tastes of garlic and fresh herbs; it tastes of a home that once was and might never be again.

“I think he’s coming to…”

The scene of Alucard’s bedroom fades as his heavy eyelids force themselves open. Sounds of steady rain tapping against stretched canvas fills his ears, mingled with two faint yet recognizable voices. His lips feel warm and there’s a strong aftertaste lingering on his tongue. Was it really just a wishful dream?

Another surge of watery garlic and herbs enters through his mouth, slowly and carefully, while a rough hand helps prop his head up. Without thinking too much about it, Alucard assumes the one feeding him hot broth is Sypha and the one holding him is Trevor. His train of muddled, foggy thought suddenly changes when he realizes that Sypha has returned. She was successful and they are all together. They are all safe.

“Don’t you worry, Al. We’ve got enough garlic and flowers to last us for days.” Trevor chuckles at the nickname he will no doubt force upon Alucard in the near future. “How in the hell did you find so much anyway?”

Sypha tells a little white lie. Neither of them need to concern themselves over the possibility of dead souls roaming the very forest that surrounds their wagon. “I must have gotten lucky.”

“Who mixed the soup?” Alucard asks, his voice much clearer.

“Trevor did.”

“... I can tell.”

Trevor’s grin is wiped clean off his face along with any sense of smugness. He and Sypha switch places with her assisting Alucard and him in charge of the stew. “I hope for your sake you meant that as a compliment.”

Alucard won’t say. But he does manage a smile of his own as he’s fed a few more hearty spoonfuls. He doesn’t grimace or spit it back out; a good enough sign.

“Now sleep for god’s sake.”

Alucard thanks both of them, though it comes out as a tired mumble before his eyes close and his still pale face relaxes. Trevor and Sypha stare at him before turning towards each other, nevertheless feeling a joined sense of relief. They watch over Alucard for a while longer, huddled together for warmth, weary yet calm expressions basked in shadows caused by the one lantern they managed to hang above them. Oddly soothed by the now gentler rain.

No one dares mention the broken wheel.

[monitorchakas]

Guilty Spark for the character ask my friend

Ahhhhhhh finally get to fangirl about my #1 favorite character in halo 😍

Major book spoilers below. (No Shadows of Reach spoilers though lol)

So decided going to cover both Spark S/ and Chakas C/ separately since they so widely different

Why I like them

I loved Spark even before 343i expanded his story, Ive always liked A.I. Im a huge fan of Portal and Space Odyssey. (That one part in primordium when Spark starts shutting down oxygen on the rubicon, Hal 9000 move right there)

343i expanding his story definitely made him imo, one of the most interesting halo character in the halo universe.

I remember being obsessed with Bornstellar Chakas and Riser in Cryptum and being super excited for Primordium. I remember wondering how or when Spark would show up since he was the live forerunner connection ingame. I remember reading Primordium while playing through Halo CEA and starting to suspect the Chakas/Spark connection since in the terminals Spark's very fond of the Librarian just as Chakas was.

It was cool how compartmentalization mention in Primordium was consistent with Halo 3 the Ark terminal.

I love Chakas, I loved how he was just a stupid adventurous rough kid with his smol bff stopping him from getting into too much trouble. I love the relationship he formed with Bornstellar, which continued even after he was turned into a monitor.

I love the ghost in the shell concept of an ai straight from a human mind, the way that mind can be manipulated so their memories are hidden, the effects that had on him. The way it turned him into another self.

Then in Renegades when he gets his memories back and he looks back at his two identities or phases of life (Chakas and Guilty Spark) and became a third self. 😍 He accepted the both lives he had and grew from those experiences. He still has those fond memories of being human (and misses all his friends and family) and still tells people he's human, but he also doesn't forget the trauma he endured and caused on others while being Guilty Spark.

The way Spark finally let go of his past (stolen away by forerunners) and accepted his new reality. I mean we all kinda knew he wouldn't live in the domain forever especially after making friends with Ace of Spades crew, but it was a fun read nonetheless

Its crazy how his character pretty much spans the entire lore, and I can't wait to see what him and his found fam do next!!

Why I don’t

S/ I mean he did kill Johnson....

(But I don't really blame him for it)

C/ LOOOVE HIM

Favorite episode (scene if movie)

S/ Halo CEA terminals or the Ark cutscene

C/ Beginning of Cryptum when Riser and him met Bornstellar and later the Didact up until when they get separated

S/ when he finally returns to Erde Tyrene...

Favorite book

Renegades - best redemption arc and character development yet. I feel like after this book his life story is completed and hes finally for the first time since he left Earth happy again

Primordium 😍 love reading from the Chakas perspective and all the mystery and terror he found

Favorite line (I have 3 lmao)

S/ "Save his head, dispose of the rest"

C/ (well at this point he's a monitor but he still has all his memories so its going under Chakas)

to Bornstellar "Chakas could have murdered you in your sleep back on Erde Tyrene, and he didnt"

C/ "I still had difficulty thinking of the sky as something other than a great spreading flatness, on which little glowing insects moved, and occasionaly someone opened up a door to let in light from outside. Old teachings die hard."

Favorite outfit

I like how he looks in the halo ce anniversary terminals, in halo 3, and in renegades ☺

I haaaate how he looks in halo 2 anniversary

OTP

C/ Vinnevra 😍

S/ forever alone as a monitor but

As the armiger he kinda had some chemistry with Rion idk...

Brotp

S/ his Sentinels 🤣

C/ Riser and secondary Bornstellar

Head Canon

Spark takes Lessa and Niko on vacation to disneyworld 🤣

Unpopular opinion

S/ He should not be blamed for his actions during the time that his memories were compartmentalized. He was just following (vague) instructions and protocol to the best of his ability and he was obviously not ready for the isolation he endured, nor was he ready to take care of that ring. He thought he was doing what was right, he doesn't really know better

Blame Librarian for all he did. She's ultimately the one that left him there alone. She's the one that brainwashed him as a human into loving her

A wish

S/ I know I shouldn't complain considering how much expanded lore he has but I wish they had made 1 terminal for the part where Tartarus brings Spark to Truth and Mercy. At that point Spark still remembered how manipulative their species was.

C/ I wish they hadn't composed him and stuck him in a monitor and taken him away from his friends and girlfriend... I wish Librarian had let him return to Earth

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen

S/ Oh god please dont kill any more members of the Ace of Spades.

5 words to best describe them

S/ Complicated, sad, lonely, confused, cold

C/ adventurous, mischievous, fun, naive, loyal

My nickname for them

S/ Sparky

C/ Chakas when the walls fell / inland boy lmao

I literally could write more but Im going to stop myself now lmao

If there's parts that dont make sense, tumblr mobile kept deleting stuff and Im also not the best at writing lolol this is more like rambling

[velancea]

hey! per that ask list thingy, gimmie any of your gw2 characters with 1, 2, 6, and 9 :D

Thank you so much! Gonna use the Cabbage because I take any chance I can to ramble about her! And boy do I mean ramble… Answers under the cut lol

1: What does your character’s name mean? Did you pick it for the symbolism, or did you just like the way it sounded?

- I believe I had gone through a long list of names when creating Vel, but I don’t remember which ones I had planned to use. I remember eventually wanting Valencia. I wanted it for both meaning, how I perceived the meaning, and how it sounded. The name Valencia typically means brave and strong, and when I hear the name, I think of a fearless woman who will charge head-first into battle. Of course, Valencia was taken, and so were many variations I had used (even the crazy ones - I didn’t know about being able to use accents yet). Finally, I switched the first ‘a’ and the first ‘e’ around, and rather than the ending of ‘cia’ I used ‘cea.’ And thus Velancea was born (pronounced vel-ahn-see-uh), and I got through right away (it was a HUGE relief to finally see the cutscene start).

It took a little getting used to, but now I definitely like her name better than what I had originally wanted. To me, Vel seems like an even fiercer warrior (NOT to say that Val wouldn’t have been. I’m bad with words). I love her name to bits now and always have fun saying it aloud.

2: What is one of your character’s biggest insecurities? Are they able to hide it well or can others easily exploit this weakness?

- A big insecurity of Vel’s is likely her entire role in the world. She feels as though eyes are always on her and that if she leads a group wrong or slips up, she’ll be letting the entire world down. The weight is always over her shoulders, reminding her she has to be good enough for everyone. To help with this, she is always asking for the thoughts and opinions of the group before doing something, unless it’s for herself, like her dumb fit-the-key-in-the-lock adventure that always causes a bit of a distraction.

  She believes she can hide the insecurity rather well, but those who know her well enough are able to pick up on it, and she trusts them to never use it against her.

6: Do they have any hobbies their lover finds unusual, odd, or otherwise annoying?

- Let’s go back to the key and lock situation, shall we? A long while back, Vel was tasked with diving into the ocean to retrieve something that had fallen into the water. While she was down there, she caught sight of a rather ornate key, and brought it up to shore with her.

  This was back when she was just starting out in the vigil.

  Since then, she has stopped at every single lock she has ever come across to try and fit this key into it, determined to find its true home. Each time so far has been unsuccessful.

  Now, Canach wouldn’t find this too terrible if it were within reason (she still gets sidetracked and off course when she finds a potential fitting lock and it can get very irritating); however, Vel does this with every lock. Every. Single. One. Be the lock too large, too small, or just clearly not something that this key could fit into - no matter what the lock looks like, Vel is testing it out.

  After the events of A Star to Guide us, Canach had demanded to know what the state of their relationship was (they had little emotional contact since their FWB situation in Maguuma, and the poor cactus had up and fallen in love). Vel found it difficult to tell him how she felt, as she was worried that with Kralk on the loose, she could lose him very easily, and not admitting her feelings would somehow make losing him easier (it would probably do the opposite, but she just let herself believe that). She told him that once Kralk was said and done with, she would seek him and and they would discuss them and their possible future. Of course, she had deliberately avoided Canach multiple times as to keep from his questioning, and he asked her how he knew she would actually come around. It was then that Vel decided to give him something over hers to assure she would seek him out. She gave him her beloved key (he mocked her, saying that it now meant she would be unable to use it while it was in his possession, and Vel realized her mistake).

9: Do they have a favorite season? What about a favorite holiday?

- Vel loves winter and spring (mostly the spring-to-summer transition period). She loves both the snow that winter brings and the breezy warm weather that spring does.

As for holidays, she loves all that Tyria has to offer, but absolutely adores Wintersday. It wasn’t until recently that Vel had discovered the holiday for the first time in her life, and she was absolutely ecstatic with her discovery - so much so that she’d forgotten what she had gone to Divinity’s Reach for in the first place.

When Laranthir found out, he gifted her a terracotta antique warhammer - something she never ventures without.

[twasforresearch]

mcga fandom have you considered: good omens au

[twasforresearch]

my friend just told me jonny d'ville sounds like the peppa pig narrator i can't fuckin unhear it

[twasforresearch]

if you had a character customization screen for yourself, what's the first change you would make?

ooh fun question!! hair. definitely hair. my current style is absolute sensory hell on the neck so any opportunities to get it shorter are going to be seized with both hands. i dont know if this properly counts as character customization but id wanna give myself a cool cane for knee reasons (silly answer: make myself taller lmao)

[twasforresearch]

[gesturing wildly at nothing] SO WHAT IF LORD OF THE RINGS MECHANISMS STYLE,

[twasforresearch]

well damn thats cool

[twasforresearch]

ok i finished watching tangled, here's an infodump of tpp tangled au notes

first of all, my friend was correct, it is a great movie. 10/10 would rewatch and almost cry during i see the light. and now, notes!

(much thanks to @of-swords-and-princes and @waters-and-the-wilde for coming up with cool ideas in the tags and replies)

i think miasma suits the gothel role better?? gothel kidnapping rapunzel for her magic hair is similar to miasma kidnapping juno for the mindreading pill

i'm not sure when i want juno to get yoinked, but maybe a little older than rapunzel was

the next thing in my notes just says 'hyperion kingdom [GUITAR]'

small fry is pascal and ruby is maximus

implies ruby is a green horse? cursed, but anyways

not exactly fleshing out the au but my first thought when eugene was tied to the chair was 'oh juno usually not until the second date'

make of that what you will

lighthouse bar is the snuggly duckling

they meet buddy, vespa, and jet at the lighthouse

REAL NAME REVEAL!!

on the topic of names: peter went by rex glass in the beginning but is known as peter ransom at the lighthouse

there's an entry in here that says 'first heist GONE WRONG???? GONE MURDEROUS??? figure this out later'

i'm assuming it's about the angel of brahma thing

juno and ruby ganging up on peter, that is all

the part where they make it so rapunzel thinks eugene left her has BIG final resting place vibes

peter is tricked into going up the tower, cue canonical torture scene

BENTEN IS ALIVE BECAUSE I SAY SO

juno Does Not want to be on the throne so in official records he's still missing but actually he's just with the aurinkos

rita is a friend juno made at the festival?? also to figure out later that's all i've got rn! there's a million different sketches in my head so that's gonna happen

[twasforresearch]

yknow what fuck it, i'm gonna listen to wooden overcoats, it's been on my to listen for a while so might as well