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pompompurin1028 · 2 years

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The Flowers are Blooming

Summary: Helping Dazai to blow dry and comb his hair

Pairing: Dazai x reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

A/N: I miss writing soft Dazai, I hadn’t written that in a good while orz, I just kind of wanted a kind of vulnerable Dazai, some tender moments with Dazai. I guess you can say this is my take on the quote I sent Lav for inspiration for this beautiful fanart she made for my request

My Masterlist

The morning drizzle came about as a whisper in the air, slowly embracing the city with its darkening clouds.

For most, it perhaps came by inconspicuously, unnoticed, until the atmosphere is filled with the familiar sounds of murmuring against the windows, their rooms darkened as they awake, as the raindrops running across their windows obscured and blurred the lights of the city.

Yet, with the summer heat building up in the air over the past few days, bringing your daily routine to a gradual pause, guiding the usually faced-paced and busy city of Yokohama to a slow, to you, the morning weather did not come to much of a surprise. But the sounds of people scrambling for cover, and the exasperations of forgetting their umbrellas among the streets below your shared apartment proved you otherwise.

Perhaps your notings and indifference were merely affected by your surroundings. Especially when you found a surprisingly foreign sense of calmness that surrounded the typically hectic agency as of late, so much so that it was possible to take a day off from work. Or perhaps, it was the growing weight that surrounded Dazai during this time that made the past few days feel… off. Even when his typically comic behaviours continued as per usual. You found, at times, they almost seemed to border on being absurd, and almost even strained. Even when it was just the two of you, it still felt as if a blanket of lethargy enveloped him even more so than usual despite the awareness that pathos usually lies hidden beneath his masks.

“Are people running about in the rain more interesting to you than I am?” Familiar bandaged arms snuck around your waist, pulling you towards his lithe form, surrounding you in warmth.

Slightly startled by the sound of his voice and his arms around you, you stiffened slightly before you found yourself relaxing in his familiar embrace. Though, you admit, the way he circled his arms around felt almost a little tighter than usual, as if wanting to hold you as close as possible. The way he rested his chin upon your shoulder also bore a little more weight than you're used to. And it was then you reasoned to yourself that this strangeness Dazai's behaviour seemed to harbour was not just a figment of your imagination. For Dazai was never quite one to voice his troubles, even with you, you know he still finds himself hesitant to reveal them entirely.

"Of course not, Dazai." You would never quite admit to him that he was in fact the person that was on your mind. Though you knew, he probably didn't have to press much to know anyway.

“So, won’t you come back to bed instead?” Softening his voice to a whisper, like he was breathing out a silent plea, he pressed a kiss against your temple, almost as if he were luring you in like a siren.

Stifling in a yawn, at the sense of drowsiness you found seeping into you. With the warmth and the lullaby of the rain surrounding you, you were almost tempted by his enticing offer to go back to sleep. But the softness of his voice, lacking his usual teasing, lingered a rare sense of seeming defenselessness beneath its apparent coaxing, kept you from accepting his all too beguiling invitation.

“How about we run you a bath instead? I think it would be relaxing.” Suggesting the idea to Dazai as casually as you could, in the attempt to test the waters when it comes to offering him your care. “How does that sound?"

"Are you trying to suggest something, my love?" You could almost imagine a playful smirk on his face that he usually wore on his face to tease you which made you roll your eyes at his unruly question. "Ah, but does that mean I'll get to be fussed over by you? Now doesn't that sound lovely?"

"... do you mean you'd like me to care for you?" Your question escaped your lips as a whisper, so softly you were almost afraid Dazai couldn’t hear it.

Silence fell over the two of you at the utterance of your words, save for the steady drumming of the rain against the windows. But amid this moment, you could swear you heard him take in a sharp breath.

That was how Dazai found himself sitting down in a chair in your shared room. Water was dripping from his hair as he sat, like raindrops falling steadily upon the window. Slumped slightly in the chair, thoughts teemed in his head at the current situation.

Part of him wasn’t quite sure what exactly had overtaken him to have him agree to your care when he wordlessly followed your suggestion and found himself now, here, waiting for you to return. He had scarcely felt so weak. No, that isn’t right, as a wry smile met his lips. Perhaps vulnerable was the better word.

Such elaborate attempts he created to estrange himself from others, to keep them away, to seal away his heart. Yet these ropes he seemed to put before his heart seemed to only untangle themselves in your gentle hands. No, with each step closer to him, they seemed to untangle themselves for you. Even as he tried to keep you away, closing up his heart to you as you continued forwards.

The touch of your fingers against the hair that rested on his neck withdrew him from his daze. You found him seeming to tremble gently as you fixed at them, placing a towel against his neck and slowly reaching up to press against the wetness of his hair. You weren’t quite certain whether it was from the cold or your touch.

“Sorry, did I take too long?” you spoke in a hushed voice, patting his hair dry. “I’m going to comb out your hair first. I heard you should brush wavy hair like yours when it's wet. Tell me if it hurts too much, ‘kay?”

“You even looked up how to care for my hair? Isn't that kind of you, my love?” You could imagine the playful smile on his lips as you began combing his hair. Attempting to smooth out all the knots and tangles caught between them.

“Oh, shut it. Don't you think that's the fault of someone who naturally has such beautiful hair?” You heard Dazai chuckle at your response. Rolling your eyes at him, you continued with your motions, yet you couldn't hide the fond smile that came to your lips. But you could swear that there was something slightly different about his laugh. Perhaps it was a bit lighter than usual. “... I just think it is something worth taking care of, you know?”

Quietness blanketed the two of you again, and you were left with but the sounds of the fans of the hairdryer and the melodies of the rain.

However, Dazai felt like he was burning, or perhaps it was from the heat of the hairdryer you were blasting behind him. Yet, it felt like flames were lapping even in his heart, filling him with red heat. Almost like he's melting, softening like candle wax beneath its flickering companion and slowly trickling into your touch like the beads of water from his hair. And as he melts, it almost feels like he's sinking… Beneath these sensations he could not quite capture, even if he were to pick at the bottom of his heart.

Yet, though Dazai cannot quite explain why, these waters almost felt soothing, subduing the embers that burned his heart. They embraced him rather than inflicted pain on him. It felt almost enlivening. As if they were slowly and steadily nurturing flowers in places that he didn’t know were still alive, in the soils of his heart he had thought to be barren and void of life.

And when you brushed aside his bangs to lay a kiss upon his forehead from behind after you had deemed your job done. The flowers that had somehow found roots in his heart seemed to sprout, filling his heart, reaching even his throat…

Turning towards you, his hands reached out to grasp his in yours, before his eyes searched to meet yours. “Y/N… Thank you.” With these words, his lips drew into a gentle smile.

Although rain continued to pour, it appears that the flowers are beginning to bloom.

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#dazai x reader #bsd x reader #dazai x you #dazai x y/n #bsd dazai #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #bungou stray dogs x y/n #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x you #bsd fanfic #bsd fanfiction #bungou stray dogs fanfiction #bungou stray dogs fanfic #kat writes📝#✒️ . he that reigns and lives within my thoughts

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ogradyfilm · 3 years

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The Art of Heroic Villainy: Xu Wenwu (Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings)

In my Black Widow review, I argued:

The villains, sadly, are far less compelling and memorable, existing only as shallow, generic obstacles almost entirely devoid of motivation or characterization. Still, they serve their purpose within the overarching structure of the script, which is (for the most part) sturdy enough to overcome such minor blemishes.

Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings, on the other hand, swerves towards the opposite extreme, making its primary antagonist its most interesting and nuanced character. The film even begins by delving into his origin, rather than the hero’s, establishing Tony Leung’s Xu Wenwu (known in the comics as “The Mandarin”—an appellation that the cinematic version abhors) as an ancient warlord granted supernatural abilities and immortality by the eponymous mystical (or possibly extraterrestrial) weapons. As the extended flashback progresses into modern times, however, Wenwu—now the leader of a vast, globe-spanning criminal organization—finds that conquest and bloodshed no longer satisfy him. He wants something more… though he is incapable of articulating precisely what.

He discovers the answer in an enchanted forest, in the midst of battle against Ying Li, the guardian of a border between dimensions. Her graceful style of combat easily thwarts his brute force tactics; gradually, through balletic choreography and lingering slow-motion glances that would make Wong Kar-wai proud, fighting seamlessly transitions into wordless flirting, and the two warriors fall madly in love.

Surprisingly, there is no ulterior motive behind Wenwu’s courtship of Ying Li; he genuinely adores her, and willingly abandons his empire and forsakes the power of the Ten Rings in order to raise a family with her. Later scenes depict their wedded bliss in detail, further developing Wenwu’s delicious complexity. While Thanos is certainly a compelling villain, it’s impossible to imagine him playing Dance Dance Revolution with his hypothetical wife and children; in Wenwu’s case, though, such an unconventional (indeed, borderline absurd) image is an organic and integral component of his personality.

Even in the movie’s “present day,” when Ying Li’s tragic death has motivated Wenwu to revert to his wicked and cruel persona in order to discourage subsequent assassination attempts, he never indulges in any generic “bad guy” behaviors. When he confronts Shang-Chi for the first time in a decade, for example, he doesn’t mock or belittle him for falling short of his potential; instead, he warmly embraces his estranged son and sincerely invites him back home. When he treats Shang-Chi and his companions to dinner, the sequence lacks the sinister subtext that pervades the lavish banquets often shared by Bond and his foes; it’s simply a quiet, intimate (albeit extremely awkward) family meal.

His most illuminating and impactful moment occurs immediately after he reveals his plan to invade his wife’s homeland, under the mistaken belief that her soul has been imprisoned there as punishment for their forbidden marriage. When Shang-Chi asks what he intends to do if the locals oppose him, he casually replies, “I’ll burn their village to the ground.” His words are devoid of malice; it isn’t a threat, but a blunt statement of fact. He doesn’t sneer or scowl, doesn’t posture or growl; he speaks with the same relaxed, nonchalant tone as a husband promising to buy milk and eggs on the way home from work.

This sympathetic backstory, rich inner-life, and subtle menace (elevated by Tony Leung’s effortlessly charismatic performance) make Xu Wenwu the very best MCU villain to date—and as an unabashed and unapologetic fan of The Vulture, Zemo, and Alexander Pierce, I don’t make that claim lightly.

#Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings #Shang-Chi #Xu Wenwu #The Mandarin #Tony Leung #Marvel #Marvel Cinematic Universe #MCU #villains #film #writing

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sneezemonster15 · 3 years

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Ok but if you think Kishi intentionally made sns romantic… what do you think is the reasoning behind that? I absolutely don’t want to speculate on his sexuality but I think that it was mostly unintentional and it came up as something so intense because he thinks women are significally inferior than men and my guess is he had some very intense friendships when he was growing up.. the ones that mark your entire adolescence in a positive and negative way. But I really don’t think it was intentional

.........

But.....

How is SNS coming off as intense related to his thinking women are inferior to men? And how do you compute the speculation about his sexuality with it being unintentional?

So much dissonance...

Like....your question makes no logical sense whatsoever. Is there a precedent that is guiding your very befuddled beliefs, if yes, I would like to know.

So it's not the first time I have heard about fans correlating SNS being intense with Kishi's female characters having no depth. And that is just...so absurd...

Okay. I will try and make sense of your ask.

Yes Kishi intentionally made SNS romantic. I have no clue where this belief stems from, and especially in Naruto fandom (man this fandom is so weird....), that writers have no idea what they are doing. Like have you ever sat and watched a roundtable with writers? Do you have any idea, like any idea, how much thought and meditation and emotion and hard work goes behind writing a good script? Do you have any clue about how scripts are chosen by producers? Have you ever wondered what it takes to adapt a written or drawn piece of work into a screenplay? The sheer amount of work, the weeks of story boarding, brain storming sessions, shot breakdown, do you think all this happens in a vaccum, without thought? Do you think those people who work in this industry, who make you feel a dozen heavy duty emotions with a twenty page comic book or twenty minutes episodes are fucking idiots? They don't know what they are doing? Do you have any fucking idea about how much it takes to write a story that touches a zillion hearts the world over, can you even imagine the pressure? What you think it is accidental? Kishi is a fucking amazing story writer but it's not like he doesn't use the typical tools any good writer knows how to play with.

Do you have any idea about the number of people associated with a project like this, who all need to be on the same fucking page to be able to deliver something like this?

How can you even think it is unintentional? What the fuck even is unintentional? That Kishi's hand slipped and he 'accidentally' drew Sasuke's mouth on Naruto's crotch? Like what are you high on??

This supremely popular series consciously designed to wring the most amazing range of emotion from viewers and readers world-freaking-wide is accidental? I am sorry, what? Like what a supremely sad thing to see that people are ready to embrace delusions like this but can't accept a love story between two boys. Like how surreal is this shit? Naruto fandom is unbelievable.

And yes, I see the temptation to question Kishi's apparently dormant sexuality and I have thought about it in the past. Now I don't care. It's something that can only encourage more lurid speculations, without any claims to their veracity and so I feel it's a fruitless attempt at pointless regurgitation. I find it's best to avoid it.

What is do care about is the story itself. I shouldn't have to or need to go outside of that for my reasoning. That is the mark of a good story. And I really don't need to, not with Naruto. Like far from it.. Everything I need to answer my questions is in the story itself. It also helps that I try not to be biased or prejudiced. Or blind...

All writers, literally all writers draw from their personal experience to write. What is so special about Kishi having done it too? And he did, he has talked about it in his interviews, his fear of abandonment and him having known orphans as a kid. Maybe he liked someone, perhaps he was channeling some latent homoerotic feelings through his work, how does that translate into SNS being unintentional? Shouldn't it mean that it was intentional? Like seriously, if Kishi had some boy he loved as a kid that he used as his muse for Sasuke, wouldn't he ideally construct an idea before putting it on paper??? Isn't that how muses work? By thinking about it so deeply that you create art out of a subjective impression of an abstract idea? How do You think it works exactly?

Man, where's your logic for God's sake?? What are your parameters of deduction, where's your premise? Rules of basic deduction : work with what you have. Facts before motive. Make sense of the facts and the motive will present itself to you.

It's so corny that you talk about reasoning with me when you can't even construct a question that makes sense.

And for the last time, the fact that Kishi gives such a miniscule amount of deliberate thought to his female characters only underlines the fact that he doesn't consider them that important. He is not that well versed in writing or getting women. But you thinking of it as the reason for SNS's intensity is like a such a fuckall reasoning to me. Sorry, for the crass language. But are you telling me that the absence of women in the equation of Naruto and Sasuke is the reason for their homosexual intensity despite Kishi's relentless insistence on their special and unique bond that literally doesn't leave any space for anyone or anything else? How does that make sense? Are you hearing yourself? You are basically telling me that the heteronormative force in society is so fucking strong that you would rather believe that its absence is the reason for the existence of homosexual content than believing the actual homosexual content itself? Like it cannot exist on its own? Like it has no agency or capacity to stand in its own right?? Do you realize what an offensive thing that is to say?? It is deeply rooted in homophobia and it defies logic. The proof of something cannot depend on the absence of that thing from the situation itself. It's a logical fallacy. What the suffragette movement happened because the needs of men were missing from their manifesto? The apartheid happened because the whites just couldn't get into the black ghettos?

So, everything that happens in the story of Sasuke and Naruto where they reject basically everyone and everything including men women titles positions life etc Only shines through because the two otherwise irrelevant female characters who married them in the end weren't in it?

Wow. You know what this is called? A bad attempt at sophistry. Conmen and bigots have historically used it a lot in their trade. Except they were exponentially better than this...

For your own sake, whenever you are on the verge of thinking that a person who earns his livelihood from drawing make believe stories to affect you to an extent that makes you willingly interact with crabby bloggers who so caustically disagree with you, is doing it 'accidentally' (which basically means without premeditation), just pull yourself back. They know what they are doing. Everything is intentional. It's written to make you feel a certain way. That's the talent of the writer. How to manipulate audience's minds. You can now look at Stanley Kubrick's work and marvel at how fucking beautiful his shot looks and forget it the next day, but don't forget he made the entire crew and cast of 200 people do 127 long freaking takes to get it right and even suffered a few lawsuits for it. For one freaking shot!

Hopefully this answers your question because I am so done with it. Smh.

#who are these people #where is the common sense?#anon #reply #naruto fandom is exhausting #naruto #sasuke #uzumaki naruto #uchiha sasuke #sns #sasunaru #narusasu

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theajaheira · 3 years

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ok you know what i think it’s actually really vital that i talk a little bit about tea time. buckle up kiddos.

first off, a brief and relatively spoiler-free summary: the premise of the issue is very simple. the kiddos (aged up, if willow’s mention of being engaged is any indication) are hanging out in the library to help giles with research, swapping stories about what it would be like were giles a vampire. each of them, save giles, gets a chance to tell a detailed story -- xander tells two! -- and each story plays out in a way that says a lot about the scooby that’s telling it AND the way they view giles.

obviously this is a VERY character-driven issue, and it’s a really really interesting look at giles and how he is perceived as well! shit like that is my bread and butter, so this has honestly become one of my favorite things that boom has put out -- possibly my ACTUAL top favorite issue if we’re being real here.

below the cut is a spoilery dissection of every story told -- a literal summary of Every Single Thing that happens in this issue, as well as what it has to say about the scoobies and their perception of giles, so definitely keep that in mind.

as can be seen in the preview, xander’s first story is about giles rising from the grave as an ineffectual british caricature, who is easily defeated by smoldering, sexy xander harris (and xander in turn walks off with buffy and willow draped all over him, cooing about how amazing he is). it’s more of an intro to the premise than anything, but it still sets the tone pretty clearly wrt how xander handles this situation: there’s some laughter and levity, and he’s center stage. obviously a lot can be said about xander’s self-esteem issues and how he overcompensates by casting himself as the main protagonist both in canon and here. however, i wanna save my more in-depth xander analysis for his second, longer, story, so i’ll stop myself there.

willow immediately responds with skepticism: she’s of the mind that giles would be an incredibly serious big-bad level threat. the tale she spins involves giles as a dangerous vampire cleric with access to a cryptic altar, killing xander almost immediately and slaughtering buffy as a sacrifice to create eternal night. her view of giles is more clinical than anything -- and, i would argue, the most perceptive and realistic from a threat standpoint. the guy knows a fuckton of magic and he is incredibly well-read and powerful. he’d have some kind of terrifying master plan. where xander goes for comedy, willow goes straight for logistics, already looking at the battle like it’s a battle rather than laughs aplenty.

xander and buffy have a bone to pick with willow’s story (xander is indignant that he’s immediately and brutally killed, buffy is of the mind that she would easily defeat giles in hand-to-hand combat even if he IS a vampire), so (after one more teasing story where buffy lives and xander dies) willow gracefully alters her narrative to reflect her friends’ objections: after a dramatic tussle, xander helps willow and buffy unceremoniously stakes giles in the heart. still pretty straightforward and plausible. willow sees vamp giles primarily as a threat -- one not easily neutralized. one who could easily wipe them out.

buffy, about to tell her story, is interrupted by xander, who “had an even better idea!” the web he weaves is this time purported as realistic and entertaining: while partying at the bronze, buffy and co. are interrupted by a bunch of balding, greying vampires in curlers and bathrobes, led, of course, by giles -- who is wearing a hair bonnet and disapprovingly informing the bouncers how late it is at eight PM. a knockdown brawl breaks out at the bronze -- old people feeding on and decimating the young -- and culminates in giles and the geezers taking over the band to sing “some terrible song” that’s “probably something really old and bad!” the rest of the story descends into b-movie chaos, with buffy throwing a broken guitar neck up at the stage lights to send the whole thing crashing down onto vampire giles and his vampire old person band. it’s categorically absurd.

the thing that really sticks with me about this story is how dumb it is. xander’s take on giles is not even slightly serious and wholly underestimates him. fandom at large talks a lot about how giles dropped the ball with xander, but i think tea time explores an easily overlooked factor: xander constantly, consistently underestimates giles. in canon, xander’s view of giles is not often challenged: to him, giles is a bumbling, british librarian who regularly gets his ass handed to him by vamps and demons and the like. certainly part of his story’s intent is about laughingly entertaining his gal pals, but there’s a very real and consistent thread involving giles being hilariously nonthreatening.

giles, taking umbrage at this particular tale, calls out both xander and willow: xander’s story, in giles’s opinion, emasculates vamp giles and turns him into a ridiculous caricature -- and willow’s story, though much more flattering, lacks the kind of imagination that vamp giles would clearly have. he then offers a suggestion of his own. it’s worth mentioning here that both xander’s and willow’s stories get gorgeous multiple-page spreads depicting the vampy action, but giles’s is a simple and chilling little thing: this is his vampire story. this meeting, called to ostensibly “research” a vampire altar, is really an excuse to get the scoobies to do his dirty work and find the thing for him. they’re tired and silly because the tea and donuts he’s given them are drugged, and their library location is to keep them out of daylight. he laughs it off when he sees they’re bothered, and the meeting is then adjourned when willow finally finds what they’re all looking for.

buffy’s left her phone in the library, so she doubles back, and accidentally wakes up a dozing giles. just as she’s about to leave, he inquires, casually, “...you never did tell your version of the story.”

and good god here is where it gets interesting.

see, buffy’s take is simple: she’s fighting giles in a cemetery, she’s given the chance to kill him, and she is entirely unable to do it. they share a tearful embrace as she sobs about the unfairness of it all -- “you’re giles! and you’ll always be! ...how will i do this without you? without your guidance?” and as the sun is rising, giles turns her into a vampire, with no resistance whatsoever from buffy. the next handful of pages depict bloody, indulgent violence on the parts of giles and buffy, the two of them cuddled up together as they watch the world burn.

buffy’s tale is the most emotive, the most loving, which makes me so damn soft! i love this girl so much! she is unable to even joke about giles as a foe to be taken down -- he is her watcher. he is her friend. she loves him endlessly and that does not change when he’s a vampire. vamp giles as she portrays him is gentle and understanding, holding her as she cries, because he knows that they’re connected. it’s easily my favorite part of this whole issue.

notably, there is a definite buffy/giles bend that the comic itself tries to contradict. the art is sensual in nature -- vamp buffy all dolled up in a way somewhat evocative of drusilla, giles tenderly caressing her face as he waits for her to wake up. “watcher and slayer connected forever” being the quote chosen to describe the situation. i think it’s kind of what naturally happens in a vamp giles sitch, especially if he turns buffy -- the childe/sire bond is incredibly sexual in nature, especially in canon, and a lot of frustrating human sentiment gets translated into something sexual as well. sex is a big BIG part of the relationships between vampires we see in canon; it would make a lot of sense for that to hold true for buffy and giles.

the comic is reticent about Going There, which i can understand -- though buffy is decisively aged up in this issue (willow mentions being engaged to a woman, later revealed to be tara), the buffy/giles bond is always seen through a father/daughter lens in canon. i do think it’s also important to always recognize how desperately giles wishes to escape the label of father in reference to buffy, pretty much entirely because there is no way to parent a child soldier who you’re also training, but that’s a whole other kettle of fish. point is, buffy very pointedly refers to vamp giles as her father not once, but twice -- once as a human, once as a vampire herself. it’s a very clear attempt, imo, to un-sexualize the vampy experience. the reason it doesn’t totally work, at least for me, is the fact that -- like i said -- the childe/sire bond is VERY sexual (spike and dru, angel and darla, angel and dru) and it seems just totally implausible that vamp buffy/vamp giles (two people who, as human were both VERY repressed) would chastely remain within the socially acceptable version of their relationship.

i can definitely understand why they did their best to blur that line, though. the idea of buffy and giles being romantically involved as vampires is 1) Kind Of A Lot and 2) not exactly the target demographic that i think this comic is going for. but the subtext is there, to the point where the issue itself has to actively obfuscate it, which i think is .... so interesting? especially as a counterpoint to the way i often see buffy/giles in fandom, wherein the father/daughter subtext in canon is at times actively obfuscated in fic in an attempt to push a preferred reading.

the ending i particularly enjoyed: after buffy leaves, it is lightly and ambiguously implied that giles might really be a vampire. works GREAT as a standalone, imo, and the end is like the cherry on top. it’s a really REALLY interesting issue and i highly recommend it for any giles fan.

#meta #btvs comics #buffy and giles #''a little bit'' they say. and write a full fucking essay #anyway i love this issue it's my prized possession i am dying for at least one (1) person to read this insane summary and talk to me abt it

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trynatalktou · 3 years

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Chayenzo prompt: flirty Luca and jealous Vincenzo 👀

Thankk uu

This was prompted to me more than a week ago but I was waiting for today's episode. We were robbed quite frankly.

Also for the sake of understanding, let's pretend both Cha-young and Luca are fluent in english while Vincenzo is profusely not.

I think there is something uniquely comic about a trio where they don't all speak the same languague but, simultaneously, where any pair combination can communicate to each other.

Especially in a show with the Tower of Babel symbolism such as Vincenzo.

ao3

The one where Luca arrives earlier than expected.

‘’Vincenzo Cassano는 어디에서 찾을 수 있습니까?’’ speaks the robotic voice on his phone, echoing through the corridors of Geumga Plaza.

The man in front of him - the one who attempted to sound stern in broken english merely seconds ago - breaks into a grin.

‘’Mr.Consigliere?’’

Luca is taken back for a moment but ultimately nods. It seems that, after all, Vincenzo truly made more allies here than even himself could have expected.

The man continues in equally broken italian, speaking a pastiche of a phrase that originally intended to mean i’’Follow me! Mr. Cassano is not yet here but you can wait for him in Ms. Hong’s office.’’

And surely enough, located at the end of the corridor - there it was - the Jipuragi law firm, owned by the one and only Miss Hong Cha-young. Oh, Luca has heard about her alright, quite an absurd amount considering it came from the words of one Vincenzo Cassano - particularly when every so often these words would sound so strikingly like gushing- not that he has ever dared to tell him that.

They were received promptly at the door by a man with glasses - recognizing him to be Mr. Nam, their paralegal - Luca quickly presented himself with the best korean pronunciation he could manage after picking up a thing or two from his friend and boss.

It was followed by loud gasps.

‘’Luca?’’ Three voices said in unison.

He turned his head around to capture the origin of the third voice. And saw the very woman he was wondering about stumble around to get to them - huh, she is certainly cute.

‘’Welcome Luca, my name is Hong Cha-young, it’s a pleasure to meet you. These are Mr. Nam, our paralegal and Mr. Ahn, our personal secret agent.’’ she says in perfect english, extending one hand for him to shake it and motioning vaguely to the pair with the other.

He takes her hand and bows to the other two simultaneously, making his position slightly awkward.

‘’Sorry, I am not used to the korean way of greeting just yet.’’ He apologizes, facing her again.

‘’It’s quite alright, this handshake seems to be perfectly adequate.’’ She responds playfully.

‘’Your english is quite good, Cha-young-’’ he watches her eyes widen ‘’Oh, I’m sorry, I completely forgot, you see in Italy the first-name basis is given out more freely, I’m sorry for overstepping-’’

‘’Don’t worry, it’s fine really.’’ She interrupts him ‘’I called you Luca after all - it is just that I’m not very used to it.’’ she laughs weakly ‘’but you can call me Cha-young, I don’t personally mind it.’’ she finishes by winking at him exaggeratedly.

He laughs.

‘’I’ve heard quite a lot about you, Cha-young’’. He says cautiously.

‘’What can I say, my reputation precedes me.’ she simply shrugs ‘’bearing in mind your source, may I assume it’s all bad?’’

‘’It’s all good.’’

Cha-young beams; turning to Mr. Nam and Mr. Ahn - who were until this very moment only ping ponging their eyes between the two of them (unable to comprehend a word) - and says something in korean; they share a few words back and forth not long before both of them end up nodding and following their ways, while she leads Luca to a reunion table.

‘’ Luca, would you like anything to drink?’’

‘’No, I’m fine, thank you.’’

She plops on the chair across from him, sipping her coffee and eyeing him significantly.

‘’So,’’ she starts.

‘’So’’ he responds.

‘’What could possibly bring all the way from Italy, Luca?’’

‘’I’m not sure if I am allowed to tell you that.’’

‘’Of course, secretive mafia business, I get it - you see, I may actually know Mr.Cassano better than you might think.’’

He snorts ‘’Somehow, I don’t doubt it.’’

‘’Is there something you know that I don’t, Luca?’’

‘’Perhaps it is the contrary-’’ he pauses contemplative, before continuing ‘’may I ask what is your relationship with Vincenzo?’’

She almost expectorates her coffee out.

‘’Excuse me!’’ she splutters flushing ‘’ What is your relationship with Mr. Cassano?’’

Luca raises his arms to express surrender, he seems frightened enough just by the look in her eyes. She enjoys it greatly.

‘’Well, he is my boss.’’

Cha-young smirks.

‘’And I’m his boss.’’ she tilts her head ‘’Well, sort of.’’

Luca can’t help but dare to smile. ‘’ So may I perhaps ask how long have you known about the whole ‘’secretive mafia business?’’ he air quotes the last words, echoing her.

‘’You sure are full of questions for a mafia man, Mr. Luca.’’

‘’What can I say? You intrigue me Ms. Cha-young.’’

‘’You wouldn’t happen to be flirting with me right now, would you?’’ she says overdramatically, blinking her eyes in rapid succession way too many times.

One for the theatrics as well.

‘’I’m afraid not, I happen to like my head exactly where it sits on my neck’’ he replies with a tone slightly more serious.

‘’I’m not sure I get it’’ she retorts innocently.

‘’I think you do.’’

She blushes prettily.

‘’How come he is not as forward about it then?’’

‘’Maybe, he needs a little push.’’

Both look up at that - only to find an undeniable mischievousness in each other’s eyes.

‘’Maybe he does.’’

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

When Vincenzo arrives at Jipuragi much later, he is not exactly surprised to see Luca there - the man had sent him a text about his connection change - although he can’t say the same for the way that he found Cha-young and Luca giggling together as if they were childhood friends.

He suppresses a smile.

‘’Luca’’ Vincenzo greets loudly. ‘’È passato così tanto tempo, amico mio (It has been so long my friend)’’.

‘’Vincenzo!’’ Luca responds, getting up to embrace his friend. ‘’è bello vederti’’ (it’s good to see you).

Cha-young says something in english, which Luca answers by a subtle roll of his eyes.

Huh.

‘’I see you already made your acquaintance with Ms. Hong’’ he said, considerably more formally than he meant.

‘’Oh yes, Cha-young is quite lovely.’’ he smiles.

‘Cha-young’, he suppresses a scoff, well isn’t that just lovely.

‘’We got to talk quite a bit before you arrived, it seems that we have a lot in common.’’

‘’Oh, is that so?’’

Luca visibly winces at Vincenzo’s bitter tone, but nonetheless, turns himself towards Cha-young and speaks a phrase in english. She bites her lip.

‘’Mr. Cassano.’’ she starts tentatively in korean ‘’I mean, you know that I have do a weak spot for handsome men. Do you think you can set me up?’’

‘’Absolutely not.’’ he snaps ‘’Long-distance relationships are unfortunately not his thing.’’ he finishes hotly. And to his utmost delight - they proceed by sharing, yet again, a few sentences in english. Vincenzo has never wished to have paid more attention to his stupid classes in school than right at this moment.

‘’May I join you both on your conversation?’’ Vincenzo asked snarkily.

Cha-young is quick on her feet.

‘’I was just translating what we said, and besides, what basis do you have to be so upset about it? We also have a right to communicate.’’

Vincenzo looks momentarily ashamed. ‘’It won’t happen again. It is just frustrating to be set apart from the conversation because of a language barrier.’’

‘’Well, don’t I know it.’’ she retorts

Vincenzo sends her his fakest smile.

Cha-young mirrors the expression.

Luca hides a grin.

Luca and Cha-young’s mini conversation in english.

1-’’So that’s how you guys greet in Italy, we ought to try it anytime

soon.’’

Luca answers by a roll of his eyes.

2- ‘’Well it wasn’t supposed to be this easy, quick, take the attention out of me.’’

Cha-young bites her lip in thought.

3- ‘’Whatever you said, I think you may have overdone it.’’

‘’I told him that I want a date with you.’’

‘’Glad to know you have no regards for my well-being.’’

‘’Should I say that I don’t care if it is something purely physical?.’’

‘’Glad to know you have have no regards for my life.’’

#i'm sorry for finishing where I finished #but like i had a hard time going anywhere #also luca and cha-young besties when hun #vincenzo #chayenzo #this is the first fic I actually revised i am shame #I really thought they would hug lol I am boboo the fool #luca #tvn vincenzo #vincenzo x hong cha young #hong cha young

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veenaspakistanlitblog · 3 years

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Ten Interesting Pakistani Novels

Under the Persimmon Tree by Suzanne Staples (Summary by Amazon)

Najmah, a young Afghan girl whose name means "star," suddenly finds herself alone when her father and older brother are conscripted by the Taliban and her mother and newborn brother are killed in an air raid. An American woman, Elaine, whose Islamic name is Nusrat, is also on her own. She waits out the war in Peshawar, Pakistan, teaching refugee children under the persimmon tree in her garden while her Afghan doctor husband runs a clinic in Mazar-i-Sharif, Afghanistan. Najmah's father had always assured her that the stars would take care of her, just as Nusrat's husband had promised that they would tell Nusrat where he was and that he was safe. As the two look to the skies for answers, their fates entwine. Najmah, seeking refuge and hoping to find her father and brother, begins the perilous journey through the mountains to cross the border into Pakistan. And Nusrat's persimmon-tree school awaits Najmah's arrival. Together, they both seek their way home.

2.) The Diary of a Social Butterfly by Moni Mohsin (Summary by Amazon)

This is the hugely entertaining journal of a socialite in Lahore. Pakistan may be making headlines - but Butterfly is set to conquer the world. 'Everyone knows me. All of Lahore, all of Karachi, all of Isloo - oho, baba, Islamabad - half of Dubai, half of London and all of Khan Market and all the nice, nice bearers in Imperial Hotel also...No ball, no party, no dinner, no coffee morning, no funeral, no GT - Get-Together, baba - is complete without me.' Meet Butterfly, Pakistan's most lovable, silly, socialite. An avid party-goer-inspired misspeller, and unwittingly acute observer of Pakistani high society, Butterfly is a woman like no other. In her world, SMS becomes S & M and people eat 'three tiara cakes' while shunning 'do number ka manual. 'What cheeks!' as she would say. As her country faces tribulations - from 9/11 to the assassination of Benazir Bhutto - Butterfly glides through her world, unfazed, untouched, and stopped short only by the chip in her manicure. Wicked, irreverent, and hugely entertaining, "The Diary of a Social Butterfly" gives you a delicious glimpse into the parallel universe of the have-musts.

3.) Maps for Lost Lovers by Nadeem Aslam (Summary by Amazon)

If Gabriel García Márquez had chosen to write about Pakistani immigrants in England, he might have produced a novel as beautiful and devastating as Maps for Lost Lovers. Jugnu and Chanda have disappeared. Like thousands of people all over England, they were lovers and living together out of wedlock. To Chanda’s family, however, the disgrace was unforgivable. Perhaps enough so as to warrant murder. As he explores the disappearance and its aftermath through the eyes of Jugnu’s worldly older brother, Shamas, and his devout wife, Kaukab, Nadeem Aslam creates a closely observed and affecting portrait of people whose traditions threaten to bury them alive. The result is a tour de force, intimate, affecting, tragic and suspenseful.

4.) A Season for Martyrs by Bina Shah (Summary by Amazon)

October 2007. Pakistan’s former Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto returns home after eight years of exile to seek political office once more. Assigned to cover her controversial arrival is TV journalist Ali Sikandar, the estranged son of a wealthy landowner from the interior region of Sindh. While her presence ignites fierce protests and assassination attempts, Ali finds himself irrevocably drawn to the pro-democracy People’s Resistance Movement, a secret that sweeps him into the many contradictions of a country still struggling to embrace modernity. As Shah weaves together the centuries-old history of Ali’s feudal family and its connection to the Bhuttos, she brilliantly reveals a story at the crossroads of the personal and the political, a chronicle of one man’s desire to overcome extremity to find love, forgiveness, and even identity itself.

5.) Karachi, You’re Killing Me! by Saba Imtiaz (Summary by Amazon)

Ayesha is a twenty-something reporter in one of the world’s most dangerous cities. Her assignments range from showing up at bomb sites and picking her way through scattered body parts to interviewing her boss’s niece, the couture-cupcake designer. In between dicing with death and absurdity, Ayesha despairs over the likelihood of ever meeting a nice guy, someone like her old friend Saad, whose shoulder she cries on after every romantic misadventure. Her choices seem limited to narcissistic, adrenaline-chasing reporters who’ll do anything to get their next story—to the spoilt offspring of the Karachi elite who’ll do anything to cure their boredom. Her most pressing problem, however, is how to straighten her hair during chronic power outages. Karachi, You’re Killing Me! is Bridget Jones’s Diary meets The Diary of a Social Butterfly—a comedy of manners in a city with none.

6.) How It Happened by Shazaf Fatima Haider (Summary by Amazon)

Dadi, the imperious matriarch of the Bandian family in Karachi, swears by the virtues of arranged marriage. All her ancestors including a dentally and optically challenged aunt have been perfectly well-served by such arrangements. But her grandchildren are harder to please. Haroon, the apple of her eye, has to suffer half a dozen candidates until he finds the perfect Shia-Syed girl of his dreams. But it is Zeba, his sister, who has the tougher time, as she is accosted by a bevy of suitors, including a potbellied cousin and a banker who reeks of sesame oil. Told by the witty, hawk-eyed Saleha, the precocious youngest sibling, this is a romantic, amusing and utterly delightful story about how marriages are made and unmade---not in heaven, but in the drawing room and over the phone.

7.) A Case of Exploding Mangoes by Shazaf Fatima Haider (Summary by Amazon)

Intrigue and subterfuge combine with bad luck and good in this darkly comic debut about love, betrayal, tyranny, family, and a conspiracy trying its damnedest to happen. Ali Shigri, Pakistan Air Force pilot and Silent Drill Commander of the Fury Squadron, is on a mission to avenge his father's suspicious death, which the government calls a suicide.Ali's target is none other than General Zia ul-Haq, dictator of Pakistani. Enlisting a rag-tag group of conspirators, including his cologne-bathed roommate, a hash-smoking American lieutenant, and a mango-besotted crow, Ali sets his elaborate plan in motion. There's only one problem: the line of would-be Zia assassins is longer than he could have possibly known.

8.) Home Fire: A Novel by Kamila Shamise (Summary by Amazon)

Isma is free. After years of watching out for her younger siblings in the wake of their mother’s death, she’s accepted an invitation from a mentor in America that allows her to resume a dream long deferred. But she can’t stop worrying about Aneeka, her beautiful, headstrong sister back in London, or their brother, Parvaiz, who’s disappeared in pursuit of his own dream, to prove himself to the dark legacy of the jihadist father he never knew. When he resurfaces half a globe away, Isma’s worst fears are confirmed. Then Eamonn enters the sisters’ lives. Son of a powerful political figure, he has his own birthright to live up to—or defy. Is he to be a chance at love? The means of Parvaiz’s salvation? Suddenly, two families’ fates are inextricably, devastatingly entwined, in this searing novel that asks: What sacrifices will we make in the name of love?

9.) She Loves Me, He Loves Me Not by Zeenat Mahal (Summary by Amazon)

Zoella didn’t know whether she was devastatingly happy or happily devastated. Zoella has been in love with Fardeen Malik, her best friend’s gorgeous older brother, since she was ten, but he’s always seen her as a ‘good girl’—not his type—and he can barely remember her name. Besides, he’s engaged to a gorgeous leggy socialite, someone from the same rarefied social strata as the imposing Malik family. In short, Zoella has no chance with him. Until a brutal accident leaves Fardeen scarred and disfigured, that is. Suddenly bereft of a fiancée, Fardeen is bitterly caustic, a shell of the man he used to be, a beast that has broken out of the fairy tale world he once lived in. And a twist of fate lands him his very own beauty—Zoella. This man, however, is a far cry from the Fardeen of her dreams. Stripped of her illusions, Zoella creates her own twist in the fairy tale, beating him at his own game. Order now and read this modern, unusual interpretation of the old-age fairy tale, in which Zeenat explores the themes of love, longing, and arranged marriages.

10.) Undying Affinity by Sara Naveed (Summary by Amazon)

Twenty-two-year-old, Zarish Munawwar, has everything in life she could ever ask for; an elite family, a high profile status, a bunch of good friends and a childhood sweetheart. Being childish, stubborn, imperious, extravagant and a bit impulsive at making important decisions pertaining to her life, is what perfectly describes her overall personality. She takes life easily and can get anything she desires. To her, life is a bed of roses. It is only when she meets, Ahmar Muraad, her mentor and finance professor at university, her perspective towards life completely changes. He looks quite young for his age as every girl at the university thinks he is attractive, seductive, intellectual and rather intimidating. This charming man is every girl's fantasy and Zarish also finds it hard to resist him. But is he fascinated by her? Little did Zarish know how one little interaction could bring about so many twists and turns in her life. After continuous unsuccessful attempts to avoid him, she feels that she is gradually falling for his charm. Ahmar, however, remains oblivious to her feelings. She is ready to abandon her childhood sweetheart for him. Eventually, there comes a time when only he matters to her and nobody else. Awestruck by the sudden revelation, she is dazed to find out that he feels exactly the same for her. Before their love blossoms, a slight tragedy falls into their lives. Zia Munawwar, her father, has some other plans for his daughter. Will Ahmar fight against the world for his lady love or step back? Do not miss this romantic tragedy as it will encapsulate you totally and will stay in your heart forever

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howtofightwrite · 4 years

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Q&A: Superspies, Realism, and the Ethics of Stale Beer

I would just like to ask about the super spy genre. The one where the character-usually an attempt at grey morality and a failed one at that-is a spy and has to deal with some sort of espionage or generally cool, badass stuff. James Bond, for example. The character that started it all off. I’ve always loved reading the genre, trying to get into writing it. I’m just terrible at writing action realistically, and wanting to ask if you had some helpful resources for making it realistic and engaging.

The superspy is an awkward creature. The genre is another flavor of pulp. I realize this may seem pejorative, but there’s nothing inherently wrong with the genre. It’s how we got the first superheroes after all. However, unlike the spandex and leather crowd, spies come from a very unheroic reality.

So, let’s step back for a second and talk about where it comes from.

The gray on gray morality you usually find in spy fiction comes from some realities of being a spy. We’ve talked about it before, in depth, but being a spy is not a job that rewards being, “a good person.” Ultimately, it’s a job where you’re manipulating other people into completing your goals, often at their expense.

John La Carre’s is still my first recommendation for that kind of realistic espionage fiction. (Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy is probably his most recognizable work, even though it’s in the middle of a series.) The Sandbaggers, a British TV series from the late 70s is another favorite, though that one’s a little more difficult to source.

While it’s a little reductive, it’s not completely inaccurate to say that a spy cannot be heroic on their face. The context around them allows us to rationalize their actions as heroic, but in the moment, it’s dark stuff.

Put another way (and to paraphrase Burn Notice‘s narrator), a spy is a criminal who preys upon others. They justify their actions because they’re working in support of a higher calling (whether that’s patriotism, ideology, or some other group that has their loyalty.)

This does not mean that a spy is automatically unethical or evil, however many of the tools they will need to employ do come with a real human cost on the people around them.

And then we drop a superhero into the mix and ask them to do it instead.

Make no mistake, the superspy is a superhero. They probably benefit from the demigod durability of a conventional action hero, and they usually supplement it with an array of advanced gadgets.

It’s worth noting that the gadgets that superspies like Bond play with are, in fact, rooted in a degree of reality. Tradecraft has resulted in a lot of very specialized espionage tools. Micro-cameras and highly concealed weapons are two of the big examples. You’re not going to see a car mounted with concealed machine guns and an ejector seat, or a laser watch, but you could certainly find a watch designed to conceal a garotte. If you’re looking for a realistic take on spies, I would recommend researching these tools. It’s not only a fascinating rabbit hole, but it can help you get into the mindset.

So, what we have with the superspy is Batman in a tuxedo. (Ignoring for a moment that a tux is going to limit your mobility. You can still walk around, but as a tailor once told me, “you’re not going to be doing cartwheels in [your suit].”) So far as it goes, that’s fine. That’s the genre, and it embraces the absurdity. Realism becomes a becomes a minor trap, because you’re not going for the real world. You’re writing a comic book or action movie (in prose.)

When writing anything, the only way to learn is by practice. As writers, we write so much garbage that no one else sees. It’s a stepping stone as we’re learning what works and what doesn’t. There’s no shame in it. If you read something you wrote, and you’re not happy with it, wipe and rewrite it. (I know I’ve said, “keep your old drafts around,” and that remains true; you don’t want to lose something that worked.)

When you’re looking at something you wrote, and it doesn’t work for you, try to figure out why. “Why?” is the most important question. “Why?” will tell you what you need to correct. If you don’t know at first, give it some time, roll it around in your head, do other things, and come back when you have an idea. A strength of writing is that you do not need to have an answer ready the moment you see a problem.

With that in mind, you don’t need a superspy to be realistic. You want them to be consistent. You want your reader to be invested, that means you need to give them challenges that are comparable to how powerful they are. Spies (and superspies) as a genre create a wonderful shield to abuse the hell out of your protagonist because the spy genre tends to be pretty bleak.

Finally, you’ve done one of the most important things, you’ve read the genre. (More than I have. I could probably count the number of superspy novels I’ve read on one hand.) So, you need to ask yourself, “why?” Why does this appeal to you? What parts of the work catch and hold you? This can give you a good idea of what you want to do and how you want to approach the superspy. Remember that there are multiple genres of spy fiction, and keep those separate when you’re analyzing a piece. Decide what works for you, what you want to do, and what fits in a different genre. (As a quick aside, it doesn’t matter if your categories match anyone else’s. This is to extract as much useful analysis for you and your writing. For example: You don’t need someone else to sign off on whether Jason Bourne is a superspy, a regular spy, or an assassin. Pick what you want from it, and run with that.)

If what you create is interesting and fun to read, it will engage readers. I realize that can feel like a, “just draw the rest of the owl,” answer, but keep working at it and rewriting it. Don’t expect perfection on your early passes. You’re learning, and you can always improve further.

-Starke

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Q&A: Superspies, Realism, and the Ethics of Stale Beer was originally published on How to Fight Write.

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justallamaimaginingthings · 4 years

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Life And Death Part 2 {Klaus Hargreeves x Reader}

A/n: I’ve been checking out the Umbrella Academy comics and I was SHOOKETH to found out about Klaus’ powers so I decided to explore the topic and things kinda went their own way from there on (hence why this is kinda off canon). Hope you like it and please don’t hesitate to leave a comment!

Words: 1880ish II TUA Masterlist

Part 1 II Part 2

Previously

“What are you waiting for?” She whispered against his lips and that was all he needed to hear. Almost instinctively, his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest right before his lips crashed into hers. His eyes shut in bliss as he felt her tangle her fingers in his hair only to hold him closer.

At first the kiss was slow and sensual as they explored each other, but it didn’t take long until desperation got the best of them and soon enough their movements became needy and feverish. She nipped on his lower lip and Klaus couldn’t help the groan that escaped him as he melted under her touch. One of his hands found its way on the back of her neck and he decided to deepen the kiss. He tasted like nicotine and was just as addictive making her feel like she could never let him go. Her skin seemed to light on fire under the slightest of his touch and the way his soft lips were moving against her felt like heaven.

Klaus could feel control slipping away from him with every passing moment and he surrendered to her touch, unaware of the stream of blue light that had almost encircled the two of them. When the lack of oxygen became too much she hesitantly pulled away without leaving his embrace. Looking at him through half-lidded eyes, she could see the affectionate and dared she say loving look he was giving her, sending a shiver down her spine. He looked disheveled with an adorable smile gracing his swollen lips and she couldn’t help reciprocating the action as she continued playing with his curly locks.

"I think I'm in love with you" He blurted before he could hold himself back and then everything happened all at once. She could feel her breath getting caught in her throat as the reality of his words sunk in before realizing something. She was breathing, she was actually breathing like a living person. Her eyes blew wide open in shock as she tried to comprehend what was going on.

Upon seeing her panicked reaction, he thought it was his fault and cursed his recklessness once again before looking down, only for him to realize they were floating over the ground. He couldn’t understand how, but deep down he knew he was making all this happen and it freaked him out, breaking his concentration and causing the both of them to stumble back to the ground. She ended up landing on top of him and the two of them exchanged a worried glance.

"What the hell was that?" He exclaimed as his thoughts raced, trying to find some sense into what had just happened. She jumped up, seemingly having ignored him, as she took in her surroundings. For the first time in years she could feel the sun hitting her face and smell the grass and her heart was beating like crazy. She gasped at that. Her heart was beating.

"Klaus, I have a heartbeat. I-I can feel my heart beating" She stuttered, turning back to look at him.

"Trust me, love, I feel the sa- wait WHAT?" He stopped his sentence midway, only then realizing the true meaning of her sentence. It couldn’t be possible, she was dead and she had been dead for years. She grasped his hand and brought it to her wrist, letting him feel the pulse throbbing in her veins and he gaped at her. The whole situation was impossible and Klaus found himself unable to wrap his head around what was happening. Out of all the crazy things he had witnessed in his life that was by far the most absurd.

"Prophet we need your advice." A voice interrupted Klaus' thoughts. The short man with the glasses they had come to know as Keechi looked at her for a moment before turning back to Klaus "I'm sorry for interrupting your conversation"

"You can see her?" Klaus almost yelled at the man.

"Of course, Prophet. However, I think it's not a good moment so I'll leave you two alone" The short man replied before making his exit from the garden, leaving the pair even more confused than before.

"Okay, this sounds insane even as I say it, but I think you're alive" Klaus said slowly and even though the thought sounded ridiculous, it was the only reasonable explanation to the situation. He expected her to roll her eyes and tell him he was talking nonsense. What he did not expect, however, was for her to start running around the garden, touching, smelling and tasting fruits and flowers with an awestruck expression on her face as she started to rediscover everything death had so cruelly taken away from her. Laughing loudly out of pure happiness, she kicked off her shoes so that she could feel the grass tickling her feet.

Turning around she saw Klaus watching her, his confusion having given way to a small grin and she made her way towards him, jumping into his arms with such speed she nearly knocked him down. He didn’t miss a second before wrapping his arms around her just like he had a few minutes before, only this time he could hear the beating of her heart against his chest as she hugged him tightly. He gently kissed her forehead and she hummed in satisfaction as she reveled in his warmth. Suddenly, she looked up at him, a mischievous smirk on her lips. "The pool" She stated simply, before grabbing his hand and nearly dragging him across the estate.

A few hours later they returned in the mansion and they fell back into a couch. They were both exhausted to the core but only realizing it then as the adrenaline was finally fading away. She leaned her head on his shoulder, letting out a long breath as they both sunk in a thoughtful silence.

"I still can't believe this is happening" Her voice broke the tense silence a while later "You literally brought me back to life. Do you realize what this means?" She asked a little more seriously, but with excitement still evident in her tone.

"That I’ll get pushed into pools all the time?" He replied playfully in reference to the incident that had taken place earlier that day, causing her to gently slap his arm in fake annoyance while she chuckled lightly.

"No, you dork. Well maybe, but that's not the point I was going for. What I meant is that your powers are way more than we could have imagined" She explained and even though he knew she was right, he felt weird talking about it. Finding out he was able to do so much more than he expected had been terrifying at first and it had taken him a long while to accept that he could physically interact with the dead even with resurrection out of the game, but now the stakes were even higher and the mere thought of what this power really was scared the living hell out of him.

"Yeah, we don’t really have to talk about this" He was quick to dismiss the subject causing her to raise an eyebrow at him. Maybe he just wasn't in a mood to talk, she thought but he had answered way too quickly for it to be random. Suddenly she felt a pang of guilt hitting her. She had been so preoccupied with herself she hadn’t even thought about how he must have been feeling.

"We don't have to, but it would be good to talk about it" She said trying not to push him. Over time she had come to understand he never talked about his feelings when he could avoid it and even though she had tried really hard to respect that, she knew that bottling everything up ended up hurting him much worse.

"I know it’s just that…" He paused for a moment taking a deep breath. It was extremely rare for Klaus to find someone he could be honest with, let alone trust his secrets to and even though he knew she was that person sometimes honesty was just too hard. "All this power and responsibility, that's hero stuff and in case you haven’t noticed I'm anything but one" He admitted, trying and failing to hide his fear behind yet another sarcastic remark.

"To me you are" She started softly, taking his hands in hers and turning so that she could look into his eyes "Sure, you've made mistakes, but who hasn't? You are still kind and brave and strong even after all the shit you've been through. Hell, I wouldn’t be here if it weren't for you. No matter what, Klaus, you'll always be my hero"

By the time she was done talking, his eyes were shining with unshed tears and he was grasping her hands so tight it was almost hurting but she didn't let go. Instead she pulled him into a hug and he buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in. He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her closer so that she was almost sitting on his lap, but still it was not enough. He wanted, no he needed her as close as she could get and she complied by lacing her hands around his shoulders and gently stroking his back. They stayed like this for a while, enjoying each other's embrace and trying to show everything they couldn't bring themselves to say.

I think I'm in love with you. His words kept echoing in her mind and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get them out of her mind. It was everything she wanted to hear and at the same time everything she never expected. Every time she closed her eyes she could feel his lips against hers and she can't take this anymore. She had been in love with him longer than she could even remember and she had to know if he felt the same way.

"Klaus, there's something I need to ask you" She whispered in his ear and he could feel her hot breath fanning on his face, making his heart race. Instead of replying he hummed lowly, not trusting his voice to remain steady. "What you said this morning, did you mean it?"

She doesn't have to say another word because he knows what she's talking about. His whole body stiffens and he pulls away from her in a matter of seconds as if her touch burned him. He looks up at her and she can see the fear in his eyes. She had always been able to somehow keep his demons at bay, but right now he can feel doubt crushing him and not even she can stop it. He loves her more than words can express but he knows he doesn't deserve her and it's killing him. This time, however, he can't hide from the truth, so he takes a shaky breath and forces himself to speak.

"I meant every word" His voice is hoarse and unsteady but it doesn’t stop him "And I know I don't-" She knows what's following and she has heard more than enough. She shushes him by gently placing a finger over his lips before slowly moving her hand to cup the side of his face.

"I love you" Her voice is steady and soft and she's looking at him with such affection that for the first time in his life, Klaus Hargreeves is at a complete loss of words. It takes a moment for her words to sink in. He can’t understand how someone as pure as her could love someone as broken as him, but right now it doesn't matter. All that matters is her as he crashes his lips to hers for the second time that day. The kiss has nothing to do with their first one, it's rushed and hungry as they cling into each other holding on for dear life. She tugs on his hair and he desperately whimpers against her lips, his grip on her waist tightening even more.

"I love you. I love you. I love you" She keeps whispering after they break apart, leaving tender kisses along his jaw line with every word and his eyes flutter shut in bliss before he pulls her back in for another passionate kiss. They spend the rest of the night like this, snuggled in each other's arms and whispering sweet nothings until the sun comes up. Klaus has spent his entire life running away from things and for the first time he feels like he actually belongs somewhere and that is by her side. He knows he's lucky to have her and he's prepared to try anything in order to become worthy of her love, unaware that all she’ll ever ask for is him. They fall asleep after dawn, still holding on to each other and determined never to let go.

Tags: @twigleektribute23 💘💘

A/n: Y’all can always message me if you wish to be tagged in anything specific (fic or character or whatev), it always brightens my day.

#tua #tua klaus #tua imagine #tua x reader #tua x you #klaus hargreeves #klaus hargreeves x reader #klaus hargreeves x you #klaus hargreeves imagine

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didjaneaustenwritejaneeyre · 3 years

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I found this meme on Reddit and it reminded me immediately of Professor Pasanek saying that Mrs. Norris is his favorite Jane Austen villain. I had previously written a one-pager on villains who are likable and those who are unlikeable. I personally find the parallels between Mrs. Norris and the one and only Fanny Dashwood completely uncanny.

I think that this meme makes Mrs. Norris look pretty awesome. She is shown as Spongebob, and looks perplexed, then happy, then unphased, as she reads, throws, and then watches burn, a piece of paper saying “’The time was now come when Sir Thomas expected his sister-in-law to claim her share in their niece”. The content of the meme reflects the characterization of Mrs. Norris that makes her so likably unlikable. She is mean to Fanny but completely owns it. Her being depicted as Spongebob makes her character in the novel seem completely absurd and almost comical. This parallels the way that Jane Austen’s characterization makes Mrs. Norris appear, as her actions and words are often hypocritical and lack self-awareness.

Fanny and Mrs. Norris are different types of likable villain, though. Fanny is extremely smart and self-aware of her evilness, which makes her a girl boss. Mrs. Norris is a joke of a woman who picks on a young girl, saying she is “’not going to urge her,... but [thinks] her a very obstinate, ungrateful girl’”. She acts as if she is unbothered but still ridicules Fanny, which is honestly laugh out loud funny.

It’s interesting to me that Fanny Dashwood and Fanny Price could not be any more different. I once described Fanny Dashwood, saying: “There is a respectable aspect to Fanny in that a reader just loves to hate her. Whether she is moving into the home of a grieving family without consent or kicking Lucy out for being engaged to Edward, at least she is consistent. She owns her selfishness and embraces the evilness within her. A true stand-up act if you ask me.” I could Mad Libs this sentence, looking up antonyms to every word I said and replacing them to describe the weak Fanny Price. Jane knew what she was doing giving these two woman the same name– and, all I can say, is that it is making me miss reading about the better Fanny. But, at least, for now, I have Mrs. Norris.

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eliicries · 3 years

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This is my first time ever writing a proper fanfic and also my first time posting it online. Criticisms are very much welcome. This is my alternative ending to the cartoon series "Clone High" (you guys should check it out, it's pretty great!) I love this pairing so much but I hated how they ended up sleeping together because I've always believed in character development and the ending felt like it wasted a good opportunity to do so.

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Enchanted (a joanfk fanfic)

How did it come to this?

Two bodies pressed against each other, one of which is hovering above it's counterpart, hot and eager to make contact. Then the other, whom lies beneath them writhing in discomfort yet somewhat obvious pleasure.

Never in Joan's life had she imagined herself being the latter in such an obscene situation.

Well atleast not with somebody else other than her bestfriend and absolutely not, emphasis on the word "not", with the certain campus playboy she used to avoid like a plague.

Heck, if someone told her last night that she would end up sleeping with JFK, she would've laughed her ass off for solid 10 minutes! Then proceed to sock their teeth off for even suggesting such an absurd idea.

But as she felt his breath fan against her bare neck, she felt her own hitch.

His lips met with her flushed skin and in their wake, left along little trails of pleasure of which accumulated into an emotion something else entirely.

Guilt.

It seeped into her flesh and gnawed upon her being.

Yet the feeling of betrayal against one's morals only increased tenfold when she made no protest to stop the male from completely lifting her shirt off.

Oh God, She actually moaned.

The himbo was not to be blamed of course. His previous advances had always been outright rejected, so as ecstatic as he was, her sudden change of heart confused him. An even bigger surprise to the both of them was when it was her who initiated the idea.

It's not like her to act like this. Was she really that frustrated beyond rational thoughts?

To make things even worse, it wasn't only the disappointment she has towards herself that's weighing on her mind but also of another person very much important to her.

Abe.

They've known each other since like forever.

Now, what would be a better way to ruin a good natured friendship other than one of them developing feelings for the other?

Just to her luck, she had to be the one who does the falling, whilst her companion seemed less than eager to catch her.

As if it's the universe's way to spite her, Abe suddenly decided to date someone else.

And of course, it just had to be none other than Cleo-fhking-patra.

Seeing them together at the school campus in a daily basis was already bad enough, now living under the same roof as her and all---she also had to suffer listening through the sloppy noises they make whenever they're eating their faces off.

She swears to god everytime cleo glances at her with that look of victor in her eyes, her blood boils so much. Oh, if only she was given an opportunity to poke them out with a fork.

Then, in a final attempt to win him over, Joan had to walk around wearing those god-forbid clothes and laugh in that shrill god-awful tone.

Yet to no avail, her feelings are still unreciprocated.

In the end even as a giggling vapid slut, Abe still chose Cleo over her.

Just like he always did.

He even seemed supportive with her hookup with JFK.

Another fuel added to the fire.

Now she felt really silly exerting all those efforts just for his approval.

She always berates Cleo for being such a slut but is she really better after how desperate she acted?

Maybe if only she'd been straight forward with him from the start, things would've ended in her favor.

Or perhaps it was wrong of her to seek reciprocity. Love, after all should be unconditional.

Either way, it's too late now.

She's so pathetic.

Suddenly a voice called out to her, a sudden ripple in her stream of thoughts, breaking her out from of her stupor.

Looking sideways, her eyes met with familiar droopy ones.

She hadn't even noticed that he had stopped moving a little while ago.

"H-huh?"

"Are you er, uh, alright?"

Oh. That's right.

She was with JFK, and they were about to have sex with each other.

"You were-uh, crying."

Immediately, she brought a hand to her cheek and felt the said liquid trailing down her cheeks.

Shuddering as she finally realized she was not only physically bare, but now also emotionally.

Great.

She atleast expected an expression of dissatisfaction from him, but the male said nothing and merely looked at her. Probably dumbstruck by the sudden turn of events.

The room was quiet except for her soft sniffles.

He seemed to fiddle with the bedsheets for a while before finally deciding to move closer to her.

"Can I er, touch you?"

Expecting him to continue on where they left but too tired to even protest, she made no movement whatsoever to stop the male. They might as well finish what they've started even tho the thought made her want to shut her eyes.

She was surprised however, when she felt his arms wrapping around her, securing her into a hug.

She turned to look at him, perplexed by the sudden act of affection that he is displaying.

"Did it not feel good?"

Ah, there he is.

Of course, It was just about his ego. How foolish of her to think that he, even for a bit, cared about her.

She tried to squirm away from his grip, her fists meeting with his chest. The male took this as a sign to loosen his hold of her but not as much to completely let go of her.

"I did something wrong didn't I?"

Her body suddenly ceased it's erratic movements. She turned to look at him, searching through his face for any signs of deception which instead, only offered a genuine expression of worry.

He was blaming himself.

He actually thought it was his fault that she was crying. That's why he stopped.

"I, er, um sorry.."

If she was already crying before, then she was definitely bawling her eyes out right now.

"N-no! It's not your fault i--why did you stop?" She exclaimed in between sobs. His hand settled itself on her waist while his other one made it's way to her hair, combing them in a way that's supposed to be therapeutic.

"There, there.."

"I wanted this, Kennedy! Isn't this what you also wanted?"

"Sure I do, but not when you're uh, like this." She lets out another sob. "Besides, If I do make you cry it's going to be for an entirely different reason, if you get my meaning."

"S-shut up.."

He suggestively wiggled his eyebrows at her causing her to roll her eyes. Normally, she would've been irked by his usual comments like this, but tonight must be a different case. They seemed to give her a weird sense of normalcy, and that somehow comforts her.

Her sudden movement made the male flinch, as if anticipating another punch for his pesky remarks, he was relieved however, when Joan just readjusted her head to lean into his chest more properly.

She found this actions of his comical, cute even if she dares, and she couldn't help the chuckle that escaped her lips.

"Have you calmed down now?"

"Yes, thanks Kennedy."

Silence enveloped the both of them for a while before Jfk decided to speak again.

"You know, this suddenly reminds him."

She hummed in acknowledgement.

"Uh, Lincoln."

"Oh."

JFK didn't fail to notice the weak croak in her voice.

"Yeah, it was around that time poncey died. It was just kinda like this, except ya' know, we weren't both naked."

She felt his chest rumble as both of them let out a chuckle, hers a bit stiffled from burrying her face into them further. Muttering, "That sounds just like him.." In a barely audible voice.

No words were exchanged afterwards. Silence embraced the room once again, the same way his arms did around her body. Warm and in contrast to the air outside---inviting.

The moon illuminated the dim room seemingly to say it's hello.

So she took the opportunity to get a good look at his face. There she could makeout the subtle movement of his nostrils as he breathes.

Inhale, exhale, Inhale, exhale, Inhale..

Till she found herself unconsciously moving to the same rhythm.

His eyes she noticed, are now droopier. As his upper lashes seeked to meet with his lower ones but never actually closed them as they were fixated onto her. Only now was she able to acknowledge the kindness she failed to notice that they seemed to always have.

Then his lips, which in contrast to the usual smirk he parades around campus, lost all it's cockiness and is now ghosting a faint smile.

He looked so endearing right now that she could only sigh.

Was this really the same guy who used to shove other kids into lockers before? The same one who used to view women as mere objects meant to gratify sensual pleasure?

I guess grief from Ponce's death did change him in ways even he is not aware of.

Or maybe, he's just not a complete asshole as she thought him to be.

It could also be that she's just lonely and desperate for any act of kindness so she clung into them when given. That would explain how she got into this situation in the first place.

But whatever the answer may be, there are two things that Joan is now sure of:

One, no one is irredeemable.

And two, the male never looked as much enchanting to her right now as he ever did before.

#joanfk #joan #JFK #Clonehigh #himbo #goth

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eriklivesinmybasement · 4 years

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Fanfiction: A Doorway to Creativity

Fanfiction. It’s all over the internet, and we’ve all likely read some before, especially those of us who browse tumblr, Wattpad, and so on. If you look up the definition of fanfiction on Google, it will say this:

fan-fic-tion

Fiction written by a fan of, and featuring characters from, a particular TV series, movie, etc.

And that is a solid definition. But when I looked up the definition, something occurred to me. I was five years old when I wrote my first fanfiction. And what was it of?

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

Freaking Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer!

Looking back, I sort of cringe at the memory. It was so weird, random, ridiculous, and just downright strange. It feels awkward to even admit I made it. But as cringey as it was, I remember my mother’s reaction to it.

I was a five-year-old and proudly presented my newest creation to my mother, and when she saw it and flipped through the loose papers I stapled together to make a book, she grinned and looked at me with wide, excited eyes.

“You made this? This is great!” She exclaimed.

I remember beaming with pride at her exuberant praise. My spirits only lifted more when she went to my father and showed him what I made, only for him to shower me with praise as well.

It was at that moment I knew what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to be a writer!

When I reached middle school, my parents granted me more access to the internet, and it was there that I was first introduced to fanfiction through some of my early fandoms such as Warriors, Avatar: The Last Airbender, and Hetalia (yep, I was one of those people). It was like I found a whole new world! Here on the internet, on Wattpad specifically, I found people just like me. People who loved cartoons, superhero movies, and anime and freely immersed themselves in their work. I knew I was weird, but it felt so nice to find people out there I could relate to.

I began posting my own work on there and the feedback was phenomenal. People gave me a few dozen comments on each chapter about how much they loved reading my fanfiction. And you know what? This inspired me to go even farther with my work.

I began to create my own characters (often referred to as OC’s) and included them in my work. It was like putting myself into the story, with a character I made completely on my own, with a backstory and everything.

But then there came a day where I went further. I still wrote fanfiction here and there, but I found myself beginning to write my own stories. My own worlds. My own storylines. My own characters. All of it from scratch. All of it my own, personal, original work. And how did I get to this point? Because I wrote fanfiction and embraced that weird, quirky side of me.

I often see people ashamed that they write fanfiction, get overly nervous when they’re caught reading fanfiction, and there are even those who make fun of and bash other people’s fanfiction. Many people think that spending your time writing fanfiction is lazy and pathetic, but I beg to differ.

If you’re scared of people seeing what you like to read and write, don’t be. There is nothing wrong with it at all.

When you write fanfiction, you are expressing yourself creatively. Just because the characters and setting are from another story, doesn’t mean that the ideas and elements you add to it aren’t your own. This isn’t a time to huddle down and hide from the world, this is a time to express yourself through the unique gift of writing.

I’ve found that for many, fanfiction writing was their doorway to writing and storytelling, to their own creative spirits, to practicing the amazing talent of bringing emotion to life simply through words written on a page or typed on a screen. So keep going, and continue to write!

It’s true that you’ll perhaps look back on some of your old work and cringe at the sheer absurdity of what you wrote and your poor use of grammar. But don’t let this hold you back. Look your cringe in the face and learn from it.

Learn from what you’ve done, and continue to go forward. As you continue to write with these characters from your favorite shows, you are learning how to write your own characters and stories. And as you push along, you’ll find yourself creating your own original work. Something that is naturally and organically you. Something that, one day, you can look back in pride and say,

“I did that!”

As I kid I never thought I would be writing my own comics and stories, and yet here we are.

Keep writing your fanfiction. Don’t let people rip it apart or tear you down because they think it’s dumb. Hold your head high, and keep doing what you’re doing. Because one day, you’ll make something amazing. Something that only you can create.

#fanfiction #fanfiction writing #fanfiction essay #just me writing my thoughts out there

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frankendykes-monster · 4 years

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If you have the time, I remember you said Batman Brave and the Bold was better than the DCAU. Why do you think so exactly?

Warning for some rambling because I am sleepy.

Even though this is not how it is supposed to work, as I grow older, I progressively like less and less "adult" superhero media. I couldn't tell you when this process began, I just know I thought The Dark Knight Returns and Watchmen were hot shit when I was 16 and now I just have copies of them on my shelf out of obligation more than anything.

But more so I think my frame of reference with regards to superheroes is deftly inspired by Grant Morrison and David Mazucchelli's statements on the subject. Grant Morrison for just how much he can shamelessly embrace how endlessly fucking weird superheroes are and how that should be the default of the sub-genre. His quote "Adults...struggle desperately with fiction, demanding constantly that it conform to the rules of everyday life. Adults foolishly demand to know how Superman can fly...when the answer is obvious even to the smallest child: because it's not real." began to put the pieces in place for me. Mazucchelli's "once a depiction veers towards realism, each new detail releases a torrent of questions that exposes the absurdity at the heart of the genre. The more realistic superheroes become, the less believable they are. Its a delicate balance. But this mucb I know: superheroes are real when theyre drawn in ink." is the complementary statement. Seeing Batman be described as a "detective scientist ninja that dresses like Dracula and drives around in a rocket car" by Chris Sims is pretty much how I got to this moment now. Superheroes are completely and utterly ridiculous, you cant take them seriously in the way a lot of people do.

Superheroes functionally first dealt with the issue of realism after the Marvel boom of the 1960's. Stuff like the Fantastic Four being unable to stop Galactus no matter what they do or Spider-Man being put through the wringer permanently changed the game, and there's never been a definite answer to what direction these characters should go in the decades since then, so I typically regard the Silver Age over at DC to be the most "superhero-y" that superheroes have ever gotten (we'll get back to this).

What this all has to do with the DCAU specifically is that it goes too far for my tastes with regards to my personal tastes at this moment in time. It's gotten the critically acclaimed reputation it's gotten for taking itself seriously and yeah I'm no longer in the audience for it. I'm just not interested that much in superheroes in any capacity having to prove that "theyre not just for kids" because, first, superheroes are fictional characters for children, second, god I dont even fucking know anymore. This is more a problem with audiences in general and the cultural expectations of when you become an adult that you're no longer allowed to have fun so people can't take any of this shit seriously so in turn it forces itself to become serious. I remember someone explaining that the 1966 Batman series wasnt campy and silly, it just presented Batman in an honest way, and when people saw that Batman is by nature silly, they couldnt take Batman seriously, because a lot of people are just humorless and not much fun. Anyhow.

Yes I appreciate stories discussing the ethics of vigilantism and the addressing that innocent people would be caught in the crossfire, or when you get to Justice League Unlimited specifically with its 9/11 fallout stuff, but that's been the default for...a WHILE now. I'm very much sick of it. Seeing stuff like The Boys get super popular over on Amazon's streaming service or fuck it the plot of Avengers: Endgame being about how all these characters that children love and look up to fucked up and failed everyone is just rather depressing. This not even touching the fact that the most recent live-action incarnations of Batman and Superman are basically serial killers.

So while the DCAU doesnt usually ever go that far (except for Batman Beyond: Return of The Joker, which is so insanely fucking dark that its the story equivalent of a train just derailing after it accelerates to a virtually nonstop speed), its still a little much for me at this point in time. I dont rather like "superheroes existing in the real world", I like them existing in their own universe playing by their own rules. I'll get back to it and appreciate it more sometime in the future, just not the near future.

So anyhow, what does this have to do with The Brave and The Bold now? This show specifically aims to directly imitate and reify virtually every element of Silver Age comics, AND I LOVE IT. This is a show where you only see Batman unmasked/referred to as Bruce Wayne for ONE episode. It has no qualms about what it is, no conflict of identity, no growing pains trying to make itself relevant, it does what the fuck it pleases. Other than maybe Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse, it's the piece of popular media surrounding the sub-genre that is so comfortable in its own skin that it's just endless joy to watch.

There's also the fact that even though Batman is in the title, and is the star, he doesn't really hog the spotlight. The Brave and The Bold, even though its structure is based on a comic series from the 1970's, takes advantage of the fact that since Batman is (was, I guess) the only thing making DC any money, they might as well use him as the springboard to attach every obscure character from every corner of this entire universe. I mean, where else would I or anybody else growing up across 2009 - 2011 would have learned about Blue Beetle, Plastic Man, Red Tornado, Wildcat, Kamandi, Deadman, OMAC, the JSA, 'Mazing Man, the Creature Commandos, the Metal Men, the Doom Patrol, Hawk and Dove, Booster Gold, the Outsiders, etc. You can point to the DCAU getting around to deep cuts like the Seven Soldiers of Victory, but for me personally, my intense love for the entire DC universe can be traced back to this show specifically.

#long post

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imdoingthismspaintadventure · 5 years

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Now that the joker movie is coming out, and it looks to be a real success based on the early impressions, I wanted to talk about the message Joker seems to have and how (even through it will probably be good) it will also lack a vital part of that same theme that made the original version ( Alan Moore's interpretation specifically) so succesful.

In the movie, Arthur lives a desperate, awful situation on the edge of poverty, caring for her mother, suffering a mental condition, and being treated like shit everywhere. It presumably becomes so much, that he can't take it, and turns to madness, to embracing the absurdity of life's cruelty as the black comedy it seems to be, becoming the Joker, the clown prince of crime.

Now, all that makes for a story where it's easy to root for the "villain", who takes revenge on the world itself for wronging him by becoming an incarnation of the same chaos that broke him, AND it's perfectly in-line with the most popular Joker versions, that paint him as a nihilistic cynic who thinks both he and the world are beyond saving.

Except there is a vital element there missing. A core concept which everyone always seems to miss regarding the character.

I really love Alan Moore's The Killing Joke ( the second half of it at least, the famous fridging of Barbara Gordon is still icky ). Both in this work and in his magnum opus Watchmen there is always positivity, some spark of hopeful optimism hidden in the opressive dark.

In Watchmen it is Dr Manhattan realizing how truly special and important each live really is, how utterly unique and meaningful.

In The Killing Joke, it is the simple fact that Joker's entire philosophy of "everyone being One Bad Day away from becoming him" is WRONG.

And the one that proves him wrong isn't even Batman.

It's Jim Gordon who truly defeats The Joker

After being stripped naked, forced to go on a demented ride while being shown photos of her brutalized daughter and being relentessly mocked and taunted, what does Gordon do when he is freed?

Beg Batman to arrest him by the book. Because we have to show him that our way of doing things works.

Batman himself says as much in their confrontation. Despite all your sick, vicious games, he's as sane as he ever was. Maybe ordinary people don't always crack. Maybe it was you, all the time.

An ordinary person can "crack" and become a danger to others under the right circumstances, but it also can not. And having a reason for what you do doesn't justify it. Society didn't create the Joker, the Joker created the Joker, because when society dealt him a bad hand, he chose to become what he became.

I feel like that's an extremely important point the comic makes that I don't see mentioned often and probably won't be adressed. Maybe it will.

#joker movie #joker #batman #dc #dc comics #joker 2019 #killing joke #alan moore #watchmen #comics

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countingwithturkeys · 4 years

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Contest Winner Fic!

Hi guys! Quite a long time ago (I know, I know, I suck sometimes) I had a contest, wherein the winner would get a request fic. The winner, @azkadelia-the-werewolf, made a very interesting selection: something fluffy for Tyrant and Bonnie. This proved an interesting challenge, not because Tyrant is no longer with us except in the most literal sense, but because by her very nature the Baddie lacks free will, and thus it’s arguable as to whether or not she’s even capable of genuine love, let alone to the one she’s in service to. Although I wrote and rewrote this story almost a dozen times since that choice was made it just never really felt right, so I had to put it aside until an opportunity presented itself, rather than present something I wasn’t proud of. An opportunity presented itself! Ultimately, I do personally consider this story to be canon to the Symphony Universe, but it did not flow where it should logically go within the story. As such, the chapter count for OA will be going up, and the last chapter will be this story as bonus content. It might be slightly edited in the meantime, but as my tumblr followers (and the contest winner especially!) have been waiting a long time for this story I wanted you guys to have it first. It’s possible I may do another contest in the future when we reach the next milestone (I’m thinking when I hit 125 followers?), because despite the fact that this thing took a billion years for me to finish I think it made me think more in-depthly about my own story, and it’s ultimately added a new layer I otherwise would never have thought of without being prodded to. In short, it was a challenge, and the challenge made me a better creative thinker. What do you guys think? Would you be interested in another contest? Have fun, and I (sincerely) hope it was worth it! Oh, slight content warning: Starts off with some feels, mentions of past character death, and hints of future lady-adult situations.

Where am I?

Wherever Bonnibel was it had a heavy atmosphere, oppressive and hazy, somewhere she vaguely remembered. Somewhere familiar, and not for positive reasons, somewhere she had been once before that she never hoped to return to. Recognition flickered across her consciousness, not enough to be useful but more than enough to frustrate her. What was worse was that while she may not have been aware of where she was logically the atmosphere couldn’t have cared less; somewhere in her, somewhere deep inside, something instinctual, recognized her location.

It hated it.

Her stomach soured, bile was in her throat. Rancid. Bonnibel reflexively closed her eyes before cursing her own absurdity, forcing them open, ignoring the mounting anxiety. Everything felt too surreal, and instead she focused on that. It was absurd, it was choking, but it was something grounding that she could tease reason out of. Yes, this was familiar as well. In fact it was a feeling she had felt somewhere before. And recently. Focus, Bubblegum. Figure out where you are. She started by glancing at her hands, feeling her fingers curl into lazy fists, then relax. Well, at least I’m in control of myself. Belatedly, the princess found that oddly reassuring and wasn’t sure why. Somehow that made everything even more uncomfortable.

What was worse was the outfit she was wearing. She wouldn’t have caught it had she not been so hypervigilant, so acutely aware of her surroundings in a comical and naive attempt to make sense of everything. Instead of answer she found that she was wearing the jacket, the same varsity letterman jacket Tyrant had given her just before she die- No. Before I killed her. Admit it, Bubblegum. Admit what you did, her thoughts hissed, malice bleeding through in the form of fine tremor in her hands. It was degrading, but then so were the tears stringing her eyes, tears which were expertly pushed back under the guise of clinical detachment. Yes, she was wearing the same jacket, the same sneakers, the same deep purple pants she had worn during her twisted and deranged adventure. But that wasn’t all that was the same.

Now she knew where she was. The yellowed and dead grass beneath her feet. The sky of dust above her head. The putrid lake littered with refuse from a deranged and shattered mind, rubbish that washed up on the shore only to be left to rot. There, over her shoulder, the approximation of the cabin she grew up in, before she was even a princess. It was intact, immaculate even. Well, except for the windows, covered in thick metal plates, bolted in snugly with screws thicker than her arm. That had been Usurper’s doing, Bonnibel remembered that as well. It had been before that awful day, when the deranged vampire had been eagerly awaiting her arrival and needed something to do with that pent up energy. Something besides planning her once-lover’s demise. Oh yes, Bonnibel knew exactly where she was now.

She was exactly where Tyrant had died.

But why? That was the real question, now wasn’t it? A quick survey of her surroundings confirmed for the young scientist that she was alone. No Finn, no Jake, no Marceline or any piece of her. It was just as quiet as she remembered, just as haunting. Was she actually back? How did she get here? Where was everyone? Was this some sort of punishment? Had she been killed in some laboratory accident and dropped in the deepest pit of Dead World and forced to relive her trauma as penance for her sins-

“Hey Bonnibel.”

The candy golem startled, glancing up at the voice, overwhelmed with the desire to find the source and confirm that she wasn’t imagining it. Where…? Bonnibel wasn’t looking for long, didn’t have to look far. There, on the cabin’s porch, hidden by the shadow of Usurper's handiwork. Bonnibel exhaled; exhaled the tension, exhaled the tremor, exhaled the apprehension. An unfamiliar serenity replaced it all and despite the surreal situation and the suffocating atmosphere new tears, happy tears, began to emerge and this time the princess didn’t try to stop them. She covered her mouth in disbelief, trembling anew at the unexpected visitor. At the familiar face. At the warm, understanding smile.

Tyrant?

The vampire was apparently as surprised to see the candy golem as the candy golem was to see her. Surprised, but repressing her own sheepish smile. She rubbed the back of her neck nervously, not meeting her favorite piercing green eyes as she smiled apologetically. “Sorry. I know you hate when I sneak up on you like that… but you were definitely doing that thing you’ve been doing since you bailed us out of here where you let your mondo mega brain destroy itself ‘cause it gets overactive and turns on you. Can’t let that happen, you know? It’s like… literally my job not to let that happen.” She stopped. Dropped her hand. Frowned. “Figuratively? Still no idea how that works.”

Yes, only Tyrant would have that self-deprecating glint in her eyes, only she would have been that concerned over something the pink-haired woman could never admit to anyone, least of all herself. It was strange, though, Bonnibel pondered. The musician was clothed in simple black shorts and a white tanktop, hair still shaven in a slight mohawk. Had that been what she was wearing when she died? Why can’t I remember? Why can I remember what I was wearing but not what you were? Oh, but she remembered that collar alright. That soft pink collar that declared the vampire her property, an accessory with no beginning or end, and no visible way to remove it. Even now, it seemed, that part of Marceline considered herself owned.

That bile again.

Only now, with their adventure over- is it over? -did Bonnibel truly appraise the woman before her, that submissive portion of her lover chewing nervously on her lip with just enough restraint not to piece the soft flesh. After all, I have rules, the princess bitterly mused. But she wasn’t responding, and she realized almost too late that not responding was what Princess Bubblegum did when she was displeased with the half-demon’s antics. When Tyrant released her lip and prepared to speak a brief spark of panic shot through the scientist where she knew her heart was meant to be, because if tradition held true-

“...Should I go? Sorry.”

It was a whisper, and only now, with their adventure over - if it was indeed over - did Bonnibel truly get a good luck at the Baddie, at one of the three strongest chunks of her mate’s psyche. Marceline had always been a master of disguise and stealth but she had never learned to prevent her eyes from betraying her feelings, and clearly the older woman knew it if how hard she was trying not to look at her was any indicator. Tyrant was powerful, just as strong as Usurper and Lady Evil, but Bonnibel was all-too aware now that she herself was the Baddie’s greatest weakness, that she was just as in love with the scientist as she was afraid of her.

Even now, her shirt was torn just above her heart. Exactly where the wretched silver dagger had found its mark and ended her Unlife.

She ran. Not away from the cabin or her crimes, but to her favorite person in the world, the one she loved above any and all others and else. The embrace was tight and warm and readily returned, Bonnibel’s fingers digging into the half-demon’s shoulder possessively knowing now just how fleeting their time together truly was, what she had to lose if she let go just a moment too soon. The noise she made into that shoulder was wordless, an expression of some emotion that had no name, and Tyrant held her, the dark wings of her void form coming to wrap around both immortal women. Bonnibel pressed herself against the older woman, a cool hand rubbing soothing circles against her back.

It worked. It always worked. Marceline just knew her too well.

“Sorry, Marcy,” Bonnibel began gently once her breath came under control and her dignity was restored. The wings retracted and the queen withdrew, just enough to give her princess space. Belatedly, the scientist realized that were she dealing with Marceline, Whole Marceline, the vampire would undoubtedly have already fled, too afraid of making some implied situation worse. But Tyrant would never flee because she was incapable of disobeying. And Princess Bubblegum had rules against Marceline interpreting her will for her. Every word will have to be chosen carefully. “I was just… surprised to see you.” Surprised, and so hap-

“‘Cause I got ganked?” A wry smile.

“Yes.” No sense beating around the bush. “Because I lost you,” Bonnibel clarified. That was important, emphasizing that Tyrant had been lost and hadn’t failed her princess. When her warm, pink hand came to rest on the other woman’s cool cheek Bonnibel couldn’t help but smile. How could she? Not when her lover relaxed, not when her head tilted into the touch, not when her eyes were sliding shut at such a simple gesture. It was just so endearing, and what remained of that fear, that anxiety that had taken up valuable real estate in her heart edged out to make room for the warm fuzzies only Marceline could inspire. “There. It’s alright, Marcy. I’m not mad,” she promised. “I’m happy to see you.” And she was, more than Tyrant could understand.

“...You are?”

She sounded so bewildered it hurt. Is this what I did to you, Marcy? True, the vampire had been her normal snarky self with Finn and Jake, but Marceline’s defenses were always lowered around her best friend. No. They’re all Marcy. You’re just the part I twisted most to suit my needs. Despite the stab of guilt Bonnibel gave the musician a soft smile, watching as her garnet eyes slid open again at the confession. Just like that, the stab of guilt gave way to something warmer, the princess’s self-pity no match for how beautiful that spark in her mate’s eyes was. I have so much to tell you. For now, it would have to not matter exactly where the pair were or how they ended up there, it would have to be enough that they were together. “Come here, Marcy.” The pink hand lowered, taking the calloused grey one. Tyrant didn’t resist.

When was the last time the duo sat on those steps and had a conversation as deep as the one they were about to? I suppose… when I abdicated my throne and you helped me with my varmint problem. How long ago had that been? How many lifetimes? How many failures? Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Bonnibel lowered herself onto the cabin’s stoop, pulling her queen with her. Her queen who, though noticeably calmer, was just as skeptical, clearly uncertain of what was happening or what to believe. Of course, I did kill you. I wouldn’t trust me either. Green eyes briefly flickered to the torn shirt. There was a faded stain of maroon blood but no sign of an open wound and before Bonnibel could reconsider she was reaching out, touching the outline.

Tyrant tilted her head but didn’t flinch. “It doesn’t hurt.”

The candy woman gave her her own wry smile. Of course you would be able to predict my thoughts. You’ve always known me better than I know myself. Still, Bonnibel didn’t recall her hand, needing to know for herself if anything remained of her treachery. A scar, a scab, a pus-filled wound, anything. She traced the shirt’s torn fabric and over the vampire’s chest, but there wasn’t so much as a scratch or a wince. “...I’m sorry, Marcy,” she whispered. Even when she was satisfied that nothing remained of the dagger, Bonnibel kept her hand in position, too reluctant to break physical contact with the half-demon.

Tyrant scooted closer, closing her own hand around the candy golem’s for reassurance. “It’s alright, Bonnibel. You had to, remember? We had to go back-”

Now the bile was solidifying, mixing with its owner’s thoughts. “That’s not what I mean.” Her eyes closed as she took a deep, steadying breath, but when her eyes opened Tyrant seemed only quizzicle, absolutely nonplussed.

“...I don’t get it.”

No, you wouldn’t. You can’t. It’s not in your nature. “I was always the cruelest to you. You and Navigator. You’re the part of my Marceline that’s the most loyal and devoted. You trusted me, and look what I did to you.”

“Aw, Bonnibel…” The princess didn’t resist when the older woman pulled her back into her arms, letting her rest against her shoulder. “Don’t be like that,” she murmured against her lover’s pink temple as she kissed it. Against her better wishes the scientist smiled at the oddly tender gesture. “You know I accept you exactly like you are, right?”

Exactly. Therein lies the issue. Tread carefully, Bubblegum. “But… that’s the problem, Marcy,” Bonnibel whispered. “I took advantage of that. You began life as the whole’s sense of loyalty and devotion and I manipulated you. I turned you against yourself because it suited me. At my worst I practically controlled you, and at my best I was barely passable as a mate. I took loyalty and devotion… and I corrupted both into submission.”

“Mm.”

Bonnibel didn’t object when Tyrant pulled her closer. Did she deserve the embrace, that oddly tender affection? No. But the Baddie undoubtedly needed it, needed the younger woman’s warmth. Even in their brief time together, before her untimely death, the princess had realized that much. How could she deny the vampire now? How could she stand to be so cruel? No. Not now. Never again.

“But… you’ve always been the dominant one between us.”

Bonnibel laughed humorlessly, almost argued the point before her Common Sense stopped her from making a dreadful mistake. Ask. Don’t tell. “Do you prefer it that way, Marcy?”

“Yes.” It wasn’t the answer that stunned Bonnibel. It was how quickly it was offered, how very certain Tyrant sounded. There was no hesitation, no reluctance, it simply Was. “It’s… better this way, Bonnibel.”

For you or for me? A fair enough question. “For you or for me?” The candy golem kept her tone conversational, centuries of experience in controlling her emotions around foreign and potentially hostile dignitaries suddenly invaluable. Tyrant more than any other part of her Marceline was attuned to the younger woman’s body language, her tone of voice, all of her little tells. Any lie, any omission and Tyrant would see right through it, and unable to flee to protect her own sanity, if she sensed something amiss, if she even thought for a moment that she was causing the young scientist distress, she would run the risk of self-destructing. Bonnibel Bubblegum knew all about self-destructing.

“Both?”

Bonnibel laughed, this time affectionate humor creeping in. Tyrant just sounded so adorably bewildered, as if she had not never truly thought of the implications of her assertion that this arrangement was in their mutual best interest. With a kiss to her cold cheek the younger monarch pulled away, letting her hand rest on the vampire’s. “Are you asking or are you telling?” It was risky, she knew, to tease this particular Marceline- but maybe the semblance of normalcy will be good for her, reassuring even.

Tyrant blushed slightly, rubbing the back of her neck with her free hand. It was the second time she had expressed her nervousness with that gesture. “...Both?,” she repeated.

Now Bonnibel’s smile was genuine, and not purely for the Baddie’s benefit. Perhaps she sensed it, because the sight eased some of the tension away from both the musician and the tension between the two immortal women. Yes. I can work with this. You might be corrupted by my own hand, but you’re still Marcy. “You wouldn’t feel comfortable otherwise, would you?”

“Not really.” Nervousness passed, Tyrant dropped her hand. “I guess it’s kind of a security thing? I’ve never really thought about it, to be honest,” she shrugged.

Interesting… Although Bonnibel had long suspected that was the case it was a different matter entirely to hear confirmation from the one part of her lover incapable of lying to her. It does make sense, though. Even whole she’s unable to harm me. I suppose when you’re terrified of what you’re capable of it’s reassuring to know you can be stopped. When she squeezed Tyrant’s hand Tyrant squeezed back. If she can say it, so can you. “I… know what you mean, Marcy,” she whispered. “We’ve always relied on one another for accountability. If it came down to it…”

She trailed off, closing her eyes as a new onslaught of unpleasant memories commenced. Tyrant made a noise of understanding, of concern, of recognition, before pulling her princess back into her arms. “...Guess I’m not the only one who’s had those thoughts, huh?,” she murmured as the younger woman settled her head back ontp her shoulder.

Bonnibel shook her head, arms snaking their way around her vampire’s waist. “...No,” she admitted. “I know what I’m capable of, Marcy,” she muttered around a blush triggered not by embarrassment, but by shame. “I’ve… become much more introspective since bringing you home. I’ve had to be, in order to improve myself and be worthy of my status as your mate.” She sighed, head turning so she could bury her face in Tyrant’s chest. “How did you put up with me? With what I put you through?”

Even muffled, the Baddie could hear the heartbreaking sound of her lover’s voice cracking, and she kissed the shell of her ear to stop whatever track the princess’s train of thoughts found itself on. “You know the answer to that, Bonnibel. Besides, there’s always been good stuff too, you know? I know Nav told you all about it.”

The inconsistency prompted the death spiral that was Bonnibel’s sense of self-worth to halt, at least for the moment. Though she didn’t pull away she did turn her head, glancing up to catch the singer’s eye. It was true that Navigator had gone well out of her way, moments before her death, to reassure her best friend that everything would be alright. However- “Yes, that’s true… but that conversation happened in Lady Evil’s Citadel, shortly before her death. You were already…” Pause. Unpause. “You weren’t around to hear it. How did you know?”

“Mm.” Tyrant pulled back slightly, not enough to break the embrace but enough to lift her left arm. “Same way I have this.”

Raising a skeptical eyebrow, Bonnibel shifted her position, turning to see what it was that apparently gave the Baddie insight into events that happened after her demise. What she saw caught the breath in her throat and threatened not to give it back. She opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her and instead she settled for reaching out, hand shaking. How did I miss…? But there it was, and the princess would know the sight of it anywhere, the feel of it anywhere. “...My offering..?” she asked in quiet awe.

Tyrant chuckled. Now it was her turn to wiggle, to give the younger woman the opportunity to confirm that she was indeed seeing what she thought she was seeing because there it was, hugging the fallen Baddie’s arm: sheer black with gold streaks of demonic text, impossibly strong, warm to the touch, and crowned with a piece of Bonnibel’s very soul, embedded in the royal gem that had once been her own. Unable, or perhaps simply unwilling, to do otherwise she consented to the younger immortal turning her arm this way and that, finding her perplexity rather adorable all things considered. “Yeah. Remember? The forest where we found The Morrow’s Egg? You gave it to me? It was kind of a big deal.”

Bonnibel laughed. She couldn’t help it. There was just something about Marceline’s lop-sided smirk, about the mischievous glint in her eyes, that made any awful feeling fleeting. Instead it was replaced with a foreign but welcomed warmth blossoming in the candy golem’s chest, something that drowned out her self-doubt and chased away her melancholy. She couldn’t help it. Marceline simply had that effect on her. “You’re such a butt,” she mumbled playfully, smile growing when Tyrant snickered her agreement with the assessment. “Am I to presume I’m dreaming, then?” Although that made the most logical sense Bonnibel found herself hoping she was wrong. If it is, then I still can’t apolog-

“Eh… kinda?”

“Kind of?” She settled back in her lover’s arms for what she hoped would be a good or at least entertaining excuse. It didn’t escape Bonnibel’s notice that when Tyrant held her once again she wrapped her right arm around the younger woman, but allowed her left arm - vambracer included and especially - to be held against the candy scientist’s chest, directly over her heart. Tyrant was quiet, but Bonnibel knew better than to press her question, both because she knew it logically impossible for the Baddie to disobey or ignore her, and because the older woman finally seemed at ease. What right do I have to rob her of that sense of peace merely because I’m impatient? Even the thought caused her nose to wrinkle in disgust, but she kept the sentiment to herself. They were having a nice time. Why ruin it?

When Tyrant did finally answer her voice seemed far away, not from melancholy or detachment, but as if she were reliving some fond memory. “I had something like it happen too, way back in the ol’ days when my soul first chose yours. I dreamt about you.”

“What did you dream about?”

A wince, but it quickly settled, too swiftly for Bonnibel to draw attention to. “I was bloodlusting. It was like some mondo-weird out of body experience. Like… I could feel all the rage and anxiety and stuff, could feel junk breaking in a bajillion pieces in my claws, could feel how good it felt to gank things and rip heads off, but I couldn’t stop it. I mean I can’t really stop it anyway, but this was super not being able to stop it.”

“Like you were stuck?”

Tyrant nodded, tensing at the memory of her dream, but one kiss to her cheek and she relaxed once more. “Yeah, that’s a pretty grock word for it. I was just stuck in ‘wreck everything up’ mode. Then… you were there. And I kinda freaked out, ‘cause you’ve seen me bloodlust. You know what I’m like. It was a dream, though, so I didn’t know if I’d be able to keep my prom about not hurting you if I was stuck like that. So… I was pretty scared, you know?”

Bonnibel nodded. She may not be a demon, but she had seen her paramour in that state of mind before, had even held her, whispering soft reassurances of love and support as she tore herself apart in contrition for those she harmed without intending to. “I know, Marcy.”

“You… weren’t afraid, though. You just went right up to me and hugged me. Held me? You told me to relax, and… I did. It was like a switch. I was back in my body, I was calm. Like nothing had happened. It was freaky, but in a good way. I felt like me again. Wasn’t even bloody anymore, it was all just… gone.”

Just like that? “What else did I do? Anything?”

“You told me that it was time to go home.” Tyrant shook her head to clear whatever emotion was starting to make itself known and Bonnibel held the arm against her chest tighter. “So I woke up and I felt… pretty rockin’ actually.”

Bonnibel allowed herself to indulge in a smile. “Is that when you knew? That your soul had chosen mine?”

“Yeah,” Tyrant sighed, not uncomfortably. “I knew. I could like… feel my soul looking for yours? Kinda hard to explain, sorry.” She offered a sheepish grin. Bonnibel returned the gesture with a kiss.

“Perhaps, but I understand,” she started gently. “I suppose it was your mind making logical sense of what happened with your soul.”

“I guess. You’re the brainlord, Bonnibel.” An affectionate tease. Yes, Bonnibel could definitely get used to that from her Tyrant. “Not sure why I dreamed about that, though. Mondo weirdness.”

Now the train of thought was on a better track. “Mm. Perhaps not,” she mused. “Perhaps it was the manifestation of one of your greatest fears.”

“...Bloodlusting? ‘Cause that actually feels pretty good.”

Bonnibel chuckled, both at the statement and the confusion inherent within it. “No, silly. You’ve always been terrified that you’ll hurt me.”

A sharp intake of breath. “Oh. Yeah. That,” Tyrant muttered. “I mean… I can’t, but…”

“But whole you theoretically could.” The embrace tightened, becoming a mixture of affectionate and protective. Perhaps enjoyable from Marceline as a whole, but from this one in particular? A slippery slope. “Shh…” Bonnibel stroked over the fingers held against her chest, reminding their owner through her warmth that she was alive and unharmed. I’m safe. See? “You’ve never harmed me, Marcy. You’ve always taken your vow with deadly seriousness. You’re the reason I’m here still, and I mean that quite literally.”

“I guess…”

So you say, but you sound uncertain. You’re not even aware of it, or you wouldn’t be able to- The pieces clicked. “I think, Marcy… that your dream was a way of reassuring you that everything is alright. You’ve always been afraid of what’s inside of you, but I’m not.”

“...Yeah. I know.” The protective edge to the hold abated, leaving only the original affection. “You rock.”

Debatable. But not a debate worth having. Not now, not with Tyrant, not here. “I suppose this must be a similar situation for me. You, the Whole you, accepted my offering this evening. I may not be a demon, but I devised a method for my soul to artificially choose yours. I don’t believe it to be a coincidence that I’m facing my demons - no offense intended, Marcy, please don’t look at me like that - when you faced your own after your soul chose mine.”

Tyrant tilted her head. “So… what are you facing?”

You. But that wasn’t entirely accurate. It wasn’t Tyrant herself that Bonnibel feared. How could she? How could she ever fear any part of her queen, the woman who loved her unconditionally, who had stood by her through everything, who had accepted her exactly as she was? Even Usurper defined me as her mate in the present tense, and psychological torture not withstanding she never harmed me directly. Even she was bound by the promise. No, it wasn’t Marceline Bonnibel feared above all else. It was- “Myself, Marcy.”

“...Bonnibel?”

The candy golem turned, letting the arm she was using as a security blanket return to its owner. Instead she caught Tyrant’s gaze, needing her to see the sincerity and understand why Bonnibel was there. Now is the time for me to confront my demons. This may be a dreamscape, but my emotions are real. You taught me that. “We share many things in common, Marcy, but one thing we never intended on sharing was our mutual fear of hurting the other. I never realized how destructive a force I was in your life until I acted as the catalyst to your mind shattering.”

Tyrant frowned. “But… I mean, like I just said, Bonnibel, you’re the reason that I’m… you know. Trying and junk.”

Bonnibel gave her a soft smile, cupping her cheek. “I know, Marcy. I ground you. But you also ground me. I hold you when you inevitably fall apart, but you protect me from myself… and I never realized that until I-” say it say it say it “-killed you.”

“But… you had to. To bring us back.”

“Yes. That doesn’t make it any less… traumatic.” Now it was time for their positions to reverse, for Bonnibel to pull Tyrant against her and allow her to listen to her favorite sound in the world: her princess’s steady heartbeat. It elicited a soft purr from the Baddie. That and the fingers stroking down her mohawk. “You made me realize what I had turned into, and what I had sacrificed to do so. For the privilege of being the most powerful monarch in Ooo I sacrificed my best friend. I know better now, but…” A humorless chuckle, but it didn’t get far: Tyrant pressed herself closer. That was a much better feeling. “...I’ve been using your death to torture myself. I’ve always been so focused on punishing unconscionable failure that I never really considered that… how do I put it...”

“...I don’t want you to?”

Bonnibel laced their fingers, curling her hand around the cool thumb stroking her palm reassuringly. “Yes. You’ve only wanted to build up, whereas I’ve been focused on being punished for my crimes.”

“...Think that’s why you dreamed of me? Like, specifically?”

The candy golem settled her cheek on the demon’s forehead. “Yes. You were - are - such a large part of Marceline. You’re self-deprecation, you’re submission… but you’re loyalty, too. You’re still so loyal, even now, and I think…,” she took a deep breath, exhaling her reluctance and trepidation, “...I think that the best way I can move forward with you is to let go and stop beating myself up for who I was. I need to respect that you wouldn’t want me to suffer, let alone inflict it upon myself. Indeed, that would go against everything you’ve ever strived for, both individually and as a whole. It would be an insult to what happened here, at this cabin, for me to look at this opportunity and see only a way to harm myself with it.”

Tyrant chuckled, holding up her left arm. “This isn’t meant to be a cage, you know?”

Bonnibel took the Baddie’s hand with her free one, kissing the knuckles. “Yes. It’s freeing in a way I never imagined it could be. Now I can grow into a better person. A better ruler, perhaps, but… first and foremost, a better person.” The hand was released so that she could tilt the vampire’s chin up so that their eyes met. “You taught me that. You showed me how. Thank you,” she emphasized wholeheartedly. “I understand now. I was a monster, that is inarguable, but I’m not that person anymore.”

“Except to peeps all up in your biz?”

Bonnibel pressed her mouth into a thin line and Tyrant snickered. “...I amend my statement. I was a monster, but I’m not that person anymore. To you.”

“Just to the lessers?”

“Precisely.”

Now the snicker was actual laughter, which in turn became a devilish grin. “Rock. I’m proud of you, Bonnibel.”

For some reason, that made the candy golem blush. Instead of confronting that bundle of curious emotions she instead reached up, tapping the soft pink collar. “Do you want me to leave this on?,” she asked one last time.

“Yeah.” No hesitation, no nervousness. It still Just was.

Bonnibel gave her a soft kiss, letting her fingers trail from her cheek to her neck, resting over the collar. “Very well, Marcy. If you feel better not altering our dynamic, I can certainly respect that desire.” It wasn’t like she disagreed with it, after all, and with one last reassuring tug her hand, and the matter, were dropped.

“Thanks, Bonnibel. I gotta ask, though. What are you gonna do when you wake up? This is nice, don’t get me wrong… but you gotta wake up sometime.”

That was an interesting question. The princess hummed in thought, resting her hand over the vambracer. It’s so warm. Her expression brightened into a devious smile. “I think, Marceline, that you and I have a lot of lost time to make up for.”

Tyrant grinned. She’d know that smile anywhere. “Cool. I’m sure I’ll love rebuilding my trophy collection.”

“Mm. And do you plan on healing them this time?”

“Eh. See how the day goes. Why rush art?” Bonnibel chortled, finally breaking the embrace to stand. When she offered her hand, Tyrant gladly took it. As the Baddie rose to her full height the cabin door slid open, and both royals glanced over it. “Pretty sure that’s your cue that you’re waking up, Bonnibel.” Despite everything, there was still a twinge in the candy monarch’s chest at the idea of leaving Tyrant behind. It must have read quite easily, because the half-demon squeezed the hand that lay so comfortably in her own. “It’s alright, Bonnibel. I’m not gone. Remember? Still me. And when you wake up next to me? Still me, too.”

Bonnibel breathed a sigh, perhaps of relief, perhaps of hesitation. In the end, though- “Yes. You’re right, Marcy. Walk me out?” Tyrant nodded, leading the way.

“Come on, Bonnibel,” she smiled. “Let’s go home.”

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