#i use a translator if its not already obvious rip | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

avaritia-apotheosis · 10 months

Text

Nomen Nescio | chapter 1

Out of all of his names, he’s always felt the most comfortable with Danny Fenton. -- Nomen nescio - used to signify an anonymous or unnamed person. Translated from lating, it means "I do not know the name." 5th Installment of the Hey Brother AU

A DPxDC crossover // Read on [AO3]

MASERLIST // Next Chapter → Out of all of his names, he’s always felt the most comfortable with Danny Fenton. It was his identity, who he was and how he viewed himself for a good few centuries. Regardless of how much he’s changed, he’d always believe himself to be Danny Fenton at his core. That the Fentons don’t exist in this universe also means that it’s a handy pseudonym for whenever he wants to remain under radar. Jack Fenton, Mattie Fenton, Jasmin Fenton; all identities he’s assumed in one way or another. Sometimes he’d even parade around as Sam Manson or Tucker Foley.

(He contemplated going by Vlad Masters for a solid ten seconds before shuddering at the idea. He wanted to remain anonymous, not picked out for having such an obvious villain name.)

After Danny Fenton, he felt most at home with the name al Ghul. It was the name he was given in this life, lovingly chosen by his mother. If it were not for that single fact, he might have discarded himself of the name entirely.

Danyal al Ghul was everything Danny Fenton was not. The prodigal son. The Demon’s Heir. Pride of the League. An accomplished assassin, a proficient killer, the unseen shadow. The name alone cultivated a reputation of fear even without his interference (he blamed Ra’s for that). But it was a name that he’d grown up with. A name his mother chose. A name that gave him a brother. So even if he did not love the name, he still saw some part of himself in it. It was a version of himself he chose to be in this life, for better or for worse.

Wayne was the name that sat heavy and uncertain on his tongue. A name that he did not think of as his own, even when it was offered freely. The name evoked a legacy. Of pioneers, of architects, of doctors, of the forefathers of Gotham in all its smog and glory. Of hope, of justice, of the weak becoming strong to protect those who cannot do so themselves. It was the name of heroes.

And Danny—whether Fenton or al Ghul—was not a hero in this life. In the grand scheme of things, he was barely a hero in the last.

He could be a hero if he wanted to. He had the suit, the powers, and even the backstory. And he was certain worse people than him had turned over a new leaf and decided to pursue the path of righteousness. But the fact of the matter is that Danny didn’t want to.

He’s had that life already. And heroism just didn’t hold the same appeal it once did when he was fourteen and living in a different universe.

But just because he wasn’t a hero in this life, doesn’t mean he’d sit idly by when innocent people are in trouble in front of him.

Shades lowered, scarf firmly wrapped over his nose, and hood up, Danny ripped the emergency doors off the back of a school bus and ushered all the kids out. Just minutes later, a huge chunk of falling debris smashed onto the now empty bus.

Ah, Metropolis. Why did he wanna come here again?

Superman crashed onto the road, leaving a boulder-sized crater into the asphalt. He burst from the rubble unharmed, firing off his laser vision at the giant robot looming in the distance.

Right. It’s because he wanted to see aliens.

Danny helped the bus driver usher the kids into some nearby safe zone, mostly by making sure there were no stragglers. He kept watch over the battle at the corner of his eye, but paid no mind after Superman bounded into the air, probably leading the robot away from them.

One of the little kids—maybe a few years younger than Damian—tugged at his sweater. “You were so strong, mister! You just ripped the door right off!”

Danny couldn’t help the grin on his face. He ruffled the kid’s hair. “That’s cuz I eat all my vegetables.”

“Nuh uh! You’ve definitely got super powers or something. Ooh, or you’re an alien like Superman!”

“Cross my heart and hope to die, kid. I’m not an alien or anything.”

Danny scampers off before the rest of the kids start getting ideas.

He follows the fight as best he could in between aiding in civilian duty, and taking advantage of the chaos to switch up his disguises. It was rare for him to cross paths with a hero when he worked for the League of Shadows, so he was curious at how effective they were in a fight. He’d sifted through the League’s databases when he was younger so he had a basic idea of who the current big names were and their power sets, but it was nothing like watching them battle in real life.

Superman, surprisingly, kept his distance during the fight. He used his heat vision, cryo-breath, and even resorted to just chucking massive pieces of debris at the robot to keep his distance. Wonderwoman and Green Lantern seem to be doing a lot of the heavy hitting up close, and he thinks he’d seen the Flash zipping around somewhere.

The robot probably had a heavy stock of kryptonite on it, which means Lex Luthor.

Damn rich people.

The robot fired off two large shells of its weapon. The projectiles flew at high-speeds towards Superman— before suddenly changing course and homing towards…Danny?

Oh Lex Luthor that bitch.

Before Danny could even raise his own shields, Superman comes barreling in front of Danny and zipped him away as the shell impacted the earth. Superman let out a low whistle. “Well, that was a close one.”

The rounded shell suddenly popped open, releasing a cloud of green gas. Seconds later, more canisters lodged themselves in the ground around them, covering the intersection in a thick cloud of green smoke. And as if fate didn’t hate Danny enough, a strong wind blew the gas over towards them.

Superman toppled to the ground, doubled-over as he breathed in the gas. Aerosolized kryptonite? How fun.

A couple streets over, Danny starts seeing a bunch of smaller robots roaming around and causing chaos in the streets, further dividing the heroes’ attention.

Danny sighed. “You just had to jinx it, didn’t you?”

Superman looked at him like he just grew a second head— which hadn’t happened in centuries mind you. Learning how to clone yourself is hard no matter how easy Vlad makes it look. “You need to get out of here,” he shouted between coughs. “It’s dangerous!”

That he actually contemplates leaving Superman here as a hoard of giant spider-robots was enough of a reason to make Danny stay. Those thoughts were the devil talking. And by the devil, he meant Ra’s. “Trust me when I say that you’re probably at the safest place you can be.” Danny slams his palm onto the ground. “By the way, you don’t need air to breathe, right?

“I— well, no, but what are you—?”

A single purposeful tug at his ghostly energy creates a dome of bright green light around them. Those years of solitude gave him enough time to experiment the extent of his powers, both in his ghost form and outside it. One of the very cool things he learned with shields is that he could manipulate the energy and permeability of the ectoplasm in such a way that he could create his very own little vacuum chamber inside. Which meant that he could suck all of the airborne kryptonite out of Superman’s radius.

There would still be some kryptonite in his system, but at least he won’t be inhaling more of it.

The only downside of all of this is that Danny did have to fortify his own human lungs to be able to keep breathing. He was still technically walking around as a human right now.

“What in the—”

“Oh! Looks like back-up is coming.”

In the distance, the distinct shape of the batwing soars overhead, sending rounds and rounds of ammunition at Luthor’s robot. There’s an explosion at its front, sending off a chain reaction as both of the machine’s arms are blown off.

He takes his phone out of his pocket and dials a series of numbers right out of his head. (His phones had a tendency to break, so saving numbers just became too much of a hassle every time he had to get a new one.)

The call picks up on the second ring.

“Hey Bats! Your little superfriend over here got gassed with some kryptonite.” At the corner of his eye, Danny just sees Superman mouth what in the world under his breath. No swearing? Really? Huh, must be the boy scout in him. “He’s safe, but I’d rather you take him off my hand before he starts asking questions.”

(His sharp hearing picks up Superman’s mumbled “I don’t even know what questions to start asking.”)

There’s a brief moment of silence on the other line, before he eventually hears a strangled sigh and a raspy “Copy that, just stay there. Don’t move.”

Danny hangs up and pockets his phone. “Welp, better hang tight Supes, because your knight in shining…kevlar? (I think it’s kevlar) is coming to pick you up soon.” He steps out of the dome he’d created, picking up a fallen metal baseball bat from the ground.

“Wait— ok, putting aside the fact that you somehow have the Batman’s phone number, I am 100% sure he told you to stay put.”

“Yeah, well…” He twirls the bat in his hand, thinking back to that one mobile game he’s been enjoying. “Rules are made to be broken.”

He takes a swing at the nearest spider robot, hard enough to dent the titanium skull.

***

Ten minutes and thirty-something smashed robots later, Danny flagged down the Justice League to pick up their wayward companion.

Superman—who begrudgingly stayed put inside the ecto-shield because a) he couldn’t leave, b) even if he could the kryptonite gas just refused to disperse, and c) the League looked like they were wrapping things up soon anyway—breathed a sigh of relief as Flash created a vortex that cleared the air.

“Thanks, Flash.” And then turning to Danny, he flashed those pretty pearly whites and put out his hand to shake. “And thank you, too, for all your help. Though I don’t think I managed to catch your name there, son.”

Son, son, son. There was a time when Danny was newly born into this world where he flinched at the word, too unused to being called anyone’s son after his parents passed away.

(At the ripe old age of 92, passing within seconds of the other because Jack and Maddie had been attached at the hip ever since they fell in love. Much to Danny’s surprise, a whole symposium of scientists came to attend his parents’ funeral. He’d always pictured his parents as the weird and kooky scientists no one outside of Amity took seriously. Sure, they revolutionized the entire world’s view of science and the afterlife and essentially found a way to make interdimensional travel possible, but they were his parents.)

(Jack: his dad who drove recklessly but always somehow avoided getting his license revoked, who made a fudge so delicious it could be classified as a sin, and who never failed to be there for Danny whenever he was down.)

(Maddie: his mom who knew a thousand ways to break someone’s bones with just a paperclip, but couldn't cook a single unburned or irradiated meal to save her life, who nurtured Danny’s love of space and helped him build his first flight module.)

(He loves Talia, he really does. She’s his mother, but Maddie and Jack were his mom and dad. Like he was first and foremost Danny Fenton, he has, and always will be, their son.)

Danny doesn’t flinch at the word now.

It’s one word, and it’ll hold about as much meaning as he lets it.

He kicks the head of his bat off the ground and swings it to rest at his shoulder. “It’s no problem,” he says, completely ignoring Superman’s angling for his own name. “I was getting bored of sightseeing anyway.”

“Sightseeing?” Flash let out a laugh. “You must be fun at parties if your solution to getting bored is smashing robots into bits. Seriously, though, I don’t think I’ve seen you before. New meta?”

Danny tilted his head to the side and shrugged, letting them interpret that answer however they wanted to. It was always fun seeing what people came up with to explain, well, him.

“So this is your first time in Metropolis, then?” Superman asked, eyes narrowed. Not that Danny was thinking about it, wasn’t Superman’s day job a reporter or something? He could see the gears turning in the other’s mind, pulling out that proverbial red string on the corkboard to piece all his information together. “It’s…not exactly the best first impression of the city, but I’d like to welcome you anyway.”

Danny shook his hand firmly, but didn’t tap into his well of superhuman strength to make a point. “Well, might not be the best but it sure is the most exciting first impression I’ve had. It’s the first superhero fight I’ve seen this close, you know!” He didn’t know how much,if any, Superman already knew about him. And if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t really know whether he cared if Superman investigated him or not.

It could go either way. Dany wasn’t a threat to Superman, and there really isn’t anything that Superman has that Danny would go to great lengths to fight for. Bruce had already given his permission to see Damian whenever he wanted. And with Danny’s own…let’s say semi-calculated heart-to-heart, Bruce was unlikely to change his mind about Danny anytime soon.

He’s learned a lot about public personas since his debut days as Phantom. Bruce was a sentimental person to the core. The paradigm of Danny being some lost, wayward child that was hesitant, but willing, to someday join the family was a hope too alluring to discard so easily.

(Danny didn’t lie when he told Bruce he was bad at planning in advance. But just because Danny’s bad at long-term plans, it doesn’t mean that he can’t capitalize and build on an advantage when he sees one. Call it the al Ghul in him. The Wayne in him, even.)

“Really?” Superman pressed. “I would’ve thought you’d seen plenty in Gotham.” “A Gothamite?” Flash perked, face suddenly inches away from Danny’s to get a closer look. Danny barely resists the urge to pat his face to check if his disguise was still on. “So he’s one of B’s kids? Strange, I don’t recognize this one. Unless he got a new one— which, y’know, is kinda par for the course here. But really where does he keep finding all of these kids?”

“I don’t find them. They find me.”

Flash nearly jumps ten feet in the air at the sound of Batman’s voice coming from behind him. “Jesus christ, Bats! Where did you come from?”

Danny raised an eyebrow and pointed to the Batwing that’s been hovering above the skyline a little ways away from them. “You seriously didn’t see the giant fighter jet over there?”

“Well clearly not!”

Batman turns to Superman, business as usual. “Are you alright? Any lingering effects?”

“Oh just some weakness but it’ll be gone in a jiff. I got a lot of help from your…friend? Friend, over here.”

Batman grunts, looking Danny up and down for any injuries. There were none, of course. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

Danny set the bat down on the ground, leaning his weight against it. “Got bored. Got curious. You know how I am when I’m curious.”

“Does your mother know that you’re here?”

Danny’s eyes widened. “She told you?”

Talia specifically requested that Danny not be sent on any missions in or near cities claimed by heroes. Specifically heroes with a strong connection to the Justice League. More than likely it was to deter Batman from finding out their connection to each other until the time was right, but when it comes to Talia, one could hardly say.

Batman raised a brow. “So does she?”

“Of course she does. She always knows where I am even when I don’t tell her. Probably had me microchipped or something, I don’t know.”

Superman and Flash sent very concerned looks towards them. Danny waved off their concerns with a laugh. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. She doesn’t do that.”

At least, Danny hoped Talia didn’t do that. There was an unnervingly high likelihood that Talia would have placed a tracker on him at some point, but Danny would rather not think about the possibility. Ignorance is its own form of bliss after all.

Flash cups a hand to the side of his mouth and whispers to Superman. “I really feel like we’re missing out on something over here.”

Batman grunts again. He inclines his head at Danny. “Would you care to introduce yourself?”

Which brings Danny back to the dilemma he’s had since his rebirth: what name to go by. That’s the problem with having too many names; they can be attached to various distinct and overlapping identities that it’s difficult to choose which one is the best to go by.

It’s nice to know that Batman wouldn’t dispute him if Danny decided to give a fake name.

Wayne was an immediate no go. He could already see it now: the shock, the surprise, the curiosity, and next thing you know within twenty-four hours the whole Justice League is knocking at his door to learn more about Batman’s new kid. Even if the sound of Danny Wayne didn’t make him uneasy, he still wouldn’t go for it. Yeah, no thanks.

Al Ghul would probably be closer to the truth, but it was a dangerous option to make. The League of Shadows were still a formidable group with a lot of enemies from both sides of the moral spectrum, and Danyal al Ghul had a reputation that would mark him as an enemy on sight, Bat or no Bat.

Which left Fenton as the safest option. It was an unknown name with no added complications. Hell, he didn’t even have to go by Danny if he still wanted some anonymity.

But…

It was one thing to use the name with strangers he’d never see again. Giving that name to people that were connected to him to some degree felt…exposing. He’s never even shared that name with Damian, and he’s closest to Damian out of anyone.

Which left one option.

Just fucking with them.

Danny gives an exaggerated bow. “The name’s Nathaniel Edward Mortimer Olysseus, at your service.” He winks. “Well, not for much longer now, anyway.”

And then he drops a smoke bomb, leaving behind a confused Flash, and an equally amused Batman and Superman.

***

OMAKE:

It’s later on when The Flash is recounting the story to Wonder Woman—and by the small chuckle she gave at the name—did Flash realize the mystery man’s trick.

“Olysseus is one of the many variations of the Greek hero Odysseus,” Diana explained.

Nathaniel Edward Mortimer Olysseus.

N.E.M.O.

Nobody.

Flash buried his face in his hands. “Can’t believe I fell for that. Should’ve known he wouldn’t say his actual name.”

Superman shrugged. “What can you expect? He’s a Bat.”

#dpxdc #hey brother au

42 notes · View notes

fernsehn · 2 years

Text

🙄🤨 Some thoughts on "Rebooting" (please don't call it that) a certain show from the 90s

Doggett and Reyes, alright, that was kind of an economical (for Fox) necessity at the time and there was a direct link to and succession from Mulder and Scully. The show was on the fucking air and it was a continuation. One that's still kinda debated ...

But now. In 2023. After a second and third reiteration in which Chris Carter already proved that he has no clue whatsoever how to let characters and stories evolve over longer time spans. After so many unsatisfying and weird quasi-endings to Mulder's and Scully's epic and intimate story....

Just please...don't do anything cruel to the already desecrated corpse ...maybe?

Just....don't call it a reboot or "reviving" the show? Maybe call it "set in the same universe" or something?

Although...wait...

What even is the X-Files universe????????? Apart from being yet another asset in Disney's monopolistic graveyard of once beautiful stories pocket?

The X-Files "universe" as in the mythological or logical frame of the show in terms of rules to its stories is such a butchered, ripped apart and awkwardly sewn back together collection of incoherent ideas. And even though nobody found a sustainable way to translate other crucial ingredients of its former cutting edge tv Show-ness, that's still holding up aesthetically 30 years later, into the age of peak TV...what made us come back were these two characters: Mulder and Scully. Iconic figures. A pairing you cannot easily recreate and definitely shouldn't try to recreate in any obvious ways (*painfully remembers Einstein and Miller 😱*) Even Doggett and Reyes were mere diversions in what was essentially Scully's and Mulder's story.

So: If you shoudn't recreate that iconic pairing under the same fucking title and if the universe is a mess to begin with, the only thing that will work is building something new from scratch that's somewhat related to what The X-Files used to embody? If you have someone "take over" the literal X-Files ...like....even that idea needs some new and good juice because how and why and what???? Also: having someone investigate paranormal stuff....it's not exactly a unique/original idea?????

And what even does "diverse" mean? I mean...maybe it could actually become a black story in a sort of post-colonial way. Mulder was always a dude trying to work against the system. So what if it's someone trying to fight white supremacy and untangle its web by dealing with The X-Files? IN the actual belly of the beast??? The fucking FBI that harassed MLK. And that was founded by a racist???? Maybe the show would need to work more like BTVS and become (Just like Buffy) more overtly metaphorical.

OK, that might actually work...and make sense as far as I'm even allowed to judge that 🙈. Or would it? 🥺🤨🧐🤗🥴 (I actually kinda like it. But Chris Carter isn't allowed to touch it please. Also: please: no couple/man-woman duo with a msr-esque dynamic!!!)

Most importantly: I kinda doubt this alleged reboot of TXF will actually happen now. Well...in the end it all depends on the audience testing I guess. If this project will ever reach the pilot stage. Also: will they set it up at hulu/Disney+? Honestly: If they do (and they absolutely should) I'm gonna be fucking mad because they should've done that (in theory...it wasn't possible in 16 and 18) with seasons 10 and 11 😭.

#the x-files #x-files reboot #coogler x-files #txf #chris carter

8 notes · View notes

abigail-nicole · 2 years

Text

tgcf liveread 9

being the live-read of that time i read tgcf for the first time, truly a magical experience i would recommend to all, if you like gay stories, fantasy stories, or perfectly-written stories, then perhaps buy official english translations of Heaven Official's Blessing

originally tweeted 4/1/2020:

I also can’t want to see this animated, in five years when the donghua gets to it

gays pointing out misogyny

Another little mxtx horror gem featuring bai wuxiang

this Thing Obviously Impersonating Hua Cheng (But Doing A Bad Job) is adding so much extra horror to a scene which is already filled with creepy, fleeting glimpses of Bai Wuxiang. Horror level 10

nicely done confirmation that Fu Yao and Nan Feng were just Mu Qing and Feng Xin for a long time. That was pretty obvious from the dynamics

hahahahshahshsjs omg this dynamic

I literally burst out laughing so loudly at this fourth wall call out by Mu Qing & Feng Xin

the Cave Full Of Statues Of Himself thing is INCREDIBLY creepy !!!!!

i screamed in my empty apartment

.... i need to do some online shopping & process this a second while I think about buying an eighth bathrobe

so this is kinda like Hua Cheng’s stalker cave huh, while he was hoping to play it cool

I say that with LOVE i still adore crimson rain sought flower and hualian

He’s all like I HAD THE RED STRING, I GAVE HIM THE RING, WHY THE ASSHOLE CHILDHOOD FRIENDS GOTTA COME ALONG AND EXPOSE MY STALKER CAVE

Rip feng xin & mu qing who are about to get murdered by hua cheng

who IS the white-clothed man who is CLEARLY the favorite to win Mt Tong’lu’s Next Top Ghost King??? I’m scared of him & Hua Cheng better step up

it’s....Him, isn’t it....!!!!!!!!

HE BOYFRIENDS LOVE EACH OTHER THEIR LOVE CAN WITHSTAND THE STALKER CAVE.

ok I was wrong nothing was impersonating hua cheng But he Was acting suspicious. Like, What If He Finds Out How Long I’ve Liked Him, What If He Realizes I Was A Nerd In School And Filled My Locker With Art Of Us suspicious

ahhhhhhh Clean Water, Pure Air,,,,,, Hualian Happy Together

Xie Lian: oh no

Hua Cheng: what? I won’t let Bai Wuxiang get near you!

Xie Lian: Oh no.....it’s so hot when you’re mad.....

Xie Lian’s reaction to seeing the cave that Hua Cheng filled with statues and art of him: so he DOES like-like me!!!!

When I found out where his ashes were & spoiled it for myself I was so mad & now these cryptic comments are even MORE ROMANTIC

A WISP OF HUA CHENG BACKSTORY? I’M SO STARVED FOR IT

“It’s not like it’s anything hard” UNLIKE XIE LIAN’S DICK AFTER THIS SCENE OH MY GOD I NEED TO LIE DOWN

Hua Cheng is about to Ghost King Level Up!!!!!!!!!!! Watch Out!!!! Oh my god

Every time I turn a page I expect AND SCENE! END OF BOOK THREE!!! is it gonna be KISS? is it gonna be HANDS HOLD JUMP INTO KILN? its gonna be somewhere Maximum Suspense is reached

THE SUSPENSE HERE IS KILLING ME AHHHH it just KEEPS BUILDING

the suspense is so bad that....I better stop reading & tweet every other paragraph so I can scream more about how AHHHHHHHHHH i am about this

I clearly remember every book I read that made me start wanting to eat the pages halfway thru because I was so into it & this is one

REMEMBER WHEN I TALKED ABOUT GHOST KING MAGICAL GIRL FLOWER CROWN MARTIAL PRINCE XIE LIAN WELL

Hahaha and THERE is the end of book 3 okay oh boy someone get me a beta blocker for my heart rate oh god

Predixns: Book-4-flashback.mov then I suspect our dianxia will just turn up in a forest somewhere, having gently jumped ahead several months, been missing, collecting trash, and there will be Some Backstory & we’ll never get the details of how he came out of the Kiln

Predixns the sequel: while dianxia is trapped in the Burial Moun—I mean the Kiln, the world will go to shit & hua cheng will be Big Mad & Take It Out On Everyone

I read this on april fool’s because I am The Fool

More proof xie lian is god of millennials: centuries of eating trash and being free while ignoring the news

Book Four! Starting next time on tgcf liveread part ten!!!!

#tgcf #tgcf liveread

2 notes · View notes

mylovelyrainblog · 1 year

Text

Why the translation of title “Love and Redemption” is very appropriate

This show is essentially about Redemption through Love. Anyone who watched the show should understand this core promise. The “colored glass” part refers to the female protagonist heart being ripped out by the major villain and replaced with a piece of colored-glass, rendering her unable to experience her own feeling and emotions fully, basically maiming her in an attempt to rob her agency and make her obey without the possibility of rebellion. The attempt failed of course, because eventually victims do heal and she grew back her flesh heart by the LOVE her lover gave her unconditionally. Many says the female protagonist is not smart, I disagree. She is penetratingly insightful, resistant to gaslighting, and incredibly strong-willed at merely 20 years-old and disabled for most of those years. So I’d say Love and Redemption is a much better translation than Colored-glass, because the female protagonist didn’t accept that mutilated state as her organic self and fight to let herself heal into her full being, which is capable of LOVE again.

The Redemption part isn’t just the healing of the female protagonist tho. I’d not spoil the fun for viewers who haven’t watched all episodes.

Love was not a prevalent notion in ancient China. Personal love was actually looked down upon in the old norms. This might be hard to understand for western audiences due to Ancient Greeks having no such qualms and the prevailing Christian and Catholic beliefs focusing on the LOVE of God, both to and from. People say Jesus Christ is all about LOVE. Redemption by love is a prominent western notion that is almost completely absent from ancient Chinese culture. Traditional Chinese culture’s most main doctrine used to boost obedience to the patriarchal social order, or “rationality” as they later tried to mask it, by disowning and vilifying personal desires and emotions. Confucianism originally did not completely reject love and emotions, but seeks to tame them into the rigid patriarchal and top-down social structure so deeply, that the emotions and love themselves become objectionable whenever they do not strictly conform to the rigid order. Taoism and Buddhism didn’t help much on this as well. The show Love and Redemption actually, imo, very obviously brought this western spiritual notion of redemption through love into an ancient Chinese fantasy setting of Xianxia, and enriched it.

There was the phrase that says “天地不仁，以万物为刍苟” which basically translates to “the universe is ruthless and treat every creature without care.” The “unfeeling universe” is not really part of the most prominent doctrine because Confucianism generally avoids talking about spirituality, although they didn’t shy away from later utilizing the sentiment into “存天理灭人欲”, meaning “preserve heavenly rationality and destroy human desires.” The “天地不仁…” phrase, actually originated from Taoism, is questionable in how the later practitioners of the religion interpreted it, as Taoism originally also very essentially values personal freedoms in 《庄子》, which necessarily created contradictions of actually how much they value the free wills when Taoism later formed into doctrines as time goes by. It is already obvious by the two major native doctrines/religions, that ancient China did have a “Love Nihilism” problem. The introduction of Buddhism, although brought with it Loving-Kindness and the concept of Karma, sadly didn’t help much in that “Love Nihilism” part, if not made the ancient culture even more pessimistic about Love.

Although all three major doctrines do not praise personal love for its own merits, the folk culture has always been very different, as it should because it emerges from the thoughts and wants of vast majority of everyday people not cultural elites, even with very heavy influences from the three major schools and doctrines. In ancient ancient China before the people were tamed by any doctrines, they created countless songs about personal love and desires and all the ways they were being humans and experiencing humanity and the world, recorded in scrolls of 《诗经•风》. Later both in the literati class and non-elite folktales and dramas, there are many many stories focusing on, even praising romantic love and expressing desires to trespass the artificial cultural limitations. You can see that it has been a long-time dissatisfaction throughout its ancient history that many Chinese folks have asked again and again, “does the heaven really knows no love?” Not a suprise. Love, feelings, and desires, are inherently linked to a person’s inherent agency, freedom and self-determination.

This show LnD is directly against the “Love Nihilism” of the ancient culture, which is why I LOVE it so much. In Love and Redemption, there is canonically a “mantra of the great way is feeling” and a “mantra of the great way is unfeeling,” and the elder who choose the later eventually reached its limit in his lifetime and took a peek at the “mantra of feeling,” finding that the “mantra of feeling” is actually richer and more powerful than the “mantra of unfeeling.” Also the protagonist that chose the cultivation of “The Way of Feeling” ultimately saved the world and the protagonist who represent Karma ultimately defeated the control-freak supervillain who first mutilated the female protagonist to make her tame as a puppet and then tried to force forgiveness.

*note: I absolutely love ancient Chinese culture. There are so many wisdoms and beauties in there. No culture is flawless. We need to look straight at those flaws instead of denying or ignoring them. Don’t let those flaws stop you from exploring something worthwhile.

#love and redemption #Chinese culture #ancient Chinese culture #Love Nihilism

1 note · View note

aspoonofsugar · 2 years

Text

The Emerald Foundation

In Basque sustrai means root, basis, origin. This applies to Emerald's wish to belong and to her being a hidden (rooted) gem, but it can also gain an additional meaning. As a matter of fact her name and surname translated and put together give emerald root > emerald basis > emerald foundation.

So she is literally the Emerald Foundation and what is that if not the Emerald Tablet aka the origin of all alchemy?

@hamliet has already explained in her wonderful meta what this may mean for her and Mercury's arcs. This post will start from what she said and add some other considerations and possible pieces of foreshadowing.

THE TABLET'S AUTHOR AND IMPORTANCE

According to the legend, the Emerald Tablet was written by Hermes Trimegistus, a combination of the Greek god Hermes (so Mercury) and the Egyptian god Thoth. It is supposed to be a hermetic text that reveals the truth about alchemy, hence why it is traditionally considered the foundation of the art.

This short description leads to 2 considerations about Emerald's character:

Her story is intertwined with Mercury's and her Emerald Tablet's symbolism is one of the many motifs that confirm it.

Her role may be to reveal some kind of truth to Mercury/Cinder or both. It would tie perfectly with her semblance, in the sense she goes from illusions and lies to revelations and truths.

WHAT DOES THE EMERALD TABLET SAY?

Here comes a short version of the Tablet (which is what's needed to us):

Truth! Certainty! That in which there is no doubt! That which is above is from that which is below, and that which is below is from that which is above, working the miracles of one [thing]. As all things were from One. Its father is the Sun and its mother the Moon. The Earth carried it in her belly, and the Wind nourished it in her belly, as Earth which shall become Fire. Feed the Earth from that which is subtle, with the greatest power. It ascends from the earth to the heaven and becomes ruler over that which is above and that which is below.

As you can see, the Tablet is where the phrase "as above, so below", comes from. This same expression gives the title to one of RWBY's episodes. What interests me, though, is this part:

As all things were from One. Its father is the Sun and its mother the Moon. The Earth carried it in her belly, and the Wind nourished it in her belly, as Earth which shall become Fire.

Doesn't it seem familiar?

I'm the oneThat was ripped from the earth and exposed to the sun

Obviously, the Tablet and I'm the One do not use exactly the same words, but they at least share 2 common traits. especially when it comes to Mercury's stanzas:

Both have elemental imagery to describe parental figures

Both texts are hermetic, unclear and understandable only when more context is given (alchemy/Mercury's backstory)

These are easy to see for the Tablet. Sun, Moon, Earth, Wind, Fire are all accompanied by expressions or verbs that suggest parenthood. Similarly, the text is just describing in a figurative way the (believed :P) alchemical process to turn lead into gold and make the philosopher stone. What about Mercury's stanzas, though? Are they really that hermetic or full of meaning? The answer is yes because, as soon as volume 3, they hint at revelations addressed much later in the story (and possibly foreshadow some others).

I'M THE ONE - MERCURY'S HIDDEN STORY

Mercury has 2 stanzas in I'm the One:

I'm the one That was born in a nightmare a murderer's son Got no gun But I gleam like a blade and I'm harder than iron

I'm the one That was ripped from the earth and exposed to the sun Overrun By the hate and the beatings defiled by a father

These lyrics are great because they mix obvious information with hidden pieces of truths.

For example, phrases like "I'm the one that was born in a nightmare, a murderer's son" or "Overrun by the hate and the beatings" are clear as day. Mercury is literally an assassin's child and he himself says this:

Mercury: I'm sorry you didn't have a mommy that loved you, but I had a father who hated me! He never went easy on me! Every day of training was a beating.

However, then there are parts like "Got no gun, but I gleam like a blade and I'm harder than iron" or "I'm the one that was ripped from the earth and exposed to the sun". What do they mean?

The first one actually foreshadows this:

Mercury: And when I unlocked my Semblance, he stole it with his!

And this:

Obviously, it is not true that Mercury literally has no gun. His legs have hidden guns, after all. However, in the context of the song the lyric is juxtaposed to Emerald's one:

I'm the one Who rose out of filth and was loved by no-one Delusion I'll steal til your blind and defeat you from inside your mind

I'm the one I'll race with your eyes and you'll never outrun Illusions Will conquer your mind and will make you fulfill my design

She has illusions and delusions, whereas he has no gun. So, she has her semblance, while he has nothing. Still, he gleams like a blade and is harder than iron. This means he has turned a part of himself into iron and into a weapon. He is hinting at his legs.

What about the second one? So far, the story has yet to offer a proper answer. However, I would not be surprised if earth and sun turn out to be allegories for mother and father. Apart from the parallelism with the Tablet, the archetypes of Mother Earth and Father Sun are worldwide known. This may foreshadow Mercury being taken away from his mother and being exposed to his father's abuse.

What's sure is that I'm the One foreshadows big parts of Mercury's background. The meaning of Mercury's first stanza has been fully revealed, but it is possible there are still hidden truths in the second verse. This highlights how hermetic and layered the song's lyrics are despite their limited length. Just like the Emerald Tablet.

However, the Tablet and I'm the One actually "foil" each other when juxtaposed. The Tablet shows a symbolic parenthood, which is nurturing and full of love, while I'm the One uses metaphorical images to convey the harshness of Mercury's abuse. Similarly, RWBY takes some vague ideas about nature and the world from the Tablet, inverts them and applies them to a character's background.

In short, The Tablet is describing the alchemical process and talking about the macrocosm (the world). Mercury instead is addressing his upbringing and referencing the microcosm (the individual). This means that he himself is The One, that in the tablet indicates instead the kosmos. The same goes for Emerald.

They are the One, which means their journeys will lead to self-individualization (becoming themselves and reaching perfection). At the same time, they are also The One together because they can succeed only through each other.

SOLVET AND COAGULA

Dissolve and coagulate. Putrefy and come together. Separate and reunite. This phrase is at the root of alchemy (as you can learn in hamliet's metas on the topic).

It means that transformation, change and refinement can be reached only through a process of destruction and creation. It fits RWBY:

As the old saying went, “You can’t put the moon back together”. At times you had to destroy something to make something even better in its place. When Mama had shattered Neopolitan in front of their burning house, Trivia finally understood that she had been broken all along. Losing her friend was Trivia’s first step toward putting herself back together and embracing her true, best self.

There was only one thing she could do now: Pick up the pieces and use them to make something new.

For characters it is about accepting loss and destruction as a part of life, overcoming it, growing stronger because of it and moving toward creation and reunion. This is mirrored in bonds and relationships as well. RWBY have to separate in volume 4, so that they can develop and come together better and more mature in 5. Bumbleby have to overcome their psychological traumas alone, so that they can be ready for each other. Similarly, Renora accept they must develop as their own people before they can be happy together.

For the murder kids, it is the same. They must go on their respective journeys, face their shortcomings and then reunite as better people. In their case, though, their reunion won't be without any form of conflict or fight. To be more specific, it is probable it may mirror their key scene in volume 6:

This is not because they are gonna be enemies or hurt each other, but simply because "fighting" is for them a form of communication:

Ozpin: If you think about it, fighting and dancing aren't so different. Two partners interlocked, although one wrong move on the ballroom merely leads to a swollen foot.

They are both terrible at expressing their feelings. Emerald may grow a little on this, but Mercury is sure to spiral. What is more, for Mercury specifically, fight might be the only way he has to really open up. This is what happens in volume 6, at least:

At the beginning of the scene he is shown literally fighting air. He is battling an invisible opponent, even if he really does not have to. It is not the first time we see him train randomly in his free time and it is clearly something he interiorized from the time spent with Marcus. It is the convinction he has to be "strong" to be someone:

Mercury: He told me I could have it (his semblance) back when I was strong. So I got strong, but I never got it back!

Emerald is intead trying to communicate with him, but the moment she tries, she finds him extremely guarded:

Mercury: All my life, my father trained me to be a killer, an assassin like him. And then moments after I killed him, you two showed up looking for someone with my exact skills. Just felt like it was meant to be.

Mercury's answer here is the answer of someone, who does not really want to think about himself or to admit how he feels. However, the moment he provokes her and she attacks him, he finally opens up:

Mercury: I've had to work harder than anyone to get where I am. You may not like it here without Cinder, but I think I'm right where I'm supposed to be!

It is messy and raw, but it is genuine. Mercury has a lot bottled up and he unluckily can't properly express himself if not in a conflictual situation (see also his attempts to help Emerald with Cinder by insulting her). Emerald's role in his arc will probably be to help him reveal how he really feels, so that he himself can mature into his own person. Emerald will be both an agent in Mercury's transformation and his final goal. She is the bond that saves him.

Emerald is Mercury's Foundation. The roothless child, who looks for a place to belong has yet to realize she herself has become someone else'shome. Mercury has been tortured and groomed into refusing the most genuine parts of himself. Despite this, he is still able to show love and care for Emerald. His connection with her represents his true wish and self, juxtaposed to what he was taught to wish for and to be.

THE TRUTH

Clean the linens, sweep the floors Shut your mouth and do your chores Scrub the dishes in the sink No one said that you should think Shine the silver, wash the clothes And when you're finished, darn the socks, draw my bath Fetch my slippers, fill my glass And rub my feet; Hurry up, you're so slow You're no good I hope you know That your life is of no use And the truth is that No one's ever loved you

The Truth is Cinder's song and I am totally expecting it to have some additional parts once Cinder's arc reaches its climax. So far Cinder has done nothing, but to run away from the truth. She has been hiding behind her power and cruelty to avoid facing her childhood trauma. Volume 8 is where she goes the closest to truly face herself, but in the end she chooses to go back to her superficial persona and never gets proper development.

Well, this is going to come back and get her as the story goes on and I think Emerald (and Mercury) will figure into it. The kids are really Cinder's only bonds. She abuses and mistreats them, but she also projects on them in ways she does not with other characters. Cinder is really unable to properly love them, but she still considers them as "hers" in what is a twisted and tragic imitation of love. Because of this, it makes sense they are the one who start her proper growth by giving her the first gift: Knowledge.

It is difficult to pintpoint what this Knowledge will be about. Salem's true plans? Possible, but I am also thinking about a more existential kind of knowledge. Cinder's truth is that no-one's ever loved her. However, Emerald (and Mercury)'s truth is that Cinder never loved them. The truth is that Cinder never got a proper family as she grew up. Still, the truth is also that she had the chance to build a found one with the kids and she discarded it. It is important that she faces both truths. Both sides of herself (victim and abuser). She must face her trauma and pain, but she also must realize her mistakes. This is the only possible way she can start her redemption.

Now, I don't know if both kids will deliver this gift or if Emerald alone will, while Mercury will have another and equally important role in Cinder's arc. What I am sure of is that Emerald is linked to Cinder's truth. As written above, it just ties with her symbolism and themes. What is more, there is this:

Emerald: I knew I sensed some weak minds nearby.

Emerald's semblance might be evolving/have more hidden sides to it. Someone on here suggested it might even evolve into mind reading. I am not sure of it, but I will say one of my favourite headcanons is for the girl who puts lies into people's mind to become able to bring truths and repressed things out for everyone to see. I would like such an evolution for Emerald's semblance and even if it is not her power, I would love if it still played out thematically.

CONCLUSION

This was just a quick post putting together many headcanons about Emerald and Mercury. Not sure about the symbolism obviously, but so far I am rather optimistic about the thematic beats and general directions of their arcs :)

One last thing, sustrai means "root" in Basque, but it is probable the writers used it by mistake to also mean "thief" since for some reason if you google it this and root are the first meanings given. It does not really change much. All in all, Emerald is both a thief and a hidden gem. More than anything, she is looking for her roots and she will most likely find them in Mercury, just like he will in her.

#emerald sustrai #mercury black #cinder fall #emercury #rwby #rwby theory #reby meta #alchemy #my meta

96 notes · View notes

nixonio · 3 years

Text

Bakugou Apologized and I Have Some Constructive Criticism

So, I read the fan translation for Bakugou's apology, and I figured I'd analyze it to the best of my ability. Well, not analyze, more like give my opinion on it.

I want to start off by saying that I'm not an anti. I'm I'm a stan either. I'm tagging this as both, though because I want to hear every side, and think about everyone's opinions so that I can make sure mine is the best it can be.

Also yes, I know it's fan translated and that the official will probably be different, but I wanted to have fun and do it anyway🥰

Please note that this is my opinion. You are more than welcome(in fact encouraged) to tell about your own opinion in the replies, but please be respectful.

Everything I write here is to be read in the most respectful and kind tone. It's how I was meaning for it to be read. I'm sorry if it doesn't come off that way, but please know I am in no way trying to be rude with anything I say.

Now then, let's get started.

First of all, he starts out with a bit of an insult "you were always far behind me" thats not true, but it's Bakugou's opinion. I'm not sure I like how he states it as fact. "You were always so far behind me." Rather than "I used to think you were always so far behind me." or "I thought you were so far behind me."

Bakugou does, however, imply that him looking down on Izuku because of him being quirkless is wrong, and I think that's awesome.

After this, he starts giving a reason(a pretty illogical one, in my opinion) as to why he bullied Deku. Bakugou felt that Izuku was somehow miles ahead of him. Next he goes into what he felt, why he felt the need to hurt Izuku. It's because of something he was feeling. And of course, how could you talk about that with someone? Especially being immature and at that age(around five or so). He didn't have to talk about it, but hurting someone is never the option(we knew this already).

Next he talks about how he was distant. And OK, that's good. He should have been distant.

Except he wasnt distant.

I can admit that on normal circumstances Bakugou didn't go out of his way to speak to Midoriya, but when Deku would speak to/compliment him, insults were thrown. Bakugou should have been distant then. Also, "I grew up distant and always tried to beat you down" are contradictions to eachother, imo. Bakugou, back in middle school, went out of his way to bully deku. That's not distant. Now back when they were small, yes. I'd say Bakugou was kind of distant. He still made fun of Izuku though, so he probably wasn't as distant as he thinks he was.

Next he talks about he could never truly be superior to Deku, how he always lost. But this is(in my opinion), unnecessary. He's giving all these reasons as to how things didn't work out for him, and that last part being placed well....last kinda makes it seem like because everything didn't work out right, he's sorry. I know this isn't how its meant, but I feel it could have been worded differently. I can't help but wonder, though, if Izuku had submitted, if Bakugou had been superior in his own eyes, if he'd succeeded, would he still be sorry?

In alot of cases, though, Bakugou succeeded in beating Midoriya down(temporarily). Physically anyway(the final exam, and when he impaled Izuku with his headpiece).

(Note: A differing opinion has lead me to think differently about this. Bakugou had become distant in an emotional sense, he and Deku weren't as close as they were before. No longer besties, if you understand me.)

At least, after this, Bakugou explains that he realizes nothing he said really matters. I like that he can understand this, and I appreciate that he feels Izuku is owed an explanation at least. The one thing I hate about this is that his reasoning for doing what he did is longer than his apology. His apology is one line.

It's just one. If someone told me that they put me through hell because of an idea they'd placed in their own head that was so incredibly far from the truth(like Bakugou saying that he thought Izuku was looking down on him during their first battle at Ground Beta), I wouldn't feel any better. As a matter of fact, I'd feel worse about it. There is literally nothing Izuku could have done to prevent the bullying. Even if he wasn't quirkless, Bakugou back then, might not have been able to fathom the idea of someone being even a little better than him. So he probably still would have bullied Deku. Only this time Izuku might have been able to fight back depending on the quirk he would have been born with.

If someone murdered my mother, and stood in court explaining why, far more than being sorry, I wouldn't be any happier. Yes, the reason matters, but the amount of time you spend explaining the reason should be virtually nonexistent compared to the time you spend showing remorse and sorrow.

I very much enjoy how he understands that Izuku wanting to leave UA and go it alone wasn't necessarily wrong. I think Bakugou is correct here. Nice Bakugou, very cool.

I'm also very happy that Izuku apologizes for saying that everyone couldn't keep up. Very cool, Izuku.

Please don't get me wrong, though. I'm proud of Bakugou for even bringing this up regardless of how he did it. I think that Bakugou apologizing is a huge step in the proper direction. I cant help but be concerned over how he'll be different in the future though.

Well, why would I be worried about this? Because he's shown promise before, but soon after goes back to being pretty rude. Bakugou explained to that child that looking down on others would prevent him from realizing his own weakness "If you keep looking down on everyone, then you won't notice your own weakness."(My Hero Academia Episode 80(sub): Relief For License Trainees -16:00). Yet, he continued to look down on others in a sense, even as recently as the Endeavor Training Arc. Bakugou's arrogance continues, even when he realizes that looking down on others is wrong. He claims that Todoroki could never notice something he didn't already notice(My Hero Academia Episode 103(sub): One Thing at a Time -7:18). And when he claims that Endeavor, the Number 1 Hero, is ripping off of his style "He's copying my Explosion" (My Hero Academia Episode 103(sub): One Thing at a Time -6:50).

Truly, I hope Bakugou's arrogance and negative confidence will subside, and we'll be able to witness him being blatantly and openly kind to others. I'm not asking Bakugou to change his character, he could become an Inosuke(Demon Slayer) of sorts. He could even become a more obvious Tsundere, with the narrative showing his thoughts and agreeing with him actually caring in a more obvious fashion.

But, that's just what I think

Once again, feel free to comment your opinion on my criticisms of Bakugou's apology, or even tell me what you think about it! I love hearing differing opinions.

79 notes · View notes

redwinterroses · 3 years

Note

rant warning ahead, i have a lot of thoughts about this au. it’s probably gonna get pretty sewing-nerd-y too so be prepared lol

first up: tools. i imagine that very talented stitchworkers don’t need tools, but most stitchers (or unstitchers) do. things like needles, looms, you get the idea. probably not real needles, more metaphysical, but my point still stands. there are all sorts of different needles depending on the craft and the user’s persona style. WAIT what about things like sewing machines?? like maybe they could exist but since stitching is yknow, illegal and all that, i’m not sure. idk but its definitely A Concept that would be very fun to dive into.

also! knots! if someone were to be taught stitching, (which i feel like at least one person on the hermitcraft server is currently being taught), i think that they would definitely start with knots. connecting two pieces of reality but only at the corner seems like a great way to teach a beginner. i think you probably could just use knots as your main form of stitching but it takes more effort. also also back to the whole “you’re either born with magic or you’re not“ thing. consider: a lot of people are born with it, but most don’t know they have the ability. theyve never tried, never even considered it because of how much it’s frowned upon. developing an ability you didn’t know you had takes time, but having someone experienced to help you along certainly helps.

obviously there are different types of fabric when it comes to stitching irl, so how would this translate to the AU? think how some types of fabric frays very easily, but how some doesn’t fray at all. some fabric rips, some doesn’t, some stretches, some doesn’t, etc.

different! stitches! are! definitely! a! thing! like backstitches are for bigger projects or stuff more likely to get ripped or unstitched because they’re more sturdy, whipstitches are for the finishing details or the edges of a project, (also for embroidery-style stitching), running stitches are more practical and less precise, etc. i would absolutely keep going with different stitches but i don’t wanna get too too ranty lol

strands vs. threads: another thing that people who don’t sew probably won’t know!! basically one thread has six strands and you can separate them depending on how thick you want the line of string to be. so like, 6 strand sewing is for big projects, and two strand sewing is for tiny in-reality adjusments. stuff like changing jellie’s fur pattern to mess with scar or drying a wet sponge. (one strand sewing isn’t a thing, your thread will rip. use this information how you will.)

patches! most reality patches are made of the same material as the original, but there are definitely some stitchers who prefer to make flashy noticeable patches made of way different material that stands out. put a patch of the nether in a spot where the overworld reality tore. you get the point.

different styles of stitching! i know this has already been brought up but i want to go more in-depth with it.

cleo’s stitching is ABSOLUTELY embroidery. there’s literally no question about it. i feel like grian stitches with both embroidery and knots. Im thinking xB felts. idk why. mumbo is probably still learning but i think he would mostly just use sewing. scar can practically do it all, he’s a jack of all trades type. his go-to is sewing though. i know you already said x and ex work best with knitting, but honestly i think crochet suits them better. zedaph probably works with lace-sewing best. (is there an actual word for that? i feel like there is.) stress weaves.

random thing that i just thought up: certain hairstyles are associated with stitchworkers, and can be used as signals. the most obvious one is a braid/braids, especially for weavers, because well. its practically just weaving except with hair. stuff like doing hair can also help people hone in on their craft because yes.

told you it’d get rant-y. this is the shortened version. i have adhd ok

i love this. i love many elements of this and will definitely possibly maybe sssstteaalborrow them. XD

#read this like it's an explanatory post from the stitchverse tumblr #also lacemaking terms change depending on the type of lace i think #you can crochet it you can knit it you can do tatted lace and so forth #overall i think it's just lacemaking tho #stitchverse au #redwinteranswers #long post

19 notes · View notes

seventfics · 3 years

Photo

Autumn Birds

Written for @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

Prompt: We fell in love, but your previous lover reappeared/returned Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier (w/ past!Geralt/Eskel and past!Geralt/Jaskier) Rating: T Content Warnings: None Summary: They’d met just as the leaves were turning yellow.

Read on AO3

* * *

They’d met just as the leaves were turning yellow.

Jaskier had heard of a witcher staying in town and, as was his prerogative since his acquaintance with a certain White Wolf, he’d ventured to see what the man was all about. It was not so often one got to meet someone of their caste. Why not have a little courage to break the ice himself?

The whispers spoke of a witcher with a terribly scarred face. Two swords strapped over his back, their pommels shaped into wolf heads. The women said he had a voice like a dog’s growl, so grave that when he spoke, it made children cry.

He thought that last bit was rather mean, and followed the trail of curses into a grimy tavern where a fight was about to break out.

“You promised fifty.”

“The best I can do is half.”

Jaskier’s hand freezes on the door. Whatever he’s come to doesn’t look good. The witcher’s back is to him, his padded shoulders raised with tension. The village’s alderman paces in front of him, fuming over a contract’s fee. There’s a few antsy people in the crowd too. The anger written on their faces makes him nervous.

He’s seen how this ends a dozen times. It’s gotten his own arse kicked butting into the middle of a witcher’s bargaining, actually.

“Now, now, gentlemen,” Jaskier interjects boisterously from the doorframe anyway. “This is no mood for drink and cheer. Calm your spirits with a little of the former—”

The alderman grumbles under his breath about merry idiots meddling in what they shouldn’t. “Shut up, bard. This here’s serious business. And I’m not about to be robbed by a witcher’s ridiculous high prize.”

“It’s not ridiculous. The contract says fifty, and,” the witcher stops to lift the bloody stump of a water hag’s head, “it’s already done.”

“That contract was up weeks ago. The reward’s gone down. You’re lucky half’s on the table at all.”

The witcher grunts—a familiar sound to Jaskier’s ears which translates to wordless annoyance—and drops the head on the floor. “You’re lucky the hag didn’t move closer into the village in that time.”

“Is that a threat?”

At the rising outrage in his tone, Jaskier slips closer to stare at the alderman over the witcher’s swordless shoulder. “Ah, I believe the witcher means more of your people would have died, had he not taken care of the problem so promptly. The reward hardly sounds like an unreasonable amount. I could get twice as much on a profitable eve of singing. In fact,” he flips to the witcher, who does not yet deign to look back at his unforeseen defender, “I could turn this place around and earn us both a decent share in one night. I’m no fop on the job!”

It’s then that the witcher looks towards him, but the bard only manages a quick glimpse of an incredulous set of eyebrows before the alderman starts shouting.

“Get out! Both of you! Out of my town or I’ll have the dogs chase you out!”

They both take that as their leave, Jaskier with a bit more speed in his jog.

At the outskirts the witcher turns fully, and at the sight of his whole face Jaskier almost gasps out loud. A long scar runs through his cheek, from eyebrow to jaw, and over his lips. It puckers the skin all around it, disfiguring half of his face.

Whatever caused that scar must have hurt a lot.

The witcher shifts in place, quiet for a long second as Jaskier does his best to hide his nerves. “I’m sorry to have involved you.”

“Oh, please, don’t be. I involved myself. Jaskier’s the name, by the way,” he introduces himself, hand extended in greeting.

The witcher scratches the back of his head. His lips twist to one side, bashful. One of his teeth peeks through the scarred tissue over his mouth. “Uh. Eskel.” He takes the offered hand and shakes it.

It’s the firmest handshake Jaskier has ever received.

“Well, Eskel. Are you short on coin? Because so am I.”

The snort he gets is—soft. Not at all like the gruff from before, with the alderman.

“I’m not doing too bad, I’d say. Just currently fifty short of what I expected to have at the end of the day.”

"How about I help with that? I wasn't lying when I said I could earn both a decent share, given the right crowd."

It's the sunset hour, and the leaves were falling on top of them. Everything is gold. The sky, the trees. Eskel’s eyes when they blink at him and he breaks into a genuine laugh.

Jaskier knows he’s a romantic. His heart flutters every odd day over strangers with pretty smiles. He’s just never seen such a shy, sweet smile on someone with such an intimidating facade.

Making him smile again became a personal quest.

* * *

At the next town over, Eskel speaks to the alderman there. This one is more reasonable at least, and up front about the sort of beast that lurks in the northern farms. Which brings up a whole new conversation as Jaskier doesn’t part from Eskel’s side despite the obvious danger.

Eskel grunts and sits him down, not unlike the times Geralt tried—and failed—to convince him to stay put. Jaskier just blinks his pretty blue eyes and says, “and how will I write a song of your prowess in battle if I am not there to witness it?”

“This is a dangerous contract, bard. It would be best if you let me handle it alone.”

“Oh no. No, no, I’ve heard that before a dozen times.”

Eskel pauses at that. “What?”

“I am perfectly capable of staying out of your way.”

The wyvern they encounter says otherwise.

To be fair, he had done a good job of staying out of the witcher’s way for most of the fight. It is only when the beast slams its tail into Eskel’s side on a backswing that Jaskier shouts in worry from his hiding place and brings undue attention to himself.

Wind whips around him for a split second, scattering dust into his eyes. It takes a moment to wipe them clean so of course he doesn’t see the great shadow flying at him. Doesn't realize the immediate need to hide or flee for his life until a giant claw snatches him by the bunched fabric on his back.

Jaskier's stomach plummets as he soars up. The ground recedes. His clothes start to rip. This is it, he panic-screams in his mind, this is his final day. Either as monster food or a blood splatter on a rock, his time has come.

A severe overreaction, and his own mistake for not trusting in a witcher's skill. He doesn't realize it in all, what with all his flailing about, but Eskel fires a crossbow bolt perfectly at the wyvern’s eye.

The beast screeches terribly loud in his ears. It flaps its wings once, twice, before twisting midair and letting him go.

They both fall, but Eskel catches him.

By the silence that follows after an earth-shaking crunch, he knows the witcher's won. Victory is not immediately on his mind, though. The way his sight spins and the sun paints a halo behind Eskel's hair, Jaskier dumbly thinks, oh—I've quite literally fallen in love.

“See?” he says instead, breathless with terror at almost having died, “I’m perfectly fine.”

Eskel raises a thick brow at him. And he's smiling too, the bard thinks. Could just be the scar making it look like a lopsided smile, but he wants to believe that he's made the witcher smile again with his foolish sense of humor.

“Are you alright? The tail,” Jaskier frets once his vision settles. Some of these monsters have poisoned stingers on the end of their tails. Are wyverns one of them?

But Eskel waves him down before he can consider the worst. “Relax. I cast Quen in time.”

“That’s a, uh, magic shield, right?”

Surprise colors Eskel's features. So it seems he's right. A point of pride on Jaskier's belt for remembering witcher signs.

Getting proof of a contract well done takes the witcher a good minute to collect. Wyvern skin is tough. The head would normally satisfy as proof, but it's too heavy to be lugging around town. He will have to make do with the wing tips. Should they question him, the remains aren't going anywhere.

“Come on, bard. Time to get our day's work done. And after that, we're going west.”

“'We'?” Something about the proclamation has his heart beating fast.

“'Course. I'm not letting you out of my sight now.”

He makes a show of bowing dramatically. “I wouldn’t want to be elsewhere.”

* * *

“You’re a friend of Geralt’s.”

Jaskier looks up from his notes.

Traveling with someone is always interesting—with a witcher even more so. So far he's learned that Eskel has far more routines than Geralt ever did, like counting his coin at the end of every week, and making sure he has two of every potion ready.

Jaskier quirks a half-smile. “I am. How did you figure? I never said his name.”

“Your song.” He points to the scribbled mess on his lap. “Or, I guess your work in progress. I see an expression he uses a lot, that he learned from me.”

“Oh?”

Eskel sits by him and nods, as if finally understanding Jaskier’s odd ease partnering with a witcher, and starts the story of where the expression in his handwriting originated from.

It’s funny at first, imagining a much younger, somehow more foolish Geralt together with this huge, frightening man who is not frightening at all to talk to. Eskel speaks so softly, so tenderhearted about the old memory—two boys, witchers-to-be, practically joined at the hip, making crude jokes. So he reciprocates with a tale of where he comes from, as destiny deigned to put them in each other’s paths.

As it happens, a lot of their first stories aren’t even their own, but Geralt’s.

And Eskel has many more over his. He’s more than happy to share them over camp.

Some of it leaves Jaskier’s throat aching. This is someone who clearly cares about his big grumpy friend. It's someone he can understand.

Then Eskel claps a bare hand on his back, his thumb and forefinger a hot press just under his nape, and oh, he’s more than a little foolishly in love actually, as his head is emptied of all reason at the small touch.

“Am I to become your travel bard,” Jaskier quips with an airy giggle. “I’m excellent entertainment at parties.”

“Not for long. It’s almost winter. Soon I’ll have to head north to meet my brothers.”

His heart sinks. “Oh.”

Eskel squeezes his shoulder with careful strength. “You better keep out of trouble while I’m gone, you hear?”

“Of course. I don’t go looking for trouble.”

“No, trouble just finds you.”

Well, if ‘trouble’ is a scarred, smirking witcher, he sure hopes that to be true.

* * *

They meet again when the trees are just beginning to color with spring blooms.

There is also a griffin tearing through the town's cattle, but that’s besides the point. Easily dealt with. Which is good, seeing as Jaskier had been near the scene and probably next on the menu. No one had told him about the griffin, so really. He's just as surprised to find Eskel as he is about the beast.

“You alright, bard?”

“I am now.”

Matter resolved, Jaskier walks in step next to Eskel. The town opens before them, welcoming the witcher not with smiles, but grudging gratitude.

“You sure? Trouble didn’t come knocking while I was gone?”

“Only a man with a lover’s grudge come to kick my ass out of a wonderfully luxurious establishment. Didn’t even get to enjoy the hot bath I paid for, which is such a terrible waste of hot water.”

A deep hum comes out of the witcher. “A lover’s grudge?”

“Just a past dalliance that won’t forget me.”

Eskel stops and shifts on his feet, like he wants to say something but he doesn’t know how to start.

Oh, witchers and their awkward conversation skills.

“You know what, I’m starving. I think a good, hearty meal is owed between us. What do you say we go collect your reward and we break fast at the alderman’s recommendation?”

“We don’t have to get the coin right now. I could go for some food.”

“First tavern we see then. Come on.”

Right as he says it, he wraps his arm around Eskel’s, and maybe he’s just being too obvious, too hopeful, but Eskel doesn’t shrug him off. They make their way to a large and welcoming tavern, him talking his head off about the barn smell that permeates the whole town and ignoring the dark looks people give them down the street, as Eskel listens, not a word coming from his mouth. It worries Jaskier a minute that he’s becoming more annoyance than the teasing meddler he wants to be. But Eskel is just scratching his chin, looking down and letting Jaskier lead.

When it becomes clear that Eskel doesn’t have any rented lodgings yet, Jaskier offers his own. “I’m sure the innkeeper won’t mind us bunking if we pay for two, at the end of our stay.”

Eskel doesn't say no. He also doesn't say yes. It takes them finally being settled in a table of their own, full of fruits, cheese and bread, neither of them taking the first bite to eat, for Jaskier to nervously ask, “What is it?”

“Nothing,” comes the too-quick response.

“If I overstepped in some way, please tell me.”

“It’s nothing like that, I—uh.” Eskel shakes his head, his expression scrunched up unpleasantly.

“Whatever it is, I won’t be offended.”

He's already writing a million apologies in his head for any of his imagined offenses, that he's not quite prepared for what Eskel says instead.

“You are...different from what I expected.”

Jaskier blinks. “How so?”

“I don’t know. You’re just. Human. You’re normal.” He makes a point of gesturing at the table, the people keeping their distance. “I don’t get why you do all this for me.”

It's slow-creeping, but once the pieces align, Jaskier starts to understand what he means. That confusion, he’s known it with Geralt. Why do you stick with me? What does a witcher have to offer a human that isn’t the service of a silver sword? What does a human want with a mutant when there are plenty of other ordinary, uncomplicated folk in the world to have for company?

“Because you’re a good man,” he tells the witcher gently. “Because you saved my life and I want to repay you in kind. Most reasonably of all, because we’re friends, and friends take care of each other.”

Of course there’s more to it than that, but if a friend is all Eskel wants, then a friend he shall be.

The rumble of the tavern fills the air as Eskel stares at him a little wide-eyed. Jaskier gives him a slight smile. As a close, he pushes the platter of cheese forward with an encouraging, “now eat your fill, my friend.”

Once Eskel returns his smile, he thinks that, well, that everything will turn out alright.

And they’re happy eating their food when Geralt shows up for the griffin that’s already dead.

At his distinct silhouette, Eskel stands up. “White Wolf.”

“Eskel,” Geralt calls back gravely.

They clasp arms and pat each other’s shoulders in sync. It might not seem like much to outsiders, but what a rare sight to behold—two witchers, two mirrored grins on both their faces.

Eskel is the first to part from the hug with a chiding, “You didn’t come for winter.”

“I know. I had a lot going on. Saw your handiwork hooked to your horse’s saddle.” Then he looks down, and spots Eskel's table company. “Jaskier?”

“Geralt.”

Their held eye-contact feels longer than it is. Looking away, Jaskier half expects the whole tavern to be staring at them, but as it turns out, no one cares to pay the witchers and their odd bard any attention now that the monster's been dealt with. It's just him, imagining his heart hanging out of his sleeve for everyone to judge.

And maybe Eskel senses something's up between them, because he leaves them with the excuse to collect his coin.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Jaskier says after Geralt takes Eskel's abandoned seat. “Have you really been so busy that you couldn’t let your friends know you were alive?”

Geralt's silence is its own answer—a little shame, a little remorse. He remembers how Eskel had said that as time went on, Geralt just, lost touch. There had been something heavy in Eskel’s eyes when he said it, and Jaskier had felt it in his soul. Now he understands why. Him and Eskel, they'd both gone through the same impossible task of loving someone who doesn’t believe he can be loved.

By gods, he still loves Geralt, but Geralt's heart is a rusty cage, and neither of them can coax the old bird that lives in it anymore. Soft words and gentle promises have run their course.

“So,” the witcher starts, “you and Eskel? Didn't know you knew each other.”

“Maybe if you’d met either of us during winter you would have heard.” The phrasing's rough, but there's no resentment in his voice. He would have liked to know that Geralt had been safe in his wintering home, with Eskel.

“Yeah. I’m...surprised.” Jaskier raises his brow at him. Which just earns a quick shake of Geralt’s head. “He doesn’t make friends easily.”

“Neither do you, and yet look at us.”

“Look at us,” he echoes, staring at the empty plates.

“We missed a lot of opportunities together, didn’t we?” It doesn't make the truth any easier to swallow, but acknowledging the what-could-have-beens has always made him feel better afterward. Like closing a book, and getting ready to open a new one. He hopes Geralt knows that there's no bridges destroyed between them. Only those missed moments.

He still very much cares for Geralt, and he knows that Geralt does as well. They just have to come to terms with what's over—and what might come next.

“I won’t lie to you,” Jaskier adds more seriously. “I don’t want to miss any opportunities with him.”

The 'him' in question is unmistakable. Geralt nods. He looks down, one end of his mouth drawing up to dimple his cheek.

He says, like an olive branch offering, “His favorite flower is yarrow. Not because they’re pretty, but because they’re useful in the most surprising ways.”

* * *

They spend the day catching up, all three of them, before Geralt is on the road again, taking his own path. Jaskier sees how it brightens Eskel’s spirits to have seen him off, and cheers up twofold.

“I’ve known him practically my whole life,” Eskel tells him.

“I’ve known him half of mine.”

“So you understand.”

“That he’s a prat? Oh yes. Good at heart, backwards about verbalizing it. Cheeky when he wants to be. Oh by the way, here.”

From out of his little travel bag, Jaskier pulls a swathe of yarrows.

“Saw some at market street,” he explains, presenting them. “Thought you might find use in them for your potions.”

Eskel turns to him, his bright witcher eyes bouncing between him and the yarrows. Jaskier feels his heart climb up his throat, wondering what runs through Eskel's mind that makes him pause for so long.

Then Eskel takes them with one hand and with the other, he touches Jaskier’s face. It's big, warm, calloused against his skin. And sudden.

“‘Cheeky when he wants to be’, right?”

Jaskier stutters to say, “Well, yes, I mean, but this isn’t about him—”

He forgets how to speak after Eskel kisses him. It’s the lightest peck on the corner of his lips, so light that once he draws back, he wonders if he's not still dreaming back in their rented room.

“Thank you. I know just what to use them for.”

The yarrow gets tucked away with the other herbs in Eskel's saddlebag. A few glasses clink together as he moves things around so they don’t get crushed. And then, as Jaskier stands there, stupefied and slack-jawed, Eskel mounts his steed, a soot-black beauty that neighs softly at Jaskier’s face.

“Where are you headed for now?”

“Nowhere. Anywhere.” Wherever you’ll go, he thinks to himself. Wherever you'll have me.

Eskel grins wide at him, and it's the most beautiful sight, his smile, with all his teeth gleaming.

“That sounds like trouble.”

#jaskel #jaskier x eskel #rarepair summer bingo #myfics #tt

22 notes · View notes

all-my-love-for-harry · 4 years

Text

Prometiste.

summary: when a relationship starts breaking, previous promises are broken too.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: pure angst! Is a sad one :(

a/n: I got inspired by my favorite song to write this piece, this song is very dear to me and i loved how this turned out. Let me know what you think of it, please! (btw, the title translates to ‘you promised’)

you can find the rest of my masterlist here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:**:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:**:･

The distance can make people grow closer, or it can break them apart. When the second happens, the results are two people with a broken heart and a lot of problems unresolved.

In the beginning, things were great. Harry would pick Y/N up at the airport every time she would go visit him on tour. He’d have her attached to his hip all the time, grabbing a chair for her to sit and watch him rehearse, put her on his lap while his hairstylist was doing his hair, going straight to her arms after every show and going straight to their hotel room to make love to her just like he knows how to.

When her time to leave would arrive, he would beg her to stay just a little more, claiming she was his lucky charm and needed her with him at all times. He’d never say goodbye, simply because he didn’t like that word. He’d much prefer to leave a kiss at the top of her head and make her promise she’d come back soon.

And every time she kept her promise.

Six months passed since Harry began his tour, and in every visit she made she’d notice him more distant, and even if she didn’t want to admit it, she could feel how he was slowly slipping through her fingers.

He’d no longer make the trip to pick her up from the airport, he’d tell her to wait in his dressing room until the concert, leaving her alone for hours without any sort of explanation or sight of regret. She started to feel more like a baggage, an intruder.

Regardless of how she felt, she decided against talking to Harry about it. It was obvious he was stressed, so she sat and watched in silence how the love of her life slowly changed into a person she didn’t know anymore.

Suddenly, she found herself starting looking forward to saying goodbye instead. The question of why she was still wasting her money on plane tickets to see a person who didn’t even look happy to see her was a real enigma, but she still did it anyway. No matter how many text messages Harry would leave on read, or how many unanswered calls landed on his phone, she still loved him and had faith this would only be temporary.

The tour finally made its stop in London, and the reason why Y/N was looking forward to this particular stop, was because Harry had a week long break before his next show. Which meant he was going to be completely free from any obligations, and his mind would finally be stress free.

He hasn’t been sending her many messages lately, but he did tell her his plane got delayed and he’d arrive later than expected. She took the extra time to cook dinner at his house, as a welcome gift.

Harry’s flight was supposed to land at 6 pm, however, it was already nine and he hadn’t come to his house yet.

Y/N got worried and sent him a couple of messages asking him about his whereabouts but he was yet to answer. So she insisted. She was tired of being ignored.

However, after finally receiving an answer from Harry, she immediately wished she didn’t.

Can you stop being so annoying?

Y/N felt as if someone ripped her heart from her chest as tears immediately threatened to spill out of her eyes. Dozens of questions started to run through her mind, still having trouble at understanding the situation.

She contemplated her options. She could either leave, or she could stay and wait for him to come home and one and for all demand an explanation of his behavior. She chose the latter.

So she sat on the couch, looking directly at the flat screen hanged on the wall even though it wasn’t even on. She flinched when she heard a jingle of his keys, following from his footsteps.

None of them said anything as Harry approached her, sitting beside her on the couch in complete silence. He sighed.

“I don’t think this is working anymore, Y/N” He whispered, turning to look at her. He caught how one single tear fell off her left eye, not answering him. She swallowed the rest of them though. “There’s so much going on right now, and I had to make a massive readjust of priorities…”

“And I suppose I didn’t make the cut” She interrupted him. Harry took a deep breath. “Did you stop loving me?” Finally turning to look at him, Harry’s heart break into a million of pieces when he saw her, bloodshot eyes from containing her tears. Harry shook his head. “Then what happened?” she almost begged. “Because it looks like you did and you’re just lying to me to make me feel better”

“I haven’t stopped loving you, never will” he confessed. “I thought I could balance it all. Tour and… well, you. I haven’t been a good boyfriend and you deserve someone who puts you first because… because I can’t”

“I know I’m not perfect, I was certain that my place was next to you. And I tried to keep my promise, I really tried, Harry” She couldn’t contain herself anymore as she started sobbing.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her to his chest, allowing himself to also cry. He felt how Y/N’s tears stained his shirt, but he didn’t care. She tried inhale Harry’s essence as she felt like it was going to be the last time she’d be able to do it.

“I know you did, I do” He started kissing the top of her head multiple times. “This is on me, baby. Is all on me, I’m sorry”

She pulled away from his chest, whipping her tears only to receive new ones. “You could’ve spared me so much time of uncertainty, you know? If you didn’t want this anymore, then why you didn’t say something sooner?”

“I… don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to accept it was time to let you go”

Y/N’s lip started trembling. Deep down she knew Harry just didn’t love her anymore, and although that thought hurt, she would’ve preferred hearing that rather than a really vague excuse. She needed to get out of the house, otherwise she’d collapse.

She stood up abruptly, starting to look for her purse. Harry panicked, standing up from the couch as well. “Please don’t go while you’re like this”

“I don’t want to stay, Harry” she choked a sob. “I really need to go, please” she begged. Harry looked unsure, but he still let go of her arm he didn’t even realize he was holding.

So he watched grab her purse and leave. In that moment, Harry knew he was making the biggest mistake of his life, one that he’d forever regret. But even if he already knew, he still did it anyway.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:**:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:**:･

Y/N cried until there weren’t any more tears to spill. She woke up the next day with a wet pillow and a broken heart. At first, she thought it was all just a bad dream, but memories from the night before passed through her mind and a new wave of tears came.

She felt like her whole world was falling apart, suddenly feeling lost and… empty. Her chest felt empty. And it was because her heart didn’t belong to her anymore. Harry had it.

And despite he knew he held her heart in his hands, he still broke it.

Or perhaps he forgot he had it.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d forgotten something.

Y/N just wanted it all to end. The ache in her head and in her chest, it was becoming too much to handle and she didn’t know what to do anymore.

After spending her whole afternoon in bed staring at the ceiling, she came to the conclusion that in order to stop her soul from aching further, Y/N needed to erase the past three years of her life from her mind.

It was an impulsive decision, but she didn’t realize it until she was in front of Harry’s front door with a couple of duffel bags in the back of her car, waiting to be filled with all her belongings.

Harry wasn’t home, of course he wasn’t. He had a concert to do. He had a career and a life that was waiting for him, and Y/N wasn’t part of that anymore.

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the bags and entered the house with her spare key, feeling sad about thinking it would be the last time she’d use it. She placed the key in the table beside the door and headed upstairs straight to Harry’s room.

A wave of memories invaded her mind. Times where they were happy, times where being in love was the only thing that matter for them.

His room. A place Y/N loved but now was bittersweet to stand in. She placed her bags on his bed, allowing her palm to touch the white sheets and closing her eyes for a second.

His bed. Where thousands of promises were made through soft whispers and tender touches. She remembered how Harry would promise her it would always be them against the world, how he bowed he’d never leave her alone, loving her until the end of times, through thick and thin. No matter the situation, it’d always be just them. Just Y/N and Harry.

And she, being her, believed him blindly.

It seemed like Harry forgot all those things along with so many others. Along with the fact that today would’ve been their fourth year together, not that it mattered anymore.

Once her bags were full, she let herself have one last look at the room that used to be her favorite room in the entire house. She took out the promise ring Harry had given her a year prior, letting it rest on his nightstand.

Just like last night, Y/N had two options. She could either leave now, or she could stay and wait for him for one last goodbye.

And this time, she chose the first option, and didn’t look back.

#harry styles imagine #harry styles #harry styles imagines #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles one shot #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction

403 notes · View notes

theywontletmebeprincipal · 3 years

Note

can you give me drowsy headcanons, ramble, or anything please, i am so deprived. do not be afraid to make it super long, the more the better, i just love drowsy chaperone and love to hear other people (plus you’re one of the only people i’ve seen who knows a lot abt it)

ASK AND YE SHALL RECIEVE

I’ll divide this into a few different parts, going from least to most excruciatingly sad :)

1. general headcanons

2. in canon things i noticed and think about daily

3. a full analysis of man in chair’s connections with the drowsy chaperone as an in universe show (trigger warning for abuse ment, alcoholism ment, suicide ment)

SECTION ONE: HEADCANONS

- okay the chaperone is trans I don’t make the rules

- also her name is ambrosia :) she forsook her last name :)

- she’s about 12 years older than janet and kinda hung with janet’s family after leaving her own for a while . essentially she’s a big sister to janet

- aldolpho has some lines where he asks if the bride is big and/or burly and while in canon this is supposed to show he’s kind of a womanizer I like to believe it’s because he was fully prepared to fight her if needed

- speaking of which Of Course janet is ripped she does gymnastics

- my batshit crazy headcanon for this show is that dee dee allen from the prom is a descendant of roman bartelli no I will not elaborate

- is aldolpho one of those bitches with pets that definitely shouldn’t be legal? yessir

- post show kitty becomes a star okay I just want her to be happy

- the “pastry chefs” do discover a love of baking post show and now run a shop along with performing in feldzeig’s follies which might maybe be a front for some crime too

- TRIX DROWSY AND ALDOLPHO WORLD TRAVELING POLYCULE CAUSING PROBLEMS ON PURPOSE

- underling’s name is james I will not elaborate on this either

- show never says what trix does so I’ve decided she’s an explorer. she charts maps and punches colonialists and drags her stupid friends along with her, the only bitch in the show with a braincell

- drowsy was a former vaudeville child star pre transition - she left the business but was a mentor to janet

- I do have a headcanon for mic’s name but in the spirit of every actor who’s ever played him I won’t fucking tell

SECTION TWO: SHIT I NOTICED

- robert refers to himself by full name a lot of the time which is v interesting given he’s named after the writer, bob martin (whose wife is also named janet van de graaf). the real bob martin is like five feet away at all times playing mic

- idk how to describe it but the dynamic kitty and feldzeig (VICTOR felgzeig. we have a name from one (1) line) have when talking to each other is so snappy and funny and good

- aldolpho’s lines in spanish are mostly romantic bullshit but his first one hints that he has/had a wife who, if we’re taking the translation literally, refused to touch him. yeah I’ll bring this up in analysis

- the “pastry chefs” provide liquor for the wedding even though it has absolutely no relevance to their mission of stopping it :)

- drowsy is like. SUPER endearing towards janet and despite her bad social skills it’s super clear she cares a lot about her

- robert speaks fluent french apparently

- everyone says “ew” after aldolpho reveals his affair with drowsy despite her being a certified milf

- the body language of drowsy in the end of the show where she takes mic’s hands and breaks the barrier between reality and fiction is just so good. she was iconic the whole show but I honestly think this final bit is what won beth leavel the Tony in the end

SECTION THREE: OH NO

before diving into the way the drowsy chaperone affects his character, we need to understand what exactly it’s playing off of. to fully understand mic’s attachment to the drowsy chaperone, we need to outline what led him to isolating himself and living in fiction to the extent that he does.

mic’s father left his family at an early age and his semi estranged alcoholic mother was the one who began his love for theatre. mic grew up in a broken household and eventually moved on to land in a one sided marriage, which lasted a few months until he slipped up and expressed his discomfort with the situation, after which he and his wife split. nowadays, he lives alone in his apartment surrounded by records he uses to escape to a better life - his favorite of which being the one his mother gave him, the drowsy chaperone.

symbolism in the drowsy chaperone regarding mic’s life can be split into two main categories - mommy issues and internalized homophobia. there isn’t nearly as much mom symbolism as there is the latter, so I’ll cover that first.

drowsy covers both bases, but she definitely has some undeniable mom symbolism going on. drowsy marries aldolpho and mom dreams of being swept off her feet by a latin lover, both feel they’ve wasted their chances at love, both drink to forget, etc. this is where the idea of the drowsy chaperone being mic’s ideal way for things to work out, a positive parallel, comes into play. given that we don’t hear too much about mic’s mom other than her connections to major life events and the record itself, we can assume they grew apart in one way or another. the key difference is that drowsy finds a happy relationship for herself and retains her bond with janet, unlike what we’re led to assume mom was like.

further elaborating on the drowsy chaperone representing mic’s ideal fantasy version of events is the wedding the drowsy chaperone’s plot centers around. here’s a list of the things that didn’t stop that damn wedding:

- a minister not showing up

- the groom cheating on the bride with the bride

- the bride having a complete mental breakdown

- indirect mafia interference

- direct mafia interference

on the flip side, what little mic says about his wedding indicates it sucked absolute ass. he spent the entire ceremony in internal distress as he went through with a life changing event he, at that point, knew at least a bit that he didn’t want. I think he also implies he had severe diarrhea on the wedding day? it gets worse when you realize mic’s relationship before the wedding wasn’t any good for him either - he was playing along the whole time because it would be cruel not to, right?

throughout the show, mic is pretty clearly shown as an extremely repressed gay man. there are five specific instances that point at romantic and/or sexual attraction to men directly and another moment outside of his commentary that pretty much confirms it if you look a little bit deeper. thus, here is what I propose - to mic, the drowsy chaperone’s wedding plot represents a world where he was able to ignore that part of himself and have a happy marriage with his wife despite all the overwhelming obstacles thrown at him. however, bits and pieces of that internalized homophobia manage to show themselves throughout the drowsy chaperone anyway despite its happy ending. here’s a rundown on a few significant instances:

- by the end of the show, the “pastry chefs”, who had literally been planning to kill feldzeig, have left their life of crime to perform with him. this symbolizes how in mic’s ideal world he would have been able to turn away from what he perceived at the time as living wrongly - his homosexuality

- at the same time, the “pastry chefs” have this line, spoken in regards to janet: “if she gets married and leaves the show... there ain’t no show.” this is a take on mic’s subconscious concern that he might lose himself if he goes on with his marriage pretending everything is alright - of course, as we already know, he doesn’t listen

- “cold feets” is a pretty obvious instance of mic’s hesitation

- aldolpho’s line in spanish regarding the wife who won’t touch him flips to reflect on mic’s treatment of his own ex wife - she was alien to him as a lover, just as aldolpho was to this woman

- janet recalls her meeting robert at a point in the show and states “we spooned, briefly, then he proposed.” though mic’s relationship pre marriage was much longer than that, it must have felt that way to him - just as quick and nonsensical as janet describes

- just as janet is caught in showbiz but has a toxic love for it, so does mic with his own repressed life

- janet has a line in “show off” that alludes to her experiencing harassment/assault: “I don’t wanna be cheered no more/ praised no more/ grabbed no more/ touched no more/ loved no more” , which I believe represents the way mic perceived his intimacy with his wife - labeled as love yet unenjoyable for him

- “I look into his eyes... I get all woozy. and that’s... love, isn’t it?” is another very clear nod to mic’s misconception of love based off the only thing he’s ever experienced, relationships with women he’s had to fake

- this is the part where I tell you the lyrics to toledo surprise are a metaphor for actively suppressing gay thoughts. I’ll just leave you with “if it tries to rise; don’t let it”. these lyrics are not comprehensive enough to make a dish - trust me, I have tried. it’s also notable that they serve a double entendre as instructions on how to beat the shit out of someone, but several lyrics are also directed towards the singer/audience. for example: “it’s a snap/ try it folks/ whip your whites/ split your yolks” is an easy metaphor for the unhealthy mental gymnastics required to repress oneself so wholeheartedly

it’s also worth noting the obvious just for the sake of it - mic copes with all this by isolating himself in a safe spot where he can use musicals to escape and live his ideal fantasy, even if it’s only for a short time. there are plenty of nods to this throughout the drowsy chaperone as well. in “as we stumble along” drowsy notes that “the best that we can do is hope a bluebird/ will sing a song/ as we stumble along” - to mic, musicals are his bluebird. while mic mostly indulges in these fantasies, he knows to a certain extent the sheer amount of time he’s spending in them is unhealthy. the first line of the show is “I hate theatre” and I think that to an extent? he does. obviously mic loves theatre as a concept, that can’t be denied. what he hates is the way he’s allowed it to confine him.

with all that out of the way, let’s move on to the most important moment of the show. if you’ve ever seen the show, you’ll know exactly which scene I’m talking about immediately. I’m referring to, of course, the infamous “l-ve while you can” scene. as janet stands at the alter she asks drowsy for one final word of advice, which is partially obscured by aldolpho dropping his cane. “l-ve while you can.” it’s a simple moment, but mic reveals to us that he’s been agonizing over it for years - did drowsy say “live” or “leave”? it occurs to everyone eventually, whether a couple days after the show like with me, or years after like with bob martin’s replacement on broadway that the most likely answer is that she had said “love while you can”. it’s this moment, when you realize why mic had never seen that as an option, that the drowsy chaperone’s status as a musical within a comedy within a tragedy is solidified. mic had no love in his life - his parents hated each other and he was forcing himself into relationships in which he felt nothing. to him, living and leaving were options, but loving never was. so he locked himself away.

as the final note on the record is playing, all power in mic’s apartment shuts down and the fantasy is ruined. the superintendent arrives and further invades his space, breaking the private sanctity he had built up for so long. she fixes the power and before mic can stop it from happening, the final note of the record plays. and the super recognizes it as a musical. she makes a remark about how much her wife loves musicals and leaves, completely unaware of what she’s just done.

mic sits in silence for a while. and then he begins to sing. gradually, the cast members begin to echo their songs, dancing around him but never touching him. then drowsy appears and sings harmony to mic. and she takes his hands. the show ends with the entire cast, including mic, taking off on trix’s airplane as the curtain falls, drowsy handing mic his record as the plane takes off.

some people interpret the ending as mic committing suicide, finally deciding between live and leave. I don’t personally believe that and neither does writer and original mic bob martin, but it’s still a valid interpretation. the drowsy chaperone’s ending is ambiguous, yes, but not to that extent. no matter what you believe the ending means, it was brought on not by the interruption of the fantasy, but by whatever realization the super’s remark about her wife triggered. as I see it, there are two main options here.

option one - mic realizes he still has time to live and to love. when he was younger the prospect of living as himself was unthinkable to him, yet now he sees that while he was spending countless years alone the world grew. drowsy offers mic her hand, an invitation to finally become what he had admired in her - someone who isn’t anywhere near perfect, but is damn well trying and living life without regret. he accepts.

option two - mic realizes that while he spent years alone the world moved on without him and he’s isolated himself so much from social interaction that he’d no longer be able to make a meaningful connection with anyone outside. so he stays inside instead, never trying, always trapped between live and leave. drowsy offers mic her hand - at least he’ll have a tune to carry with him.

I really want to believe we got option one. I think option one is the intended, really, given mic ends the show with a joyful goodbye to the audience. but the way that the ending is still left open for interpretation makes it so that we can never really know - we as the audience only get to be privy to a small part of mic’s life, and we don’t get the answers we want because at the end of the day they’re irrelevant to us - all we can do is make our own choice.

#the drowsy chaperone #musical theatre #musicals #broadway #musical meta #man in chair

39 notes · View notes

whatudottu · 3 years

Text

So I’m sure y’all (ben 10 fans specifically) know about the episode Inspector 13? And how Gwen couldn’t used her mana like she usually does?

Yeah, those are my thoughts today and I’m gonna talk about ‘em.

Let’s get this out of the way first, pure full Anodites will not have the same trouble that Gwen has, regardless of form. Basic reason here same as normal, they’re pure mana and Gwen is a fleshy human with a spark, so inherently there’s already a difference in the flow of mana.

But are other species capable of magic and mana manipulation?

Heck yeah!

Knowing what we’ve seen with Anodites already, sans Gwen of course, they’re the... uh... hmm let’s say playboys of the universe. Much in the same way that humans can’t keep it in their pants, Anodites don’t have pants in the first place and would definitely proliferate with life spanning galaxies. And just like with humans, there is a chance that any hybrid child of an Anodite can have the spark.

But does that mean that Gwen can use mana as each of the aliens she turns into?

Heck no!

At least not on first try.

Now let me explain. Humans have a filter on their flow of mana, one which Anodites don’t possess, but other species have that same filter. Why? Well, it’s their DNA of course, it’s what separates them from the pure energy beings of Anodites, the unfiltered raw flow of mana. This filter is there because while Anodites are filled with mana, a hybrid with a spark produces their own unique life energy that interacts and mingles with the flow of their mana.

But what does that mean for Gwen?

Given that the spark is not... uh... entirely genetic (there’s a need for an Anodite SOMEWHERE in the bloodline for the spark, but it doesn’t come up in DNA), it should exist through each transformation. But the issue here is that, while the spark stays the same, the filter wildly changes.

Gwen, as herself, is athletic and light on her feet, so her mana floats, twists and turns, and when solid, is akin to glass. But as Diamondhead, suddenly there’s more weight and less dexterity. There’s a difference that opens a new set of rules for Gwen that she’s never had to deal with, and just like at the start of her magic career, things don’t work exactly as they should.

I’m done with the whole analysis side of this thought, but the main reason why this is on my mind is because... well... I didn’t like how the show handled the differences in mana manipulation. It’s maybe a sneaky little episode rewrite, and maybe a little more interesting version of the ‘getting-used-to-another-person’s-powers’ trope... which I’m pretty sure is a thing. I don’t know I’ve seen it before a few times so whatever.

ANYWAY! Moving on to what I would’ve like to have happened, let’s go in order of Gwen’s transformations.

As stated (and is obvious), Petrosapiens aren’t very known for their light weight and dexterity, so one’s magic would reflect this. How this will affect their mana would turn the free flowing looseness of floating mana into physics based materialisation. But what makes this different to a Petrosapien’s natural crystalkinesis?

Let’s demonstrate with Diamondhead.

A falling Gwen would realise quick that her attempts at making platforms would fail, seeing them fall alongside her. However, producing these solid objects took nothing away from her physical levels of energy, meaning Diamondhead wasn’t growing fatigued unlike with typical crystalkinesis. Gwen would have the ability to form as much ‘crystals’ as she wants in order to keep her from crashing too heavily into the ground.

This use of mana is more so built upon traps, because they last a lot longer and barely need concentration to work. Used as a replacement for crystalkinesis, a Petrosapien ain’t gonna get very far, because these ‘traps’ work on everyone even if they can disperse the constructs. No, it’s better to stay away from the constructs because they amplify sonic waves (the mana vibrates as if like a tuning fork) and can create shatter explosions if struck the right way. For the latter, if y’all have seen the dude pressure plating a diamond, it’s like that.

Now, let’s talk about the second alien Gwen transforms into, Clockwork!

Chronosapiens are a little more robotic than Humans and Petrosapiens, especially Anodites, so their filter of mana is a lot larger. It is the fact that they are alive in the first place that let’s them use magic at all, but their mana capabilities are extremely limited. It’s like being trapped in a metal suit, where it’s hard to allow the internal spark to manipulate the external environment. But what if one doesn’t use external magic?

Clockwork can work like this.

Gwen may not manage to bypass the filter and create mana constructs, or even a flowing tendril, but she can find ways for her modified magic to work. Clockwork keeps the spark internally, so why not help that along with less offensive and defensive skills, and instead more utility casting. What does this mean? Flight, babes! But instead of the traditional sort of flight, Gwen finds that she can ‘walk on frozen time’ and ‘slip through the seems’.

Okay maybe that sounds a little too much like the Esoterica power set, but it’s not like seeing a fourth dimension and accessing the inaccessible. It may appear to be the same, but just like how people may perceive Clockwork to have super speed, even though he’s just slowed time for everyone else, it’s just a matter of perspective. But in general, learning to use mana outwardly would need more time than Gwen had.

Moving on to alien number 3, we have Humungousaur.

Now, in terms of filters, Vaxasaurians have a little more access to mana manipulation than Petrosapiens and especially Chronosapiens, but they have a whole lot of life energy due to their size, which has an effect on their spark. While the dexterity of their magic can be comparable to Human’s manipulation, the strength of it is quite limited, so while a Vaxasaurian may be dependent on their physical bodies for attack and defence, magic is just a bonus action.

So how would Humungousaur use magic instead?

Well, while Gwen would engage in a good old round of fisticuffs, she can use mana like a lasso/whip to trip opponents and yank them this way and that. And by ‘this way’ I mean directly into her punch, like you’re the ball of a paddle-board. It’s definitely more of an assistance type of magic, and it’s definitely not strong enough to support the weight of Humungousaur, but Gwen can control the battlefield by controlling the stability of the enemy.

Think hunting and gathering, this is where a Vaxasaurian’s magic thrives, where it helps with restraining and retrieval rather than attack and defence, they’ve already got THAT down. Prime Vaxasaurians, with their size increase, would lose the use of their mana when at max height, but Reboot Vaxasaurians can emphasise their tail shockwave with magic to make it even more deadly.

Up next is Upchuck, and boy is this an easy one.

Gourmands already have a natural relationship between themselves and energy, so someone with the spark can super enhance their energy bile. To the point where it’s almost unnecessary to actually eat anything to get at least some sort of fire power. Of course, with a Gourmand’s small squishy body, they are perfectly capable of throwing up defences (I swear that pun was an accident), but who needs defences when you’ve got a whole arsenal of explosive mana.

But there’s a little issue with Upchuck that Gwen has to get over.

The problem? Gwen’s a little self-conscious about a Gourmand’s abilities. Mana is the flow of life energy, so if the flow is restrained by embarrassment, it doesn’t act at its full potential. Upchuck can certainly try to use magic as a crutch to avoid needing to eat and spit her way in, but the free flowing stream cutting off is inhibiting the strength of her defence too.

SO! When Gwen finally caves and eats some metal, there’s enough power to blast a hole into the techadon factory big enough to get inside with time to spare. Aside from enhancing the blasting power of a Gourmand’s natural energy, the use of mana manipulation can change the ‘weaponry’ of the attack, which can turn into a gassy smokescreen (burp) and a sticky ball (loogie) to name a few. A Gourmand’s best strength is confidence, so Gwen would need to adapt her mana the same way.

And last but not least, we have Rath stepping up to the plate.

Now, Appoplexians are... rather straight forward and fight tooth and claw rather than strategically. They have a similar mana to life energy filter ratio to Humans, but that doesn’t mean that they’re just as magic friendly. Mana manipulation typically requires coherent thought other than the urge to beat someone up.

But Rath can use magic, and here’s how Gwen works it.

Cutting to the chase, there’s no range mana attacks, at all. For one thing, Rath would find it cowardly, another being that unlike ripping out a turret and throwing it at something else, there’s not enough brutal violence. And utility magic is not even considered. That needs some planning, and the only plan Rath has going into the fight is to WIN! And Gwen is not immune to the urge for violence.

So what happens instead, Gwen would accentuate a punch, slash or block with the extra kick of mana. Enemy fist approaching at 5 o’clock, t-minus 2 seconds? Mana armour. The techadon warrior is regenerating a little too fast for liking? Mana blade! Inspector 13 is being an annoying little techadon engineer with his constant downplay of their abilities? MANA PUNCH!

And after all that, Gwen gets to be in her own skin again. Some of the abilities she learnt that day don’t translate to her Human form. She can’t form crystal traps, she can’t slip between the seams of time, she can’t modify the properties of her mana. But some of the techniques she learnt can be adapted into her regular fighting. She can manipulate the battle field, she can construct armour on the fly.

But most importantly, she can see the differences of life energy, and how they effect magic use. Seeing a range of different mana manipulation, Gwen has unlocked a more open perspective on magic and can learn so much more, her expectations of Human magic pried open wide.

I think THAT would’ve been neat.

But instead we got same face syndrome not to rag on the episode haha.

#gwen tennyson #anodite #petrosapien #chronosapien #vaxasaurian #gourmand #appoplexian #ben 10 #Inspector 13 episode #headcanon #ramblings #a vague sorta #rewrite #but like not entirely #just a little bit of complaining but i just wanted to look at magic

28 notes · View notes

asexualzoro · 5 years

Text

list of reasons i find Brook ridiculous

for brook’s birthday, ive decided to follow up my other two posts of this genre by dragging yet another idiot swordsman. i have everybrook open on my phone next to me. here we go

- first and foremost his most ridiculous crime is existing. as he’s already so ridiculous as a character, im going to talk only about things hes done

- i want to know, did Brook make a conscious effort to change his laugh to sound like his favorite song? how long did it take? what was the in between period like? what did his crew have to say about this? the rumbar pirates were big on playful teasing, did they let Brook live this down?

- ALTERNATIVELY: was brook’s laugh already like that? is that why bink’s sake is his favorite song? is that why it was York’s favorite-- oh we only made it two bullet points before i made myself sad

- relatedly i cannot make fun of anything Brook did in his backstory it will make me too sad. hes spared for now

- i DO want to say from a writing standpoint its so fucking ridiculous to me that he mentions twice being a convoy captain in the past and it never comes up again. oda?? why even bother to include something that cool if you weren't even going to do anything with it?? you could have said hes just always been a pirate but no. oda?? oda

- there was that bit where a bunch of people thought Brook was satan and addressed him as such (i think Satan-sama in the original, and the translation i read was like... Lord Satan or Lord Demon or something). not only did Brook never correct them, but he also ran with it and later used this case of mistaken identity as a reason to threaten to eat a man’s heart

- also both men and women were showing him their underwear in that bit. bi rights

- those satanists let Brook get kidnapped while saying they would try to summon him back. do you think they're still at it

- Brook is older than... basically every old man in the series. Garp, Whitebeard, Rayleigh... all of them. something about that is so weird to me and i cannot place why

- Brook has seen and can prove the existence of an afterlife in One Piece canon and its then never addressed again

- Brook missed so many huge events while being dead. im looking at a timeline rn and these include the obvious, like, roger’s execution and subsequent effect on in-world culture and society and whatever. but also things like the destruction of ohara (which was in his home sea), the founding of the world power known as the revolutionary army (which was about 20yrs ago), and the births of every other member of his crew. wack

- he seems to know about stuff related to the pirate king post time skip, and i wonder if thats because someone told him or he’s just playing along now. maybe he just thinks Luffy made up the term pirate king cuz it sounds cool and he wants to support his captain’s interests

- if he DID ask though, like, who did he ask? his managers? did he pull aside some fan asking for an autograph at a concert like “hey, you look like a knowledgable young lad, mind helping me out?”

- i would love to be there when someone takes the time to explain roger, the pirate king, raffle, the One Piece.... and Brook asks them “what is the One Piece?”.... and someone has to look him in the eye (...or not) and tell him “i don't know”

- Brook has technically died of fright (his soul left his body), like... at least once? it was luffy’s fault

- Brook was an urban legend on the florian triangle and i doubt he even knows that about himself

- when they're heading to fishmen island Brook gets all scared when they encounter a possible ghost ship and Usopp slaps him

- when captured by big mom he sleeps so godamn soundly and securely that he is harder to wake up than she is and this fact nearly gets a bunch of his crew killed

- Brook is the only character i can think of who has ever broken the fourth wall. he only did it once. maybe seeing the afterlife means he now knows hes in a manga. or maybe being isolated for 50 years just made his head be not screwed on right

- speaking of, there’s a bit in WCI at the wedding where Brook is decapitated. i don't know how it goes in the anime, but in the manga like... no one is shown to have decapitated him. his head just pops off. maybe he was just having fun

- also the bit where he rips the fake face off in wci. when someone calls him gross he cries

- there’s a bit in fishmen island where Brook is trying to ask Nami if he can see her panties (disgusting bastard) and he inadvertently protects her from being dehydrated by some guy they were fighting. except the panel setup reminds me a lot of / mimics ace protecting Luffy from Akainu, and it haunts me

- speaking of bits from fishmen island that haunt me, there's a page where it’s strongly implied Brook fucked a mermaid (maybe two). i will of course include the page here

- yeah. sorry.

- when Brook first meets the strawhats he invites himself inside because “it’s cold out!” but he later admits in punk hazard that he cant feel cold. he was just lying

- no one introduces himself to Brook except Luffy for the entirety of thriller bark

- half related, Franky cradles Brook in his arms / carries Brook around for like a full scene in thriller bark

- there's a link two second bit in film gold where the crew is just relaxing while they're planning for how they're going to get Zoro back and they're all shown eating burgers from pirate mcdonalds or whatever. and Brook is eating a burger and hes so messy that hes got burger on his forehead, and Franky is next to him just looking at him

- Brook also wears fake skin in that movie

- Brook has a running gag where he gets upset when things refuse to eat him and i was going to make a joke about it but im wondering if maybe hes just afraid of being left behind........ made myself sad again

- he cries when a dragon won't eat him tho

- Brook admits to reading monster hentai when talking to Sanji and Kin’emon and if i have to be burdened with knowing that so do you

- when hes trying to figure out the weakness of the zombies on thriller bark he overhears one ate a salted fish and lost its shadow and immediately assumes “oh, must have been the fish!” idiot man

- where does his sword cane go when hes not using it. it just appears. where does he store it

- there's a bit where the strawhats all use a combo attack at thriller bark and the first step is firing an electrically charged Brook in a slingshot through oars/oz. he ends up in a wall and no one ever pulls him out. i don't even think the manga shows how he got down

- enemies post time skip regularly assume Brook is dead when they manage to knock the crew out and it makes me wonder how popular of a rock star Brook actually was

- Brook goes on a mini rant to no one while they're descending to fisherman island where he wonders aloud how he sees without eyes and it makes me lose it

- this isn't Brook technically but Nekomamushi is based on a song Brook’s voice actor wrote about his cat.

- Brook literally doesn't have a brain. like i know we all know that but its so fucking funny. we make jokes about other strawhats only having one braincell or whatever but Brook straight up 100% just has a seashell where his brain is supposed to be

- why does he have rubber glove looking hands when hes haunting the castle at wano i fucking hate them

- relatedly, there’s a bit where Brook mentions he’s been, at kinemon’s interaction, sitting in a well for like... possibly days? is he okay

- honestly i love everything about Brook’s actions as a ghost in wano bc its so fucking funny but my FAVORITE fact is that Brook is in the wikipedia article about starving skeletons

im leaving you with that. appreciate ur local skeleton today

#brook #soul king brook #One Piece #my posts #ridiculous lists #zaria dont look #long post #this is like a condensed version of what its like to follow me pn twitter i think #i could probs add more but i wont

1K notes · View notes

hale-13 · 3 years

Text

Strangulated

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 26 Prompt - Asphyxiation

“That’s pretty new,” Peter muttered aloud, perched on the side of a building in Midtown and staring intently at the man in a full on metal rhino costume destroying the front of a Well’s Fargo. The police that had responded to the call had drawn their weapons and were perched behind their cars, clearly just as baffled and making no attempts to stop or prevent the crime.

Words: 1754, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Rhino

TW: Strangulation

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“It is new Peter,” Karen’s voice chirped happily from his mask. “You have not faced this criminal before. Would you like me to activate instant kill?” She sounded far too hopeful for Peter’s liking and he sighed, dodging the small chunk of concrete that flew his way.

“Karen, darling, love of my life. We’ve talked about this,” he told her gently, swinging closer and dropping down behind the line of cop cars. “Instant kill is not the answer to all lives problems.”

“If you say so,” and she sounded so disappointed. Peter would have to have a conversation with Mr. Stark – he had no idea how he made his AI’s so lifelike but he really wanted to know.

“Ugh,” one of the cops said, rolling his eyes as he noticed Peter. “Scram Spider-Guy, this ain’t any of your business.”

Peter fought an eye roll of his own. “Real nice pal,” he said sarcastically, stepping forward anyway. The guys partner nudged him pointedly in the side.

“Just send in the freak. Might save us the effort.” Peter fought the urge to cringe at the sneer directed at him. He had a pretty thick skin but he wasn’t the biggest fan of being called a ‘freak’. Especially by the people he was trying to help.

“Happy to be of service,” Peter grunted with a two finger salute. “Just stay back and let the professional work.” He fired a web and took off in the direction of the rhino guy before either of the police had the chance to respond. He purposely used their car as a jumping off point just to really rub it in and smirked a little at their grunts of irritation. “Hey big guy!” He called as he landed in the pock-marked and cracked street. Rhino-guy turned around and charged with a roar. “Whoa there!” Peter called as he jumped over his head. “You haven’t even introduced yourself yet!”

“I will squash you like bug!” The man said in a thick Russian accent, scraping one of his feet against the ground like a bull and charging Peter head first again. Peter nimbly dodged again and dangled with one hand from a nearby streetlight.

“You know spiders are arachnids right? Not bugs?” Peter bantered, swinging around the pole and releasing at just the right moment to launch himself across the street the nail Rhino in the face, sending him stumbling back before he corrected himself with a roar. Peter somersaulted out of the way of another charge.

“Stay still so I can kill you,” he roared.

“Tempting,” Peter mused, webbing Rhino’s arms to his sides. “But I’ll pass.”

Rhino roared again in obvious frustration and ripped through Peter’s webs with great effort. “That’s not ideal,” Peter said as he fired more webs in an attempt to slow down Rhino to no avail. Freed once more, Rhino changed forward. This time, however, Peter took a step back into one of the holes in the asphalt and tripped; he was able to right himself quickly but not fast enough to dodge out of the way of Rhino’s hands.

“Oof,” Peter gasped, hands flying up to his throat where Rhino had wrapped his mechanized hands around Peter’s throat, holding him a couple feet above the ground and leaving Peter to flail his legs in an attempt to escape. “Not cool bro,” Peter breathed out with his limited air supply as the Rhino squeezed tighter and backed him up to slam Peter into a nearby brick wall.

“You talk too much,” Rhino grumbled, redoubling his hold on Peter and making him grunt with effort and scrambled to pull the hands from around his throat.

“Peter your pulse ox is dropping rapidly,” Karen said, displaying the number on his HUD and Peter squeezed his eyes shut as it ticked from ninety-three percent to ninety-two. “Calling Mr. Stark.”

“No don’t,” Peter wheezed out a little desperately, his throat feeling raw and swollen and his lungs beginning to burn.

“On my way kid,” Tony’s voice said through his comm as Karen connected his mentor to Peter’s HUD. “Any chance you can break out before you pass out.” Peter just let out a frustrated puff of air and, with intense effort, lifted his legs to press his feet against Rhino’s chest to begin pushing. His vision was tunneling and pulsing around the edges and Peter knew it was only his stubborn pig-headedness and sheer force of will that was keeping him conscious at this point. The pulse ox reading in the corner ticked down to eighty-seven and, with Herculean strength, Peter finally knocked the Rhino away from him and collapsed to the ground.

“‘M good,” Peter croaked tightly, letting his head rest back against the road as he recovered his breath. He didn’t have long through as his Spidey sense tingled violently and he threw himself to the side of the road to dodge out of Rhino’s path. His vision was still a little spotty and he stumbled like he was drunk but Peter was able to pull himself back to his feet and stand without assistance. “Not cool dude,” he said, his throat burning and his words coming out like he had been gargling gravel.

He needed to end this quick. He couldn’t afford to get caught again. With effort, Peter jumped back into the air, firing webs at rapid speed as he did so – attaching Rhino to the ground in a veritable cocoon. Rhino screamed in anger and struggled but Peter’s webs held this time much to his relief. “He’s all yours boys,” he said in the direction of the police, his voice thready and painful and he swallowed down a cough.

It took all the energy he had left to swing away, alighting on a nearby apartment roof and dropping first to his knees and then back to sit cross-legged. His neck hurt and he could feel the swelling starting to constrict his trachea and vocal chords. Tony landed in front of him a few seconds later, stepping out of his suit and squatting down in front of Peter with several cracks and pops of his knees.

“Try not to talk buddy,” Tony told him, lifting his mask up to his nose and pulling the neck down carefully, wincing at whatever he saw and making Peter hunch his shoulders and pull away, fixing his mask back to its usual position. “Helen’s waiting for us back in the MedBay. I’m going to carry you and your not going to bitch about it capiche?” Peter rolled his eyes knowing it would translate to the large white lenses on his mask but didn’t protest when Tony stepped back into the Iron Man armor and picked him up.

The flight back to the Tower was quick since Peter had ventured into Manhattan to patrol today and they were soon landing on the small balcony outside the MedBay doors. Peter still felt a little light-headed and dizzy and swayed a little in place when Tony lowered him back to the ground to stand on his own while the suited disassembled around him and flew off to the armory. “Steady there,” the man said gently, slinging Peter’s arm across his shoulders and helping him walk into the building.

“Hey Peter,” Helen Cho said as she approached them from the nurses station down the hall and ushered them into an open exam room. “Karen sent me your stats so let’s just see the damage yeah?” She said as Peter settled on the exam bed.

Peter smacked his hand into the spider emblem on his chest, letting the suit fall down to rest around his hips, pulling his mask off and tossing it next to him on the bed. Dr. Cho wrinkled her nose and softly palpated Peter’s neck making him grunt and grimace, manfully resisting the urge to pull away from her. “Well you’ve already got some pretty severe swelling,” she said, clipping a pulse oximeter onto his finger and frowning at the result. “And you’re still not oxygenating as well as I’d like.”

“So what’s the plan then,” Tony said, slapping a hand over Peter’s mouth when he opened it to speak and ignoring the glare Peter sent him and the spiteful lick Peter gave his hand in the hopes that Tony would remove his hand.

“Well I’m going to start supplemental oxygen first,” Dr. Cho said, unwinding an oxygen mask from the wall and pushing Peter back until he was reclined on the bed and slipped the mask over his mouth and nose. “I’ll have a nurse come in with something for you to change into and then I want to start IV steroids and pain relief to get the swelling down. With you’re healing,” she said addressing Peter, “you should only be here overnight. I just want to make sure that your airway doesn’t swell closed. You’ll also need to rest your voice since you probably have some damage to your vocal chords.”

Disappointed, Peter nodded. This was not in his plan for the day and he was really looking forward to playing Beast Slayers with Ned tonight but, if he was confined to a MedBay bed and doped up on his pain meds he doubted he would be worth much of anything. Well at least he’d probably catch up on some of his sleep.

A few hours later, floating due to his super strength meds and curled up under a pre-warmed blanket, Peter squeaked out a hoarse ‘thanks’ making Tony, sat beside him and tapping away at a tablet with his feet propped up on the end of Peter’s bed, fix him with a glare. “Aren’t you supposed to be resting your voice?” Peter just gave him a dopey smile and burrowed deeper into the blanket, adjusting the melting ice pack that was wrapped around his still tender throat.

He’d have to do some research of mechanized rhinos in the morning. He had already come up with some fun tweaks for his web fluid that might be beneficial going forward. With chemical equations dancing around in his brain, Peter fell into an deep, easy sleep.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump26 #Prompt: Asphyxiation #irondad #spider man #Summer of Whump 2021

14 notes · View notes

pathofcomet · 4 years

Text

my honey, my daisy, my only

fandom: ikemen vampire

pairing: isaac/MC

summary: “Do not fall in love with anyone here,” Sebastian threatens, wiping a glass and carefully placing it to the side, to be moved to the cupboards a little bit down the hall.Written for Isaac week, day 4. Prompt: AU. Hanahaki AU. (AO3)

“Do not fall in love with anyone here,” Sebastian threatens, wiping a glass and carefully placing it to the side, to be moved to the cupboards a little bit down the hall.

She places her trembling hands in her lap: scared and her heart still throbbing in her chest. This place and this time suddenly don’t really feel like a dream anymore, the fear too real. Love is a concept that doesn’t fit in this image that she’s building of the inhabitants of Saint-Germain’s mansion, so his warning is hollow, empty.

“Why?” she still asks, dumbly.

Sebastian stops – and then slowly, he undoes his necktie and the first two buttons at the top of his shirt. With the downwards pull, she can see the small scar sitting at the base of his throat, nothing but a faint line, whiter than the rest of his skin. His finger is just delicately following the path of where there has once been a cut.

“You know what this is, right?”

She nods. It’s not proper to ask more about it, because what’s there left to be said, when you have given up all memories of a loved one for the chance to keep on living? When the flowers start growing in your chest alongside your love, there are only two choices, really: you’re either having your feelings reciprocated, or have them disappear forever, alongside your memories of the person you fell for. Sebastian chuckles, a dry little thing.

“This does not exist here yet.”

And now the warning sinks in, with its whole finality and strength. If you love, and you are not loved back – here the only choice left is to eventually choke on all those feelings. She can feel her throat constricting in painful memory, the ghost of something she will never be able to recall. She nods again, and Sebastian, pleased that he got to her, resumes his work.

***

Love is pain. Love on its own is pure death – it goes as simple as that. But love kills slowly and beautifully, for it is not entirely unkind.

For vampires, the suffering is doubled. Because while sex is the food, love is the appetite.

And Isaac is stuck in the middle, thirst clawing at him, knowing the pain long before the love arrives.

***

Is there a reason for what humans do? Isaac doesn’t feel like he became a vampire a long time ago, but the separation still comes to him naturally. Even more so ever since she joined this place and turned his world upside down.

Isaac opens his door to her small figure in the frame and no matter how much he scrambles for a reason why she’s here, he can find none. By all laws of logic, she should be afraid and hateful. Instead, she smiles and doesn’t pour all the contents of the tray in his lap, which is more than he’d expected.

And Isaac finds himself smile back. Mistake no. 1.

***

Saint-Germain drinks his coffee, watching the exchange between Isaac and his newest visitor, and he calculates inside his mind several possibilities and probabilities. In time travel, just as in love, there are no real certainties, not even for the best out there. But there are more or less twenty days left for their young visitors – certainly not enough to develop any severe forms of the sickness, even if she is to catch it.

Saint-Germain thinks her better than that. But twenty days are more than enough to have her fall in love with a city instead. Cities don’t break hearts. So he clears his throat, passing his cup over to Sebastian, and creates an excuse.

Mistake no. 2 – Isaac didn’t do anything directly about this one, but he still considers himself guilty for it.

***

“Smiling suits you,” Isaac says, and her cheeks bloom red, like flowers.

He is smiling as well, and the two of them are on the side of the road, looking at each other, suddenly transfixed. When not frowning, when not teased, when at ease – Isaac looks like a man entirely enjoying the spring of his life. Full of playfulness and boyish charm.

It is gone in a moment, but she trusts her eyes more than the slip of her mind.

She doubts she’ll make Isaac admit to such a thing, especially when he still seems to have problems keeping his blush at bay even when they brush shoulders accidentally, on the more crowded streets, but… she thinks this might be a date. Or at least that’s how dates in movies look like, since she cannot remember her own ones.

But they walk and talk. He takes her to his favourite café, and she has the best baguette of her life. The coffee sticks to her throat.

***

She reaches out, too much and too willingly. Trusting too much, fearing too little – it drives Isaac a bit crazy. He doesn’t have the bloom to go by. He never experienced love in his past life, focused on his studies as he’s been, and vampires can judge only by their thirsts. But it feels like way more than anyone has tried to do for him in a while, ever since Napoleon, and suddenly Isaac isn’t sure if he wants to call her a friend.

Or something more.

Mistake no. 3. He spends two hours on the kitchen floor, Sebastian stepping gracefully around him, drinking bottle of rouge after bottle of rouge, his lips turning redder and redder, the clawing feeling at his throat not quite disappearing.

***

“Luv,” Arthur says, and she flutters her eyes open, slowly, to him pushing her hair behind her ear.

She went unfocused there for a bit.

“That expression doesn’t suit you,” he continues, sighing.

She tries to scold her features better and focus on the game of chess in-between the two of them in the library. Leonardo is napping on the floor in the corner, a blanket she brought from upstairs over his shoulders. It’s been harder to control the pain, flaring up at random times – and she’s sure it still shows on her face, no matter how much she wants to actually hide it. It’s nothing much but discomfort, thrumming from deep inside her chest, but only for now.

It’s a bit annoying that Arthur somehow already picked it up. She frowns at him, pushing her piece across the table. From his own expression, she can tell it was a bold but completely stupid move. It’s fine; she hasn’t played chess in a long time and she didn’t expect to win in the first place anyway.

“What are you going to do?” he asks.

“You know him better,” she closes her eyes again, turning her neck a bit – Arthur gets a bit distracted staring at the expanse of skin there. “What should I do?”

Arthur grins, his fangs sharp.

“I think you’ve been doing just fine.” He points a finger towards the clock on the wall, already several minutes past the time for Isaac’s meals.

She gets up, technically allowing him the win, leaving the room. Leonardo opens his eyes to peer up at the writer, and although they say nothing out loud, there’s some knowledge passing between the two of them regardless.

***

“Why did you stay until so late, then?” Sebastian asks, grateful that no matter how badly Isaac might need blood, he’s not just grabbing at his shirt and sinking his fangs in his skin, instead ripping from his hands a glass vial.

She’s away now, so his hunger is already slowly fading, as Isaac is trying to do calculus in his head, and more definitely not think about the time spent together, which just keeps adding up.

In the entrance hallway, she’s coughing, delicately trying to cover it up with her handkerchief. When Saint-Germain shows up, she gathers the two small flower buds that she coughed out in her handkerchief, and hides it in her pocket, smiling up at him instead.

The notion of having him as a dance partner staves off the pain, at least for a while, just a bit.

***

She gives and gives. Mistake no. 4: Isaac accepts. He doesn’t know how to say no, even when it hurts. He doesn’t know how to translate her own suffering, when he’s so happy to just have her near.

Isaac’s used with the thirst, nothing else he hasn’t experienced before. The trouble with love is that it feels fresh each and every time.

So while he thinks he has things under control, she most definitely doesn’t. When one chooses to pluck out the flowers growing in their chest, the memories disappear. The one who picks this path, will keep on making the same mistake, not recognizing the patterns, unable to grow with no roots grounding them in place.

So she falls, fast. When Isaac saves her, an upside down mirror of her first night here – not fear thrumming at her wrists this time around, but just the pleasure of having him near, she stumbles, and swears, and the words come out muffled.

She covers her mouth, looking up at Isaac like a deer caught by its hunter. He wants nothing else but – mistake no. 5. Isaac doesn’t stop: then and there, when the doubt starts coiling inside his stomach.

Instead, he offers himself as her company and gentlemanly ignores her when she asks for five minutes to freshen up. In the corner of the room in which she ducked to hide, Vincent pats her back, as petal after petal falls out from between her lips, until she’s left shivering.

And beautiful. Love is pain. Pain is beauty.

Maybe that’s why Isaac cannot look away, cannot keep away: because her cheeks blush with the prettiest of red each time he gets to close. He realizes he maybe pushed too hard simply because, in the fountain where before was only clear water, once he gets up – she’s surrounded by cherry blossoms.

The petals swim all around her, a child leans over to pick a few in her hands. An older lady tuts disappointingly at the two of them. Isaac reaches out a hand, fearful.

But what is he fearing? Why is he so afraid? If this is true –

No.

Mistake no. 6. Isaac cannot believe the obvious signs, because he doesn’t think he’s worthy of them. Men kill more hearts just by not trusting their own.

***

She shivers in the bathtub, the water getting colder, overflowing with flowers and petals. She’ll have to deal with that later – now she is busy counting up to 10, over and over again, trying to calm the thrumming of her heart, the desperate up and down of her chest: her hand pressed over the scar there.

She wonders: how long into these symptoms she got the removal done? How much did she think she could handle, before it all became too much?

Isaac, pushing at Napoleon’s shoulder, bites at his neck, fangs so painful that it makes the other man hiss. The soldier grabs at Isaac’s hair, enough to make eye contact.

“Slowly,” he urges, and Isaac’s grip on him relaxes, though his gulps still ring too loud in his head.

It brings him no pleasure, but his friend calms: with the warmth of another person, the fresh blood, hunger easier to be sated. The tug turns into pets, and Isaac places a kiss where he pierced the skin, lapping at the blood spilling out.

Napoleon sighs. “You’re wet. Let’s change, shall we?”

***

“This room is getting stifling, Toshiko-san,” Dazai says, coming around to check on Isaac.

They’re vampires, they’re supposed to heal and recover fast. Dazai just wants the bragging rights, that he cares the most out of their friends group. And also, maybe, Dazai wants to check the one rumour he has heard, which proves itself quite true.

Isaac is still asleep. Around him, overflowing from his desk and shelves and windowsill: flowers upon flowers, fully bloomed. Dazai sighs. The smell is almost sickeningly sweet – and she looks quite pale.

“I figured I’d be bothering him more if I were to take them out each and every time…”

Each and every time she bends her body over and coughs out flowers in exchange for his love, is the sentence that she doesn’t finish. She is also quite right. And despite it all, she is still here, right next to him.

What a little fool, their Toshiko-san.

***

They dance together, in front of several pairs of eyes, carefully noting each and every small detail, change in them. Like how Isaac’s pupils get the slightest bit more dilated, his fangs sharper, grazing his lips even with his mouth closed. Like how she can’t quite keep her back straight, how she doesn’t really speak.

Sometimes what remains unsaid means more. It is unbearable to hold each other like this, would have been even more unbearable if they didn’t.

Isaac disappears as fast as he appeared, and she’s left on the spot, hands clawing at her throat. She hunches over, clasps her palms to her mouth as she’s trying her damn hardest to stop breathing, to stop feeling. To calm the wave of emotions threatening to spill over, past her lips and in her lap, like a sky decorated with cherry blossoms.

“I believe it is a bit late for that,” Saint-Germain says.

And then they’re out.

***

In the afternoon glow, filtering through the stained glass, she looks beautiful. And Isaac is filled with need: not for her blood, to be fed – but for her love, as a man. His touch against her cheek is tentative and tender and that of someone begging to be held and pushed away at the same time.

Isaac isn’t sure yet which scenario he’s wishing hardest for.

She meets his eyes, and something in him goes even softer. It melts away everything in her.

“W-what is-? Why are you crying…?”

And despite not being hurt, she keeps crying. The tears are just that, in the beginning, and Isaac’s thumb passes over her skin, catching each and every one. She finds she cannot stop, once the dam has been broken: the happiness is suddenly too much. Here he is: just him and her, and he is touching her, and he is caring for her.

Much more than she thought she deserved, much more than she thought she’d get. Way too little compared to how much she still wants. So the tears keep spilling, never stopping. Then they’re not just tears anymore, a petal falling as well each and every time.

Isaac’s hold gets just a bit gentler, and that’s how she knows something is not quite right, before the petals start falling in her lap. Against her cheek, he clenches and unclenches his hands. Slowly, awkwardly, searching her face all along, he reaches out… and pulls her into an embrace.

She sniffles in the material of his shirt, his arms closing around her. The petals are cascading now more rapidly, down his back, and her hands claw at him.

“It’s going to be all right… Please, don’t cry.”

Of course, he can say that because he’s not the one spilling his feelings from his guts, betrayed by his body to show his feelings. He can say that because he is not dying from loving. She trembles in his arms, knowing she doesn’t deserve the comforting, knowing he doesn’t want her.

“… I’m sorry,” she whispers, and her hold on him tightens, and her tears fall even more furiously, accompanied by her pained wailing.

Isaac holds her, gentle as ever, his palms soothingly rubbing down her back. If he were to count the bones he can feel through the thin material of her dress, the numbers would be higher than in a normal human body.

Love taking roots, love taking over.

If she were to see his expression, she would find it pained, his face buried at the crook of her neck. But even when they untangle, Isaac covers his face with his palm, the downward tug at his lips, making his fangs visible, hidden from her.

Mistake no. 7: Isaac cannot tell the truth. Even worse, Isaac hides the truth, even when he knows hers is so painfully obvious, even when that so obviously pains her.

“Do you intend to return home?”

***

“Don’t go back…” Isaac says, laid on his back, her just a bit further to the left.

And while she’s staring at the open night sky in front of her, he can’t stop looking at her.

She shifts, coming up, suddenly coughing up the now familiar flower petals. They’re falling in-between her fingers, overflowing her hold. Isaac’s heart squeezes in his chest at the sight.

“Does it bother you?” she asks, in-between gasps of breath.

He looks at her, taken aback.

“This,” she shakes her hands in the air, the pink flowers falling all around her. “Knowing it’s you.”

Isaac chokes on his next words, and changes the topic. He can hear her, trying to keep in a new wave of coughing. He has accidentally heard her complain to Sebastian about the chest pain, how her muscles are aching with how much she’s been heaving, how her insides don’t feel quite alright anymore.

Her body, so small and frail, holding the weight of her entire, spilling love.

***

Isaac doesn’t like the way he gets when he’s hungry – it’s been worse these days, what with the desperate need of her as well. Sometimes, something alike a fog washes over him.

When he comes back to himself, he’s in a bed made of blood and flowers: scene of an almost-crime. She’s still breathing, and that’s all that really matters, but his head is foggy and there’s nothing to do but wait and pray, and pray and wait – and hate himself for all of it.

Isaac has only words to rely on in this scenario, for his feelings. And words tend to fail him already, so much and so often. And he tends to fail words as well, so obliviously.

If he can hurt her even like this, why does she love him?

If he can hurt her even like this, how is he supposed to hold on to this last piece of his humanity while actually accepting that he loves her?

Mistake no. 8. Isaac pushes her away.

***

“Sebastian,” she whines, because it’s the fourth time he’s brought up to her rooms only a bowl of the blandest soup.

He pushes at her shoulder, gluing her back to the pillow again – as it should be. She’s paler now, weaker, and in the air all around her room, the sweetest of fragrance, the spring back in his home country. Bouquets of flowers sprang from place to place since his last visit, and… he is fearful she might not make it for the door.

“Sick patients don’t get to complain about the schedule of an overworked butler.”

She pouts, even as she picks up the spoon. It hangs in-between her fingers.

“Sebastian?”

A beat.

“Yes?”

“Just… why?”

He sighs. “I don’t think anyone knows, or remembers for that matter. I just think it’s just the heart thinking it doesn’t want to be alone anymore.”

“So you get a person or you get the flowers? They’re pretty, but they’re cruel.”

Sebastian eyes her cracked lips, the petals of her flowers – living and still image of each other.

“So is love.”

A beat.

“Did anyone tell you that you make a terrible emotional support?”

He grins at her, this time flicking her forehead.

“Might have heard it several times before.”

***

“What do you think you’re doing, Newt?” Arthur asks, shoving his friend’s body against the wall, a bit too harshly, holding onto the collar of his shirt.

Isaac covers his hand in his, pushing. Arthur doesn’t let go, just lets out something that is between a growl and a sigh. Isaac, more or less, does the same.

“She’s bad,” Arthur says.

Isaac remains unfazed. “I know.”

“Worse, after all that blood loss.”

And only that – the guilt, makes Isaac actually realize that bad is not just the dull lull in her chest, but something more definite. Arthur would have never gone out of his way like this if that wasn’t the case. Only when the panic settles in, accompanied by a wave of anxiety so forceful Isaac almost feels like throwing up, does Arthur finally let go.

“You can lose her in two ways,” he says. “Pick the one you can live eternity with.”

***

She can’t really speak anymore – words too harsh on her throat, where buds are slowly crawling their way up. Someone comes by to prepare her a new cup of tea regularly, because it’s supposed to soothe the pain. She’s not sure it’s effective at all, but she also cannot complain much anymore, anyway.

Her coughing fits now can keep going for even half an hour at a time, and she cringes with each intake of air, because her muscles are aching so desperately for some kind of relief. She has nothing to give.

Theo comes and reads poetry to her, though she notices him skipping the love poems. Arthur plays chess with her again, though he’s not chiding her for taking too long this time around. Napoleon sits by her side, as they eat crepes together.

She misses a party, stuck in this waiting game, to see what comes first: her demise or her return. Isaac doesn’t – and in the span of a night, he makes a new friend in an old one and loses him too.

He doesn’t want to lose another person. Ever – if possible, or at least not in that way.

His hand trembles around the handle of the door, trying to gather his courage. The familiar scratching at his throat returns, stronger and stronger the longer he hovers.

He enters without knocking, and she looks up from a book she’s trying to read, startled. She immediately starts coughing at the sight of him; this time around, the petals fall freely all around her. Isaac shakes and trembles in the doorway.

“G-gods!” he says, and in two big steps, he’s closer to her bed. “You’re… this is… bad.”

She manages a weak smile at him.

“I know.”

His voice trembles. “How can you be so c-calm about this?”

She shrugs, though it’s just a tiny movement, barely there, so that she doesn’t trigger another coughing fit. She’s had so long to imagine herself at this point – just because it came faster than she expected, doesn’t mean she didn’t expect it at all.

He keeps his distance. Any closer and she’ll just explode in a bouquet of flowers.

“Y-you’ll soon get back and you can get help and-” Isaac is a blabbering mess and a stuttering fool, only for her.

“I won’t.”

“What?”

“Even if I return, I won’t.” She raises a hand to her chest, pressing it to a scar, that Isaac can notice from where her nightgown has slipped down her shoulder. “It would mean forgetting you.”

She raises her gaze, meets his. She’s begging, one last time. She’s telling him, in words this time. And Isaac stands there, stunned into silence, because if she is to have the same fate either way, what is he protecting her from in the first place?

“I love you,” he says, and for a long moment, there’s only silence stretching between them,

Then, he blushes, fidgeting on the spot, the words obviously out without having thought them. She struggles with her bedsheets, but is still fast enough, despite her weak body, to have gotten up on her own feet by the time Isaac is at her side, arms around her waist, to help her.

She licks her lips – chapped and pale things that they are, and looks up at him, exhausted and obviously pushing herself.

“Say it again. Say it and mean it,” her hands, fisted around the material of his shirt, eyes falling down with the request, too much and too late.

“I l-love you. I don’t…. Please don’t just disappear like that.”

His hold tightens around her body and she sighs.

“I love you too,” and she gets up on her tiptoes, pressing her lips against him, nothing but a chase gesture.

Isaac closes his eyes, pulling her closer, opening his mouth, his tongue coaxing hers to follow suit. Which she does, so willingly and openly, and something in Isaac’s chest tightens, just the love he has for her. And something in her chest opens up, releasing, just the love she has for him.

When they part, all around them, branches of cherry blossoms surround them. It’s like her chest has been cut open, and everything fell over – and she is smiling, beautifully and honestly for the first time in weeks.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, and Isaac buries his face at her neck, exhausted with the honesty, relieved at her health, so in love that it hurts – and maybe he understands her better than he wanted to admit, maybe he understood her all along.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp isaac #isaac week #isaac x reader #isaac x mc #isaac/reader #isaac/mc #ikevamp isaac newton #ikevamp fanfiction #ikevamp fanfic #ikemen vampire isaac

66 notes · View notes

bellygunnr · 4 years

Text

Of the Same Steel and Temper

John regarded Dr. Halsey calmly as she revealed the information he already knew-- Project MJOLNIR was entering its final stage, and he was a player in its execution. He doesn’t even smile as she continues to talk, only resting his holographic hand on the hilt of his holographic blade, allowing bits of his code to fritz together as he ran operations elsewhere. He was rather proud of his latest bit of detective work. Infiltration was his specialty.

Not that he enjoyed it, but he did like showing off his prowess in all tasks.

“I’ve already selected my teammate,” John announces, cutting off Dr. Halsey.

She stops short, raising an eyebrow, but expression otherwise unreadable.

“And who have you selected, John?” she says patiently.

John unsheathes his blade with a flourish and points theatrically at a picture frame on the corner of Dr. Halsey’s crowded, messy desk. In the picture, a single woman stood at attention while an Admiral-- Stanforth, he notes-- pinned the UNSC Legion of Honor to her chest. Her expression was relatively schooled, but a mischievous brand of fire shone in her eyes, permanently captured in eternity by the photo. He didn’t have to look at the other citations and medals weighing on her chest to know that she was well-accomplished.

A moment passes. When Dr. Halsey doesn’t say anything, seemingly unable to recover, John forges on.

“Master Chief Petty Officer Cortana-117,” he says, weighing each word carefully, “is a highly accomplished and experienced Spartan. I’ve taken the liberty of researching her thoroughly and I like what I’ve seen. As I speak, I am already calculating our compatibility and… find them within acceptable parameters.”

“It seems you have made up your mind, John,” Dr. Halsey says slowly. “But are you sure?”

“I do not dwell,” John says seriously. “She seems to know how to take action. I can appreciate that in a body.”

“But you know she excels particularly nowhere in terms of physical or mental prowess, yet is the most willingly to undertake risks. She got that medal by attacking Covenant head-on and saving Marines in the process.”

“I am aware. Again, that is something I can appreciate in a body, Dr. Halsey.”

John had wandered off from his holopad to stand inches away from Dr. Halsey’s face. His sword is back in its sheathe, hands clasped firmly behind his back. Under the lights, his ancient Spartan armor glitters emerald green and fire yellow, body rapidly shifting between the two colors.

Despite his level best efforts, his emotions tended to reveal themselves. He was tense and excited but most of all, determined. He would have Cortana as his teammate.

“And what of a mission if she were to become compromised? What would you do if she could die?”

John immediately tenses, his holographic form flashing a brilliant ruby red. A second later, it washes back into his neutral dark green, swirling across his stout frame in ragged bands of hue.

“I don’t think you should ask me questions you are not prepared to answer yourself, doctor,” he replies, affecting a flat tone. “You insult me.”

AI and human stare at each other. Dr. Halsey seems flustered, her thoughts visibly racing behind steely eyes. She cuts one last look at Cortana’s photo before allowing her demeanor to shift, conceding defeat with just a tip of her head.

“Very well, then, John. You can have her,” Dr. Halsey says. “Now, what of the rest of the mission?”

---

The differences in the new model of armor ranged from subtle to obvious. It was definitely heavier, but the modification of her neural implants made the weight negligible. If she was feeling generous, she might even say she was moving faster in this armor. There was also the addition of the shielding-- a shimmering electric layer that reminded her of oil spills on pavement. Iridescent and full of color, but dangerous.

But there was one more thing-- the second major change they had given Mjolnir. So far, it hadn’t come up at all, overshadowed by the shields. The shields were fantastic (as long as she didn’t slip and fall), but it was high time they moved along.

She cocks her head wordlessly at Dr. Halsey. In reply, Dr. Halsey withdraws something from her bag.

“Your own neural lace has been upgraded to better interact with the armor, as you may know,” she starts, “but it also it interface with an AI. A layer of memory-processor super-conductor has been added between the reactive and bio-layers of your armor.”

Cortana nods once. “The same stuff found in an AI’s core?”

“Correct. Your armor will be able to carry an AI-- the same kind that starships house. John will be able to interface between you and the suit. His primary objective will be to provide intelligence support while you’re on the field.”

“What does that entail?” Cortana says, tilting her helmet.

She liked AIs. They were useful and often had personality. She wasn’t sure about sharing her armor with one, however. John wasn’t even impressive name-- who went to all the trouble of making an AI just to name it John?

“John has been outfitted with the best of ONI’s computer infiltration routines and software. He is also equipped with Covenant translation programs. He’s also quite resourceful, but his specialty is, essentially, spywork,” Dr. Halsey replies.

Hm. So this John would be the AI they brought with them, should the upcoming test go well.

“How much… jurisdiction will he have over the suit?” she asks cautiously.

“None. You will have full control of it at all times. John will only be reading and translating the link you have between your brain and the suit-- and improving upon it, so expect that whatever you’re feeling now to be multiplied.”

Cortana liked the sound of that. Real-time intelligence data and greater physical performance? She would be unstoppable. Provided they got along, of course. But everything Halsey was telling her just raised more questions, but before she could ask, Halsey started talking again.

“I’m afraid we only have a small window of time. Please, kneel down so that we may insert the AI into the suit.”

Obediently, she takes a knee, bowing her head to expose the chip’s slot. There’s a moment of hands flicking something open, then a rush of ice water and pain jolts the back of her neck. The sensation trickles like water down the length of her spine before dissipating, leaving her strangely… the same.

Then the AI spoke, and everything was different.

“Hello, Master Chief,” a deep voice said. It was slightly raspy and reverberated in the suit’s speakers.

“Hello, John,” she answers, eyes wide. “Got enough room in there?”

“Not nearly enough. It will do… Thank you for asking.”

Oh. Well, at least he was honest. It was probably difficult to jam the processing power of a starship into the fractional space of her Mjolnir, though she had to wonder how he was compensating for it.

“Let’s begin the test. The conditions have been changed to involve combat-- not ideal, but it should provide ample opportunity for you two to become acquainted. The “win” condition of the test might be familiar to you, Cortana.”

“Ring the bell?” she guesses wryly.

“Indeed. Be careful, and be wary, Master Chief. I hardly need to remind you to be prepared when ONI is involved, but I will say it anyway. You are also authorized to neutralize any threats to accomplish the objective.”

Then Dr. Halsey leans in, voice low, worry lines etching deep into the contours of her face.

“Some would like to see you fail this test,” she says. “See that you don’t.”

“No, ma’am,” Cortana agrees.

Dr. Halsey nods once, then turns on her heel. Just before exiting the tent, however, she looks over her shoulder to stare into Cortana’s face plate, flanked by technicians.

“The second I leave this tent, you must count to ten. After that, make your way to the obstacle course where the bell will be located. And be careful,” she adds, voice firm. “Good luck.”

Cortana resists the urge to salute Dr. Halsey in jest. Instead, she shakes her body out, getting the feel for the armor one more time. As she wiggles her fingers, she hears the metallic clack of weapons from outside the tent.

Her HUD shimmers. The proximity tracker immediately lights up with yellow blips that turn red on the next cycle.

“Assume that all units are hostile,” John says. “The targets are equipped with MA5B assault rifles. Be prepared for my participation.”

“I hope you participate,” she says dryly. “What do you think about this? We’re engaging our own soldiers.”

Eight.

“We’ll win, but I am more excited to see how you handle this,” John says, a hint of emotion slipping into his gravelly voice.

Nine.

Cortana flicks her eyes across the walls of the tent, noting the surprisingly clear silhouettes of soldiers moving outside. She didn’t enjoy facing off against UNSC personnel, especially when they weren’t Spartans, but she never had a choice. Her apprehension only spikes when the shadowy figures become real, breaking into the tent with guns already brought to bear.

Shock troopers. ODSTs, to be exact.

Ten.

The center Helljumper opened fire on thin air. Cortana dove from her elevated platform before his finger could depress the trigger, but she didn’t target him right away. She ripped the rifle out from his port-side buddy’s hands and winced at the unmistakable sight of a shoulder dislocating. Still, she cracks the butt of the rifle across the lead’s chest before turning on the third, suddenly aware that she was in “Spartan Time.”

To her, the third trooper was moving in slow motion, still caught in the throes of reacting to his companions’ defeat. She rips his gun out of his hands and shoves him to the floor, biting back a sigh at the sensation of ribs cracking.

This suit was definitely a step above the last mark. If she didn’t want to hurt them, she’d have to restrain herself even more.

“That’s an odd notion,” John says suddenly. “You have been ordered to neutralize the targets. Why not kill them?”

Cortana frowns as she bustles out of the tent. Immediately, her motion tracker updates with seven more yellow blips that flash red. If she had to hazard a guess, John was forcing the suit to acknowledge the troopers’ FoF tags as ‘foe.’

Interesting.

“John. I think that might be murder.”

“We do need every soldier available,” he concedes.

The tracker’s blips appeared to be concentrated in another on-site tent. On the far side of the tent, she witnesses an ODST peek around the corner for three full seconds before abruptly withdrawing. A thrown grenade replaces them.

Cortana shoots it out of the air. It detonates in a shower of shrapnel and flame, jostling the tent with the shockwave and shredding holes into its roof, but not catching it alight. She’s cutting an entrance into the tent before the smoke and flak has even cleared.

The troopers are facing away from her, rushing for the exit in uniform, slow motion fashion. To her surprise, one twists around and opens fire, bullets pinging across her chest.

She slings the knife she’d been equipped with into his gut. Shielded or not-- and the shields did their job well, turning the impacts into tickles-- she didn’t take kindly to being shot. His buddies she pursues out of the tent, bringing the butt of her rifle to bear on the back of their skulls.

They drop instantly.

“Unconscious, not dead,” John chimes as she whips around to face the other four troopers. “Thought you’d like to know.”

“Thanks,” she says shortly.

More bullets ricochet off her shields. The meter in the corner of her HUD blinks as it diminishes uncomfortably quickly, still un-replenished from the last round of projectiles. Not eager to damage the armor, she rushes forward, grabbing the closest trooper by the torso.

Effortlessly, she tosses his frame into his allies before grabbing up his gun, crushing the barrel. Her HUD wavers as a bolt of alarm flits through her, gaze drawn to the grenade the furthest ODST was trying to arm.

She lets her boots fall onto the arms of the first two troopers, determinedly not thinking about the state of their bones. She also does not think about how the alarm wasn’t her own, instead focusing on snatching up the final two soldiers by their chestplates and tossing them aside.

“Shoot them,” John hisses into her ear. “They’re not neutralized if they’re conscious or functional.”

“What do they have to gain by fighting me? I threw them forty meters!” Cortana exclaims. “I don’t want to hurt them, John.”

John doesn’t say anything but he does mark their position as nav-points on her HUD. She pointedly ignores him by stripping one of the downed soldiers for their grenades, which she promptly attaches to a magnetic hardpoint on her armor. With that done, she takes to the outer edges of the immediate area, making herself as hard to locate as possible.

The obstacle course is achingly familiar by the time she reaches it. It was an endless expanse of tough gravel, just over ten acres of the stuff. She remembered having to cross it bare-foot multiple times alongside her siblings; she could almost feel the ghostly sensation of rocks stabbing her soles.

Before she could step off, however, John speaks, low and urgent.

“Throw a grenade at the field.”

“That’s-- why?” Cortana asks, bewildered.

“There are Lotus mines and that’s the best way for me to calculate the layout. UNSC Engineers try to randomize the pattern, but humans are predictable creatures,” John says impatiently.

Well, it was as good as reason as any. She pulls a grenade from the stolen bandolier and arms it-- and holds it for three full seconds. With a controlled flick of her arm, she chucks it at the ground, watching it bounce once and explode.

Two Lotus mines explode in a geyser of gravel of dirt in reply several feet apart from each other.

“Give me a second,” John says. “Okay. These are rough estimations, but they shouldn’t get you killed. As you were, Master Chief.”

A graph flickers to life, overlaying itself perfectly across the gravel expanse. Yellow flower-like symbols join it in an affixed pattern, telling her what to avoid. That was… extremely useful.

“Don’t like that they’re using anti-tank mines,” she says, gravel crunching underfoot. “Seems a bit much.”

They make the trek across the gravel field in three minutes.

“Thanks, John. That’s really helpful,” Cortana says, making her sigh of relief productive.

“...There’s radio chatter on D band,” John says, his voice oddly pitched. “Encrypted and encoded, but it’s from the nearby airfield. I don’t like it.”

“That sounds exciting…”

But they had bigger things to worry about. After the gravel field was the long, narrow strip of mud and razor wire. It would be interesting to see how the armor’s shields fared against the constant scrape of barbed line. She doubts she could hunker low enough to avoid it entirely.

...If she didn’t get shot to hell first.

“Chain guns, 11 and 1 o’ clock,” John says, almost as soon as she notices them. “I advise evading. I do not feel like dying today.”

Crawling through the razor bed probably doesn’t count as evading, she thinks dryly. She’s glad for their incredibly slow rotation and similarly slow rate of fire at least. It meant that at least one was deactivated by the time she took off sprinting for it, firing at its power lines with her rifle.

There were two chainguns at the far end of the route, clearly meant to create a field of crossfire should she crawl. She’s silenced the one closest to her, but its cousin’s 30mm rounds punch into her chest, threatening to drop her shield into zero with just a handful of impacts.

She silences it by kicking the first chaingun into its chassis, toppling them both.

“Elegant,” John remarks once the residual firing stops. “I am going to investigate something. Don’t get shot.”

Cortana feels the AI slip out of her neural lace. To escape the sudden gaping emptiness, she charges into the rest of the razor-lined trenches. It gave her a few moments to reflect, too. John was an interesting AI. Not horrible to work with, if a little bossy. And vague, too.

If this didn’t feel so high stakes, she’d be arguing more.

Ice water rushes down her neck the same instant she comes up on the next stage of the obstacle course. Years ago, when they were all very young, the Spartans had dubbed this portion the ‘Pillars of Loki.’ It was a nightmarish network of smooth poles of wood-- razed trees-- interspersed with traps and danger. She’d seen the kind of damage the traps could cause.

She wasn’t keen on taking any of them on.

“The airfield is launching an aircraft,” John announces, his voice edged with anger. “A Skyhawk.”

Fuck.

“Language,” John says sternly. “Do you have any ideas? I calculate roughly 30 seconds before contact.”

Well, the best way to avoid traps was to go around them, right? She stares into the crisscross of pillars and deadly vegetation for a couple seconds too many. It would leave her too exposed to try skirting the borders of the field, but maybe climbing onto the poles…

Yeah, that would work.

Cortana scales the nearest tree with a certain lack of finesse. Her armored fingers leave indents in the hard wood and her boots gouge out chunks of bark and flesh from the pole, but she’s standing atop it with-- 15 seconds to spare.

A timer was now ticking down in the corner of her visor.

“Don’t know if that’s helpful, John,” she mutters.

“Bandit inbound,” John replies. “Ideas?”

She launches herself from one pole to the next, taking a diagonal route across the Pillars of Loki. The Skyhawk was an atmospheric fighter that specialized in close air support. It’s complement of four 50mm cannons and anti-tank missiles made it a terrifying and formidable ship, and against her?

Mjolnir, augmentations, AI assistance…

Well, she was as dead as any Covie soldier.

“Contact!” John barks.

The air thrums violently around Cortana as the aircraft bears down on her position. She kicks off of the pillar, free falling just as a spray of bullets sunder the air. Trees shatter into pieces behind her and the world blurs as she tucks into a roll, hitting the ground.

The Mjolnir’s gel layer absorbs much of the impact, but it still hurts.

“Eleven seconds! Goal: 300 meters!” John barks again.

“You’re yelling,” Cortana huffs, climbing to her feet. “No need to yell!”

Once again, a timer was ticking down on her HUD. Nine seconds and going. She was no Kelly, but how hard could a three hundred meter dash be?

Nothing achievable when it was rockets she was facing. The eight-seven-six seconds must be the Skyhawk’s turn time. Maybe she should run for cover.

“No time! New timer! About face!” John shouts, his voice so intense that it drowned out her own panicked thoughts.

Dirt and grass sprays with the force Cortana applies to twist herself around. Her HUD pulses red once before yet another timer pops up, accompanied by the silhouette of a missile. John’s presence inside her mind and suit is suddenly overwhelming.

“When the timer hits zero, the missile will be on top of us. Deflect it.”

John had a knack for sounding like a drill instructor. Or a suicidal admiral. Firm, commanding, unshakable, and slightly tyrannical.

The Skyhawk was hovering nearby. Plumes of white smoke erupt from its left wing as it lets loose a Scorpion missile. Cortana grinds her teeth, feeling a lurch as her brain overclocks into Spartan Time once again.

Three.

Cortana nearly falls over as the Mjolnir’s shields are ramped to their maximum settings.

Two.

The Skyhawk is bearing down on them, outpacing its missile.

“Now!”

Cortana jinks to the side, slapping the fuselage of the missile and sending it off course.

It still explodes several meters behind her. The resultant explosion knocks out her shields and launches her ten meters into the air. Darkness overwhelms her and several internal systems start wailing.

“Run like hell.”

She didn’t have to be told that twice, but her body is shaking violently as she hauls herself back to her feet. Her initial few strides are wobbly, growing steadier in fits and bursts. The goal’s nav-point is blurry and out of focus.

Oh, she was bleeding!

Cortana uses the bell’s tripod to stop her forward momentum. It collapses underneath her and crumples like a tin can, unable to stand up to a half-ton of armored Spartan.

She’s rewarded by the crackle of Dr. Halsey’s voice in her ear: “Test complete. Withdraw, Colonel Ackerson. Magnificent, Master Chief, but please don’t move. I’m sending a recovery team.”

She picks herself up from the bell. Despite its crushed state, she can tell it’s the very same bell she rung some thirty-odd years ago.

“We did it, John!” Cortana laughs. “That was… exhilarating.”

Gingerly, she sets the bell back onto the ground, panting and bleeding inside of her helmet. She probably broke her nose but that was nothing compared to the sense of peace she was now feeling. Whatever this had been, she had conquered it.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, either,” she says softly. “Thank you, John.”

“...Thank you, Master Chief,” John replies. “It was a pleasure working with you.”

Yeah, it was, wasn’t it?

#halo #master chief #cortana #role swap

91 notes · View notes