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gendercensus · 4 years ago

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Supplementary survey: they/them reflexives, The Sir/Ma’am Issue, and Spivak vs. Elverson

This short, clarifying survey ran from 4th until 24th April 2021. There were 2,998 usable responses. Unlike the annual Gender Census survey, this one was open to anyone of any gender, provided they lived in an English-speaking country.

It asked about two things:

They/them verbs and reflexives - basically whether people who prefer they/them pronouns prefer the reflexive to be themself or themselves, and which people feel is more “correct”.

Sir/ma’am/? - investigating why people use sir/ma’am in areas where it’s polite and common to do so, and whether there are any viable nonbinary or gender-neutral alternatives.

This blog post will also investigate the Spivak vs. Elverson issue, which was actually a separate poll that took place on two social networks.

THEY/THEM VERBS AND REFLEXIVES

Someone asked about themself vs. themselves, and it reminded me of some of the they/them issues that people ask about in feedback boxes and various confusions surrounding them.

Singular they - what is it, and when and how do people use it?

Plural they - what is it, and when and how do people use it?

What is the “correct” reflexive for each of these?

You can see the statistics in more detail here, but here’s the graph as an overview:

Participants were asked a series of questions about singular they pronouns. Everyone was asked a “which is correct” question, and participants who sometimes or always like to be called ”they” were also asked about their personal preferences.

The graph is a view of only participants who sometimes or always like to be called “they”.

Verbs. As you can see, participants overwhelmingly (94.3%) wanted people to use plural verbs (”they are reading a book”) when talking about them in the third person - even though the percentage of people who thought that was the most “correct” form was a little lower (81.8%). This was lower because 11.4% of participants who preferred “they” answered “both are correct”.

Reflexives. People were much more likely to say that both themself and themselves were correct (28.3%), and more likely to have no preference between the two (17.4%). However, themself was still more popular overall at 59.3%, and 47.3% thought themself was grammatically correct.

You as a control. I also asked all participants whether yourself or yourselves was more correct when addressing one person as a kind of control question, because they is almost grammatically identical to you - it can refer to one person or multiple people, it takes plural verbs even when referring to/addressing one person, and in that situation only the reflexive changes. Many people who say that singular they is grammatically incorrect have no issues with singular you, so it seemed like something that might be interesting to compare. In the graph above you can see that 93.6% of people thought yourself was more correct; only 4.2% of they-accepting participants felt that both yourself and yourselves were equally correct when addressing one person.

There were a couple of things that came up several times in the comments:

“They is” is common in African-American Vernacular English (AAVE), and probably in other dialects too. As I don’t live in the US I’m pretty unfamiliar with this dialect, but either way that seems fine to me. It’s part of why I also asked for participants’ locations, because I wanted others to be able to download the results and see if some regions were more likely to use some words/constructions than others.

There were some alternatives to themself and themselves presented, such as theirself and theirsen. Both of these points lead nicely to the third...

The idea that any language choice is more “correct” than another is quite prescriptive. What feels correct or natural varies depending on a lot of factors, such as where in the world you learned English, and there is no such thing as objective correctness when it comes to such a broad and variable language as English.

I am aware of and agree with that third bullet point, so my asking which phrases were more “correct” was a bit of a trick question. It was a good way to get a feel for people’s linguistic instincts.

I also thought it was interesting that participants who never wanted to be called they were slightly more likely to side with the most popular view on what is “correct” across the board, and less likely to say “both are correct”.

PLURAL VS. SINGULAR THEY

I actually ran another version of this survey first and then scrapped the responses, because it was clear that my survey design was leading to some pretty confused and unhelpful data! Among other things, it asked participants whether they preferred singular or plural they for themselves and then directed them to particular questions based on their answer, and the comments suggested that people either didn’t really understand the distinction or meant different things by those terms, even though I had added help text.

This is my understanding:

Singular they is they/them pronouns when used to refer to one person. Verbs are usually plural (i.e. “they are” rather than “they is”), and themself and themselves are both common. Example usage: They are getting themself a cup of coffee. They bought themselves a nice new hat.

Plural they is they/them pronouns when used to refer to two or more people. Verbs are usually plural (i.e. “they are” rather than “they is”), and themselves is almost universal (with the exception of regional variations such as theirselves). Example usage: They are getting themselves some coffee together. They all bought hats for themselves.

Some plural/multiple people refer to themselves as “we” and prefer to be addressed as “they/themselves” (which they call plural they) because they are a group of individuals sharing one body.

The reason I initially asked directly about singular vs. plural they is because I was concerned that plural/multiple systems would cause some statistical confusion. Many plural people have asked me to add plural they to the checkbox list of pronouns in the annual survey, but since it has never been entered by over 1% of participants I have never had reason to do so. As far as I knew, the only difference between singular and plural they is the reflexive (themself for singular and themselves for plural), so I wanted to be able to investigate non-plural people in isolation, and I was curious to know about any trends or differences. I wanted to find out if I should be doing anything differently to ensure that Gender Census statistics are helpful.

So, I swapped out the badly-designed question for a straight-up checkbox, a “check this box if you’re plural/multiple” type of thing, with a note that participants should fill in the survey once per body wherever possible, and then I made some graphs.

Here you can see that plural systems were still more likely to prefer people to use themself to refer to them rather than themselves, though the margin is narrower:

Plural participants were also more likely to say that they sometimes or never want people to refer to them as they, whereas non-plural people were more likely to want people to always refer to them as they (or they just feel fine about it):

There’s not a lot in it, though. It’s all relatively evenly distributed, with no strong leader in either category there.

For the curious: 8.2% of participants checked the plural/multiple box.

In conclusion: plural and non-plural people alike all prefer people to use themself when referring to them in the third person using they/them pronouns, and I feel that there is probably no need to ask about plurality or separate out data from plural people in future. (Asking about this and seeing the responses did in part prompt me to start an anonymous feedback form for plural participants of the Gender Census, though.)

THE SIR/MA’AM ISSUE

For several years participants have been asking me in the feedback box of the annual Gender Census survey to also ask about gender-inclusive or nonbinary-specific alternatives to sir and ma’am. I’ve largely not done anything about it, because when informally asking around I’ve generally had the response “just don’t say sir or ma’am, just leave it out altogether.” I live in the UK, where if someone calls you sir/ma’am you’re either looking at home in a fancy restaurant for billionnaires or you’re being made fun of - or sometimes both.

However, during this year’s annual survey while talking about it in a little more depth I learned that there are places in the world where sir/ma’am is very common, required for politeness, and basically inescapable. Nonbinary people in those areas are really struggling, because they do actually need a nonbinary-friendly stand-in for those terms - omitting the sir/ma’am isn’t an option.

Again, the location question was asked so that anyone else downloading the spreadsheet of responses can analyse by region to find out whether sir/ma’am is ubiquitous in particular regions and in which contexts it is used, and can even check whether there is a region-specific alternative to sir/ma’am emerging. I asked several questions about sir/ma’am, including about reasons/contexts and personal preferences, and some superficial analysis is included on the spreadsheet of responses.

But the juicy bit is the nonbinary-specific and gender-inclusive alternative words, right?

[The counting formula is case-sensitive so I made everything lowercase to make the count a little more accurate.]

Suggested gender-inclusive alternatives to sir/ma’am

mx - 4.1% (151)

friend - 2.2%

comrade - 1.2%

captain - 0.7%

ser - 0.5%

mate - 0.4%

m - 0.3%

per - 0.3%

boss - 0.3%

folks - 0.3% (9)

Suggested nonbinary-specific alternatives to sir/ma’am

mx - 8.3% (250)

mix - 0.7%

tiz - 0.5%

friend - 0.4%

ser - 0.4%

comrade - 0.3%

mixter - 0.3%

captain - 0.2%

ind - 0.2%

mir - 0.2% (6)

So it looks like Mx (pronounced “mix” or with a toneless vowel that sounds a bit like “mux”) is the clear winner in both categories. If you want to try to introduce a gender-neutral version of sir/ma’am in your area this one is probably your best bet.

SPIVAK VS. ELVERSON

This wasn’t part of the same survey! It was a Twitter poll and a Mastodon poll that ran for one week and ended today, and I’m putting it here because it has to go somewhere.

Sometimes people refer to the ey/em and e/em “versions” of the Spivak pronoun set, which makes my eyebrows do things, because they’re not both Spivak. They are distinct established pronoun sets with their own names.

Spivak - e/em/eir/eirs/emself - written about by Michael Spivak in the 1990s. [source: Nonbinary Wiki]

Elverson - ey/em/eir/eirs/emself - created by Christine M Elverson in the 1970s. [source: Nonbinary Wiki]

The Elverson set is older, but it’s less well-known for some reason, so they’re assumed to be variants of Spivak due to the similarity in spelling.

I was recently asked how we can know which is more popular, given the “oh this checkbox option is close enough, I’ll just choose that instead of typing in my very slightly different set” effect and the “hmm this checkbox option is very close to my set, I’m probably meant to choose this one” effect, plus the boost that checkbox options get with the “oh I hadn’t thought of that one but yeah, why not” effect. Spivak (e/em) is on the checkbox list of pronouns in the annual survey, so it appears to be much more popular than Elverson (ey/em)... but is it really?

I ran a poll on both Twitter and Mastodon, and then used a spreadsheet to extract the useful numbers. There were 141 relevant votes after one week. I wouldn’t usually make annual-survey-altering decisions based on a sample that small, but in this case the results are extremely decisive:

It seems that the highest proportion of people who like at least one of the sets are happy for both to be used, at 48%. 45% prefer ey/em (Elverson) and 7% prefer e/em (Spivak). This is pretty stunning! I’ve been presenting e/em (Spivak) as a checkbox option on the Gender Census annual survey for years, possibly since the first survey in 2013, and because it’s a checkbox option it seems to be consistently a lot more popular than ey/em (Elverson). That’s 4.3% and 0.6% respectively in the 2021 survey. But this poll suggests that actually ey/em (Elverson) is much more popular when the two pronoun sets are viewed on a level playing field.

When you remove all “I don’t mind” votes, you get this:

Over 6 times as many people prefered Elverson!

I will definitely be adding Elverson to the Gender Census next year, just so that we can split the e/em and ey/em votes and really get to the bottom of this.

Anyway, while we’re on the topic, ey/em takes singular verbs most of the time.

#results #spivak #elverson #sir/ma'am #they/them #singular they #plural they #pronouns #neopronouns

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lex-malla-non-est-lex · 4 years ago

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Tatiana, Belial, and their plans relating Jesse in the past

I’ve dabbled on this topic a few times but your comment really got me thinking. @delilahssbard

This turned out long so I’ll put it beneath the line.

Like, ever since CoI I’ve been highkey thinking Tatiana intended for Jesse to be possessed, but the specific phrasing you used reminded me of a part of ChoG and suddenly everything fits even more now.

- Chain of Gold

Back then, I honestly assumed Belial was talking about preference here, especially since he’s made it clear the reason he could possess James without destroying his body is they share blood, but that’s clearly different in Jesse’s case.

Considering how it’s repeatedly clarified that the anchor was placed on Jesse while he was a baby, that fact is probably significant. If anything, I’d dare say the anchor seems to be a workaround Belial’s destruction not just because he was literally anchored to Jesse’s soul, but by way of tolerance, especially since James also seems to have drawn a similar conclusion.

- Chain of Iron

There it is. Belial would have the anchor and a body to possess, as Jesse grew older. The anchor was in him since almost day one, and Tatiana clearly knew about the anchor, but what’s to say she wasn’t involved? We know the only one who was reluctant to place the anchor on Jesse’s soul was Gast. At no point is Tatiana mentioned in this until Belial outright says that he owed her a favor.

Jesse is just Nephilim, unlike James and Lucie, so by all accounts, a normal possession by Belial would have destroyed him, but the anchor intervened in such a way that there didn’t seem to be any visible consequences at all to him being possessed repeatedly (unless we subscribe to the theory that Jesse’s ghost started fading faster near the end because of the possession, but as of right now we honestly have no way to be sure about that specific fact).

We know Jesse’s childhood sickness involved fevers, and perhaps weakness, the latter coming from the statements in which he’s specifically referred to as weak. We also now know that the real reason Jesse died was because the rune he was given reacted badly against Belial’s essence inside him. Jesse’s description of his own death is that he collapsed into bed after getting the rune, then woke up feverish and in agony. Honestly, that just sounds like a worse version of his alleged childhood symptoms.

Considering his death was basically the result of a rune’s angelic magic clashing with the demonic essence inside him, it wouldn’t be that much of a stretch to assume his sickness was just his nature as Nephilim having a bad reaction to Belial’s essence, even if he only died because of the rune. I find it frankly impossible to believe that the anchor wasn’t hurting him, because we know under normal circumstances Belial would destroy a body within hours.

And let’s be real, Tatiana knew this. The only question in relation to her is whether she intentionally let him die.

The following are all quotes from A Lightwood Christmas Carol.

“He is very delicate,” said Tatiana. “Nephilim like yourself wish to put Marks on him, because they are intent on killing my boy as they have killed everyone else I love. You sit on the Council, do you not? Then you are his enemy. You may not see him.”

“I would not force Marks on the boy,” protested Gideon. “He’s my nephew. Tatiana, if he is that ill, perhaps he should see the Silent Brothers? One of them is a close friend, and could come to Jesse at our house. And Jesse could know his cousins.”

Before CoI, lines like these could be shrugged off to Tatiana being paranoid about her son being hurt by marks because he’s sickly, but no, we know now that Tatiana is entirely correct.

And it makes perfect sense that she refused to even let the Silent Brothers examine Jesse. No doubt they’d have been able to notice what was wrong with him wasn’t a sickness. Tatiana made a show out of it to exacerbate her own hatred of Nephilim, but she isn’t unaware of things, she just likes to spin them in a way that can be used to blame her enemies for things.

“Father planned alliances for us, when we were children.” Tatiana shrugged. “How ashamed he would be of you. How is your grubby servant?”

Then there’s her attitude, of course. The implication that she thinks it’s perfectly normal to involve children in alliances and plans. We know she didn’t hesitate to have a dark power forced onto Grace, if anything, it’s implied she requested it. We know Tatiana only sees Jesse as something that is hers, not as his own person, so it’s completely within the realm of possibility that she involved him in her own plans for revenge, even if he was just a newborn with no choice in the matter (or perhaps because he had no choice in the matter, considering how badly she reacts to the fact that Jesse *gasp* has a different worldview than her).

“I don’t care!” Tatiana shouted. “My son is of the blood of two of the oldest of the Shadowhunter families. He is not weak like your son. Go back to your weakness, Gideon. Get out of my sight, get out of my house, and do not darken my door again. I have not missed your company, nor your brother’s, and I am relieved that my child will not grow up under the corrupting influence of either of you.”

Now, this one isn’t so relevant as much as it’s interesting, because while it looks like Tatiana is just flexing and being mean to Gideon, that whole implication that Jesse isn’t weak does compare to how Belial views Nephilim in general.

- Chain of Gold

Belial had the anchor placed on Jesse alongside his protections as a newborn. Humans never get such protections against possession, and Belial still chose one of the Nephilim as his alternate vessel. He was that plan of his as completely viable.

And much like Tatiana, Belial clearly sees Jesse as a tool, as a method to push his agenda.

- Chain of Iron

And assuming Tatiana knew of the anchor from the start, that checks out. Belial wanted Jesse as a vessel to get closer to his goal. If he’s never seen him as an end-goal, then he’s always planned for Jesse to be a temporary vessel. Tatiana wants the Nephilim destroyed. Letting Belial possess Jesse probably sounds like a completely reasonable thing to her. It solidifies her alliance with Belial, makes things easier for Belial, and as Belial himself implied, Belial owed Tatiana a favor.

- Chain of Iron

Seriously, I can say with reasonable confidence that Tatiana knew Belial would use Jesse, perhaps even agreed beforehand to the anchor itself being placed, because to the both of them, Jesse was basically a puppet. (I mean, even the clothes she had him dressed in within his coffin literally scream Belial)

Then of course, what I believe to be the nail in the coffin for Tatiana’s involvement is just what she tells Grace near the end.

- Chain of Iron

She literally has the audacity to claim Jesse was to blame for his own death and basically defended Belial. You know, Belial, who was possessing and controlling her son. Belial, who placed an anchor in the soul of her newborn son and has basically robbed him of anything resembling a normal life or even afterlife. Tatiana is taking Belial’s side on that without any hesitation.

If anything, Tatiana might have let Jesse get runed just to be able to tell him off, like “ha, told you you were too weak to be Nephilim” or something like that, despite knowing damn well the reason runes would kill him was Belial. Tatiana had literal demons to do her bidding, I don’t doubt she could have physically prevented Jesse from following up on his threat to run to Alicante if she didn’t let him get runes, had she wanted to.

Belial probably can control the dead like Lucie can, most likely having far more experience at it. Tatiana surely knew that. Belial said Tatiana called him after Jesse died, and that he owed her a favor, hence the preservation of Jesse. Obviously, Belial benefited from this, but clearly Tatiana saw Jesse’s death as an opportunity to bend him to her will, because he never shared her beliefs during his life.

Now, this is actually where I believe Tatiana and Belial’s views of the situation diverge. Belial outright says raising Jesse as Tatiana wanted wouldn’t suit him. He had Jesse kept in that so-called twilight state that certainly proved useful to Belial, but I don’t think whether Jesse was alive or not mattered pre-Cortana. Not only does Belial clearly not care about consent, he also probably wouldn’t need it, because his anchor was already deep within Jesse’s soul. Jesse being dead or alive was likely irrelevant to the possession, since the one part of Tatiana’s statement that’s correct is that Belial probably wouldn’t have guessed Jesse would die as he did.

Tatiana wanted Jesse resurrected for herself, for her own desire to have her son follow her beliefs and intentions. Belial just cares for Jesse as his vessel. While they’re allies, I don’t think those two usages were as compatible as Tatiana thinks they were, which is probably why Belial outright says reviving Jesse wouldn’t have suited him, and honestly both of them seem pretty angry about losing control over Jesse.

(Belial’s clearly salty that Lucie exorcised him and Tatiana’s mad he’s “in the clutches of a Herondale”, but clearly both of them lost something they valued as an instrument, none of them are actually mad about their loss of access to Jesse as a person, because they’re honestly both terrible people, to say the least).

I know I called that other one the nail in the coffin, but in relation to Tatiana letting Jesse be runed even though that was practically bound to kill him, Belial outright says Tatiana killed him, even despite recognizing the rune was technically the cause.

- Chain of Iron

TL;DR: Tatiana definitely knew about the anchor, Tatiana definitely knew Jesse would be possessed and used by Belial, and Tatiana also definitely let her son die just because it suited her.

#coi spoilers #choi spoilers #chain of iron spoilers #tlh #the last hours #tlh theories #jesse blackthorn #belial #james herondale #tatiana blackthorn

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professorspork · 3 years ago

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14 and 18 for the writing meta asks!

14. At what point in writing do you come up with a title?

This one varies! If I'm lucky it's among the very earliest things I come up with, as I find titles are always really instructive for me in terms of sort of narrowing down a fic's specific vibe, timbre, and subject matter. I am quite firmly in the camp of stealing titles from lyrics probably 90% of the time, and so having that song in the back of my mind is clarifying and focusing for me. I never feel like I quite understand what a fic is meant to be doing until I have the title picked out, and so it tends to bother me and be something I fidget over until that's done; it's very rare that I reach the halfway point of a story's completion and don't have a title picked.

as a corollary to that, the fics I tend to name last are always ask box fics, where I'm titling something after the fact. for example, when you yourself prompted me to write about Emerald and Nora, the title was the last thing on my mind, because it wasn't even originally intended to go on AO3. and in that case it felt like I was doing math backwards or to conduct a chemical reaction in reverse. it was definitely several hours of hunting to find a song lyric that alluded to, like. identity and friendship and wanting to be liked in the way I was thinking of, that wasn't overtly romantic.

18. Do any of your stories have alternative versions? (plotlines that you abandoned, AUs of your own work, different characterisations?) Tell us about them.

Not really! It's rare for me to write anything with enough of a plotline in the first place that I'd need to take any of the branches out, and I'm such a stickler for characterization anyhow that once I've made a decision about how something should go or what I'm thinking of including, it's really rare for me to change my mind. rather than being "alternate versions," those decisions happen much earlier in my writing process. for example, I went back and forth on whether or not I wanted to include Steve having a crush on both Jonathan and Nancy in my Stranger Things fic, but that was a question of, like... whether or not it would be on-topic. the fact that I headcanon Steve as bi and that he likes them both was never in question; what was up for debate was whether it would add anything to the story for me to come right out and say so. I have those debates with myself a lot, and almost always come down on the side of just including my headcanon because the specificity is, to me, more honest.

#on writing #fic what i wrote

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carol-effing-danvers · 3 years ago

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Steve Rogers is a Monster

Yeah, that’s a hell of a title, isn’t it? Strap in, it only gets worse from here.

(click here if you’d prefer to read this on AO3)

Forewarning, if you enjoyed the epilogue for Endgame, this particular essay is not for you - and no, I am not bashing the Steve/Peggy shippers, you are beautiful human beings who make the fandom brighter and I’m happy that at least someone in this fandom got the ending they wanted.

Additional warning: if you expect this to be another Civil War debate, you will also be disappointed. There has never been a measurement invented that can adequately describe how much I loathe the verbal dick measuring contest that seems to pass for human interaction between Tony Stark and Steve Rogers in this franchise. It’s not funny or entertaining - it’s exhausting, uncomfortable, and frankly it’s rather lazy writing.

This is about the very specific way that the epilogue in Endgame completely changed the way the character of Steve Rogers can be interpreted, and I don’t just mean the very illogical and contradictory way that time travel is explained, both in the movie itself and the fact that the writers and directors have two completely different views on how that worked out.

I mean that the choice made by Steve Rogers in the very last minutes of that movie alters the way I view each and every one of his actions starting from The First Avenger and that alteration is exactly what I want to talk about, because whether you view it as deserving or not, what Steve does at the conclusion of Endgame was the most selfish thing humanly possible. Time is a thief, but somehow Steve managed to steal even more than Time.

Side note here: I understand that I am a completely biased Stucky shipper, a friend to Barnes and Noble, a Starbucks aficionado - sorry. Anyway, I’ve always believed that Steve and Bucky were destined blah blah blah, but I was never expecting a Stucky ending. Disney wasn’t going to do that, and I knew that, I wasn’t bothered that Steve and Bucky weren’t doing the smoochies by the end. But Bucky’s facial expression during those last minutes was gut-wrenching. Like...I have no idea what kind of cues the script and directors gave him, but in the future, please don’t ask Sebastian Stan to look sad unless you want soul-crushing devastation. It’s not Seb’s fault, his features are just arranged that way - but the fact that the editing staff allowed Sam to be sad though elated to be entrusted with the Shield and Bucky looked like his soul was being physically torn out of his body was an… interesting choice.

Other side note: if you’re writing about time travel, I’m begging y’all to get your facts straight. Or just don’t write about time travel. It almost always sounds better on paper than it does on screen and it means that you’ve opened doors to more questions than you’ve probably got the answers for. I know this was about trying to set up the idea of the multiverse, I get that, but there were better and less messy ways to do that, and I know that because I’ve done it before. @Marvel: Let me write you a six-way orgy you fucking cowards~

By going back in time, Steve robbed Peggy of the future that would have been hers - not only that, he’s robbed her of even the chance of making the choice between those futures, because you honestly could not tell me with a straight face that Steve told her the complete truth of what he had done and she would be okay with him alternating the very course of the future. It doesn’t help his case that he has a history of not disclosing truths that he knows will be painful or inconvenient for other people in his life.

He robbed his loved ones - Sam, Bucky, Wanda - of the years they would have spent with him. Sure, he ‘came back’ after Peggy passed away, but they are adults in the prime of youth who knew him sixty years ago in his own time and he is an old, old man who has lived an entire life completely separated from them. He is practically a stranger with a name they know, but a history that no longer belongs to any of them - not even his oldest friend. They have him back, but judging from his age, they’ll be lucky to get even ten more years with him. Assuming of course, that any of them can stand to speak to him - I certainly couldn’t blame them if they tell him to go to hell and take his dad jokes with him.

Steve has stolen away their friend and dropped off an elderly and dying near-stranger in his place, and this is treated by the writing (and the majority of the acting) as a wild and unexpected but not tragic event.

Is it really that unexpected, though?

I recall seeing a Game of Thrones essay on Daenerys across my dash (I’m sorry, love, I don’t recall who you are since it’s not a fandom I’m in, but if someone knows who wrote that, please post the link!) which detailed how her ending in the series was foreshadowed many times by her penchant for bloody killings and her habit of surrounding herself with her own fawning friends.

Months after reading that, I had the thought: though Steve is never really shown thinking about Peggy after Civil War, except in a few scattered scenes in Endgame, was this foreshadowed? Whether you believe that his actions are justified or not, what Steve does is still, in the end, selfish at its very heart, and Steve Rogers is not a selfish person.

Oh no, my dear friends and readers. Because taking this action has solidified and clarified Steve Rogers as the biggest and most selfish asshole in this whole universe.

Steve does not do the right thing, Steve does the thing that will most make him feel better. The fact that this often happens to be the right thing in the end is more the result of happy coincidence than any special sort of moral authority that the man holds.

Rescuing Bucky Barnes and his fellow captives in a prisoner of war camp from being experimented on by an insane Nazi eugenicist? That was not a moral stand, that was endangering himself, Peggy Carter, and Howard Stark because he couldn’t handle the reality of his best friend being killed in war.

Sacrificing himself by putting the Valkyrie down in the Arctic Circle? That was not about sparing human lives, that was about Steve seeing his friend die right in front of him and not being able to deal with the grief. There were ways he could’ve prevented the plane from killing people without killing himself.

Trying to make Bucky remember who he was? And later on, saving him from the government agencies who wanted to hunt him down? Although, arguably, that last one is also just good common sense - Steve was already shown that government agencies could and were corrupted by HYDRA and he’d also seen how dangerous the Winter Soldier could be when unleashed.

Steve did, I think, truly believe that this was the right thing to do, but it was also about keeping his connection - his very last, since Peggy had descended into dementia caused by Alzheimer’s before she ultimately died - to a past that for him, was only months or years ago, rather than decades. In some ways, this is completely understandable - Bucky might be the very last person left alive who truly knows who the real Steve Rogers is, because the rest of these people only know Captain America and we are consistently shown through multiple movies how uncomfortable this makes him.

This gets...considerably less and less understandable as we are shown Steve’s growing relationships with Natasha, Sam, Wanda - even Sharon, though she barely gets any screen time and they share the most awkward kiss I’ve ever seen - and indeed, what might be the most uncomfortable kiss in cinema history.

Side Note 3: This is made even more awkward by the director’s choice to have two of Steve’s friends watching them the whole time - seriously, who even does that? Why would you make them do that? Only sociopaths make out with their friends staring at them like that. It’s so fucking creepy - and don’t even get me fucking started on the fact that she’s also apparently his own niece. AHHHHH!

But we are shown, over and over again, that Steve is capable of building close meaningful relationships with people in the present. They don’t know his whole history, but they do know Steve Rogers rather than Captain America and they care about him deeply.

Side Note 4: Notice that I don’t count Tony Stark among those people - despite this strangely persistent narrative that the various writers and directors tried to sell to the audience, Tony and Steve were not friends. They were never friends. They were colleagues at best, but these were two men who neither liked nor understood each other very well, but had to work together. And sometimes that’s okay, too. (Oh dear, I just gave the Stony fans a fit too, didn’t I? Sorry, guys. Enemies to Lovers is a great trope, I support you!)

But let’s set aside Steve’s gross betrayal of the people who loved him. We’ll also ignore the question of whether the motive for these good actions has tainted the actions themselves. Because even without questioning these, the conclusion of this story arc still transforms Steve into the biggest monster this franchise has.

The very fundamental way that the writers and directors can’t agree on how the time travel mechanics in their own story work mean that Steve has just done one of two things and they range from shady and very questionable to absolutely fucking horrific.

The first, that he’s created his own alternate universe to exist in, is morally dubious at best. Even the people who support this theory and liked the ending seem to feel that it wasn’t necessarily a ten out of ten on the moral goodness spectrum. They’ll say things like ‘he deserved to have his happy ending’. Even that phrasing seems to acknowledge that doing this was the opposite of the right thing. It just considers doing the wrong thing as being justified rather than horrifying.

But let’s examine this first idea for a minute - even this, the more innocent of the two implications, means that rather than really processing his grief or dealing with the repeated tragedies and losses that have occured in his life, even as he was running group therapy sessions and grief counseling, Steve Rogers chose to escape his current life by creating an alternate universe that specifically allows he himself to live out his own fucking fantasies of the way his life should have turned out.

That, in case you are not aware, is wildly fucked up. I thought I was playing pretty fast and loose with Steve’s characterization when I turned him into an extremely polite serial killer but as it turns out, I clearly just wasn’t setting the bar high enough, because that’s somehow even more fucked up than being an undercover child soldier with a small sadistic streak.

Hm, and now I feel I should have been more creative there...

The second, and even more horrifying option, is that this older Steve Rogers has been in this world the whole time, watching as things unfolded just as we’ve seen over the past decade, taking ‘the slow way’ through time.

Side Note 5: I do kind of understand why you would do it this way, because that’s really cool and shocking when you say that! Until you think about it for longer than three seconds and suddenly you realize��

Everything that has happened here, every tragedy and downfall these people experienced, happened because Steve Rogers lived his happily ever after with his beautiful wife and did absolutely nothing to stop it. He got to fuck Peggy Carter and watched as his wife built an empire of intelligence networks, knowing that her efforts were completely in vain because her agency was rotten to the core and he never told her.

Every horrifying act committed by HYDRA under the guise of SHIELD was permitted through Steve Rogers’ negligence. And that’s just the wider big-picture worldview, large and shocking, but not personal.

What about the people that Steve claims to actually care about?

This means that Steve lived his whole life in contentment with his wife and children while his best friend was physically and psychologically tortured for over seventy years and just...let that go.

He allowed one friend to murder another in the nineties, when the Winter Soldier was sent after Howard and Maria Stark. Then their child was being advised by a greedy self-interested warmonger who paid terrorists to drag him off to be tortured and slaughtered, and Steve did nothing about that, either.

Bruce Banner was exploited, experimented on, and made into a monster against his will in the failed pursuit of recreating what was done to Steve, resulting in billions of dollars in damage and dozens or even hundreds of lives lost, and Steve allowed that to happen, too.

Like Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanov was physically and psychologically tortured for others to use her as a living weapon - except that this was probably happening to her since early childhood, and a man her future self loved and trusted implicitly did nothing to save her from this upbringing.

The Maximoff twins are shown to have not wealthy but loving parents who are murdered in front of them and they both endure days of laying in the rubble of their ruined apartment, wondering if the bomb in their living room would go off and kill them. Later, they are taken in by HYDRA, experimented on, and recruited as child soldiers to the cause when they show signs of having supernatural powers. They start a series of events that result in the destruction of a major city and the loss of what is probably thousands of lives. Pietro is murdered while trying to help the Avengers to stop this, and Wanda suffers the loss of the very last living person she loved. None of these things seem to have bothered Future Steve.

Steve “I can’t sit on the sidelines when I see a situation go sideways” Rogers, planted himself on that fucking sideline and observed for nearly eighty years as friends, colleagues, and his own wife were lied to, brainwashed, tortured, vilified, and hunted down like animals.

And then there Steve Rogers himself - not the Endgame Steve Rogers, the Steve Rogers who brought down a Nazi plane and will lie beneath the ice for seventy years while everything he knows disappear (mostly) innocent of these horrors, the life he would’ve lived stolen from him by a stranger with his name and his face from another universe.

What I’m saying here is that if you consider this idea for any amount of time, it took Steve Rogers less than ten minutes to become the most evil and disturbing figure in the entire MCU, only (not really tho) contested by Thanos himself.

Gross and poorly reasoned libertarian ethics aside, Thanos genuinely believes that he did what he did for the sake of the entire population. It’s made fairly explicitly clear that Steve didn’t do this for anyone but himself.

Call me crazy, but if everyone you know needs to suffer and multiple planet-wide devestations have to happen in order for you to get your happy ending, you might be the bad guy.

Maybe I’m just old-fashioned?

#forever bitter about what they did to steve #steve rogers #captain america #the avengers #marvel

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casually-inlove · 5 years ago

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19 Days Character Archetypes. He Tian

This idea had been dancing around the back of my mind for a little over half a year now. I wanted to compare and contrast 19 Days characters with the list of archetypes proposed in the neo-Jungian research and finally, I got some time to spare. For this post, I am going to talk about He Tian. Before I begin, however, let me clarify a few things. Since the subject is fairly complex, I do not intend to write in detail about the theory itself or the studies mentioned because that is not the purpose of this post. I am only looking to give a quick and basic run-down of the common archetypes shared by the 19 Days characters.

What is an archetype? An archetype is a set of predefined characteristics, a mould. Carl Jung described the archetype as a “fundamental unit of a human mind” or a “primordial image”. Simply put, the archetypes are the recurring and simplified patterns — but also symbols. According to his ideas, these basic symbols exist universally irrespective of epochs, nations, cultures, races, places, etc. Jung believed them to be shared by the so-called collective unconsciousness. However, even before him, the philosophers of old introduced the ideas of pre-existing ideal immaterial forms which shape the material reality. Since the archetypes are fundamentally primordial, they permeate every single sphere of human life. Art, media, movies, day to day interactions — all of them deal in archetypes.

While working on his research, Carl Jung defined the driving impulses of the human psyche. In turn, that data helped him come up with underlying basis for human behaviour. Based on his findings, Jung outlined the so-called primary archetypes. Later his research served as a basis for many other studies and classifications, particularly for The 12 Archetype Model, proposed by Margaret Mark and Carol Pearson in “The Hero and the Outlaw”. Naturally, there can be an infinite number of archetypes, each having their subtleties; still, the short lists give the generalized picture. Deconstructing characters to these basic blueprints is a fair game because a character, no matter how complex, is still an abstract entity.

For this series of posts, I am going to rely on the 12 Archetype Model mentioned above. The list goes as follows:

1. The Innocent

2. The Orphan

3. The Hero

4. The Caregiver

5. The Explorer

6. The Rebel

7. The Lover

8. The Creator

9. The Jester

10. The Sage

11. The Magician

12. The Ruler

Having examined this list, I am led to believe that He Tian primarily represents a mixture of The Hero and The Rebel archetypes.

The Hero and The Rebel

Let us start with the most obvious, the Hero. This archetype is closely associated with the ideas of masculinity, and thus it is also referred as the Warrior, the Crusader, etc.

The Hero archetype characteristics

Motto: Where there is a will, there is a way

Core desire: to prove one's worth through courageous acts

Goal: expert mastery in a way that improves the world

Greatest fear: weakness, vulnerability, being a “chicken”

Strategy: to be as strong and competent as possible

Weakness: arrogance, always needing another battle to fight

Talent: competence and courage

These go very much in line with what we know of He Tian. His childhood flashbacks suggest that he indeed intends to be “the strongest”.

The failure to protect the puppy, the harsh words of He Cheng — all of it led him to become fixated on becoming the Hero, the one who swoops down and single-handedly saves the day. It is in the way he stands in to fight She Li for Guanshan or rushes to prevent Jian Yi from getting kidnapped. It is in the way he attempts to resolve the other boy’s problems with debt collectors. It is in the way he deflects the coke can and decides to meet his father for Guanshan's sake.

He Tian yearns to be the strongest because the alternative — being weak and helpless — has already scarred him in the past. Whatever joy he used to have as a child was taken from him, because he was not strong enough to handle things on his own. He entrusted the puppy to his brother and the man betrayed him — or so He Tian was led to believe.

More than that, he wants Guanshan to come to him, whether it’s talking about his complicated past or whether it’s about learning the guitar.

It goes without saying that He Tian is almost eerily good at anything he does — as such he believes he can learn music from scratch in a short time. That speaks volumes about the confidence he has in his capabilities, and yet to an outsider's perspective this might come off as blatant posturing.

Apart from almost baffling self-confidence that he shows, He Tian is also known for his nearly abnormal physical prowess. He managed to hold his ground against several armed adults (which is probably just flawed writing) and way back he even managed to impress Guanshan by effortlessly hopping over the school fence, so it makes one wonder what kind of training he had undergone.

However, the truth is, The Hero is also susceptible to weakness. In his work, Carl Jung has coined the term “The Shadow”, which became a stand-alone archetype in his list. The Shadow stands for our suppressed, ignored or denied traits, in other words, it is everything that we cannot see or refuse to see in ourselves. The concept of this hidden darkness has been since absorbed into a number posterior studies, such as Robert Moore’s and Douglass Gillette’s “King Magician Warrior Lover”, where they introduce triadic paradigms of the archetypes and their corresponding active and passive shadows. Notably, they link the aforementioned archetypes with the concept of “masculinity” and its development throughout adolescence into adulthood.

What is The Shadow to The Hero archetype? When The Hero cannot fulfill their purpose, they surrender to the shadow. The dark side takes their best qualities and transforms them into flaws. The confidence thus turns into arrogance and hubris, courage into foolhardiness, competence into bravado and posturing — or the complete opposite happens. Courage transforms into cowardice, confidence into insecurity, etc.

Whereas He Tian is concerned, before he had developed an emotional attachment to another person (and by doing so gained something to cherish), we could observe some of the definitive shadow patterns in his behaviour. Until he recognized Guanshan as someone to know and to protect, he used to goad the other boy, if not outright assume the position of his superior, demanding obedience and subservience. He Tian also used the snide tone when talking to Guanshan, and he did so in order to establish his power to steer the boy in what he deemed to be the right direction — that is attempting to curb Redhead’s short temper and brashness. And in doing so, he was not shy of subtly threatening the boy or using physical force to make his point.

To be in touch with his masculinity — that is to channel his energy constructively in order to feel strong and needed, — he required to have someone he could play the knight for. Once he could direct his inner impulses properly, his violent tendencies have subsided.

Even so, in his aspiration to be the ultimate good — driven by the hatred for his family background, perhaps — He Tian often opted for doing rash, foolhardy stuff, such as attempting to take on the debt collectors all by himself, for instance. Sure, he would have gotten to “save the day” and be the hero, but that single moment would have cost him his life.

Now, having glanced at the Hero archetype, let us move to the next one, The Rebel. This archetype is characterized by the following:

The Rebel archetype characteristics

Motto: Rules are made to be broken

Core desire: revenge or revolution

Goal: to overturn what is not working

Greatest fear: to be powerless or ineffectual

Strategy: disrupt, destroy, or shock

Weakness: crossing over to the dark side, crime

Talent: outrageousness, radical freedom

The Rebel is also known as the outlaw, the revolutionary, the wild man, the misfit, or iconoclast.

Indeed, He Tian rebels quite a bit in the manhua. First and foremost, his rebellion is directed at his flesh and blood — Mr He and Cheng.

Not much is known about He Tian’s childhood, yet it is pretty clear that he hadn’t exactly had a happy one. His mother died early on and he was left to grow up practically without parents since Mr He is a textbook absentee father. From what He Tian knows, his brother backstabbed him, an act that keeps plaguing their relationship years after, while his father is labeled as a monster — someone who is ostensibly capable of eliminating people who disobey.

It is also clear as the day that young He Tian is traumatized by whatever dealings his family conducts behind the scenes. At some point, we even witnessed a scene where HT is tossed out of the burning yacht, while his brother is covered in blood and holds a gun. A violent experience such as this inevitably leaves a scar — and actually get to see it. He Tian is shown to experience something closely reminiscent of PTSD, recurring violent nightmares, the fear of the dark, etc.

Back in the present day, we see that He Tian wants to put distance between himself and his family. It manifests in living separately from his kin and cutting the contact to a bare minimum. He makes a point of stating that he is independent, severing the ties he deems to be dysfunctional. Yet the same time He Tian cannot quite let go of his familial bonds. In particular, whenever He Cheng is concerned, the boy sneers and flagrantly shows his impetuousness and disrespect.

In many ways he’s practically stomping his feet, attempting to show that he doesn’t need his brother, yet by doing this he proves the opposite: he still yearns his bitter feelings to be validated by He Cheng — and by his father too, to an extent.

This results in bratty behaviour on his part: He Tian orchestrates property damage at the He mansion, impishly rejects Cheng’s gestures of goodwill, etc.That is the work of the Rebel’s “shadow” counterpart — when the desire to overturn things and break free takes on darker shade and slips into dangerous territory. Resisting and opposing then becomes a way of life, and only through it does the “shadow rebel” feel certain of their self.

He Tian pushes at the boundaries of what is permitted and socially acceptable to feel in control of the situation. If we examine the way He Tian interacts with others, we will see that the shadow manifests in many other ways. He Tian is compelled to stir and instigate others, using his wit and cunning to make them uncomfortable or confused, and thus easy to manipulate to his amusement.

Speaking of socially acceptable behaviour, Chinese culture places a great emphasis on the respect towards senior family members — and I probably cannot stress this enough — He Cheng lets him get away with this lack of reverence. Deep inside He Tian seeks his brother’s approval and attention, but rejects it when he is given, and in the process he sets out to tear down anything that displeases him.

Establishing a connection with Guanshan let He Tian fulfill his Hero potential and channel his energy in constructive ways, and yet at the same time, it allowed him to tap further into his “Shadow” Rebel tendencies. That is, to it rub in into He Cheng’s face that he’s no longer welcome or needed.

Naturally, as a character, He Tian possesses traits of other archetypes — such as The Lover, for instance — albeit to a lesser extent, so I’m not going to dive deep in here. Let me just mention, that as a Lover, He Tian is compelled to increase his attractiveness to his love interest — we often see him fishing for compliments and validation on Guanshan’s part, which underscores his inner need to feel needed and wanted, yet also turns into clinginess at times.

With that, this quick rundown of He Tian’s character patterns is complete. All in all, you could say that He Tian is fairly archetypal at his core, and yet it’s the combination of these “trite” features that mark him as an utterly realistic and believable character. It is because we’ve seen these archetypes countless times before that He Tian appears to be true to life.

Lastly, this is going to turn into a series of posts, but right now I cannot say when the next part is going to be up since writing this took me some time. In the meantime, you can read a bit more below ✨.

A bit more about He Tian | Support me at Ko-Fi

#19 days #he tian #long post #finally published

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the-river-person · 3 years ago

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Epilogue

Wind swept through the red grass like a wave upon the sea, sending ripples down the slopes of the endless hills. In the lowest valleys the grass vanished into a soft white fog, making the hilltops seem as if they were detached from the earth and floating through an ocean of clouds. Sans gazed around in wonder, while also having to shield his eyes a little. Above them the sky was a thousand blending shades of purple, everything from a deep angry bruise to a very soft lilac. At the edge of the Horizon was the sun, and from here it looked a very deep red color, and though it wasn’t terribly bright, he still had to shield his eyes. It seemed that he needed some time for his eyes to properly adjust to seeing the surface in all of its overwhelming brightness after living in the muted and shadowed Underground for all his life. Well for lifetimes on end, really. Mouth open wide, and eye lights nearly pinpricks in shock, Gaster too appeared to be too stunned for words at the sight of this world. Sans knew that his uncle had been around to see the Surface of their own Universe, and judging by Gaster’s reaction, it was nothing at all like this. The River Person had taken them to this place because he said it was still a relatively safe Universe to visit for a little while. Comfortably seated in his ferry boat, the River Person didn’t seem inclined to go anywhere soon, so they’d opted to explore for a bit while staying in sight. Arriving at another Universe was just as bizarre as leaving one had been. It was as if there was a reflective orb in the distance, only when you got closer it wasn’t you that it was reflecting, but a place. And if you got close enough it was as if the reflection warped and twisted itself so that it swallowed you and you were sitting in another Universe as smoothly as if you’d landed your boat at the docks. Actually the ferryboat itself was sitting in the middle of the red grass, and looked perfectly natural there as if it were supposed to sail across the sea of red grass and plants instead of up and down a river. Out in the distance the world got even stranger. To the right, he wasn’t sure what the compass direction was because the red sun appeared to be circling the horizon instead of crossing overhead in an arc, he could see bright glow that spanned the whole edge of the sky in that direction, as if the area was filled with light. And to the left the sky seemed to get darker and darker until the horizon that way was shadowed and still. “Pretty, isn’t it?” “Yes,” he breathed, still trying to take it all in. The next moment he leaped away in shock as he realized the comment had come from someone who had unexpectedly been standing beside him. It was a skeleton, somewhat similar to himself in appearance but not quite. Wearing brown pants that might have been tucked in overalls by the green straps that were sticking out from one side of the waist, a white shirt, and a long brown scarf... the skeleton’s clothing alone made a strong first impression of him. But more interesting than that were the splotch of black ink that coated the bottom right side of his jaw and the enormous paint brush that he carried on his back like a sheathed sword. Over his chest was a belt holding a series of tiny phials with heart shaped stoppers, each phial held a different colored liquid within, and altogether and in order they formed a kind of rainbow pattern. Finally, around his neck and hanging down his back was an incredibly long scarf of some brown fabric. The Skeleton was grinning at him, mischief dancing in his eye sockets, which Sans had only just realized contained some odd shapes. In his left eye, the pupil was shaped like a bright, five pointed, golden star (☆), twinkling merrily as if to say “I’m excited!” to all the world. And in his right eye the pupil took the shape of... and this left Sans feeling more bewildered than anything else, a small purple 7. But even as he watched the pupils changed shape, and again, and again. A spiral (๑), a triangle border with nothing inside (△), a check mark (✓), an eroteme (?), a small crescent moon (☽), a pair of squiggly lines that might have been either water or a double tilde (≈), a silcrow (§), a percontation point (⸮), and a very small umbrella (☂). “Hullo!” said the skeleton. “I’m Ink! Guardian of the Multiverse and Protector of AUs!” Gaster, who had turned around to see what Sans had been reacting to, was examining the newcomer with something akin to professional curiosity. “AUs?” he asked, tilting his skull slightly to the side. “Alternate Universes,” clarified Ink. “And parallel ones. And pretty much any other kind of universe that springs up. So... now that I’ve introduced myself, who are you two?” Other universes, the thought was a little frightening. Sure he’d heard Gaster practically wax poetic on the subject numerous times, and here he was standing in another universe entirely. But it was different hearing someone else talk about them existing, as if they’d seen them with their own eyes. An entire multiverse full of them. And if Ink was truly the Guardian of that Multiverse and every universe inside of it, then he must be a really important person. “I’m Sans-” he started to say, not sure whether there was special protocol for introducing yourself to a Multiverse Guardian, but Ink was already cutting him off, flapping his hand impatiently at them. “No no no. There are way too many Sanses and Gasters floating about. Even I’m a Sans. We like to use... well I guess you’d call them nicknames. They help keep us from getting confused. More confused. Some people use the name of their AU, others ” Somewhat at a loss, Sans turned to look at Gaster, who only shrugged unhelpfully. Well alright then. A nickname huh? His thoughts raced back years and years, decades, centuries, all the way to that very first therapy session with Doctor Whimsol. She’d suggested that he didn’t have to be a Sans if he didn’t feel like one. For a while he’d toyed with various other names, mostly Fonts in the style of Skeleton naming conventions. But he’d never really made anything of it. Perhaps one of the ones he’d liked would do? Something that suited him the way that he was now. He’d changed a great deal since then. There was no way anyone would think of him in formal terms, even now. But he was a bit more serious, even though he tried to stay approachable. He wasn’t suffering from depression and guilt, and he was a lot more active than he had been. So something light-hearted but serious, informal like, with a sense of movement.... It came to him and he grinned suddenly. “Mistral,” he informed the Guardian of the Multiverse. “I’m Mistral.“ Looking intrigued, Ink nodded enthusiastically. “It suits you! A little rough of a font, sort of like brush writing, but with this... um... crystal stuff on your bones, it really works.” Oh yeah, Sans had forgotten about the Kenón still growing on him. It had sped up its growth a bit in the Void, which made sense because they were already connected. Small spikes of silvery-grey crystal were now easily seen growing up from the collar of his shirt and from his sleeves, and tiny lumps were beginning to form under his usual overcoat that betrayed the crystals growing underneath. “I think,” said Gaster suddenly, “That I would like to be known as Majuscule.” Sans stared at him. “You want to be named after Capitalized Letters?” he asked incredulously. It wasn’t a font. Though they weren’t really required to stick to those if they truly didn’t want to. But it was related enough that it was odd that Gaster would want to choose that of all things for a name. The smile the scientist gave him was a smug one. “When I use the Wingdings Sign variant it really doesn’t differentiate between Minuscule and Maguscule symbols like the font does in physical writing. And since I cannot speak it out loud and adjust the volume of my speech, it is as if I am saying everything in capitalized letters, constantly speaking with maximum intensity all the time.” Oh Angel, of course Gaster would choose something that convoluted. Sans groaned and rolled his eyes, surprisingly Ink only looked amused and actually giggled, his eyes flitting between an octothorp followed immediately by an S (#S) , an ecphoneme (!), an on/off symbol, and an asterisk (*). “I’m guessing you guys are new travelers to the Multiverse. That means you’re the ones I was looking for. You see, I felt a Universe die recently, and I went to go protect it from whatever was causing it to be destroyed. But it was dying on its own, of old age. I’ve never seen a Universe do that before, reach its natural ending. Then I found a trail in the Void, the sort of paths the River Folk make when they travel, and I knew that someone must have escaped before everything fell apart. And well... here you are!” Ink smirked and stuck out his tongue in a sort of “blep” way. Somewhere in the back of his head, Sans couldn’t help but notice that the tongue was rainbow hued. But now that he was reminded, he had more important questions. “Did you see anyone else?” He asked. “A ship in the Void? Any survivors? Papyrus? Well, my Papyrus anyway. He’s the Captain of the Royal Guard. And there were a lot of people on the ship before it fell into the Void. Please, if you’ve seen anything...” He trailed off hopefully. Ink’s eyes had suddenly become two ecphonemes (!). “Wait, there are more than just you two?” asked the Guardian excitedly. “It’s pretty rare we get more than a Sans or a Gaster. For some reason the Sanses seem to be inclined to go traveling more than others, though we do get Papyruses and Gasters here and there. But I don’t recall seeing a ship...hmmm.” Then Ink reached back and pulled on his scarf. Upon closer inspection, Sans could see all kinds of writing on it, scribbles and notes. Ink was using the thing as a planner. For a moment Ink squinted down at the scarf, searching through all the notes. They could see his mouth moving as he silently muttered some of the reminders he was reading. At last he looked up. “Nope, sorry. I haven’t seen any ship. But I’ll make a note to keep an eye out for one. I definitely don’t want to miss seeing that. Oh, but I did write down something else. I found this where your universe used to be.” And digging into his pocket, Ink produced something that was difficult to see. It was like a point, but without any width, depth, surface, or length. It flickered strangely and Sans heard Gaster’s intake of breath behind him. “There it is!” said the Scientist as he stepped forward, reaching for the thing. “The last fragment. The final percentage. What bit of me are you hiding in such a small form?” His hand closed around it and he closed his eyes, looking triumphant and relieved. Just as quickly he snapped them back open again in alarm. “Sans!” “What?” “I had three assistants, Sans. Three! Not four! I don’t know who Goner actually is!” * * * The Tem had managed to push the wreckage away from itself, freeing its trapped hind leg. Nobody else was in this part of the Ship, mostly being occupied in repair work or attempts to plan and reorganize. He’d volunteered to come out here and replace the spark plugs in this area because it would make it easier to get away from people for a while. A low creak, like metal under strain, made him turn. It was similar to the sound he’d heard earlier before the ceiling fell. This ship had taken a lot of damage in the crash, it was no wonder it was all falling apart at the seams. There was no one there. Yeah, probably just more infrastructure damage from the crash that needed to be repaired. Turning back brought him face to face with the grey torso of Goner, who was looming over him with his pale whitish-grey eyes. “Your name is Bob, right?” Said Goner in an expressionless tone. It wasn’t really a question exactly. More like a statement with a question tacked onto the end like an afterthought. Suddenly Goner’s expression seemed almost sly, sinister. Perhaps it was just the lighting, but the Tem shrank from the Monster as he leaned forward. “My name is Goner, I have a feeling we’re going to be very good friends.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ink!Sans belongs to @comyet Special Thanks to @msaoa12345 for their continued reblogging, praise, and excitable and positive commentary. Without their support, this story wouldn’t be anywhere near finished.

#gaster #w d gaster #wingings #wing ding gaster #sans undertale #sans the skeleton #the river person #goner kid #bob the tem #ink sans #ink!sans #aeontale #undertale au #undertale fanfiction #undertale multiverse #the void undertale #unicode symbols #temmies #epilogue

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webslinger-holland · 5 years ago

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The Hidden Hero | Peter Parker Series

Summary: In an alternative universe, Peter Parker has the biggest crush on the reader. Even though the reader doesn’t know his secret, the reader is obsessed with the webslinger. So Spiderman decides to show up at Liz’s Party to impress everyone, specifically the reader.

Warning: some spoilers

Pairing: Peter Parker (Spiderman) x reader

Type: The Hidden Hero Series

MASTERLIST

A/N: THIS IS A HEAVILY EDITED VERSION OF MY VERY FIRST FANFICTION. IT PROBABLY REALLY SUCKS SO I AM SO SORRY ABOUT THAT. BUT IT WAS MY FIRST ONE SO I WANTED TO POST IT.

The bright yellow buses were pulling up to the curb of the school grounds. The large crowd of high school students hustling and bustling down the corridors. The monotone buzz of several-hundred voices hummed like an orchestra throughout the hallways.

The small group of gossiping girls were hanging around the lockers. They giggled amongst themselves. They always wore those mini skirts and tight shirts. The cliquey jocks were currently talking about the football game last night. They were wearing the exact same athletic jacket that they wore every single day. The parade of band geeks had just walked past them with their huge instrument cases. There were the aerospace tech kids who never did anything but make different robot models to battle between periods.

The familiar squeaking sound of sneakers were catching against the newly waxed floors. The metal locker doors were slammed shut once the students had gathered their textbooks for that period. The bell was ringing loudly on the sidelines, signaling the start of classes for the day.

At the given moment, Peter Parker was maneuvering his way through the crowd of students with his best friend Ned Leeds. He was currently carrying his textbooks because he had lost his backpack yesterday. The two of them were making their way to their first class of the day.

Last night, Ned had caught Peter sneaking into his bedroom dressed as the Spiderman. He had seen him crawling on the ceiling! It was quite a shock to find out that his best friend was the webslinger that he had saw on youtube. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to keep his secret. And he had a million questions for him.

Throughout the whole day, Ned was asking questions about Peter’s alter-ego. He was able to come up with a handful of different questions in each class. Those questions mostly consisted of the range of the webslinger’s abilities, such as whether or not he could summon an army of spiders or how far he could shoot his webs. He was always given short or curt answers.

Near the end of the day, Peter and Ned were forced to go to gym class. They watched a short video that had Captain America talking about the fitness challenge. As if on cue, Ned asked his friend if he knew the infamous avenger. He said that he did and that he stole his shield.

Now the students were told to get into pairs of two. They would be doing sit-ups. They would alternate every few minutes between partners. At the moment, Ned was holding down Peter’s feet so he crank out those sit-ups. He actually found that they weren’t so hard to do anymore, now that he had this weird radioactive spider venom in his blood.

“Can I be your guy in the chair?” Ned wondered spontaneously.

“What?” Peter whispered. He had spoken in this low tone of voice so that nobody would be able to hear them. He didn’t quite understand his question.

“You know there is a guy with a headset telling the other guy where to go. Like if you were stuck in a burning building, I could tell you where to go because there would be screens around me. You know? I could swivel around them. And I could be your guy in the chair,” Ned explained.

“I don’t need a guy in the chair,” Peter insisted. He shook his head at the idea. He heard the gym teacher praising him on the sidelines, causing him to pause momentarily. He was quick to resume his sit-ups.

In the background, Y/N had forced herself to walk into the gymnasium. She had immediately hurried towards the gym teacher to explain why she was late to class. She had been tutoring another student during the hour. She quickly handed him a slip of paper. He took one glance at him, nodding his head in confirmation. He told her that she could just sit on the bleachers for the rest of the class because it was almost over anyways.

Out of instinct, Peter had shifted into a sitting position and stopped doing his sit-ups. He could feel the little hairs on his arm raise. His spider senses were telling him that someone had just walked into the gym, but it wasn’t just anyone. It was his crush.

“She’s here, isn’t she?” Peter said. He didn’t seem to take his eyes away from his best friend in front of him. He waited for a response. His friend turned his head to look across the small stretch of the room, settling his gaze on the familiar looking student. He nodded his head.

“Yeah. How’d you know?” Ned questioned. He had furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. He was slightly taken back by his comment.

“Spider senses,” Peter waved off. He had just briefly turned his head to look at her through the corner of his eye. He could barely see her talking with the gym teacher. He was quick to start doing his sit-ups again. “Can she see me? Do you know if she’s looking at me?” Peter whispered in question.

“Oh yeah,” Ned said with a firm nod of the head. He could see her heading towards the bleachers right behind them. He caught her turn her head slightly towards them. “She saw you,” Ned confirmed.

On the bleachers, Y/N had found herself settling down beside her small group of friends. They were currently playing the game called ‘fuck, marry, kill.’ They would list off three random names of celebrities or artists. Then they would have to decide who they would fuck, marry, and kill. They listed three of the avengers.

“You see for me it would be…fuck Thor...marry Iron Man...and kill Hulk,” Betty Brant concluded. Some of her friends had totally agreed with her lineup, but there were a few friends who would have made a completely different choice.

“What about the Spiderman?” Y/N wondered. She had lowered herself down onto the bleachers, looking at each of her friends with curious eyes. She could see her friend Liz Allen shrug her shoulders at the thought.

“It’s just Spiderman,” Liz claimed. She made a face of disgust. She must not have thought that he was that impressive or attractive.

“Did you guys see that big security cam on youtube? He fought off four guys!” Y/N exclaimed. She was now leaning forward in her place. She was quite eager to defend her opinion. She was practically praising him.

In the background, Peter and Ned had turned their heads to look towards the small group sitting on the bleachers. Neither one of them could believe the words they were hearing coming out of her mouth. They looked at each other in slight shock.

“Oh my gosh. She’s crushing on Spiderman,” Betty joked. Her face had twisted into this playful smirk. She leaned over to nudge her friend in the side.

“No way!” Liz laughed.

“Kinda,” Y/N shrugged. She had dropped her gaze to stare down at her hands in her lap. She tried to hide the bright blush creeping up onto her face. She smiled to herself.

“Ugh. Gross,” Betty scoffed. “He’s probably like thirty,” Betty claimed.

“You don’t even know what he looks like. What if he is like seriously burned?” Liz suggested. She had waved her hands in a dramatic manner. She was just trying to make a point.

“I wouldn’t care. I would still love him for the person he is on the inside,” Y/N said with a small smile on her face. “He’s a good man! And its obvious he really cares about this city. That is something I really admire about him,” Y/N confessed.

“Peter knows Spiderman!” Ned blurted out. He didn’t really know what came over him, but he couldn’t stop those words from coming out of his mouth. He could see that everyone in the room had stopped what they were doing upon hearing his comment.

In response, Peter’s mouth dropped open in absolute shock. He turned his head to look at his best friend with wide eyes. He was quick to scramble to his feet, shaking his head in denial.

“Uh, no. I don’t,” Peter said. He had taken a few steps forward in his place, standing in front of the small group of friends on the bleachers. He was trying to find the right words to explain himself. “No. I-I mean,” Peter stuttered.

“They’re friends,” Ned added with a smile on his face.

“Yeah. Like Coach Wilson and Captain America are friends,” Flash teased. He had stopped climbing the rope in the background, landing on the floor with a thump. He started to walk towards his rival because he was very interested in this conversation.

“I-I’ve met him a couple times but its uh…through the Stark internship,” Peter clarified. He stumbled over his choice of words. He had lifted his hand to scratch the back of his head in a nervous manner. He nodded his head in confirmation. “Mhmm. Yeah. But I am not really suppose to talk about it,” Peter claimed.

“Well, that’s awesome,” Flash replied. His voice was laced with sarcasm. He had stopped in his place. He had turned his body towards the small group of friends sitting on the bleachers, gesturing to them with the small wave of the hand. “Hey, you know what? Maybe you should invite him to Liz’s party,” Flash said.

“Yeah, I am having people over tonight. You are more than welcome to come,” Liz said. She could feel the strong sense of embarrassment creeping through her body because she hadn't invited them to the party beforehand. She just felt like they were kinda losers so she didn’t want to invite them. But at least she was kind enough to invite them now.

“You��re having a party?” Ned wondered. He knew that this was the first time that he was hearing about this party. He could only wonder why he hadn’t already been invited to the party.

“W-Will you be there, Y/N?” Peter stuttered. She had lifted her head to look directly into his soft brown eyes. She had smiled shyly at him. She nodded her head in confirmation. He could feel his heart fluttering in the confines of his chest.

“Yeah! It’s gonna be dope. You should totally invite your personal friend Spiderman,” Flash said in a persistent tone of voice. He stood directly in front of his rival, staring him down. He was puffing out his chest to be more intimidating (and maybe a little taller than him).

“Flash,” Y/N warned. “Leave him alone.”

“Ah come on. He’ll be there,” Flash promised. He turned his head to look at her with this playful expression on his face. He winked at her. He smirked to himself in triumph. But he didn’t seem to catch the moment where she rolled her eyes at him.

The whole conversation would come to an abrupt end when the bell rang to dismiss the last class of the day. The students were quick to stand to their feet and make their way towards the door. Meanwhile, Peter had watched his crush stand to her feet. The two of them briefly met each other’s gaze for a split second. She sent him a small smile. She didn’t even know that his eyes were following her figure out of the gym.

“What are you doing?!?” Peter turned his attention back towards his best friend standing behind him. He had thrown his hands up in exaggeration. He just couldn't believe that his friend would do that to him.

“Helping you out. Did you not hear her? She has a crush on you!” Ned exclaimed. He could feel the smile growing at the corners of his lips. He watched his best friend open his mouth to say something against him, but nothing could come out. “You are an avenger! If any one of us has a chance with her, it’s you.” Ned confessed.

Previously, Peter had actually known her since grade school. The two of them had become pretty close friends. He had developed his first crush on her, but he was never able to gather enough courage to tell her. Now here she was, years later with a crush on his alter ego. It almost didn’t feel real to him.

That night, Aunt May had driven Peter and Ned to the house for the party. She parked the car in front of the house. For a brief second, Peter had said that this would be a mistake and that he wanted to just go home. His aunt said that she totally understood how he was feeling. She was eventually able to convince him to go to the party after all.

The two teenage boys turned to look at the grand house in front of them. They had started walking up the sidewalk, heading towards the house. The two of them had passed by plenty of other students that went to their same high school. And they could hear the music blasting from inside the house.

“You have the suit, right?” Ned questioned. Very discreetly, Peter lifted up his flannel sleeve to show him the web shooters and red costume underneath his clothing. “This is going to change our lives!” Ned exclaimed.

The music was so loud that it would be hard to hear the person talking right beside them. The bass thumped in time with the boys’ heart beat as though they were one with the song. Over the roar of music, a distant hazy chatter could be heard throughout the entire house. The high school students could be found holding red solo cups with harmless non-alcoholic drinks.

Of course, Flash would be in charge of the music for the night. He had a pair of heavy headphones around his neck. He rubbed his hands against the two records at the station to create that iconic record scratch sound. He was just trying to look cool.

“Okay. We are gonna have Spiderman swing in, say you guys are tight. And then I get a fist bump or one of those half bro hugs,” Ned said in a low tone of voice. He really had this whole thing planned out.

A familiar figure had found herself walking around the corner of the hallway. She had turned her head to look at the two teenage boys standing in the short distance. She was quick to make her way towards them, feeling a smile stretching across her face.

“Oh! Hey guys,” Y/N said. She waved at them. She had walked towards them until she was standing right in front of them. She quickly looked between the two of them with the softest and kindest look on her face.

“Hey Y/N,” Ned said with a silly grin on his face. He had forced himself to straighten his back in posture, standing at attention. He turned his head to look at his best friend through the corner of his eye. He nudged him in the side.

“Hey Y/N,” Peter’s voice squeaked.

“I’m glad you guys came,” Y/N confessed. She was holding onto her own red solo cup in her hands. She lifted her other hand to gesture to the table behind her. “There is pizza and drinks so feel free to help yourself,” Y/N claimed.

“Wow! What a great party,” Peter had choked on his own words. He had turned his head to look at her with this sweet boyish grin on his face. He could feel his heart hammering on the inside of his chest.

“Thanks. I barely did anything. It was all Liz,” Y/N insisted with the wave of the hand. She could hear someone calling her name in the background. She turned her head towards the sound of the voice, spotting one of her friends in the crowd. “Oh! I should go,” Y/N said.

“Yeah,” Peter nodded his head. She found herself hurrying towards her small group of friends in the short distance. She had looked over the small stretch of her shoulder, waving goodbye to them.

“Dude! What are you doing?” Ned wondered. “She’s here, spider it up!”

“No. No. No. I can’t. I cannot do this. Spiderman is not a party trick,” Peter said. He shook his head in denial. He quickly straightened his back in posture. He ran his hands over the invisible wrinkles in his shirt. He shrugged his shoulders to himself. “Look, I am just gonna…be myself,” Peter whispered.

“Peter,” Ned groaned. He had closed his eyes for a brief second. He shook his head at his friend’s comment. “No one wants that,” Ned said harshly.

“Dude,” Peter said hurtfully. He was quick to turn his body to walk away from his friend. He heard his name being called over the speakers in the room. He turned his head to look across the small stretch of the room, looking directly at his rival holding the microphone.

“Penis Parker! What’s up? Where is your pal, Spiderman? Let me guess, in Canada with your imaginary girlfriend?” Flash teased him. He was only encouraged by the sound of laughter coming from the high school students in the room. “That’s not Spiderman. That’s just Ned in a red shirt,” Flash joked.

Somehow, through peer pressure, Peter found himself standing on the roof of the house. He had disregarded his regular clothing onto the top of the roof. He was now wearing his red and blue suit of his alter-ego. He knelt down on the rooftop and gazed down at the small house.

“Hey! What’s up? I am Spiderman,” Peter whispered to himself. He lifted his hands to the neckline of his white shirt. He pulled the shirt over his head. “Just thought I would swing by...say hello to my buddy Peter. Oh hey! What’s up, Ned? Where is Peter anyways?” Peter said to himself.

Now Peter could see his best friend standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. He felt bad that he had left him alone for a few minutes. However, there was still this part of Peter that did not want to make his presence known at the party. He just didn’t think that it was right.

“I can’t do this.” Peter whispered. He shook his head at the crazy idea. He could see his crush walk across the small stretch of the room, stopping to stand beside his best friend. She had asked him a question, only receiving a small shrug of the shoulders in response. She sighed to herself in defeat.

In that moment, Ned had yanked out his phone to dial his best friend’s number. He had turned his body so that his backside was facing the large crowd of students in the room. His best friend had answered his phone without hesitation.

“Peter! Where are you? She is asking for you,” Ned said desperately. He turned his head to look over the small stretch of his shoulder, spotting her familiar figure in the distance. He waited for some kind of response.

“I will be there in a second,” Peter concluded. He had this fluttery feeling in the confines of his chest, thumping against his chest in a violent manner. He didn’t know if he was nervous or excited.

With great hesitation, Peter had pulled his mask over his head. He stood to his feet. He had jumped down to the ground, landing on his feet with a small thump. He had started walking towards the house, making his way through the heavy crowd of people.

“Oh sorry,” Spiderman apologized. Every single person had turned their heads to look at the infamous superhero standing amongst them. The high schoolers’ mouths had dropped open in absolute disbelief. The webslinger was currently maneuvering his way through the crowd of students until he was finally inside the house. “Sorry, I just gotta…find my friend Peter,” Spiderman claimed.

“Spiderman?” He forced himself to turn around upon hearing the sound of that sweet voice. His robotic eyes had dilated subconsciously. His head moved up and down her body. His actions did not go unnoticed by her. “W-What are you doing here?” Y/N wondered.

“Oh, you know. Peter called me and asked if I could show,” Spiderman claimed. He had lifted his hand to wave in dismissal (like it wasn’t a big deal).

“No way,” Flash said. His voice was laced in the tone of disbelief. He pushed his way past the crowd. He had shifted to stand in the middle of the room, stopping in his place. He soon came face to face with the webslinger himself. “You’re really him? Are you really friends with Peter Parker?”

In response, Spiderman had turned his head to look over his rival’s shoulder. His large robotic eyes had settled on that familiar figure standing behind his face. He found himself pushing right past him to approach her. He stood directly in front of her. “Hi,” he said awkwardly.

“Hi,” she smiled at him.

“What’s your name? Wait. No. Let me guess,” Spiderman teased. He had lifted his gloved hand towards the front of his face, tapping his chin in thought. He pointed his finger at her. He was able to ‘guess’ her name pretty easily.

“Y-Yeah!” Y/N exclaimed. She was more than surprised to hear that the webslinger actually knew her name. She could only feel her smile growing bigger and bigger with each passing second. “How did you know?” Y/N wondered.

“Peter talks a lot about you,” Spiderman explained. He was hoping that his other persona could score some points with her. He could only wonder if she would give his other self a chance.

“H-He does?” She gasped.

“Spiderman!” Ned shouted. He had found himself taking a few steps forward in his place, shifting through the heavy crowd of students. He just knew that every single person was looking at him. He smiled at his best friend. “Hi! It’s Ned. Remember me?” Ned said with a bright smile on his face.

“Yeah! I do. How are you doing?” Spiderman said enthusiastically. He did give him the fist bump that he so desperately asked for. Of course, Ned was trying to play it cool. But he could hardly contain himself knowing that he would be popular for the rest of his life.

"I am doing fine,” Ned said cooly. He had this smug look on his face. He crossed his arms over his chest. He was hoping to maintain that cool looking stance. “But I’ll let you get back to Y/N. She’s a big fan of you,” Ned observed.

“Really?” Spiderman teased her. He had turned his head to look back towards the smaller figure standing behind him. His robotic eyes had made it look like he was quirking an eyebrow at her in amusement. He could easily spot the bright blush flooding her cheeks.

“Well, kinda,” she replied shyly. She didn’t mean to fiddle with her fingers nervously. She had dropped her gaze to stare down at the ground, feeling the blood rushing to her cheeks. She shuffled on the heels of her feet in her stance.

“Well, I should get going.” Spiderman didn’t want to prolong his stay at the party for his own sake. He placed his hands on his hips. He held that heroic stance for dramatic effect. “New York isn’t going to save itself,” Spiderman came up with a lame excuse.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. She couldn’t help but dreamily admire him. She could only imagine that he was this incredibly handsome looking young man underneath the mask. She smiled at him.

“It was nice to finally meet you. Could you also tell Peter that Mr Stark needs him at the internship at four thirty tomorrow?” Spiderman had tried to make another excuse for her to talk to his other self tomorrow. “Can you do that for me?” Spiderman wondered.

She had nodded her head in confirmation. He did not hesitate to wink at her with those big robotic eyes, which only caused her heart to flutter in her chest. He used his web shooters to swing away from the party. He made his way back up to the rooftop to change back into his regular clothes.

“I can’t believe he actually showed,” Flash said to her. He had turned his head to look in the general direction they had last seen the famous webslinger swing off to. He crossed his arms over his chest. He shook his head and scoffed to himself.

“What’s the matter, Flash? Jealous of Peter or Spiderman?”

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker au #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst #peter parker smut #peter parker oneshot #peter parker imagine #peter parker series #spiderman #spiderman x reader #spiderman fluff #spiderman angst #spiderman smut #spiderman oneshot #spiderman imagine #spiderman series

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blancheludis · 4 years ago

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@whumptober2020, Day 6, “Get it out”

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, JARVIS, Bruce Banner Tags: Hidden Injury, 2012 Avengers, Hurt Tony, Team as Family Words: 4.129

Summary:

During a battle, Tony is injured by getting stabbed with a piece of his own armour. He hides it, of course he does, because he always dealt with these things alone. He has not counted on JARVIS and the bots ratting him out, however, and much less on Steve actually rushing to his side. Maybe he's more a part of the team than he thought.

---

Once the doors of the workshop close behind Tony, breathing gets that much harder. Away from prying eyes, he does not have to stand so tall anymore, does not have to concentrate on making well-timed quips and generally live up to the invincible part of his name. He does not have to pretend he is one wrong movement away from passing out. Right now, there is only quiet, the flashing red of the alarm inside the HUD, and the pulsing pain in his abdomen, threatening to overwhelm him.

Tony is not quite sure what hit him. The outside of the suit looks fine – apart from the obvious dents, but it does not have any glaring holes in it. They were fighting a group of AIM soldiers, but they did not seem to be particularly well-equipped. Although Tony has to admit that a few spectacularly devastating things have come out of their lab before. So, they either created a missile able to penetrate the suit without leaving much trace on the outside, or Tony almost killed himself with his own creation again by leaving exploitable weak points.

It does not matter. He is not dead and now that he is home he can sit down and sleep this off. Nobody has to know and once his brain is not flushed by adrenaline anymore, he can try to reinforce the places where the suit has failed him.

Taking as deep a breath as the pain allows, Tony takes a step forward. He will not have gained anything from collapsing right inside the door to the workshop. It is agony. Every little movement sends new shocks through his body until it feels like he is burning. The flashing red inside the HUD intensifies as if Tony does not notice he has a serious problem right now. But there is a first-aid kit stashed somewhere and he is already halfway to the assembly station. While Tony would like nothing more than to lie down and sleep for a week or two, he needs to get the suit off first. He opens the face plate, relieved at the sudden lack of flashing red.

Another step, and JARVIS pipes up, sounding at once too formal and too urgent. His kid is worried. “Sir, if I might advise you to –”

“I won’t go to medical for a scratch,” Tony cuts him off and tries to put some authority in his tone, which is hampered by how little air he manages to get into his lungs.

“That scratch comes from a piece of your suit that has pierced your skin and runs approximately three inches deep,” JARVIS reports as if he thinks words will make Tony see reason. After an expectant pause, he adds, “With a considerable piece of metal still inside you.”

Bless modern technology, Tony thinks. What does he need the medical team for when his AI can diagnose him just as well, if not better? JARVIS knows him and does not needlessly prod him only to arrive at a conclusion Tony knew beforehand.

What a way to go, though, impaled on his own suit. The press would certainly call it poetic justice, and Tony might be inclined to agree with them. He does not plan on dying, though. A lot of trouble is still ahead of them and the team still needs him if they want to stand a chance against the army closing in on them from space.

With a last shaking step, Tony gets on the platform and steadies himself by grabbing one of the robotic arms. “Well, then we need to get it out.”

Tony does not need a medical doctorate to know that is not the best of ideas, not without proper preparation. He believes in JARVIS’ abilities, though.

“Let me alert someone at least,” JARVIS all but pleads. “Dr. Banner –”

“- is not that kind of doctor. Weren’t you listening to him?” Tony asks and manages half a smile. He knows perfectly well that Bruce would be put out if he ever found out Tony refused to call him in for help, no matter his constant protest that they have trained professionals for that.

“And yet he’s more proficient at stitching people back together than you are,” JARVIS argues, sounding like he is one wrong word away from open rebellion.

“He’s not more proficient at stitching me back together, though.” And that, in Tony’s opinion, is the absolute truth. He does not make it easy on people – or AIs – he knows, but he takes care of himself and tries not to be too much of a problem for other people. That is just human decency. Especially considering how many issues he has.

“Sir.”

When JARVIS resorts to quiet disapproval, Tony almost feels bad, but he is too miserable to let anybody else in. “It’s okay, JARVIS, I’ll be right as rain in a minute.” He just hopes they will not be called out for another mission any time soon. The pain might get better once the metal is out, but he will still have a hole in his side, which will make moving, much less fighting, a tad difficult. “Now, get the suit off.”

The robotic arms stay still and Tony thinks for the thousandth time that he needs to create a better system for that. A suit of armour is nice to have, but he needs an easier way to get out of it without ruining the suit than stepping on the platform in his workshop and hoping that his AI is in the mood to indulge him.

“It’s highly inadvisable to just rip out the piece of metal inside you.” If JARVIS had a foot, Tony is sure he would stomp angrily.

“I’m sure that’s still better than leaving it in,” Tony answers, trying to remain standing. “I don’t have the best of immune systems, if you remember.” He pats the arc reactor gently.

Tony is half-convinced that JARVIS is playing for time. The longer he waits, the more likely it is that Tony will collapse, and then he will not have any other choice but to call for help. Well, that only makes Tony fight harder to stay conscious. Worse than handing himself over to medical is being handed over while he does not know what is happening to him.

“At least get the rest of it off,” he suggests, wondering why his kids have to be so stubborn.

Nothing happens for another long moment. Then the machine whirs to life, slower than usual. Tony is sure JARVIS works as gently as he can and yet the process hurts. The removal jostles him, pressing against bruises and the pulsing wound in his abdomen. Waves of black roll through Tony’s vision and it is all he can do to stay upright.

When the chest plate is lifted, the dented pieces cling to each other, tugging on Tony’s abdomen in a way that has hot red pain shooting through him, making his knees buckle. JARVIS catches him with the robotic arms, the chest plate clattering carelessly to the ground.

“I really must insist –” JARVIS’ voice sounds from far away, barely audible over the ringing in Tony’s ears.

Still, Tony shakes his head, or maybe the world is just spinning in front of him. He is not sure what is happening anymore. Then familiar beeping reaches him as JARVIS has the robotic arms deliver him into the fretful hold of DUM-E.

“Hey there, buddy,” Tony mutters. It ends in a groan as a chair is pushed against the backs of his knees and he involuntarily falls into it. Manhandled by his own kids. It is probably for the best. Even sitting down, it is hard to stay upright instead of falling right down to the floor.

This is okay, he tells himself over and over again. A mantra to cling to. He has had worse. It just hurts. Looking down at himself, he sees the dented piece of the suit. It is not even bleeding much.

“I am sure you are aware it will start bleeding the moment you try to move that piece.”

Sluggishly, Tony blinks up at the ceiling, wondering when JARVIS learned to read his mind. That could come in handy – at least when JARVIS is not admonishing him.

“I must insist you allow me to call someone,” JARVIS goes on, sounding almost frantic now.

Tony wonders whether he really looks that bad. It almost feels okay now. The pain is dulled, almost like a second heartbeat. He could just go to sleep and wake up when everything is over.

“Just get it out,” Tony says. He is tired and just wants to get this over with. Sitting up straighter despite the pain, Tony clarifies, “Butterfingers, get the firs-aid kit. U, hold me. And DUM-E, get it out.”

This is probably not the best task to give to DUM-E, whose motor control is leagues behind Butterfingers’, but he is Tony’s oldest and least likely to rebel, if only because Tony never programmed any common sense into him.

Closing his eyes, Tony grabs the sides of the chair and braces himself for more pain – only nothing happens, nothing even moves. He glints and finds all his bots looking at him, DUM-E at least with an air of shame.

“JARVIS,” Tony bites out between clenched teeth. He does not have the energy to do everything himself. “Could you please not keep the bots from doing what I tell them to do?”

“My first priority is your well-being, sir,” JARVIS answers stiffly.

“And that means getting this damned metal spike out of my body, yes?” Tony snaps and glares at his bots.

“In a safe manner. I will not watch you bleed out right in front of me.”

If Tony were in less pain, he might acknowledge the trace of fear in JARVIS’ voice, but he does not have many alternatives to dealing with these things himself. There is no way he could go to Medical without the rest of the team finding out and they do not need the reminder that Tony is just a rather squishy human in a tin can. He does not know how Clint does it, who always comes out of fights with scrapes and bruises, unenhanced as he is. But Steve does not doubt his abilities as much as he does Tony’s.

“I won’t –”

Tony is interrupted by the door opening – which should not happen because he is sure that he ordered a complete lockdown. He always does when he comes home injured or when he needs to repair some serious damage done to the armour.

Drained and weary, he is unable to react quickly, does not even manage to really straighten in the chair. When he tries, fire spreads through his abdomen that has him flinch, unsettling his entire balance. It is all he can do not to slide right to the ground. And thus, barely hanging on to consciousness – and the last scraps of his dignity – Tony has to watch Captain America himself hurry into his workshop, his face already drawn into an unhappy frown.

This is it, he guesses. He does not have the energy for another shouting match about all the things he has done wrong, so he will likely say something unforgiveable just to get it over with or pass out. In Tony’s head, there is no way this will end with him still on the team. Irresponsible as he is, endangering the actually useful members of the team – he can already see where this is going.

“Cap, to what do I owe the honour?” Even to his own ears, Tony sounds strained, and his lips feel ready to crack when he pulls them into an estimate of a grin. It is a poor attempt at keeping up appearances, but Tony is too much of a Stark not to try.

Steve’s face grows considerably darker. “Don’t waste your energy, Tony. What were you thinking?”

These words should warrant a harsher voice and yet there is something careful to the way Steve moves. He comes closer, the bots getting out of his way without a fuss, and studies the way Tony is curled around the last piece of armour on his body.

“I thought we’d all take a nice post-mission shower and then meet up for dinner,” Tony says conversationally, doing his best to pretend Steve cannot see his shame. He is offering them an out. It would be easy for Steve to nod and leave, to let Tony himself deal with this mess. That is not how this works, however.

Steve looks like he will start yelling any minute now, and the familiarity of it relaxes Tony a bit, despite the pain. Some things will never change, and Steve’s disapproval of him and everything he does is one of them.

Then, Steve seems to think better of it and steps even closer, crouching down right in front of Tony. He reaches out as if to touch Tony’s side but his hand keeps hovering over the dented piece of armour.

“How bad is it?” Steve asks in a clinical tone.

Before Tony can even open his mouth to answer something dismissive, JARVIS speaks up, making him feel like he has been deemed unworthy to be a part of this conversation any longer.

“My preliminary scan shows that no vital organs or large blood vessels were hit, but there was considerable blood loss. Which will get worse when we try to mobilize the piece of the armour.” JARVIS sounds just as disapproving as Steve and in his haziness, Tony can just imagine the old Jarvis coming back from the dead only to appear right next to Steve, watching him with the same pinched expression.

In response, Steve pulls away his hand as if burned, as if his mere proximity might do more damage. Tony might be imagining things, though, since black is creeping in on his vision until he sees everything around him as if through a long dark tunnel.

“What hit him?” Steve asks, still with that worry.

Once again, Tony is too slow to keep the catastrophe from unravelling, and has to listen to JARVIS say, “It was blunt force that pushed parts of the suit inside Sir.” The honorific feels like a terrible mockery, considering that JARVIS is blurting out how irresponsible Tony was. What if he got a teammate hurt because he put himself out of commission and could not be there to help? “It is a stability issue of the seams that has been ignored in favour of more manoeuvrability.”

The glare Steve sends at Tony is enough to make his pulse race from more than the pain. They will have an argument about this later, Tony knows, and it will be ugly. If he is not thrown off the team altogether. Certain weak points have to be accepted if he wants to remain at peak usefulness. He is not sure where the difference is to Clint jumping off buildings every opportunity he gets without confirming someone is close by to catch him. The purely human members of the team have to take some risks at times – and they usually deal with it just fine.

Tony looks at where he knows one of JARVIS’ cameras is located and mouths, “Traitor.” Then he pushes himself away from Steve only to have the chair collide with Butterfingers, who is still right behind him. The unexpected jostling drives a whimper to his lips that he is too slow to swallow. He closes his eyes in shame, wishing this was just a bad dream.

“All right,” Steve says as if he has only just made up his mind about what he will do. “Can we move him to Medical or do we need to get a team here?”

“I’m perfectly fine with –” Tony bites out, his voice coming out much quieter than he wanted. It does not even surprise him anymore when he is ignored.

“I advise not to move Sir too much, although the piece should be removed in a sterile environment,” JARVIS says, no doubt thinking of Tony’s suppressed immune system. He has dealt just fine with that before. He does not need them to hold his hand through something he has done by himself a thousand times.

“Let’s get him a stretcher, then,” Steve decides and gets to his feet, although he keeps hovering over Tony as if he is just waiting for him to fall.

It is too much. The pain, the impending doom of Steve telling him he has outlived his usefulness, people deciding over his head what to do with him – Tony has enough.

“I’m not an invalid, damn it,” he snaps, glaring at Steve with all the energy he has left. “I can speak for myself and I can walk if I have to. I just fought a battle with you.”

Perhaps he should not have reminded them of the fight because Steve’s expression falls at that before settling into another frown.

“While injured,” he replies shortly. “That alone makes me doubt your mental capacity at the moment.”

This is so unfair. If Tony had bowed out of the fight just because of a scratch, he would have gotten a lecture about abandoning his team. Now that he kept on fighting, he is called irresponsible. Tony always knew that Captain America would disapprove of him but this is like dealing with Howard all over again and being unable to ever do anything right.

“Cap,” Tony tries but is cut off harshly.

“Don’t test me right now, Tony. I will not lose one of my team to his stubbornness. It’s bad enough that you didn’t tell anyone you are hurt.” The words do not quite fit the stormy expression. Then again, Steve has that helper syndrome where even losing just Tony would make him feel bad. “Why would you insist on going through this alone?”

The question hangs in the air between them for a minute, leaving Tony stunned with the desperate note clinging to the words. Then, Steve turns around abruptly and brings some distance between them before snapping at the air, “Where are you, Bruce? We need a med team up here immediately.”

Still stunned by the outburst, Tony is glad that Steve’s attention is not on him anymore. Otherwise, he might have just made a rather embarrassing admission like What if you decide to throw me off the team if you’re reminded how easily I’m hurt? or, worse, It’s better to hide than to find out nobody cares.

Tony does not believe that last thing, not really. He might not be a full-fledged member of the team, but they would care and they would help. Some lessons are hard to unlearn, however, and Tony has never been allowed to be vulnerable before.

“Steve,” Tony says, although he is not sure how to continue. He feels the urge to thank Steve. For coming. For not starting to yell immediately.

He does not come that far, however, because Steve whirls around to him and cuts him off. “No, I don’t want to hear any stupid excuses.”

That is more like it. Disappointment wars with relief in Tony’s chest. In the end, the familiar scorn is better than treading into the unknown and hoping for things to change. So, Tony swallows the words rising up in his throats and leans back in the chair. This time, he is prepared for the pain and keeps his face impassive. He is getting tired of this, and since his input is apparently not needed, he might as well close his eyes for a moment and get some rest.

“Tony? Are you –” A few hurried steps and Tony feels Steve right back at his side, sounding worried again. “I mean, is it getting worse?”

Tony is not sure. The pain is bearable when he does not move. His thoughts are very slow, which is not at all what he is used to, but that could just be the exhaustion.

“I’m fine,” he says because what else is there to do? “Everything’s fine.”

He keeps his eyes closed, does not want to see Steve, does not want to face reality at the moment. The darkness is pulling him under and he does not fight it. What for? Help is on the way, JARVIS and Steve will not let him do anything on his own. Might as well pass out and not have to face the fear of other people’s hands all over him.

“Stay with me, Tony,” Steve’s voice sounds from a distance.

That sounds like a bad idea. Staying with Steve means shame and arguments. No, he will stay like this and do his best to miss all the excitement. He might not like things happening to him that he is not fully aware of but it sounds nice to wake up once everything is over and he is alone again. He could –

Pain shoots through him, more acute than before, that makes him snap up his head and blink against the sudden light. He is not sitting in his workshop anymore. Instead, he is lying down, tight straps over his chest and legs, and the ceiling is flying by. Panic rises in him and he does not have any energy left to fight it.

“We’re here, Tony,” Bruce’s voice reaches him, calm and familiar, right before his face appears like a dark blob above Tony.

Only a second later, Steve shows up on the other side. “They’ll take care of you.”

“Don’t –” Tony says, but his mouth is too dry to continue.

Don’t watch, he means. Don’t let them take out my heart. Don’t let them put another battery in me.

“We’ll stay with you,” Steve says and it sounds like a promise, like he understands Tony’s fear, although they have never talked about his time in that cave. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”

Those two things are not the same, Tony wants to point out, but darkness comes creeping back in from the corners of his vision.

“Hold –” you to that, he wants to say.

Instead, the last thing he feels before unconsciousness claims him is something grabbing his hand and holding on tight.

---

When Tony wakes up, he is in his room. At first, he thinks he dreamt up all the excitement, his fantasy spurred into motion by blood loss and exhaustion. Some part of his incorrigible heart keeps wishing to be saved, no matter how much he fights it.

Then he hears the familiar beeping of a heart monitor and feels the pressure of bandages around his abdomen. That alone is a clear indicator he got outside help. If he had done this one his own, DUM-E would have gotten tangled up in the bandages until Tony decided a band aid would have to be enough. And he would have passed out in the workshop. Maybe he would have gotten to the couch. But his bed? Never.

Shame wells up inside him, but he stomps down on it. There is no use in dwelling on something he cannot change anymore. Now, he must soldier on and deal with the consequences.

When Tony opens his eyes fully and looks around, he is greeted by the strangest sight. On the sides of his bed sit Bruce and Steve, both asleep and looking like they would desperately need a bed of their own. Worse, Steve is still in his uniform, which means he really has not left Tony’s side since finding him in the workshop.

That thought does strange things to Tony’s stomach, which he cannot dully blame on his hole in his abdomen. He distantly remembers them promising they would stay with him, but that is just what people tell those who are injured and would rather jump off the rood of the tower than get actual, medical help. They were not meant to actually do that.

Opening his mouth, Tony means to clear his throat, to say something, to send them off to bed. Before he can get a single sound over his lips, however, his eyes fall on his hand. Specifically, his hand that is held by Steve.

Oh. Tony’s mind is blank, wondering what to make of that.

As it is, the lights around him dim a bit more, just enough to catch Tony’s attention. JARVIS, then, telling him that everything is all right – and probably admonishing him to shut up and let things be.

Later, Tony will blame it on exhaustion, but he complies without a second thought. With one last glance at their intertwined hands, Tony closes his eyes.

Maybe he is not in as much trouble as he thought. Or, in any case, a different kind than expected.

#whumptober2020 #no. 6 #get it out #marvel #fanfiction #tony stark #steve rogers #hidden injury #ao3 #my writing

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astudyinfreewill · 5 years ago

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Something Wicked This Way Comes: or, the Rising Dark in Ronan’s Arc

as some of you may know because i never shut up about witch!adam i’ve been convinced for a while now that adam would go darkside in the dreamer trilogy. what i did not predict however, was that ronan is probably headed down a dark path himself. i thought the basic premise of the trilogy would have ronan in danger from both the nightwash and the zed hunters (which obviously still applies; he is very much in danger from those things), and adam striking some sort of dark bargain in an attempt to protect him. but after reading cdth, i think things might be about to take a more sinister turn.

so here are some thoughts i’ve been poring over, under a cut for length. what can you expect? well, there’s rambling! there’s bullet points! there are lyrics-inspired section headings! (we have fun around here.)

let’s start with the obvious, shall we?

1. “The Sandman, He Comes”

so...bryde.

we don’t know much about bryde - who or what he is, how he’s able to infiltrate ronan’s dreams, whether he can do it to other dreamers too, why he didn’t want to reveal himself, what’s his agenda - but what we do know is that ronan trusted him very, very fast. suspiciously fast, in fact. fast enough that adam remarks on it in chapter 39: “earlier today you had a gun on me. i’m just asking you give him the same shake as me”.

to clarify: in the previous chapter, ronan was shaken enough to hold a gun to adam, the love of his life, and not lower it even when he feels reasonably sure it’s him; yet it never occurs to him in the book to question bryde or his motives. when adam says he wants scry to try and get more info on him, ronan seems almost annoyed by adam’s wariness (ronan narrowed his eyes. “don’t gimme that look, ronan”) to which adam replies, understandably, that it’s only fair ronan holds a complete stranger to the same safety standards as his own boyfriend, at least.

but why shouldn’t ronan trust bryde (apart from the fact that he has no information about him whatsoever)? well, bryde’s behaviour is pretty damn shady, and extremely reminiscent of the ways that a cult leader might try to recruit people to his cause. @deerlovelylily discussed it very eloquently in this post, but just to recap:

bryde is able to access ronan’s dreams at will, including interacting with objects from them: he had the hoverboard at the end, and he knew exactly what was on the stomach of the murder crabs. (@streghe had a very clever suggestion that there’s a nonzero chance bryde actually caused the crabs to manifest in the dorm, since ronan barely saw them in the dream; why would bryde do that? well, to make sure ronan was cut off from adam, his real life support system and, coincidentally, a psychic who doesn’t trust bryde)

there is considerable evidence that he can access ronan’s memories/other parts of his subconscious as well, since he knows a lot more about his waking life than he should, constantly referencing people and events from it (as well as obviously knowing where ronan is/what he’s up to, which is very stalkerish in itself)

bryde uses this knowledge to manipulate and influence ronan through the words of people in ronan’s life. in ch. 58 he asks ronan “are you going to be quiet?”, which we know from trk is what niall used to say to the brothers before telling them a story. in ch. 43, he talks about the “emotional costs” of saving someone’s life, mirroring almost exactly the words of warning adam had told ronan in ch. 33 (“there’s such thing as an emotional cost”). adam was warning ronan about trusting bryde too easily, and we know ronan values adam’s opinion; by repeating adam’s words to him bryde is pulling a see, i can’t possibly have shady motives, because i am acknowledging the same risk adam warned you about.

that’s far from the only manipulative thing bryde does. his behaviour constantly alternates between praising ronan, guilting him, taunting him, and ordering him about.

in ch. 43 he tells ronan he’s “the most expensive thing he’s ever saved”, reinforcing the idea that A) ronan is special, B) bryde cares about him, and C) it cost him a lot to save ronan so ronan should feel grateful/guilty/indebted to him. he does this knowing full well that ronan isn’t going to doubt his motives for saving him, because ronan himself - brave boy that he is - has just told him he would save a dreamer without any questions asked.

bryde never shows himself to ronan until the very end, which has the combined effects of keeping him in the dark/at a disadvantage, and making him more intrigued by bryde’s mystery; at the same time, he constantly asks ronan to prove himself and earn the dubious privilege of finally meeting him (“next box”)

bryde promises things that he knows ronan wants: first and foremost, understanding of his dreamer powers; second, a community, by hooking him up with other dreamers (ronan’s been asking what am i, why isn’t there anyone like me, am i the only one? for a long time); last but not least, he heavily hints that he can free dreams from their dreamers, something ronan is desperate to do in order to give matthew his freedom

on more than one occasion, bryde gives ronan direct orders: “scrub [the word ‘real’] from your vocabulary”; “i don’t want you to think this ever again: it was just a dream”. and ronan obeys him, or is at least very affected by it. where he at first questioned whether his dreams of bryde were real, now he questions reality (e.g. holding a gun to his very real boyfriend and asking himself what is real?); in ch. 24 he thinks about the words just a dream and how bryde “had forbidden him from ever saying them again”. since when does ronan follow orders? who is bryde to “forbid” him to do anything?

bryde constantly deploys examples Us VS Them rhetoric, creating a schism between dreamers and humanity, magic and humanity. we know (and bryde probably knows) ronan has always struggled with not feeling human and not knowing what he is; that he deeply wants to be able to fit into the real world. what bryde is effectively saying is no, you’re not human, in fact humans and magic are enemies, and the real world is not for you... unless you can shape it to your will.

to me, bryde’s spiels sound very... dreamer-supremacist, for lack of a better term. at the moment, dreamers are oppressed by the moderators, so they’re right to rebel; but there’s an emphasis on dreamers being more powerful than anyone else, and what they could do with that power. it kind of reminds me of magneto re: mutants in the marvel universe. and i think that is the direction he’s headed in: separate ronan from his human family and escalate the conflict between humans and dreamers much further than simple self-defense from the moderators.

there’s plenty of reasons to be mistrustful (if not outright skeeved the fuck out), right? so why does ronan trust bryde? well, several reasons.

2. “On The Right Side Of Rock Bottom”

ronan is at the lowest that he’s been since tdt. it’s better and worse at the same time -- in a way, it’s worse because it’s better. in tdt, ronan was deeply in denial about himself and the things he wanted; now he knows what he wants (a happy life with adam) and can’t go after it, trapped at the barns. in tdt, ronan was suicidal; now he wants to live, and so of course his life is threatened on all sides, internally by the nightwash, externally by the moderators.

through all of trc, one of ronan’s main goals was to return to the barns, feeling like his key to happiness was in his childhood home. but as it turns out (and as i suspected all along), being stuck alone and isolated on a dream farm surrounded by eerie sleeping things and a handful of incredibly traumatic memories of his dead parents isn’t as fulfilling as ronan imagined. to make things worse, he’s created a security system for the barns that causes him to relive his fears and traumas over and over (ronan for the love of God, why would you dream something like that). his brothers live in DC, which is close, but not that close -- and though he’s mending fences with declan, they still are somewhat at odds. his best friends, gansey and blue, are travelling the country with henry, and we know from the opal story ronan misses them and feels left behind. at the start of cdth he tries to escape by following adam to cambridge -- and that immediately goes pear-shaped, whether by accident or, as said above, by sabotage.

now ronan is truly alone, cut off from visiting adam, living with the guilt of wrecking his dorm and the self-loathing following the fact that adam had to tell people he’s, essentially, an unstable drunk (the place he actually was at in tdt). it feels like the progress has been erased. this is the first time since tdt ronan has hit rock bottom, and cdth tells us he sinks into depression, staying in bed for days, not showering or changing, eating expired food. he thinks of a life trapped at the barns alone doing nothing, and feels understandably suffocated. all the more so because it feels like everyone else is moving on - declan has his own life, gansey/blue/henry have their adventures, and adam... well, adam is growing up, which ronan feels he himself can’t do. this comes up at several points in the book: in ch. 5 ronan doesn’t recognize adam, noting he’s “growing from something beaten down into whoever he was supposed to be”, but finds it ridiculous that adam doesn’t recognize him because he’s still the same: “adam was changing; ronan couldn’t.” later, in ch.23, he notes that he often dreams of adam as older/more adult, while ronan himself is stuck in arrested development.

essentially: ronan is stuck. so of course, any lead that comes up - whether that’s mór ó corra, the new fenian, hennessy, or bryde, is going to make him reckless and ready to risk everything, because anything is better than being buried alive at the barns.

3. “Guilty, On the Run, And I Know What I Have Done”

remember how i said ronan hits rock bottom at the start of the book? well, it’s time to grab a shovel and keep digging, because then there’s the matthew thing.

so... we learn very early on in the book (in case we didn’t already know from trc) that ronan feels deeply torn about his dreaming. he loves to create, but feels guilty about creating life, because that feels like an act of hubris against God to him. and he feels especially guilty about creating matthew, because that means A) that matthew’s safety and life depend on ronan’s, and B) that matthew essentially has no free will, something that’s very important to catholic morals.

the moment matthew figures out he’s a dream-thing, and calls ronan out on lying to him, ronan is dropped into a fiery pit of shame, guilt, and self-loathing (and we already know that all of ronan’s emotions which are not happiness manifest as anger). he remains despondent even in dreams, and essentially, refuses to deal with matthew’s hurt and disappointment. which on one hand is justified, because he has ~Dramatic Dreamer Developments~ happening; but on the other hand, he’s essentially avoiding responsibility towards his brother, lashing out at declan in needlessly mean ways when declan tries to get him to be there for matthew (“dad’s working, sweetie”... really?). it’s a kind of pettiness that ronan hasn’t displayed in a while, and it speaks to me of his own restlessness and self-loathing more than anything.

we already know ronan feels alone, frustrated, isolated, scared, trapped -- now he also feels guilty on top of it all, and it just redoubles his determination to free matthew (something bryde has hinted he can do, knowing the power it would have on ronan). this is ronan at his worst, and we see it not just in how dismissive he is of declan, but in how he treats hennessy in chapter 67. he wants hennessy to dream up the lace, so he can show her how to stop dreaming of it (which in itself is dangerous, since lindenmere can manifest dreams, and in fact it ends up almost killing hennessy). but he gets absolutely furious when hennessy can’t dream properly -- because she’s, you know, kind of stuck on the slightly traumatic memory of witnessing her mom killing herself in front of her. it’s something you’d expect ronan to have sympathy for, seeing as he’s witnessed both of his parents’ violent deaths. instead, he’s impatient, snappy, insisting hennessy isn’t trying hard enough -- and downright cruel, shooting hennessy’s clone before her eyes, then trying to force her to shoot herself (especially relevant when you remember the church scene in bllb, and how shaken ronan was at having to kill a copy of himself).

this new ronan, it seems, has reached rock bottom and then some, and he’s got no time for empathy anymore. we see this in the metaphor of lindenmere, a darker, scarier, more dangerous version of cabeswater (i.e. trc ronan), because “dangerous things can protect themselves”. we see this once again at the end, when he assumes his sundogs have torn someone apart limb from limb and he feels absolutely no regret, only rage. yes, matthew was in danger... but kavinsky also tried to kill matthew in tdt, and ronan still didn’t feel like he could kill kavinsky in cold blood. this is a new, darker ronan, brought to this point by desperation. he reminds me a lot of anakin in the prequel star wars movies (i know, i know...) and how he let his fear lead him to the dark side by trusting a powerful, shady mentor that he should never have trusted. how does it go? “fear leads to anger, anger leads to hatred, hatred leads to suffering.” and suffering leads to - or maybe is the dark side.

4.“Holding Out For A Hero”

still, you might say, why is ronan falling for bryde’s manipulation so easily? can he not see through it? how can he trust someone he doesn’t know, someone who refuses to be upfront with him? someone his psychic boyfriend with an uncanny character judging skills is understandably wary of?

in short... ronan needs a hero.

or well, he needs a father, and those things are the same to him. ronan idolised niall, and he’s missed him terribly ever since niall diad. he missed him badly enough that he wanted to die for a very long time. now he’s coming to terms with the fact niall isn’t coming back, and not just that, but it turns out that niall might not be everything ronan thought he was (ronan hasn’t fully realised it yet, but he’ll get there; he’s starting to put the pieces together, from what declan and other people tell him of niall).

but if he accepts that niall’s gone, and worse, that niall wasn’t the infallible hero ronan thought he was... who has he got left to guide him? niall wasn’t just his father, either, but he was the only dreamer ronan knew for the longest time (the only other one was kavinsky, who sexually assaulted him and tried to kill his brother, so... not a great example) and yet he didn’t give ronan any guidance. and ronan needs dreamer guidance right now, with the nightwash threatening to kill him at every step.

enter bryde, promising all that and more. bryde’s not only a dreamer, he comes across like the alpha dreamer, ancient and powerful and all-knowing. he promises ronan tantalising answers, and even more importantly than that, he promises him community -- other people like him, so he won’t feel alone, so he won’t feel like a freak or an abomination; it has not yet occurred to ronan that (as maggie said in her video explaining the art/creation metaphor of the series) not all dreamers are equal: they don’t share the same skills or motives.

ronan is desperate for what bryde is promising, for that kind of guidance in his life. all throughout the book, there is a lot of talk of heroes: ronan was raised on stories of the irish heroes of old, who accomplished amazing feats even though they were held back by geasa (magical weaknesses like his nightwash). ronan constantly thinks of these folk stories, while excluding himself from it (“ronan was no hero, but he knew fucking right from fucking wrong”). and how does he describe bryde when he finally sees him in ch. 79? yep, you guessed it:

“he looked like a man who didn’t have to posture, who knew his strength. he looked like a man who didn’t lose his temper very easily. he looked, ronan thought, like a hero.”

ronan -- who is always posturing, who doesn’t know his own strength, who loses his temper very easily, who doesn’t think he’s a hero -- sees bryde as everything he’s not. and he’s willing to show him the same faith and devotion he once showed niall, because he needs a hero, a father, a teacher.

but i don’t think bryde is going to be the hero. i think ronan is going to be. there’s some early foreshadowing of this with ronan being depicted as “a gallant irish hero of old” while he kills the crabs (more posturing, really) but actually, we’ve known this all the way since trk, with niall asking declan to make sure that “ronan was the name of the hero, not the spear”; dreamers are weapons, but they don’t have to be. being a hero, ultimately, is about knowing fucking right from fucking wrong. and i believe ronan does.

but before he gets to be the hero, he’ll have to be the spear. and right now? he’s a spear in bryde’s hand.

we know a dreamer is supposedly going to bring about the apocalypse through fire; we know ronan and fire have always been associated; we know bryde hates the modern world and would like to reboot it; we know bryde has selected ronan as his chosen one, for whatever reason.

when you connect the dots, they spell a whole lot of trouble.

#ronan lynch #bryde #cdth #cdth meta #dreamer trilogy meta #mp #i could go on and on and on (and i have)#but i gotta post this now bc i need to get back to work #what a trip this book is though #much to think about #hmmm #dt #meta #cdth spoilers #my meta #swtwc

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arcticdementor · 3 years ago

Link

When we hear the term “Deep State,” we tend to think of people staffing the federal bureaucracy. I want to suggest to you that that is an incomplete way to think about it. The Deep State in Western liberal democracies consist not only of government bureaucrats, but also of the leadership in major corporations, leading universities, top media, medicine and law, science, the military, and even sports. A more accurate way to think about what we are dealing with comes from the Neoreactionary term “the Cathedral,” which NRxers use in more or less the same way that 1950s Beats used the term “the Establishment.” I like the term “Cathedral” because it entails the religious commitment these elites have to their principles. You can no more debate these principles with them than you can debate with a religious fundamentalist. They adhere to them as if they were revealed truths.

Yet they still like to pretend that they are liberals — that they favor open, reasoned discourse. This is, in fact, a lie. It is a lie that they depend on to conceal the hegemonic intolerance that they wish to impose on everybody under their authority.

…

It is true that no society can tolerate everything. What the Cathedral is now doing is radically limiting discourse, and demonizing as heretics all those within its purview who dissent, no matter how reasonable their objections. (And now Facebook is incentivizing some of its users to report their friends as potential “extremists.” Please get off Facebook now!) The Cathedral seeks to make all of society over in the mold of a college campus. The Cathedral is growing ever more radical. In recent months, we have seen the US military embrace wokeness (to use the slang term for the most vibrant and activist form of the Cathedral’s religion). You would think that it makes no sense for the leadership of a racially diverse armed forces to embrace and indoctrinate its officers in a neo-Marxist theory that causes everyone to see everyone else primarily in hostile racial terms, but that is exactly what has happened. In time — and not much time, either — we are going to see young people who were once from families and social classes that once were the most stalwart supporters of the military declining to join the armed forces in which they are taught that they are guilty by virtue of their skin color.

…

That’s the Cathedral and its values. The Cathedral has also taken over corporate America, and the professions. I hardly need to elaborate on this further, not for regular readers of this blog. It was a hard knock this past week to see that the US Supreme Court, which some of us had thought would be the last line of defense for anybody traditional in this soft-totalitarian Cathedral theocracy, refused to take on the Gavin Grimm case, and the Barronelle Stutzman case. The Cathedral line in favor of privileging LGBTs over religious people and secular people who don’t accept the full LGBT gospel is hardening.

…

I realized over the weekend why I have been so affected by the experience of being here in Hungary these past three months. It has clarified for me the nature of this conflict. First, take a look at this powerful piece by Angela Nagle, writing about the views of Irish intellectual and cultural critic Desmond Fennell.

…

What does this have to do with Hungary? Prime Minister Viktor Orban and his government have brought down the wrath of European Union leaders over Hungary’s recent law restricting sex education for children, and information about LGBT presented to children. The prime minister of the Netherlands, in extraordinarily bellicose language, threatened to “bring Hungary to its knees” over the law. I am reliably informed by an American source in a position to know that in Washington, even among conservative elites, Viktor Orban is seen as nothing but a fascist. I have been writing all summer about the radical disjunction between Hungary as it is, and Hungary as described by Western elite discourse (media and otherwise). This is by no means to say that Orban’s government is flawless — it certainly is not; corruption, for example, is a big deal here — but to say that there has to be some reason why Western elites of both the Left and the Right despise Hungary so intensely, and slander it so.

There’s a lesson in all this, I believe, for where conservatives and traditionalists in the West are, and where we are likely to go. I have come to believe that the standard left-liberal and right-liberal critiques of Orban — “Magyar Man Bad” — are just as shallow as the “Orange Man Bad” critique of Donald Trump. I say that as someone who was critical of Trump myself, though I credited him for smashing the complacent GOP establishment. I write this blog post in the spirit of Tucker Carlson’s excellent January 2016 Politico piece titled, “Donald Trump Is Shocking, Vulgar, and Right.”

I’ve been reading lately a 2019 book, The Light That Failed, by Ivan Krastev and Stephen Holmes. Both men are liberal scholars who undertake to explain why liberalism failed in Central Europe and Russia after the fall of the Cold War. It’s a remarkably insightful book, one that any conservative with an interest in the problem should read, even though its authors are liberal democrats. They write:

A refusal to genuflect before the liberal West has become the hallmark of the illiberal counter-revolution throughout the post-communist world and beyond. Such a reaction cannot be casually dismissed with the trite observation that “blaming the West” is a cheap way for non-Western leaders to avoid taking responsibility for their own failed policies. The story is much more convoluted and compelling than that. It is a story, among other things, of liberalism abandoning pluralism for hegemony. [Emphasis mine — RD]

You would have thought that in any reasonable pluralistic polity, a sovereign nation choosing to restrict what its children can learn about human sexuality would be of little interest to other nations within that polity. After all, Hungary is not France any more than Estonia is England. There is an immense amount of diversity in Europe. But see, the Cathedral’s liberalism — whether in America or in the EU — is not pluralistic, but hegemonic.

Krastev and Holmes (henceforth, “the authors”) point out that after 1989, the West expected Central European countries to imitate them in every way. The authors — who, remember, are liberals — write:

Without pressing the analogy too far, it’s interesting to observe that the style of regime imitation that took hold after 1989 bears an eerie resemblance to Soviet-era elections where voters, overseen by Party officials, pretended to “choose” the only candidates who were running for office.

…

The authors explain that the reforms demanded by the West weren’t like “grafting a few foreign elements onto indigenous traditions,” but rather “put inherited identity at risk” and stoked “fears of cultural erasure.” From my perspective, this is what you see when you get over here and start looking more closely at what George Soros and people like him, both within and outside of government, did, and seek to do. And so, as the authors put it:

[P]opulism’s political rise cannot be explained without taking account of widespread resentment at the way (imposed) no-alternative Soviet communism, after 1989, was replaced by (invited) no-alternative Western liberalism.

Here’s something I bet you didn’t know about Viktor Orban. After the 2008 crash, Western governments bailed out banks left and right. When Orban came to power in 2010, he chose not to do that, instead taking the side of hard-pressed Hungarian homeowners who had been allowed to take out home loans in Swiss francs. He and his party passed a law to protect homeowners at the expense of the banks.

…

Remember, they wrote this in 2019, but think of this principle applied to now. If you are Viktor Orban, and you look to the West in 2021, you see a United States that is destroying itself with Critical Race Theory wokeness, which is starting to come to Western Europe. You see the Left here in Hungary starting to embrace it (e.g., the Black Lives Matter statue the liberal Budapest city government erected earlier this year), and you know that it will be bad for your country if this poisonous ideology takes root. So you encourage Hungary’s national soccer team not to take the knee before matches.

…

And so, the disintegrating West, headed towards shipwreck, is going to bring Hungary to its knees for trying to protect itself.

…

The authors go on to say that what it means to be a good Western liberal is changing so fast that people in the East never know for sure what vision of society they are supposed to imitate. Think about what it was like for us Americans. I was born in 1967, and educated by schools, by the media, and by every aspect of culture to believe in Dr. Martin Luther King’s colorblind vision. I took it seriously, and I believed in it, and do believe in it. But now the same liberals who argued for that are now arguing that this vision was wrong — that to truly be against racism, you must train yourself to think in exactly the same categories that white segregationists used prior to the Civil Rights revolution. It makes no sense. You come to understand that you have been conned. Never, ever believe liberals: they will change the rules on you, and blame you for your own confusion.

The authors go on to say that sex education in the schools has been a huge flashpoint of conflict within Central and Eastern European societies. It has to do with parents losing the ability to transmit their values to their children. In the flush of post-1989 enthusiasm, young people didn’t so much rebel against their parents as to feel pity for them, and to stop listening to them. The young took their catechism from the Western cathedral. Sex ed was a neuralgic point of the overall struggle between Central European populists, who believed that the traditions and the national heritage of these countries were in danger of being wiped out by the West. Imagine, then, what Hungarian voters must think when they hear the Dutch prime minister threaten to bring their country to its knees because he knows better what they should be teaching their children than they do.

The authors tell a story about how Viktor Orban, at the time an up-and-coming liberal from the countryside, was publicly humiliated by a well-known liberal MP from Budapest’s urban intelligentsia, who adjusted Orban’s tie at a reception, as if doing a favor for a hick cousin.

They go on to explain Orban’s illiberalism by quoting his criticism that liberalism is “basically indifferent to the history and fate of the nation.” Liberal universalism “destroys solidarity,” Orban believes. (“If everybody is your brother, then you are an only child.”) Orban believes that liberal policies will lead to the dissolution of the Hungarian nation because liberals by nature think of the nation as an impediment to the realization of their ideals.

The authors go on to say that Orban has long campaigned on the abuse of the public patrimony by the regime that governed Hungary after 1989, when Communist insiders used their connections to plunder what was left of the public purse, and left the weak to fend for themselves. This attitude explains Orban’s hostility to the banks after the 2008 crash. “[I]n Central and Eastern Europe, defending private property and capitalism came to mean defending the privileges illicitly acquired by the old communist elites,” they write.

(Readers, did you know any of this context about Orban and other critics of liberalism from Central Europe? Doesn’t it make you wonder what more you’re not being told?)

…

What’s preposterous about it? I know these guys are liberals, but what Duda identifies is the difference between soft totalitarianism and hard totalitarianism. In both cases, the Poles don’t get to decide for themselves.

There’s more to the book, but I’ll stop here for today. You don’t have to believe that Viktor Orban or any of these other politicians are saints in order to understand why they believe what they believe — and why people vote for them. The Cathedral did the same thing to Trump and to Trump’s supporters. Yes, there were some Trump voters with disreputable motives, and in any case Trump was by and large not an effective president. But the anti-Trump opposition’s passionate belief in its own righteousness rendered it helpless to understand why so many people hated it, and do hate it still. Trump’s own incompetence made it harder to take that critique seriously.

Trump lost, and most everything he did was wiped away by his successor. Viktor Orban wins — and that is the unforgiveable sin in the eyes of the Cathedral.

Here is the radicalizing thing, though. As you will know if you’ve been reading this blog, Viktor Orban appears to be building a conservative deep state in Hungary. His government has transferred a fortune in public funds and authority over some universities to privately controlled institutions. It is difficult to accept this, at least for me. At the same time, it is impossible for me to look at what has happened in my own country, with the Cathedral now extending its control over every aspect of American life, and to criticize Orban for this. The alternative seems to be surrendering your country and its traditions to the Cathedral, which pretends to be liberal, but which is in fact growing even more authoritarian and intolerant than anything Orban and his party stand for.

It is becoming harder to think of liberalism in the sense we have known it as viable anymore. Me, I would actually prefer to live in a more or less liberal, pluralistic society, where California was free to be California, and Louisiana free to be Louisiana, and so forth. This is not the world we live in.

…

The controversy around Viktor Orban is not only about an obstreperous Hungarian politician who doesn’t play well with others. It’s about the future of the West.

UPDATE: To put it succinctly, we might need soft authoritarianism to save us from soft totalitarianism.

#rod dreher #the american conservative #hungary #orbán viktor

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robbyrobinson · 4 years ago

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CTHULHU MYTHOS X OWL HOUSE CROSSOVER: GODS AWAKEN (Pt. VII)

Fire rained down from the sky onto a small village engulfing all in its path. Smoke filled the sky, obscuring the sun and smothering the light. Houses of wood were incinerated by fireballs. Screams of terror surged through the broken remnants of the village.

"Hush, now, please,” a woman said. She had her child wrapped tightly in her arms whilst simultaneously trying to silence the howls coming from him. She ran over the burning ashes of what used to be her village for what seemed like hours. Screams of bloody murder and misery came from afar, but she could not cease her escape now lest her child be in danger.

“Please, help!”

She stopped and scanned the area. Sensing that it came from an eastern region, the mother turned around and sprinted. A house was leveled and torn into pieces with fire dancing in every direction. She could see two small figures standing by what used to be a part of one of the beams of the house. When she ran closer to them, she could make out that they were a brother and sister. They crouched down in front of the debris. The daughter, the youngest, looked up at the mother with a worried expression.

“Our mother is stuck under there.”

A medium-sized woman was wedged between the ground and the ceiling. Flames tickled around her; each lick of one of the flames wrought a moan of pain from her. She saw the mother and gave a weak smile.

“My legs are broken,” she explained, “please take my children and run away from this place.”

“No, Mom, we’re going to save you!” the brother spoke up. He grasped some piece of the ceiling and chunked it over his shoulder. The flames were beginning to spread. His mother pushed herself up for a few seconds giving the impression that she was doing her best to slide herself out.

“There’s no time!” she rubbed one of her son’s tears away before speaking again. “You have to leave.”

The two siblings looked at their mother and then towards the woman that they called over. While the young mother weighed her options, the ground shook. They all glared at the sky their hopes dashed. A winged beast with the semblance of a gigantic bat and as black as night hovered above them. Its three-lobed, singular eye throbbed. The young mother, breaking from the awe she felt, quickly collected her son and resumed her running. The two kids glanced over horrified.

“Wait, don’t leave us!”

She did not turn back not until the sounds of the family’s screaming became a memory. In her heart, she knew that she had some accountability to the fate that befell on the family, but she panicked when that thing arrived. She had to keep her child safe no matter the cost. Her legs grew tired by the second and yet, her child was still crying without halt. The tendons in the mother’s ankles were tiring themselves out. There came the sound of a rushing wind. The mother’s legs killed her, but she attempted to run again.

The bat monster was on the horizon again narrowing her down. The beast’s eye glared again, shooting fire towards the mother. With little thought, she tossed her child aside and was engulfed in the fire. The baby’s crying became louder likely realizing what happened to his mother. He looked up and saw a smoky vapor flowing towards him.

“Well, what have we here?” the voice said.

A small, green orb began to crystallize in front of the young child.

“GAH!”

King jolted himself awake sweat rolling down his head in thick beads. Luz looked up from her mat, concerned. “King? What is it?”

King’s panting slacked down in his attempt to compose himself. “Uh, yeah, Luz; I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” Luz asked, probing further, “sounded like you were having a nightmare.”

King shook his head. “Luz, Luz, I am fine; don’t think about it!”

Before Luz could say anything else, the living tube-bird known only as Hooty barged in.

“Hoot! Hoot! Want to know my worst nightmare?”

“No, no one wants that!” King said annoyed.

"As the people of the Isles knows, three traitors were taken before our lord, Emperor Belos, the other day and were found guilty of the highest treason for trying to sow the seeds of rebellion against our way of life. The three were petrified towards the midday.”

The residents of the Owl House quietly listened to the announcement over the news. Eda and King casually started eating their breakfast, but Luz could not eat. She felt her fists tense up.

“What is it, kid?” Eda asked, taking note of it.

“How can anyone allow Belos to do something like this?” she slammed her fists on the table.

“Rule of the land, kid,” King responded.

Luz slumped in her chair. “I guess so...but Belos should be stopped.”

“That isn’t our concern now,” Eda clarified, “don’t even think of trying to face him again on your own.”

Luz nodded once more and she began to eat her breakfast as quietly as she could muster.

“Besides, we have bigger problems,” Eda said.

Ever since she betrayed Emperor Belos and became a fugitive, Lilith, in a sense, broke down. The moment she entered the house, she collapsed on the couch and remained there for a solid two weeks. In that course of time, Lilith had accumulated a lot of powder dust from the chips and other junk food she was eating. She passively was browsing through Penstagram with little interest. Her clothes had begun to wreak in the meantime. Dark bags were under her eyes.

“She’s...not taking her becoming a fugitive too well isn’t she?” Luz asked/

“Well, it’s better than the alternative,” Eda said.

“What is the alternative?”

“The Emperor could send someone to kill her in her sleep,” Eda snickered.

Luz and King gave the Owl Lady a serious look. Eda quickly stopped laughing. “What? That’s true.”

Luz walked into the room and stood by the couch. “Are you alright, Lilith?”

“Luz, have you ever dedicated your entire life to a cause because of some shady man’s promise only to then realize that in all those years said person wasn’t going to honor their part of the deal and you’re likely now on the run from the government lest they take your head?”

Luz tapped her chin. “I...I don’t think so.”

Lilith sighs. “The point is I no longer have any significant purpose because I have been lied to for years; I hurt my young sister for a meaningless position because I thought I could cure her, but now...here I am just wallowing in my despair.”

Luz squinted her eyes in thought. “Well, we have to get you back on your feet somehow.”

Lilith laid down on the couch. “Yeah, yeah; while you brainstorm, I’ll just lay here for a moment.”

“You were on the couch for two weeks!” Eda informed her, “I just had it cleaned!”

Lilith tosses a puff chip at her. “Just leave me alone; the couch is the only one who understands me.”

Eda scowled momentarily and walked out of the room. Luz watched Lilith for a couple seconds before deciding to head out as well. King was finishing up with his food when he saw them return. “Did it work out?”

“Not exactly,” Luz said in a bitter tone.

“Well, we can’t have her just sit there all day,” King noted.

“We could always pry her off,” Luz said.

“Already tried that: her butt’s glued to the seat.” Eda crossed her arms. “I think she transcended becoming one with it.”

Luz snapped her fingers. “Maybe we can take a trip to the commerce to buy her something.”

Eda raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure that will work?”

Luz shrugged. “Well, it could give her some motivation.”

Eda rubbed her temples and sighed deeply. “Alright; guess we’ll fly there.”

Eda came upon her staff but noticed that her palisman was missing. “That’s odd.”

“What is it, Eda?” Luz asked.

“Where’s Owlbert?”

Owlbert was outside the Owl House staring at the ground. It remained in that stance for a while until it felt that the time was right. Owlbert crouched down to place its ear against the grass and listened. With one swift scoop of its beak, it held a fat, slimy worm. It grabbed the worm with its tongue and pulled it into its mouth.

As Owlbert was enjoying the worm, a shrill sound rung out. Owlbert tilted its head in curiosity and flew. After a short distance, Owlbert could see what was making the sound: it was one of the children of the Bat Queen hunched on its side.

The gang was looking for the missing palisman throughout the house but there was no sign of the little owl. They looked near and around the couch; in their bedrooms; the restroom...zilch.

“Did you go anywhere yesterday, Eda?” Luz asked.

“Wouldn’t it make sense that I would know whether or not I did?” Eda said in response.

Hooty, per usual, popped in again unannounced. “Oh, I know where he is! Hoot, hoot!”

Eda, Luz, and King gave Hooty a shared look of annoyance.

“What do you mean that you already knew?” Eda asked in a thinly-veiled attempt to keep from snapping.

“He’s outside,” Hooty clarified.

“And why did you choose to tell us now?”

Hooty pouted. “You guys hardly ever pay attention to me, so I thought it would be fun for you guys to search around inside me.”

Eda punched the wall.

“OW!! Okay, okay, you don’t have to be a jerk!” Hooty remarked “hoot!”

The gang approached Owlbert and surrounded him. They too saw the same site. From the looks of it, the child of the Bat Queen’s wing was injured. Luz crouched down and extended her hand. The bat child hissed at her which did make her retract her hand, but she sensed it was because of the pain it was in.

“But if this one is here, where are the other two?” Eda said.

Luz’s eyes widened. “Something must have happened!”

She got up and started to run off, but Eda caught her at the last minute. “Slow yourself, kid.”

“But the Bat Queen might be in danger!”

Eda nodded. “I don’t want you to go off on your own.”

Luz’s gaze sunk. Eda frowned before continuing. “Which is why King and I will go with you.”

Luz perked back up. “Well, what are we waiting for?!”

Eda walked back into the house carrying the injured bat child. Lilith hadn’t moved from her spot on the couch even when they were tearing the house apart to find Owlbert. Eda rolled her eyes and placed the injured infant on her back. “Luz and I are going out for a bit; you and Hooty take care of this child.”

Lilith looked up at her younger sister. “I can’t take care of a child like how you do, Eda.”

“Well, it’s either you, or the child dies” Eda sternly said.

“Hoot, hoot! Ooo, a baby!” Hooty said in his annoying tone of voice. “I can teach it everything I know!”

After leaving the infant bat child in the care of her older sister and the house demon, the group of misfits embark to the forest. The clock was ticking.

#the owl house #cthulhu mythos #thecthulhumythos #cthulhumythos #fanfiction #palisman #palismans #owlbert

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flesymetahiq · 4 years ago

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Magic ask for magical characters

God, it’s good that I am subscribed to such great writers who are trying in every possible way to help develop other characters associated with their favorite fandom, live happily <3 Egm, thank you XD

Bad English warning ~w~ I’m really sorry

The questions were constructed by @arcanecadenza, thank you very much again and sorry >w<

1.Magic always comes at a cost… what price does your character have to pay in order to practice it? What kind of trade-offs are involved?

I want to talk about Eleanor, earlier I mentioned that her mother (Akane) came from the Haiko clan, in fact, they were not just cursed magicians who also owned dark magic (of course). The clan leaders concluded in their bodies the energy of that nine-tailed fox-demon which had been killed by their ancestors. And it would seem that this is not a curse at all. But many of them died because their body would simply explode, they could not withstand so much energy, some did not die such a painful death, they turned into monsters, but in their case, it would be better to die at the hands of Haiko magicians.

Haiko Fuji, one of the clan’s leaders, acted quite cunningly, passing with his blood his curse to another group of people (Some of them were Madara and Tsunobi), so his daughter Haiko Akane got only part of the energy of the nine-tailed.

To use the power of the demon inside you, you must donate your blood. The demon is held at the expense of being marked in the form of red symbols, it is on them that the Haiko magicians make a deep cut, thus giving their blood. After that, many painful transformations take place with their body.

Elinor currently does not use her inherited power, which is called a curse, because she does not even remember about it, nor about her past, which is probably to some extent good for her.Not to say that the marks and symbols on her body do not cause her questions. Of course, Eleanor was very scared to find them on her body after amnesia, but any attempts to connect them with her past and remember ended in loss of consciousness, so she tries to cover them up and not especially go in touch with them.

About the magic associated with the elements.The best, but at the same time the most dangerous source of this power is fire. Wizards specializing in fire magic often gain great strength, but pay for it by dependence on the elements of fire, burns, and sometimes even die in flames, for example.Anyway, magic consumes a lot of energy, which is very difficult to recover, it is also likely to pay for the use of magic. It is also worth mentioning that Elinor, after applying any serious spells, suffers very much later, fainting or migraines

2.“For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.” What kind of magic directly opposes that of your character? As in, what kind of magic would complement theirs so perfectly that it would be difficult for either one of them to get the upper hand on the other?

That will sound a little funny. But for example, the complete opposite of the demonic magic of Elinor is white magic. But since it uses just white magic, its opposite is demonic, it can also be clarified that if she possessed demonic magic, she could never use it with the magic of elements.

3.What kind of magic would effectively neutralize that of your character?

Magic associated with the penetration of consciousness and its control, so Eleanor can not resist.

4.Is their magic more suited to offence or defence? Or is it more versatile? What is it like when used in a fight?

The magic that Elinor uses now is more suitable for defense than for offence,which cannot be said about its demonic side.

Spells that are/were more commonly used in fight.

Fire(more for offence)

🔥Fire ball. A spell in which fire erupts from the mouth in the form of a massive ball of roaring flame.Also associated with this spell, the creation of a small fiery sphere in the hands

🔥Fire trap. With this spell, the enemy is in a circle of flame, which over time begins to narrow.

Water (more for defence)

🌊 Streaming the water:The spell draws water from a source. In this case, the magician can manipulate it, for example, create large waves, barriers, shapes, whirlpools and so on.

🌳Earth (more for defence)

Eleanor uses only one spell, by. which creates strong currents of wind, most likely it will be able to repel the enemy or prevent him from approaching

.🍃Wind (more for defence)

Eleanor uses only one spell, which creates strong currents of wind, most likely it will be able to repel the enemy or prevent him from approaching.

Dark Magic spells

Puppeteer(more for offence)

With this spell, contact with the enemy is necessary, for example, you must touch him, after which Elinor forms the threads connecting her hands with the body of the enemy, and gives her full control over his body, making the enemy his puppet.

Devil eyes (more for offence)

With this spell, under a step one big circle is formed, inside of which there are smaller circles, each circle is crossed out by a small line, once at the intersection points, raised bayonets rarely grow.The circles begin to spin, new points of intersection begin to appear, and hence new bayonets.

5.What are some interesting subsets and/or sub-practices of their magic? Like, what’s something they can or something that other practitioners of the same kind of magic can do that would surprise someone else?

In addition to the magic associated with the elements and demons, Eleanor is very fond of doing all sorts of wonderful tricks. The most elementary, for example, she can make a dancers from an ordinary napkin and arrange a whole ball of napkins ladies and gentlemen at some feast, which will be very effective and beautiful.

6.If they have a magical gateway, does their magic shape it? For example, the pool of water in Asra’s oasis and the fact that he travels to it is by way of bodies of water is likely representative of his affinity for water magic.

There are special mirrors that are a portal to Augusay (the kingdom where Elinor herself was born). These mirrors are in the house of the late aunt Elinor, but she still does not know about their existence.

7.Does magic run in their family? Alternatively, if they are an Apprentice, how does their magic compare to that of their aunt?

Aunt was a rather advanced sorceress; her magic was completely based on the elements of the elements, especially the element of fire was developed.Unlike her brother, Victor (Elinor's father), she owned magic. I also mentioned several times that Elinor inherited magical abilities from her mother Akane too.

8.How sustainable is their magic? Where do they fall on a sliding scale of getting tired after one spell versus feeling more and more energized the more they cast?

If you do not talk about the dark magic of Elinor, then it is quite stable. However, depending on the spell. If this spell (for example) is associated with the creation of large spheres of fire, then the larger the sphere, the greater the likelihood that Elinor will lose consciousness. If for example the mass of water that Elinor controls is very large, then she will not be able to hold out for too long.What about dark magic, the longer Elinor casts spells, such as the devil's eye or a puppeteer, there will be a chance that she will lose control over herself, otherwise her body will transform into a nine-tailed Demon, more precisely, a seal on her body will be destroyed.

9.Where does your character’s magical potential come from? Is it inherent? Is it because of some sort of bargain that they struck with an entity/Major or Minor Arcana? Is it a skill that was taught and honed? Is it a combination of things?

I wrote earlier, so the answer will be short. The magic of Elinor was inherited from her mother as well as the curse of the nine-tailed, about the Haiku clan I already described in questions regarding apprentice 10.If you had to assign an elemental denotation to their magic, what would it be and why? Fire, earth, air, or water?

Fire.Her entire clan had a predisposition to fire (Uchiha lol)

11.What is their relationship with magic like? Is it something they feel blessed to have or is it more of a burden/curse to them?

Eleanor does not know about her demonic power, so her abilities would be a terrible curse for her. So she believes that this is a great gift that can make the world a better place, so she is trying her best to develop her magical demand.

12.In what ways could they potentially misuse their magic? If you’re not sure of what I mean, just think of how a skilled waterbender could just as easily bloodbend to accomplish their goals/get what they want.

Many options, especially if you take dark magic, the puppeteer’s spell is very suitable for achieving any goals, because with it you gain control over someone else’s body.

13.What school(s) of magic best encompasses that of your character? Abjuration, conjuration, divination, enchantment, evocation, illusion, necromancy, or transmutation? Yes, this is a Dungeons and Dragons question because I’m a nerd and I’m very curious.

Oh... I think.. Oh.. conjuration probably. 14.What kind of ethics are associated with your character’s practice of their magic? What kind of in-universe laws do you think might exist that pertain to it?

In my opinion, the most important laws regarding magic are the prohibitions on using any ancient forbidden spells, agreements with creatures from other worlds, and the prohibition on using magic outside Hogwarts (just kidding), that is, I mean the prohibition on using magic for the purpose of killing innocent people (yes my fantasy is as sucks as my English, sorry)

15.If your character was tasked with teaching someone else about their magic, where would they start? What would the learning curve look like for that?

It is difficult to imagine Elinor as a master of (hehe) magic. To begin with, she would test her apprentice to make sure that he / she would not abuse his magic and spells, whether he / she would use magic for good. After that, it will be necessary to explain all the dangerous moments associated with magic, its advantages, the minuses of the story and the consequences of its correct and incorrect use and much, much more.

#the arcana #the arcane game #the arcana apprentice #ask #magician #the arcana oc #fan apprentice #the arcana ask meme #ask meme

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work-for-mattia · 4 years ago

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9/1/2021

Dear Mattia,

I hope you are well.

Following my previous email, I would like to clarify that I am very interested in the position you are currently offering, and by no means I was intending to draw an open critique of your previous praxis. I acknowledge that as an international corporation with decades of experience in hiring practices, I consent to the idea that indeed your company needed someone for the position of Mattia that would fit into your company culture, and would contribute to its growth through already established channels. What struck me about your latest post was the openess of the call as such: from musts, it turned to desirable; from required, to preferred; from essential, to optional.

I obviously cannot be sure whether that is a direct result of a series of edifying situations with previously hired individuals, a lack of suitable candidates, or the persevering vacancy due to no candidates whatoever; what I may say is that the message that you are communicating to potential applicants is more encouraging, and may atrract people with hitherto unimaginable lack of certain qualities on the one hand, but also with alternative views that may herein enrich your company and move it into an new direction on the other.

One of these new, eager candidates would be me - the previous absolutes of the job postings often discouraged me from applying to a job that otherwise I would have been very eager to claim, since I could see a lot of myself in it. As a result, I came to doubt my skills and their hiearchies of importance. Even trying to claim the job that I was so convinced that belonged to me seemed unimaginable; and when I applied, it felt more as if I was trying to fathom a doppelgänger in my place that, unlike me, could fulfil the required criteria for the position of Mattia.

Thus, my current gut feeling is one of optimism: instead of building on an upward-looking feeling of not being enough for my desired position, I feel invited to, perhaps over time, grow into the role, were I to be selected. I will thus try to lead by example, and attempt, tonight, to expose what a previously constructed, grown and ventriloqual identity tried to hide away from you:

I really like the job, because it seems to require methodical and creative input on a regular basis: both qualities that I believe to posses. Despite that, I have been experiencing mental health issues that closely relate to my self-doubt, physical tirendess and demoralisation over my own state of affairs. Just when I think that I am getting things right, something inside me breaks and I have to start anew, wherever that setback has swayed me to. Looking back, in better moments like tonight, I believe that could be partially due to the desire to claim visions of imagined perfection, such as the one I always saw in the role of Mattia.

I often believe that my PhD, which I started last October at King’s College London concerning the relationship between gesture and concrete poetry, is an absolute tragedy, because I am struggling to dedicate enough time to it and I feel demoralised by my lack of progress. I dance in my living room without glasses on before going to sleep: with just the dimmest of the lights turned on, I free myself through erratic gestures and smile broadly into the mirror in front of me. The smile seems fuzzy and it seems to conceal more than it does; my body seems fuzzy, and I lead myself to believe that it is more compact that it is. I am scared of reopening the draft of my novel, because I am scared that it would suddently read terribly and I will not find the energy and determination to put it back together, and turn it back into something that I am proud of. I had to mentally give up on getting my debut poetry collection published by my preferred publishers over two years ago, although that still eats me alive when I am chopping up vegetables for my lunch.

I eat salads every day, because I am scared that I would not find the energy to eat vegetables otherwise. I really miss my partner, who has been away for 6 weeks, and, due to current circumstances, will be away for at least another 6. I am also slowly descending into folly over the mouse invasion that I have been facing by myself in the past months, and when it seems like I have indeed done everything possible to prevent them from entering my flat, they invariably reappear in this or that corner. I struggle to sleep because of the stress they are causing me, and I ended up calling the city council so they could place poison around.

In many ways, everything mentioned above is a failure of sorts. And in fact, they reflect the current state of affairs: crying in shopping aisles, watching ticktocs for hours on end and sleeping till late are all tactics my mind has devised to make me forget that there are jobs that are mine and that I should go and grab for my peace of mind. On the bright side though, I am aware of these tricks, and I sometimes take all the determination I posses to spend it on tearing that veiled beligerance away.

I am surrounded by incredibly supporting friends, and my partner, who sees in me what I wish I saw in myself at all times. He is very special, and I love him very dearly. I have been working, in the confinement of me as well as with others, on ways of improving my self confidence. For instance, my current focus is on unlearning to see other people’s disappointment in me as an inspiration for my own self-deception.

I have been always wanting to learn Portuguese to a fully proficient level, and perhaps eventually move to Lisbon. To motivate myself, I bought myself flight tickets for a 5-week trip in September.

For years, I really struggled to relax when facing the task of painting; letting myself go meant to abbandon the control that my self-doubt so scrupolously installed into my system, and not only that it produced mixed results, but it also felt terrible. I have worked on that; nowadays, painting has become the main medium I use to express myself, and it helps me to work on my creativity and painterly skills. I find it deeply relaxing, and I feel the smooth brushstrokes and the smell of turpentine slowly luring me out of my confinements.

I hope this exposé of sorts has been helpful. If you wish to discuss your last job posting further, please do get in touch. In the meantime, I will be jumping around in my living room, listening to music and dance: performances on canvas or for the beauty of the mirrored vision will hopefully leave a lasting impression that I hope may find its use in your company in the near future.

With kind regards,

Mattia

#me

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