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ohmylcve · 10 days ago

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are we, though? ready for this night? maisie questions, as she's too busy trying not to show off the consequences of the rush her heart had just put herself into, after what it might be the deepest moment they've shared that night. had her shyness not taken place, perhaps she could've noticed how his heart seemed to be racing just as much. had her gaze not tried to find somewhere else other than his eyes, she would've noticed how he was looking at her. for someone who's been studying human life, behaviours and culture, maisie seemed to lack all knowledge when it came to her interaction with julian. applying theories was never her thing to begin with: first, she saw the agony, pain and whatever other feelings that her patients were feeling; then, she would find a theory to understand their moments. but how could she find a theory, when she was the object of the study? when her own feelings were at stake? of course, she could look at julian and try to read him as she did to her patients... but whenever working, she would always try to stay numb, to not let her thoughts and feelings intervene the session. that was just impossible with julian: if there was one to make her feel something, it was him. maybe, that was the whole reason why she loved being with him, because he was not like her patients, and yet cultivated on her just the same curiosity as if he was one.

as maisie was now feeling way more relaxed than before, perhaps not only by the chemicals from the drug messing with her biology, but also by the moments they've shared messing with her psychological, there's her own hidden allowance to just staring at him. as the joint goes back to his own mouth, the movement of his lips to embrace the thin cylinder seems like his own way of living poetry; as if a julian joint was finally meeting the lips it belonged to. half-shut eyes while appreciating the pull, holding the haze, then letting it all out... maisie even closes her eyes to feel like she's being part of it; as if when he lets the haze out, she inhales it once again, just to make them both feel like one. after opening her eyes, with the haze fulfilling the environment between them, she offers him a smile when he silently invites her to go back to his own bedroom.

this is where it all started. a first step into his room like it's the first time, like the room is now made to hold both of them, and only them, which is precisely why she closes the door behind them: it was their place, and though he didn't share his house with anyone else, there was a hidden - one more secret of theirs - significance to closing the door. one she was sure he would understand. enlinghtened by his bedside lamp, maisie looks up to the ceiling. the textures she was now seeing, the waves over here and there, it all made her want to move as if she was enjoying a song - and perhaps she was: the same she was humming back then. almost woken up by the sound of the snacks being put on the bed, maisie lets out a laugh after noticing how off she was for a quite while. then following his moves in a clearly not so balanced walk to the lamp, turning it off as the television's already turned on. she also drops herself, way closer to him than usual, and for a moment she forgets that they're supposed to watch a movie, because the way she sits.... it's facing julian, instead of the television. then, a julian joint on julian's lips again... then once more... maisie's mesmerized by the movement and now, she can't even control herself: she looks at his lips, wondering how would it feel to be the joint. to be pulled, to be inhaled, to be held, and to be let go by him. for a split second, she feels just like the joint, leading her hand to it, pulling him with the joint once more, to her own lips. of course she's already too high... but she's safe. there's nothing she can't do with him around. being as high as she can... perhaps enough not to fool herself into thinking the only reason why she's holding his hand is because of the joint.

after the pull, she holds back and sees his finger slightly touching his lips - what's with his lips today, anyway? - and follows straight into his eyes. though he gestures a silent command, the subtle laugh daring to come out makes maisie let out the haze with a laugh, coffing a bit while doing so. "sorry. won't make a- sorry." she says it in a lower tone of voice, finally turning to face the television when she feels his body closer to her. he's feeling it too, she thinks, there's no way he's not.

as the movie begins, the whole sound atmosphere seems to drag them away from the bedroom, to that very empty field. with a slight tilt of her head, focused on watching the movie, maisie tries to withdraw all of her strength to still keep on looking at the screen: though she's interested in watching it, she knows her state of mind isn't quite ready for it and she also knows that julian is looking at her. it demands too much of her to pay attention to the movie, while knowing he looks at her and while feeling hungry. so she turns to him once more - noticing how close they are - and measuring the snacks with her head. after all, she was dared not to say a word, right?

julian watched her, mesmerized, as maisie hummed to herself, preparing the popcorn with such quiet focus it was almost meditative. he loved these moments—the ones where she got so absorbed in something ordinary, like popcorn, as if it held some hidden significance only she could see. her words floated through his mind: the world isn’t quite ready for our skills. he grinned, the warmth in her playful confidence making him laugh softly to himself. they both knew they’d probably end up ordering pizza or something later, but he couldn’t care less. the point was that they were here, together, making something silly and ridiculous and completely theirs. when she laughed, teasing him about his 'weed resistance', julian couldn’t help but notice the light in her eyes, brighter tonight, somehow—an energy that seemed to mirror the thrill he felt building inside. she’d always had this groundedness, something that balanced his carefree nature. he was all too aware of the unspoken things between them tonight, of the way her gaze held him just a second longer than it usually did. for a fleeting moment, he wondered if she was feeling it too—the shift, the tension that neither of them could seem to name but both felt so strongly. he pretended to busy himself with the random snacks he’d gathered, lining them up on the counter, but his focus was entirely on her, on the way she moved through his kitchen as if it were her own. he felt like he was seeing her in a new light, one that had somehow always been there but that he was only truly noticing now. she was humming softly, her back to him, and he was struck by how much he’d miss her if she weren’t here, if these quiet, ordinary moments didn’t exist.

he chuckled when she struggled with the popcorn bag, a little fumble that she quickly fixed with that proud little smile he knew so well. and then, out of nowhere, she was right there, inches from him. his pulse quickened when she reached for his wrist, guiding the joint to her lips. the touch was so natural, so easy, that it felt like she’d done it a thousand times. yet there was something about the way her hand lingered, her fingers gently encircling his wrist, that made his heart race in a way he couldn’t quite control. as she inhaled, her eyes met his, and for a split second, everything around them faded. there was something electric, something neither of them was quite saying but was undeniably there, simmering just beneath the surface. he held her gaze, letting himself get lost in it, until she finally exhaled, the smoke swirling around them, leaving a hazy intimacy in its wake. maisie’s cheeks flushed slightly as she took a step back, breaking the spell with a quick, casual laugh, as if trying to brush off the moment. but julian noticed the blush, the way her heart seemed to be racing, as if her body were betraying a secret her mind couldn’t—or wouldn’t—put into words. he could feel his own heart beating faster, a rhythm he couldn’t ignore. “movie-food-tasting night,” he echoed, his voice lower than he intended, softened by the haze and whatever this was between them. “yeah… i think we’re ready.” he felt the urge to reach out, to close the space between them, but he held back, letting the moment settle. there was a line here, invisible but palpable, one that they’d been skirting around all night. it was fragile, delicate, and he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to cross it or simply savor this closeness, to let it linger in the air around them like a shared secret. julian took a deep, steadying pull from the joint, the smoke filling his lungs as if he could somehow inhale the clarity he needed for this night. he held it for a moment, letting the haze wash over him, then exhaled slowly, watching the tendrils swirl into the air between him and maisie. with a quiet nod, he motioned her toward the bedroom, gathering up the bowl of popcorn and the absurd assortment of snacks and sauces, as if they were embarking on some ridiculous yet sacred ritual.

back in his room, the atmosphere was cozier, more intimate. the dim glow of his bedside lamp cast a soft light across the bed, making everything feel more private, as if they’d created their own little world apart from the rest of reality. julian set the snacks on the bed, then dropped himself onto the floor beside it, leaning back against the mattress. he took another hit from the joint, this time slower, as if savoring the taste would somehow steel him for whatever was simmering between them. and another deep drag, feeling the weight of the haze settle over him, softening the edges of the room and making everything feel surreal, almost dreamlike. with a sly grin, he turned to maisie, his eyes half-lidded but shining with mischief. he lifted a finger to his lips, gesturing for her to keep quiet, but the look in his eyes was anything but serious.there was a teasing challenge there, daring her to keep silent while he pressed play on the remote. he could barely stifle his laugh as he shifted closer to her, the silent dare hanging in the air between them like a private joke, a game only they could play. he leaned back, letting the movie begin, the screen’s soft glow filling the room. with every puff, he felt himself drifting further into a state where everything felt like it mattered and didn’t, all at once. the film’s opening scenes flickered across the screen, but he found it hard to focus, his attention drawn back to maisie every few seconds. the film he’d chosen, a field in england (2013), was an odd, haunting choice, the kind of movie that burrowed into your mind with its surreal visuals and strange, atmospheric tension. the screen flickered with images of a bleak english field under a stark, washed-out sky, the colors muted as though the life had been drained from them. the story was set during the english civil war, following a group of deserters who find themselves lost in the countryside, their journey quickly spiraling into a bizarre nightmare of paranoia, power struggles, and twisted alchemy.

#maisie's #maisie & julian #hiddcnhorizcns

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deadpoetsmuses · 4 years ago

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"inspiration". | neil perry, dps.

in which a summer is spent with the poets, with a significant feature of neil perry.

✧ title: "inspiration".

✧ pairing: neil perry x fem!reader.

✧ genre: fluff, with slight mentions of angst.

✧ word count: 2,733.

✧ warnings: written in headcanon format, home life mentions, the reader lives in meeks' grandma's house, knox being a simp for chris.

✦ author’s note: requested by @mybabysweetascanbe! it's kinda funky how i wrote this as a headcanon but it still ended up being my longest fic lmao. also i wrote the poem that neil made for the reader myself so i'm sorry if it's kinda cheesy 🗿 but i hope you all enjoy this one !! don't forget to take care of yourselves guys <3

✎ The summer holidays had always been a time for the poets’ relief.

✎ Their academic year was constantly filled with difficulties for the poets, but it was harder for some when they were home for the summer.

✎ Neil felt as though he couldn’t be himself-- he loved reading and writing even more so than he did with accomplishing any of his parents’ wishes, like heading into medical school. He especially loved to act, and it was rough to keep that concealed around his dictatorial father.

✎ Todd’s older brother would be at home as well, and it was worse enough being in his shadow; but it had gotten worse with every one of his parents’ daily proclamations.

“We were quite disappointed with your grades from last semester, son,” His father reprimanded, looking down on him with stern eyes. “I just don’t understand what’s gotten into you. Your mother and I raised you quite well and you have your brother to guide you along. You know that he’s remarkably intelligent and well accomplished. Why can’t you be more like your brother?”

✎ Charlie and Knox had been just like Neil. The constant pressure that their parents put on them about becoming a banker and a lawyer was daunting; and all they wanted was to simply live as regular teenagers without concern for their future.

✎ Fortunately, Meeks’ grandmother was a woman who had a colossal and motherly love for the poets with a sizable residence in which her grandson’s friends could inhabit during their vacation.

✎ Thus, the poets resided in the Meeks household in the summer before their senior year so as to escape the stress and troubles brought to them in their own homes.

✎ Even though the summer was fleeting and their time was short, the poets found their time to be everlasting when they met the student boarder of the house.

✎ She went by the name of Y/N, which was a name that sounded just as sweet as the lady to whom it was attached.

“Hello, everybody! I’m Y/N!” The girl said, reaching out her hand to shake one of the poets’. Truth be told, it had been quite some time since any one of the boys had been in close contact with a woman; so they found themselves to be quite the martians in the situation. It took a few moments before one of the poets-- Neil Perry-- could offer his hand and shake hers. “I’m Neil! We’re friends of Meeks and his classmates from Welton.” The boy swore that he felt a spark as their fingertips touched, but he tossed the feeling aside; along with the apparition that he saw of a faint glimmer in Y/N’s eyes.

✎ The boys instantly took her in to their little group, and they all fell in love with her personality-- which was a platonic statement of course; but Neil Perry found this to be otherwise as he actually began falling into love with the new girl.

✎ He loved the way she cared for her new friends, the way she projected her personality through the clothes she wore, and all of the little smiles she gave him.

✎ With every beam and twinkle that she delivered, Y/N found herself to be falling for Neil as well.

✎ He provided a feeling for her that made the blacks of her eyes expand and butterflies to quiver inside-- which was the very same one Neil had felt when he first laid his eyes on her.

✎ She had been a fantastic addition to the band of poets, and the boys could not have had it any other way.

Despite the summer coming into fruition, the poets did not fail to meet up in their little cave every once in a while to read poetry, discuss girls, and laugh. The first meeting of that summer was simply like any other. “Guys, what do we think of Y/N?” Meeks questioned. A clamor of answers that ranged between “I think she’s great,” and “Do you think Mrs. Meeks has any more people in her house like Y/N?” echoed in the dark cave. Clearly, the boys had favored Y/N; but certainly not to the point where they’d be infatuated with her. “Yeah, I think she’s nice. She’s really pretty too,” Knox added. “Woah there Knoxious,” Charlie replied, expelling out a chortle. “I don’t think Chris would like to hear that. And besides, she looks more like she’s Neil’s type than yours.” Charlie’s words weren’t incorrect, but it was needless to say that Neil had strongly agreed with that statement.

✎ Over the summer, they would all begin to get to know each other better.

✎ The poets eventually introduced Y/N to the intricate realm of poetry, and she wholeheartedly fell in love with every line that was recited.

✎ They enjoyed every moment of their fleeting time together. Of course, there would be times where the boys would get into small fights and bickers.

✎ Pitts would always be yelling at Charlie for taking an ungodly amount of time in the shower, while Charlie would be yelling back about how Pitts always seemed to inhale the food that Mrs. Meeks provided for them before he himself could even take one bite.

✎ Cameron did his best to do some summer reading at night, but he found it quite hard as his room was beside Knox’s room, and Knox would spend hours on end talking to Chris over the phone.

“Oh, Chris. How do I love thee?” Knox sighed, lacing the telephone cords in between his fingers. “That’s the title of a poem we learned in Mr. Keating’s class. It reminds me of how lovely you are. Of course, she’s not as pretty as you are,” Knox’s giggles not only erupted through the phone; but it travelled through the walls as well, disrupting Cameron from the climax of his novel. “We get it, Knox! You’re a romantic poet! Now why don’t you go tell Chris about how you finished with a D minus in English!”

✎ While all of the little squabbles took place, they hadn’t even noticed the slight change in Neil and Y/N’s behavior.

✎ Y/N seemed to be keeping to herself more often, while Neil appeared to have possessed an undying smile on his face around the poets; particularly in the mornings when everyone gets up early except for him and Y/N.

✎ Little did they know, Y/N’s room had been vacant for the past few days since the arguments began-- which was approximately three weeks after the boys had arrived to the Meeks’ residence; and Neil seemed to be giggling in his room every night when the rest were asleep.

✎ In the duration of those three weeks, Neil had become more familiar with Y/N than any of the other poets had been.

✎ They’d walk along the nearby river every morning, discuss poetry in the late afternoons, and eventually fall asleep in each other’s arms at night.

“How long have you been living here?” Neil inquired, peering into Y/N’s eyes. His vision didn’t have to stretch too far as his face had only been a breath away from Y/N’s. The pair laid together under the warm covers of Neil’s bed with their legs entangled in one another’s and their hands interlocked, talking about anything and everything that came to their minds. “It’s been two years since Mrs. Meeks took me in,” She replied, gazing over Neil’s chiseled face. “In the whole time I’ve been here, I think you’re the most interesting thing that’s happened to me,” Y/N added, beaming up at Neil. Hearing her words, Neil slowly leaned his lips onto Y/N’s forehead, giving her an endearing kiss. She too had been the most interesting thing to happen to Neil in a long time.

✎ For each and every day that they were together, Neil wrote love poems.

✎ His poems revolved around his time with Y/N and included detail of all sorts; such as how colors appeared to be more bright and more vivid when he was with her and how lovelier the birds had sounded in the morning during their walks.

"My love,

The luminosity of the golden sun

does not compare to the radiance

of your glowing skin.

In this air full of morning dew,

the most beautiful scent in the air

is still you.

The sounds we hear of the melodious

birds are all because of your presence,

and they sing only for your beauty.

I look into your eyes and I see nature

reflected back at me; but it is much more

pleasant to perceive than if I were to do so

through my own set of eyes.

Though the morning lasts for a mere set of hours,

My fascination for you can go for as long as

this smooth river flows.

✎ Neil felt embarrassed about being so infatuated with Y/N, so he kept his poems hidden for the time being.

✎ Somehow, the boys had failed to notice Neil and Y/N’s constant disappearance.

✎ Although, they’d make little remarks from time to time that ran along the lines of “Ooh, Neil found a muse!” and “Y/N definitely likes somebody here. It’s probably me.”

✎ The last comment came from Charlie, which later earned him a smack on the head from Neil.

✎ So, Neil and Y/N did their best to keep their relationship hidden throughout the summer.

✎ The two were rather domestic in their relationship; they did all of the typical-couple activities that everyone else had done.

✎ To anyone else it would have been rather common to witness, but to them it was simply extraordinary being with one another.

It had been a scenic day at the river that morning. The beauty of the nature surrounding it had been ordinarily pleasing to Y/N; but all of its best qualities were magnified for Neil as his hand was in hers and the only thing he could smell was her fragrance. He had been quite nervous for the entire morning as he promised himself the night before that he would finally gather the courage to say those three magic words he’d been imagining to say for quite some time. Unbeknownst to him, Y/N had been thinking the same and had been visualizing how she would say it at that moment for the past few hours since. Just when the cascading waters began to relax and the chirping of the birds started to quiet down, the pair stopped on their trail and those three words were finally professed by Neil in a sudden manner while Y/N had spoken the same in a clear and gentle tone. They looked into each other’s eyes, recognizing the same look of love and eventually realizing what was said. As it was acknowledged, the two lovers simply smiled at each other and kept walking along; their hearts now beating on the same rhythm and their minds thinking of nothing but one another.

✎ Time to time, they would go up to the attic and listen to the music from Mrs. Meeks’ old gramophone, caressing one another as they slowly dance along to the lyrics of Ella Fitzgerald’s songs.

✎ Neil would always sneak a flower out of Mrs. Meeks’ rose garden and leave it on Y/N’s bedside table for her to wake up to.

✎ One of Y/N’s ways of communicating her love would be recommending books to Neil that she thinks is encompassed with his personality. Since then, Neil’s library had enlarged to a great extent.

✎ There would also be some occasions where one of them-- mostly Neil-- would get a little cheeky and try to express their love for the other out in the open.

“Eat up, boys! You know there’s plenty more of where that came from, so don’t be afraid to dig in!” Mrs. Meeks endorsed, setting down a bowl of mashed potatoes. With a jubilant ‘thank you’, everyone at the table promptly began to tuck into the mouthwatering cuisine. The boys soon found themselves distracted with the heavenly taste of Mrs. Meeks’ cooking; and Neil took this opportunity to covertly sneak his right hand onto Y/N’s thigh under the table. A scarlet blush crept its way up to Y/N’s cheek as she sent Neil a glare. Though her eyes expressed the message of “Not here!”, every other signal in her body sent the message of ‘Yes, Please’ to a very triumphant Neil.

✎ The summer inevitably came to an end and the boys were forced to return to Welton, much to their dismay.

✎ They couldn’t stand ending their summer; and they especially couldn’t stand leaving their new friend behind while the rest of them stayed together.

“Oh God, How are we supposed to leave this beautiful girl all alone in this big house?!” Charlie pleaded, theatrically dropping down to his knees and shouting out loud to the heavens. “It’s all just too emotional for us,” Pitts added as he went along with his friend’s act, his head bowing down to the ground in grief as he placed a comforting hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Just take me with her, God! Let me be with Y/N at her all-girls school!”

✎ Despite all of the inconveniences they put upon Y/N, the poets really did leave a mark on her. These boys showed her a new way of life-- she knows what ‘Carpe Diem’ means, and she knows how to seize her days because of them.

✎ Of course, Neil had a harder time coming into terms with their departure more than anyone else.

✎ Leaving the Meeks’ residence meant that he was leaving Y/N, which was something that he hadn’t prepared himself for.

“I’m not ready to leave you,” Neil confessed. Tears were beginning to form in his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away. After the individual hugs and goodbyes Y/N had given to the rest of the poets, the ill-fated time had come when she had to bid her own farewell to her lover. Neil believed that though their time was short and fleeting, it truly had been something special and something that he’ll never forget. Y/N was his first love, his first muse, his first everything; and no amount of riches could ever sum up to the prominence of that. Y/N placed her hand on Neil’s face, stroking away his tears with her thumb as she felt her eyes begin to swell up as well. “I’ll write to you every day, Neil.” Naturally, Y/N was on the brink of tears as well. She couldn’t bear to leave Neil after everything he’s shown her. It feels like she’s known him forever, yet everything felt so new and exciting with him. She loved him too much, and she knows she’ll continue to love him long after.

✎ Neil was afraid that she would forget about what they had soon after she had left, so he decided to give her all of the poems he had written about her.

✎ As her hands clasped the thick set of parchment, the tears she had been trying so hard to conceal had all poured out, staining the paper and her hands.

“Neil… these are beautiful,” She croaked. Her eyes skimmed over every title and date, realizing that there had been a poem for each and every splendid day that they had been together. “You’re beautiful, Y/N. That’s why I wrote these,” Neil corrected. “Everything I love about you is in these poems, and all of the love I have for you is written in each letter. I just don’t want you to forget about me while we’re apart.” The absurdity of Neil’s words made Y/N chuckle softly before she stepped forward and linked her hands around Neil’s neck, reducing the space between their lips. “I love you, Neil. You’re always going to be in my mind and you’ll always have my heart in the little pocket of your Welton blazer.”

✎ Y/N felt truly fortunate to have met Neil. This summer had come as quite a surprise for her-- she did not expect to fall in love so soon and with such an extraordinary person like Neil Perry. He was everything she’d ever looked for and he gave everything she deserved.

✎ Even though the bright days of the summer had ended and the early falling leaves of the autumn was yet to arrive, the change was of no concern as the only thing that mattered was what had been consistent-- and for Y/N and Neil, the thing that stood still for the two of them despite all odds was each other.

dedicated to these lovely people!! @mybabysweetascanbe @disagreeingpoets @catflowerbean @galaxyrhytm @nananostalgic @ughgclden @towriteabetterlife @neilsemeraldsweater @yourpal @willowestelle

#dead poets society #dead poets #dps #dead poets society fanfiction #dps fanfiction #neil perry #neil perry x reader #neil perry fanfiction #neil perry fluff #neil perry angst #richard cameron #charlie dalton #knox overstreet #todd anderson #steven meeks #gerard pitts #jemi-writes #jemi-requested #jemi-dps

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theepisceswriter · 4 years ago

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DOMESTIC NANAMI KENTO HEADCANONS

A/N: Because domestic life with Kento has been weighing heavy in my heart and I need to let it out

TW: none really apply, GN!reader

Let me set the scene; you and Nanami have known each other for quite a while, since your high school days to be exact, so you’ve been there for all the ups and downs in his life. You’re not a jujutsu sorcerer and definitely didn’t go to the same high school together. The two of you met at the library when you both went to reach for the same book on the shelf. It sparked up a conversation between the two of you, you found out you had a lot in common with each other, but that wasn’t enough for the two of you to ask each other out on the spot. It took a couple of more run ins and conversations with each other before you finally asked him out on a picnic date. It was a success and flash forward a couple years later, the two of you are a married couple and couldn’t be any happier. There’s no one he trusts more in his life than you.

First and foremost, even though he probably works the most out of the two of you, Nanami Kento is a househusband and you cannot convince me otherwise. Dishes in the sink from last night’s dinner? He’ll take care of it! Leftovers you forgot to put in the fridge after you two ate? He’ll get the Tupperware and stack them away! The house isn’t as tidy as he knows it can be? Catch him cleaning it up throughout the day! Anything to take some work away from his significant other and help them relax.

Something in my heart tells me that he’d love partaking in baking as much as he enjoys visiting the bakery. Which shocks some considering that it’s a pretty messy activity, but when you’re by his side he can care less about the flour that turn his blue shirt into a dusty color or the dough that sticks messily to his fingers after kneading it when the two of you are dancing offbeat to the soft melodies of ‘Let’s Stay Together’ by Al Green. Smiling and reminiscing on the earlier stages of your relationship as you dissect the lyrics with him, never relating more to such a heartfelt romantic song than you did in that moment. Don’t let his sweet nature fool you though, he’s definitely going to be a menace and put flour on your face. Which then leads to a food fight while the two of you wait for your pastries to cook in the oven.

Date nights are the best nights. Between your crazy work schedule and him disappearing every other week for days at a time to do god knows what with Gojo, it’s one of those few moments where the two of you can spend intimate time alone with each other and enjoy each other’s company. Sometimes you stay home and improvise; cooking your own meals and watching movies together for the rest of the night because you miss each other so much that you don’t even want to go out in public and deal with people who aren’t you two. Other nights the two of you go all; getting dressed to the 9s and finding a local restaurant that also doubles as a poetry reciting club to spend your night out. Nanami even goes on stage, which is a huge deal because it’s Nanami, and recites a haiku that he wrote about you. He reads you a poem once he gets home because he wanted his time on stage at the restaurant to be as short as possible.

He goes all out for you on special occasions like anniversaries and birthdays. Specifically anniversaries because, and I didn’t tell you this, but he’s actually a lovey dovey dumbass. Does the whole rose petals leading to the bed in your room thing, gets that expensive food catered by a chef or hires them for the night and has them cook for y’all, and showers you in gifts. Of course, there’s a few materialistic things in the pile like a very shiny bracelet with earrings to match, expensive name brand clothing, and bouquets of flowers. But Nanami really strikes me as a sentimental gift giver type. Something that’ll bring you to tears like one of those Spotify art things with a song played at your wedding, one of those necklaces that project ‘I love you’ in over a 100 languages when you open it, or he might even go all out and surprise you with a tattoo of your initials going over his ring finger for when he can’t wear his wedding ring.

The very first time you found out about Nanami being a sorcerer and your exposure and to the world of jujutsu happened when you were teenagers still in the honeymoon phase of your relationship. It was in the ungodly hours of the night when every working citizen and people your age were sleeping for school or work the next morning. You were too, but it was the banging at the window in your bathroom that awoke you and made you go check on it and to your surprise it was Nanami. You hadn’t seen him for a while prior to this, maybe a week or two, but you didn’t even have enough time to ask him where he had been because he was collapsing in your arms, exhausted both mentally and physically from a mission he had been on. Everything came spilling out, everything he had been through in the last couple of weeks and call you could do was hold him close in your arms and let him ramble on. Whispering words of assurance in his ear every now and then when he began to cry and wiping his tears away from his glossy brown eyes. It was also in this moment that he decided that he was utterly and helplessly in love with you.

#did I cry while writing some of these? absolutely !#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento headcanons

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sneezemonster15 · 3 years ago

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Calling bullshit on the opinion that Kishimoto doesn't know how to write romance.

The reason why this entire shipping business on Naruto has been going on for over a decade and still going strong, making fans go absolutely mindless, about a story which is not even about romance, about things that are so effective and impactful that the fans feel completely consumed with it, to the extent where they have almost completely defined their life and philosophies on its basis, is because Kishimoto can write a good fucking romance. And that's what he did. That's the reason why ships are fighting with each other, because it's not just about Naruto the manga or Naruto the series, it's about how they imagine their own romance, it's a deep, profound feeling. That's why they have strong motivations and convictions that drive their insight into the story. That's why there is so much polarity in Naruto fandom. They are ready to jump to protect their ship at a moment's notice because that's how much it means to them.

Are you telling me that it just happened on its own? Just happy coincidences and random factors?

No.

A lot, a lot of thought goes behind closed doors of the studios. I know this because I work in the business. The reason why I was so astounded with Naruto's story because it was actually a brave story. A brave concept. In a shonen. Because I am ready to bet a million dollars I don't have on the fact that Kishimoto knew what he was doing. Anyone who enjoys poetry, or literature, or drama can, if not approve, appreciate Naruto and Sasuke's story. Because it's that deep. Because it's that impactful. Because it's that dark. Because it's that tragic. Because it's that tender. Because it's that painful.

Because it's so...

(Applause.)

Romantic.

These are all the ingredients of a well written romance. This is the reason why I don't care about other ships because I know that SNS is not random or a projection. It's mindfully and carefully and even tenderly written and developed.

Kishimoto's projection? Oh sure. It stands to reason that someone from his real life affected and inspired his favourite character through and through. He did say that he based some characters on certain people from his own life. And he did base Naruto on his own self, if partly. And the reason why I am able to surmise that he could have had a real crush on someone like Sasuke in real life, is because how clearly and insightfully written and contrasted the two characters are. So nuanced. They are like poetry, that's why I am so dazzled with them. Their story is so beautifully shaped by their characters and growth that it creates a clear impression of who they really are in the story. Soulmates. That's the whole crux of the story. They are written out to be this literally 'once in several lifetimes' pairing that finally broke the bonds of hate with bonds of love and changed the entire world and as a result, grew themselves. This is reflected in themselves what with Sasuke being propelled with hate and Naruto with love and coming together finally in a world that they made happen, for each other. And all of their parts and counterparts with which they think and move and function are so well in sync with each other that they lock together perfectly, like two pieces in a two piece puzzle box.

To say that this intricately and intelligently and tenderly written story is just like, an accident, my lord no!

No. The content that is finally syndicated on screens all over the world, especially with the type of response Naruto has enjoyed, and believe me when I say this, everything goes through many levels of scrutiny during production; to the extent of why would this camera angle work better than all the other angles, here's a flowchart and analysis of all of them and let's spend three days on deciding it while the producers are going crazy frustrated with fanatic creatives. This is a very common thing to happen in most serious studios.

Naruto stood out at the time it came out and reached a much larger audience for several reasons. But one of them was that it got the right exposure and was shown to critics outside of Japan, who could appreciate and admire it's cinematic beauty and this reached a different subset of audience. This extra effort is not consistent but it shines at so many places, because it's just good storytelling technically and aesthetically. And the reason why Naruto and Sasuke stand smack dab in the middle of that storytelling, is because Kishimoto told their story with so much feeling, it literally shows. The nuance is just crazy. Note that I am saying nuance and not subtext, even though it's there in heaps. But I want to make a distinction clearly. Like I can write pages and pages over it. Anyway, their story stands out because the nuances are so well defined and mindfully drawn by Kishi, that one can't help but wonder if Kishi actually experienced them. And they are just small things but still get a lot of exposure in the manga and anime. And because they are so small but clearly noticeable, it makes us stop in our tracks and think. And the thing is Kishimoto could have easily done without them and it would have made everything still seem undisturbed but he chose Not to. That kind of decision is a direct result of deep understanding, feeling and thinking in terms of forming a certain visual approach and meaning. The visual language Kishi has used to show their chemistry, their bond, their need for each other, is so tangible, like you could cut it with a knife, that it makes one feel something is right below the surface, simmering and about to explode, but you can't put your finger on what it exactly is. Until you start to think. And it takes some time.

You think that kind of writing is random? Are you out of your mind?

No, Kishi is a maniac. He pulled something that was not easy at all. He is a genius. He is also sadistic because he knows he didn't give us a resolution. Resolution is cathartic to viewers and the reason that nobody got any with Naruto and still not getting any from Boruto is making everyone go crazy. Fifteen years is a long time man. And I can bet my other non existent one million dollars on it. He owns a lot of rights over Naruto franchise, I don't think he can be cowed down to such an extent even by the studio. Kishi fought studios for a few significant scenes of Naruto and Sasuke, he is not unfeeling about them.

Maybe I am being a mere deductionist but more often than not, deduction is right. It's a valid form of acquiring knowledge. Sherlock is right more times than he is not.

Anyway, my point is, Kishi can write romance. Kishi can write very good romance. He could have chosen to remove some tropes and make Naruto and Sasuke either just brotherly or friendly. But he chose not to. A lot of people think that they are platonic. And I think I know why. But I don't. They are not platonic. They seem like they feel physically aware of each other, acutely so. they just don't know what it is. Maybe Sasuke does, Naruto doesn't. Kishi used also such common tropes to show this element, but just because it is in shonen and between two boys, y'all won't believe it. Don't you feel that palpable feeling, the simmering tension and emotion when they fight at the valley of the end both times? And it makes you think maybe it's just you, and what you are thinking can't be true because this is shonen and it would mean they are gay, let me tell you, no it's not you. It is Kishi. And it takes skill to write. Something like this is almost always used as a trope of unaddressed sexual tension in media. Pick any romantic drama of this genre, where 'hate turned to love' or 'two unlikely people who fall in love' and you would find it in almost every single one of them.

Why do you think Kishi designed it that way? You think with all the detail (action moves are literally inspired by real life martial arts, lighting, sound, editing, dialogues that sound like out of a Bronte novel), that was him just playing innocent?

No. No. No. And No!

He wrote SNS throughout Naruto and Shippuden and is still doing something of an extension of it that has made Boruto a weird and uncomfortable to watch family drama.

#sns #sns in boruto #sasunarusasu #sasunaru #sasuke #naruto uzumaki #narusasu #naruto analysis #kishimoto why

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frodo-with-glasses · 3 years ago

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Thoughts on “Journeyman”

(From some PMs to a friend)

- I didn’t write this whole thing in one sitting. I had the idea to take “You Are My Sunshine” and add a chorus and some other verses with different metaphors, oh, I dunno, a year or two ago?? So the first two choruses and anchor, compass, and firelight were already sitting in a word document and in the back of my brain. There was also “rainfall” and “reason (not to lose hope)”, but those didn’t really fit the new theme or structure of the song.

- So I was making dinner and thinking about the whole “let’s hear about Frodo and the Ring!” conversation that Frodo and Sam have in this chapter I just read, and the refrain “I hope they tell a million tales/But it would never be enough” got stuck in my head and I was like “why does that sound familiar?? OH” and so I dug the document out again and added the bridge and “lighthouse” and final chorus.

- It’s from Frodo’s POV. The first verse itself is actually really emotional too if you think about the context of going into Mordor where the light is constantly obscured by “grey clouds”, and yet having Sam with him is like bringing sunshine in—which has narrative significance even in the book itself. Heck, Sam makes Frodo LAUGH, genuinely laugh, on the path of Cirith Ungol, and Tolkien himself says a sound like that hadn’t been heard in those parts of the world “since Sauron came to Middle Earth”. Sam made Frodo laugh and BREAK A SILENCE THAT’S BEEN THERE SINCE THE SILMARILLION. I JUST. I. Shut up I’m crying. But anyway it’s really easy to overlook the first verse ‘cause “bleh we all know ‘you are my sunshine’” so that’s what the other verses are for.

- The theme of travel throughout anchor, compass, and firelight actually surprised me with how apt it was for Frodo and Sam. Then again, I named the song “Journeyman”, even back then, so I think it was intentional. I love the fact that the first verse says “traverse these seas” because it makes me think about Frodo and Sam going to Valinor and ughhhhh—

- Oh yeah also “I could write a million poems/stories” fits in with a headcanon of mine; Frodo’s love language is Words of Affirmation, right, and I think anytime after the Quest when he’s not bogged down by Depression Fog, he’s constantly trying to write poems and songs about Sam, just like Bilbo used to write about his adventures, and he keeps getting frustrated because nothing short of Elvish poetry, he feels, would be enough to express how much love and gratitude he has for Sam. Again, something from the old draft that nicely paralleled my current thoughts.

- The bridge is new, like I said. It’s all about this moment on Cirith Ungol that Frodo gives in to despair at seeing the armies of Morgul. He lies on his face and cries before they leave, and Gollum makes them climb some more, and then after they get up the Stairs, Frodo and Sam have that conversation about being in the great stories someday. And it’s literally a spot of light in the darkness in Frodo’s head. He doesn’t think he’ll make it. He barely thinks he’ll survive to finish the job. But he’ll keep putting one foot in front of the other, until he stands there alone on the precipice of Mount Doom, if only because Sam is there to help him on the way.

- LIGHTHOUSE. HNNNG. Okay I had to chose my words REALLY carefully for this verse because I wanted to keep up the metaphor of a lighthouse but ALSO foreshadow Sam’s ship landing in Valinor. “It seems that you must stay while I must leave” makes sense well enough; the tricksy bit is “but when I see you on the shore”. Which shore?? If you’re just thinking of the metaphor of a lighthouse, you’ll think the speaker is talking about returning home from being at sea, because lighthouses don’t move. But in the STORY Frodo sees Sam on the shore of VALINOR—the lighthouse comes to HIM. And then “this ship adrift we’ll finally moor”, which, again, continues the metaphor of a lighthouse, but it also stands for a) Sam’s literal ship that will be moored in Valinor and b) the feelings of being unsettled and incomplete that both Frodo and Sam had until they’re reunited in the afterlife. “Be at home forevermore”?? Not in the Shire. Home is where Sam is, and now, Sam is here with him. I just. AAAAAAHHH—

- And then the final chorus pulls us back to the moment Frodo decided to give Bag End to the Gamgees. That’s the “home” part of “my life, my love, my home”. I had a lot of fun singing this part because it has this sense of triumph and passion about it that just makes me happy to think about Frodo experiencing, because normally he’d be so bogged down by trauma and depression that he physically wouldn’t be ABLE to, so the moment he can actually put his head above water and feel like this, write like this, SING like this, is just a beautiful sense of victory to me all on its own.

- Also Frodo doesn’t even want his own name in the stories at this point. All he cares about is making sure everyone knows what Sam did for him. “I hope they tell a million stories/And etch your name in stone”. Sam’s name. Not his. Hhhnng.

- Anyway yeah that’s all I’ve got LOL

- WAIT NO I DON’T; WOULDN’T IT BE FUNNY IF I PULL THAT THING THAT TOLKIEN DID WHICH IS “ah yes this nursery rhyme, ‘The Cow Jumped Over the Moon’, is actually a fragment of a much older and longer song and also it was written by a hobbit” BUT IT’S “ah yes ‘You Are My Sunshine’ is actually the only surviving fragment of A SONG THAT FRODO WROTE FOR SAM” AHAHAHAHAHA

#frodo baggins #samwise gamgee #lord of the rings #lotr #my writing #my song #don’t mind me #long post #in which I AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH

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iamthenightcolormeblack · 3 years ago

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My Thoughts on Pride & Prejudice 2005: Style over Substance

Kicking off my Pride and Prejudice adaptation review series with the most popular of all the adaptations: the 2005 movie. This film stars Keira Knightley as Elizabeth Bennet and Matthew Macfadyen as Mr. Darcy.

1. GENERAL THINGS I LIKED

The cinematography and the soundtrack. Every shot is a painting, especially with the gorgeous landscape scenery. The music is beautiful and dreamy; I have listened to the soundtrack more times than I've watched the film. Both the cinematography and the soundtrack effectively transport the viewer back to the film's romanticized version of "the past," when life was simpler and people lived slower lives, waiting for their Mr. Darcy to sweep them off their feet.

Originality. The film takes a unique approach to the story by focusing mainly on the romance between Darcy and Elizabeth and emphasizing how the natural surroundings reflect the characters' mental state/emotions (pouring rain during the first proposal and stormy skies when Elizabeth hurries home after Lydia runs away). Though one can disagree with the creative changes made, I like how this film isn't just a remake of what came before it.

Elizabeth's walks through the countryside. The film expresses her desire for freedom through her countryside walks. For instance, the Netherfield walk is shocking to Caroline Bingley because it demonstrates Elizabeth's independence.

The comedic parts are great thanks to the creative additions made. For example, the "excellent boiled potatoes" joke isn't in the book, but it perfectly exemplifies Mr. Collins' poor social skills and pretentiousness, as he tries to make an overly formal comment about an otherwise mundane dish.

2. THE CASTING

The acting is good, although I don't always agree with how the characters are portrayed.

Keira Knightley. I like how she's the right age for Elizabeth, who is around 20-21 years old; Knightley was around 19-20 when she played Elizabeth, plus she has gorgeous eyes. She perfectly conveys the pride, confidence, and biting wit of Elizabeth, as she holds her head high in an imperious manner and has a direct, piercing gaze. However, I don't like how this version chooses to simplify Elizabeth's character into that of "free-spirited nonconformist tomboy," who is a nature-lover and runs to the countryside to console herself when things get tough (ex. running to the lake after rejecting Mr. Collins). This is a contrast to the Elizabeth Bennet as presented to us in the book, who acts like a typical "lady" for the sake of her social reputation; she mostly keeps her thoughts to herself except when talking to Jane or Darcy. Elizabeth is powerful not because she rejects society outright; it is because she does not submit to societal pressure to marry and makes her own choices (ex. rejecting Mr. Collins).

Matthew Macfadyen. His Darcy is cold, aloof, and remote, yet shows signs of a rich inner life and unrequited yearning for Elizabeth as a soulmate. I like how this version shows Elizabeth peeling away his cold exterior like the layers of an onion, until his heart of gold is revealed. While I think Macfadyen is a good actor, I disagree with the interpretation of Darcy solely being a lonely introvert, as it neglects his primary character flaw of pride.

Tom Hollander's Mr. Collins. Probably the best casting, as he perfectly portrays the bumbling awkwardness of the character and is more sympathetic than the gross Mr. Collins in the 1995 BBC miniseries. He is short, has a nasally voice and officious manner that makes him annoying yet fun to watch.

Simon Woods as Mr. Bingley. He's so friendly and eager to please, like the character is in the book.

Rosamund Pike's Jane Bennet. Utterly angelic and motherly, need I say more? The perfect antidote to Elizabeth's savagery.

Rupert Friend's Mr. Wickham. Handsome and dashing in a red soldier's uniform. It's easy to see how a girl would fall for him and ignore his debauchery, but also obvious that he is deceptive. For instance, he keeps claiming that he is insignificant and unnoticed, when he basks in the attention of Elizabeth, Kitty and Lydia.

3. OVERALL CHARACTER AND PLOT DEVELOPMENT

Since this is a movie, character development is a challenge, and the film relies on changes of outward appearance/dialogue to show character growth. For instance, we get to see Darcy's change from cold and remote into warm and loving, while Elizabeth admits that "she was wrong" about Darcy and slowly comes to respect him.

The first half (beginning to Darcy's proposal) is great because it effectively introduces the audience to the cast of characters (the family, Darcy, Bingley, Caroline, Wickham, and Mr. Collins). It also contains all the comedic parts and sets up the conflicts that drive the story. Overall, this half is more faithful to the novel because it has the social satire aspects of the story and sticks to the key plot points while developing the characters.

The second half is rather lackluster compared to the first because it focuses solely on resolving the plot points introduced in the first half. This part of the book contains important events for Elizabeth's character development (getting the letter, visiting Pemberley, dealing with the fallout from Lydia's elopement), but the film rushes through them to get Elizabeth and Darcy married. Instead of focusing on how Elizabeth overcomes her prejudice of Darcy and starts to love him, the film relies on aesthetic shots of flickering candles/landscapes to serve as quick transitions between the scenes. Though we have plenty of evidence that Darcy loves Elizabeth, we don't see much evidence that the love is mutual until the second proposal, only that Elizabeth starts to see him as a friend.

Another reason I don't like the second half of the film as much as the first half is the reduced dialogue. This second half has a lot of quiet moments devoted to nature scenery/Elizabeth staring in the mirror. Reducing the dialogue, with the exception of the letter scene, doesn't make sense because the plot/action of Pride and Prejudice is furthered through the conversations the characters have (after all, wealthy Regency women likely spent much time indoors/making social calls). While one can argue that the reduced dialogue is meant to show that Elizabeth is reflecting on her mistaken prejudice, without access to Elizabeth's interior thoughts, the audience doesn't get to see Elizabeth actively confronting her false assumptions about Darcy, unlike in the book, where she says out loud to herself: "Until this moment, I never knew myself."

Notable Scenes From the First Half of the Film:

The opening scene. It sets the tone for the whole movie with the beginning shot of a field at dawn, which ties in nicely with the second proposal scene near the end. By presenting Elizabeth by herself reading a book, it communicates to the audience that Elizabeth is "not like other girls," and it shows the imperfect, yet loving family dynamics of the Bennet household.

Elizabeth roasting Darcy after he dismisses her as "tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me." During a conversation the Bennet family has with Darcy and Bingley, Mrs. Bennet commits a social gaffe when talking about Jane's many admirers and how one sent her poetry. Elizabeth saves the situation by commenting that bad poetry can kill love, and Darcy comments that he regards poetry as "the food of love" and asks how to "encourage affection." I like that the film included this little exchange from the book (although it takes place while Elizabeth is visiting a sick Jane at Netherfield, and not during the first ball), since it was skipped over in the 1995 miniseries. The best part is Elizabeth's sick burn: "Dancing. Even if one's partner is barely tolerable," which is made even better when she walks away from him with a triumphant smile on her face.

The famous Hand Flex. After Darcy helps Elizabeth into the carriage (by holding her hand) so she and Jane can head back home, he glances longingly at her before wringing the hand with which he touched hers. It's an important hint of his growing love for her, as well as his struggle to repress those feelings. This is a wonderful bit of character development as it reveals that Darcy has a heart.

Mr. Collins having a meal with the Bennet family. The awkwardness is palpable as Mr. Collins tries to show off his social skills and give pro tips on charming ladies. This is all topped off with this amazing comedic joke: "These are excellent boiled potatoes. Many years since I've had such an exemplary vegetable." Another brilliant bit: after Lydia cannot contain her laughter, Lizzy, after giving her father a mischievous side-eye, slaps Lydia on the back to hide her laughter. Best line besides the excellent boiled potatoes: "Believe me, no one would suspect your manners to be rehearsed."

The Netherfield Ball dance between Darcy and Elizabeth. It is staged like a clash of personalities in the beginning, while the creative filming technique of separating the couple apart from the crowd of dancers foreshadows the budding relationship between them. I also like how sarcastic the dialogue is--Elizabeth is trying to win a battle of wits with Darcy but he successfully avoids her traps while reminding her that she doesn't truly know him and cannot make judgements about his personality.

Mr. Collins trying to introduce himself to Darcy. It's so comical because of the significant height difference between Mr. Collins and Mr. Darcy (Collins is dwarfed by Darcy). The height difference effectively represents the significant difference in social status between the two men and makes Collins, with his pomposity, look ridiculous as he fancies himself part of the nobility but cannot properly introduce himself.

Mr. Collins' proposal--one of the funniest scenes in the movie. Mr. Collins clumsily tries to flatter Elizabeth with a tiny flower, and it gets even funnier when he so obviously misreads Elizabeth's disinterest and outright exasperation (he doesn't understand that no means no!). After Mr. Collins bends down on one knee to propose to Elizabeth, the film emphasizes Elizabeth's towering presence over Collins to show that the two are a mismatch. The fact that the proposal takes place in the messy dining room reflects Collins' view of marriage as a business matter that he wants to get done with quickly, since the location of the proposal is not very romantic.

Elizabeth roasting Darcy yet again at Rosings Park. Elizabeth eagerly recounts to Colonel Fitzwilliam Darcy's impolite manners at the first ball; Darcy confesses that "I do not have the talent of conversing easily with people I have never met before." I like how the nervous and quiet delivery of that line shows to the audience that Darcy is an introvert, and it shows that he's an honest person, since he abhors "disguise of every sort." The scene effectively highlights Elizabeth's prejudice towards Darcy as the audience feels pity for him when Elizabeth tells him to practice.

"This is a charming house." During this scene, Darcy visits Elizabeth while she is alone and awkwardly attempts to make conversation with her. Macfadyen is a master of body language; Darcy says little but expresses a lot (ex. the nervous fiddling with his gloves). He tries to express his feelings for Elizabeth but gives up and abruptly walks out of the room.

The first proposal. What a climactic scene (but not very faithful to the book)! The music, thunder, and rain perfectly complement the volcano of emotions that erupts when Darcy cannot repress his feelings any longer. This scene has some of the best sexual tension ever; the two get closer to each other until they almost kiss. While this scene is great to an objective viewer, I don't like that the modified dialogue changes the original meaning of this scene (more about this later).

The letter. Elizabeth has a moment of introspection when she is forced to question her judgment, and Darcy delivers his letter. I like the shot of Darcy riding farther and farther away from Elizabeth, signaling that he is becoming increasingly out of her reach.

Notable Scenes from the Second Half of the Film:

Aunt and Uncle Gardiner arrive right after Elizabeth comes back from Rosings and they take her away to a vacation. I didn't like how they were introduced too quickly; I was thinking to myself "how did they get there and where did they come from?" Luckily we are treated to more glorious shots of the English countryside (the one with them under a large oak tree is my favorite).

Visiting Pemberley. I was puzzled by why Elizabeth laughs as soon as she sees Pemberley for the first time because in the book she was in complete awe of it. Also it doesn't make sense why she would touch his expensive stuff it's not her house...or is it? The good thing is that the embarrassment the two have upon meeting each other again is definitely palpable. Georgiana is sweet, but a little less shy than she was in the book.

Darcy smiles! After introducing Georgiana to Elizabeth, he smiles for a brief time at Elizabeth, and she smiles back. It's a great moment showing how Elizabeth has drawn out his goodness, and indicates that Darcy has transformed for Elizabeth. She also starts seeing him as a friend and her prejudice against him seems to have reversed in this moment of mutual recognition.

Lydia's elopement. Keira Knightley's fake cry was off-putting. Then Darcy only talks to her for a little bit and doesn't help her much (unlike in the book, where he asked her to sit down and got her some wine to make her feel better). I don't know why the aunt and uncle are in this scene because it's very important in developing Darcy and Elizabeth's relationship. In the book, the two are alone, and Elizabeth choosing to tell Darcy about Lydia's elopement is a sign that she trusts him, while Darcy's concern for Elizabeth further confirms that he still loves her. This extremely brief scene flickers quickly, and it takes only a few seconds before Elizabeth is crying in her carriage, while the sky is dark and ominous.

Bingley rehearsing his proposal with Darcy. This added scene, which is not in the book, is so funny because of how Darcy roleplays Jane, while Bingley has so much anxiety about her not accepting him. It's a nice glimpse into their friendship and it's also funny because Bingley is getting proposal advice from someone who failed very miserably at proposing.

Sunrise on the Moors. Another objectively beautiful and romantic scene that is definitely not faithful to the book. The two meet each other in a field in their nightgowns and profess their love to each other while blessed by the rising sun.

4. MAJOR FLAWS; OR, HOW THE FILM DIVERGES FROM THE BOOK

In earlier book adaptation reviews, I stated that I welcomed creative changes as long as they reflected what was already in the book (ex. literary elements and character development) or the author's intent, since film and books are different mediums and some storytelling techniques that work in books may not work on film. This movie is undoubtedly well-known for its creative changes, especially in terms of historical setting and dialogue. While these creative changes entertain the audience, I feel that they change the meaning of the story as presented by the book.

Here's the biggest issue I have with the movie: Darcy has no pride. The film interprets his "pride" as a misconception strangers get from Darcy's cold manner and inconsiderate remarks, but in the book he is an arrogant person who views his social inferiors as beneath him and treats them poorly. In the movie, his whole character is fashioned in the modern image of the "sensitive man," who is kind and considerate if only the outside world would appreciate his uniqueness. Thus, Elizabeth's prejudice against him is entirely without merit. While making Darcy a more sympathetic person highlights how wrong Elizabeth's prejudice is, the fact is that both of them have "pride and prejudice." Some fans have commented that Darcy is like a sad puppy at times. It's hard to see how he's a good match for this Elizabeth's fiery spirit, only that he wouldn't infringe upon her freedom to roam. A lot of YouTube comments I read were people expressing their desire to "hug Darcy" or console him after Elizabeth rejects him; this doesn't make sense because Darcy is an unsympathetic character until he is forced to change in order to earn Elizabeth's love. Apart from becoming kinder to Elizabeth and the Gardiners, Darcy never really changes in the movie; he still remains a socially awkward introvert.

The re-interpretation of Pride and Prejudice as purely a romantic novel: The emphasis on romance means that the other elements of the book--the social criticism, secondary characters and the dialogue--are de-emphasized for the sake of the romance between Elizabeth and Darcy.

The film's approach to the story echoes Charlotte Bronte's criticism of the novel: "And what did I find [in Pride and Prejudice]? ... a carefully fenced, highly cultivated garden, with neat borders and delicate flowers; but no glance of a bright, vivid physiognomy, no open country, no fresh air, no blue hill, no bonny beck. I should hardly like to live with her ladies and gentlemen, in their elegant but confined homes." This version of Pride and Prejudice utilizes Romantic elements not in the book (ex. the storms, the landscapes) to increase the passion that the characters feel but cannot express.

Pride and Prejudice is perceived as a "boring" book because much of the drama takes place indoors (ex. Darcy's first proposal is in Mr. Collin's home), whereas in the film, there is greater emphasis on the natural scenery in keeping with its Romantic interpretation (lots of the "open country" that Charlotte Bronte desired). While the landscape scenes are beautiful, locating the action indoors, in the grand houses of the nobility, emphasizes the repressive, tradition-based nature of Regency Era society that Austen criticized (in a subtle way). These houses reinforce social hierarchy, for instance; the interior of Rosings Park is showy and stifling because it it represents Lady Catherine De Bourgh's wealth and power over those around her. Locating most of the scenes indoors visually represents the "confined and unvarying" lives of Regency era women and makes Elizabeth Bennet's independent streak much more significant.

Some of the social constraints that Elizabeth and Darcy face are removed. For example, Elizabeth is much more direct in her criticisms of others (ex. the "barely tolerable" insult), whereas in the book she largely confines these criticisms to her intimate friends such as Jane and Charlotte Lucas. While this effectively shows how badass she is, Elizabeth likely would not have taunted Darcy in such a direct way, as it would have been considered impolite and likely harmed her social reputation in a society governed by rigid adherence to social etiquette. And of course, Darcy likely would not have been walking around the English countryside in an open-chested shirt although we may have Colin Firth's wet shirt to blame for that. The importance of following etiquette rules is shown when Darcy offends the whole village by refusing to dance with anyone during the first ball. As a woman in a patriarchal society, it would have been even more important for Elizabeth to follow the rules, as her social reputation was important to her chances of making a good marriage. By de-emphasizing the rigid social norms that govern the characters, the obstacles to Elizabeth and Darcy's marriage are less significant, and it seems that the only thing standing in the way of their being together is Elizabeth's unreasonable hatred of Darcy.

Also, in many of Austen's novels, the hometowns of her heroines and its inhabitants are their own characters; the power of gossip in determining one's social reputation for the "marriage market" is de-emphasized in the film. In Pride and Prejudice, a major reason Elizabeth doesn't discover Wickham's bad character at first is because of the "general approbation of the neighborhood" and social popularity he has in Hertfordshire. After Lydia elopes, the family is in a bad situation with regards to marriage prospects because the village had "generally proved [the Bennets] to be marked out for misfortune." In the film, the role of the village is relegated to that of a place for entertainment and nothing more.

Others have noted that the film also exaggerates the social divide between Elizabeth and Darcy by turning the Bennet family into peasant farm-owners who have messy hair and wear plain, homespun clothing. This justifies Darcy's social prejudice against the Bennets, which undercuts Austen's message of morals, actions, and treatment of others being a better indicator of character than class rank (the rich people in this book, with the exception of Darcy, Georgiana and Bingley, are shown to be lazy or plain ridiculous). While Darcy may be richer than Elizabeth, and have better connections, they are both members of the gentry--after all, they do not have to work to maintain their lifestyles. Instead, we are presented with a conventional rags-to-riches story, where our poor but virtuous heroine is rewarded with a rich Prince Charming who takes her away from the squalor of her home to his great big palace.

Ultimately, the story is changed into an argument for love, specifically the passionate kind, triumphing over all; Elizabeth overcomes her hatred of men as "humorless poppycocks" to be with Darcy. Near the end, Mary reads out of a book claiming that a lady should give in to her passions and surrender to love, which doesn't make sense as the marriage based entirely on passion (Lydia and Wickham) is shown to be less than ideal.

While Austen does believe in following one's heart (ex. Persuasion, where Anne Elliot regrets rejecting Captain Wentworth because of his lower social status), others have commented that she presents the ideal relationship as a balance between mind and heart. Charlotte's practical marriage to Mr. Collins represents the traditional view of marriage as an "economic proposition," it is entirely logical and calculated, whereas Lydia and Wickham's marriage is the other emotional extreme, motivated entirely by sexual infatuation. Before Elizabeth acknowledges her love for Darcy, she must respect him as her intellectual equal. Here's the passage from the book where Elizabeth realizes she loves Darcy: "She now began to comprehend that he was exactly the man, who in disposition and talents, would most suit her. His understanding and temper, though unlike her own, would have answered all her wishes. It was an union that must have been to the advantage of both; by her ease and liveliness, his mind might have been softened, his manners improved, and from his judgment, information, and knowledge of the world, she must have received benefit of greater importance." Elizabeth's decision to marry Darcy is not only a result of her heart's desire, but it comes after she does some thinking and concludes they are compatible and would be able to live with each other on a day-to-day basis.

Something else I find ironic is the director's (Joe Wright's) claim that he aimed for realism in the film, given that Austen already depicted Regency era life realistically by focusing on social norms, class, and wealth:

The director, in his quest for "realism," features the messy environment of the Bennet household, which doesn't make sense given that they are still relatively wealthy (when defending herself, Elizabeth tells Lady Catherine that she is "a gentleman's daughter"). Also, they have servants to clean things up, so why would the house be in a constant state of disarray?

Lastly, how is the second proposal scene is "realistic?" It is a moment of "psychic communication" between Darcy and Elizabeth which is out of character for the book. They both "can't sleep" and walked, in the words of Wikipedia, "across the moors" to see each other ok this seriously reminds me of Wuthering Heights. The scene is powerful because every woman wants to be told that "you have bewitched me body and soul" but "realistically," this doesn't happen (and this line isn't in the book either).

"REALISM" IS THE REASON WHY WE FUSS OVER HISTORICAL ACCURACY!!! HISTORICAL ACCURACY ALLOWS PERIOD DRAMAS TO BE REALISTIC!!!!

If the characters wore historically accurate clothing (different from the loosely inspired, modernized dresses/hair in the film), it would have emphasized the lack of freedom women had in Regency Era society and reinforced the importance of following social norms to succeed in a patriarchal society.

Bad Script Changes:

This film is known for its modernized script, which makes it easier for a mainstream audience to watch the movie. However, it also changes depictions of the characters in ways that undercut the meaning of the book.

Elizabeth Bennet, man-hater:

"Oh, they [men] are far too easy to judge. Humorless poppycocks, in my limited experience."

"And which of the painted peacocks is Mr. Bingley?"

"Men are either eaten up with arrogance or stupidity. And if they're amiable they're so easily led that they have no minds of their own whatsoever...No, they bring nothing but heartache."

I know these snarky comments are fun and reinforce the modern perception of Elizabeth Bennet as a feminist heroine. However, book Elizabeth doesn't rail against men as a whole; she just wants to find love rather than be forced into an advantageous marriage. Her idea that marriage should be based on love and respect, along with her unwillingness to compromise on that ideal, is what makes her revolutionary, not her complete apathy towards the opposite sex.

"Don't you dare judge me!" While it foreshadows Elizabeth's flawed judgment, this outburst is out of character for Charlotte Lucas, who in the book is level-headed and makes practical decisions. As with the majority of the bad script changes, it is too modern and doesn't fit with the 19th century style language used elsewhere in the script.

Darcy's lack of pride is shown in the modified lines of the first proposal (which were hard to catch because they were spoken super fast):

"I can bear it no longer. The past months have been a torment. I came to Rosings with the single object of seeing you. I had to see you. I've fought against my better judgment, my family's expectation, the inferiority of your birth, my rank and circumstance, all those things, but I'm willing to put them aside and ask you to end my agony. I love you. Most ardently."

These lines completely change the meaning of the first proposal. Apart from the famous opening lines ("In vain I have struggled. It will not do. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you"), Austen makes clear that Darcy still regards his higher social position and Elizabeth's inferior connections as obstacles to their marriage. His first proposal to Elizabeth is a means of getting rid of the suffering that his unrequited love has forced upon him; he still does not accept Elizabeth as his equal, which is why she rejects him in the first place. Clearly he is not "willing to put [social norms] aside" when it comes to "his sense of her inferiority." The modified lines also make Darcy much more romantic by having him state that he came to Rosings to see Elizabeth; the book does not specify that this is the case; he just came on a routine visit to see his aunt and Elizabeth happened to be there. As I said earlier, Elizabeth in the book rejects Darcy because of his lack of respect for her, but in the film, he seems to show nothing but respect for her. They even have an almost-kiss, which doesn't make sense given that she hates him so intensely at this point in the novel.

"He's so, he's so...rich." Elizabeth utters these when trying and failing to find a reason not to visit Pemberley. This declaration does not make sense because Elizabeth has formed in the very least a grudging respect for Mr. Darcy; without access to her internal thoughts, one might take this line as evidence that she still hates Mr. Darcy.

“Just leave me alone!!!” After confronting Lady Catherine, Elizabeth flees to her room to find some alone time. This doesn’t suit Elizabeth’s character because 1) she acts like a temperamental teenager and 2) she is estranged from her family. In the book she gets closer to her family after Darcy’s first proposal, not the other way round. In some JASNA (Jane Austen Society of North America) articles I read about Pride and Prejudice, the authors observed that Elizabeth isn’t concerned about her family early in the novel; her motivations are largely self-centered, she keeps her head above their foolishness and doesn’t have intimate relationships with anyone in her family with the exception of her father and Jane. Only after she receives the criticisms of her family’s behavior from Mr. Darcy does she look out for her family; for example, by advising her father not to let Lydia go to Brighton (and she becomes right about it harming her family’s reputation). The film also makes Elizabeth even more isolated from her family by omitting the fact that she tells Jane about what happened between her and Darcy. Elizabeth learning to care for her family is an important part of her growth which the film omits.

5. CONCLUSION

I still think this film is worth watching, even though as a purist I disagree with the creative changes made, namely the emphasis on the romance over the social comedy. It is obvious that the screenwriter/director didn't strive to replicate the book exactly and aimed for a romantic re-interpretation.

The film has had a positive impact since it introduced a lot of people to Jane Austen, including me.

Here’s my story: when the movie aired on TV, my mother, who is a 1995 die-hard, started ranting about her hate for this version, so I picked up the book so that I could watch and compare.

As a romance movie it is excellent, because it has plenty of sexual tension and quotable romantic lines, along with a couple we can root for. The set design, music, and set design also make watching the movie an experience. It's very easy to love this movie just for the cottage core aesthetics (although aesthetics cannot cover up the flaws of this film).

On a side note, I find it funny that the Wikipedia article for this film states that it "failed to have the cultural influence" of the 1995 BBC miniseries. In fact, many people my age (17 or 18 years old) who have read the book consider this movie the definitive version of Pride and Prejudice and some don't even know that the 1995 miniseries exists!

Whether you love or hate this film, all I ask is that you don't call it Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice.

@colonelfitzwilliams @appleinducedsleep @obscurelittlebird @austengivesmeserotonin @princesssarisa @dahlia-coccinea @firawren @cobaltzosia

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bistortion-29 · 4 years ago

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The reason why I enjoy hearing or reading about queer characters is that, it truly fascinates me. Not the whole 'how can they be gay thing' but the whole 'they are gay and they have a significant other.' Like these people didn't care. They loved another person truly and wholly without giving a single fuck. And despite the rules and norms of the society, they choose to love. I can never do that. I can never be that brave to risk everything else I have for just one person. They wrote letters, they allowed the world to know. And they didn't care.

Like the sonnets Shakespeare wrote for a mysterious young man. Like Oscar Wilde and Alfred Douglas. The letters between Virginia Woolf and Vita Sackville-West. The letters between John Laurens and Alexander Hamilton. The letters between Emily Dickinson and Susan Gilbert.

I love the fictional characters as well. Who literally risk everything and overcome fears of their own to love. Alec was a shadow hunter and he fell in love with Magnus WHO WAS A WARLOCK and married him. Nico di Angelo who was born in the 1940s where being gay meant living on the streets fell in love with Will Solace. Henry was a freaking Prince, yet he wrote such pure, raw, unadulterated words for Alex. Jude went through so much in his life and yet he allowed Willem to love him. Ari and Dante lived during a time where being gay was fatal; Dante was attacked in the book and Ari's brother killed a prostitute after finding out that they were trans. Oliver came from a conservative family and still loved Elio. These couples would have had doubts and apprehensions but they still loved each other and didn't care.

Here are some iconic quotes;

"I must see you soon — you are the divine thing I want." And. "...it is a marvel that those red rose-leaf lips of yours should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim gilt soul walks between passion and poetry. I know Hyacinthus, whom Apollo loved so madly, was you in Greek days." Oscar Wilde to Alfred Douglas.

"You should not have taken advantage of my sensibility to steal into my affections without my consent." Alexander Hamilton to John Laurens.

"I am reduced to a thing that wants Virginia...you have broken down my defences. And I don’t really resent it." Vita Sackville-West to Virginia Woolf.

"Do I repine, is it all murmuring, or am I sad and lone, and cannot, cannot help it? Sometimes when I do feel so, I think it may be wrong, and that God will punish me by taking you away; for he is very kind to let me write to you, and to give me your sweet letters, but my heart wants more." Emily Dickinson to Susan Gilbert.

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" Shakespeare.

"You could give me the past," he said a little sadly. "But Alec is my future." Magnus Bane, City of Fallen Angels by Cassandra Clare.

"Nico, I've seen a lot of brave things. But what you just did? That was maybe the bravest." Jason Grace to Nico di Angelo, House of Hades by Rick Riordan.

"Should I tell you that when we're apart, your body comes back to me in dreams? That when I sleep, I see you, the dip of your waist, the freckle above your hip, and when I wake up in the morning, it feels like I've just been with you, the phantom touch of your hand on the back of my neck fresh and not imagined? That I can feel your skin against mine, and it makes every bone in my body ache? That, for a few moments, I can hold my breath and be back there with you, in a dream, in a thousand rooms, nowhere at all?" Prince Henry of Wales to Alex Claremont-Diaz the First son, Red White & Royal Blue by Casey Mcquiston.

"You were treated horribly. You came out on the other end. You were always you.”

"And who are you?"

"I'm Willem Ragnarsson. And I will never let you go." Willem Ragnarsson to Jude St. Francis, A Little Life by Hanya Yanahigara.

"How could I have ever been ashamed of loving Dante Quintana?" Aristotle Mendoza in Aristotle and Dante discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Sàenz.

"I could spend the rest of my life like this: with him, at night, in Rome, my eyes totally shut, one leg coiled around his. I thought of coming back here in the weeks or months to come—for this was our spot." Elio from Call me by your name by Andrè Aciman.

Of course there are many more real and fictional couples, feel free to comment some.

As I said, I know not whether it is the place that I live or my own upbringing. But I will maybe allow myself to silently feel but I would never have the courage to love like these people. Those who receive love are both weak and strong but those who love are stronger than anyone else.

- midnight rants.

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thebeautifulfantastic · 2 years ago

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Top 5 books you'd give someone for them to get to know you?

oooh this is a really good question! however, I have suddenly forgotten most of the books I've ever read, so hold on while I try to remember lmao...

1. The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab

I think I knew I would love this book ever since I read the summary when it first came out. I finally got around to reading it early this year and it did not disappoint! It was one of those timely encounters with a story that feels like it was made for you in that moment. The two main characters, Addie and Henry, both feel like a different side of me. Addie's greatest wish is to live a meaningful and significant life, to be remembered. Henry struggles to meet people's expectations of him, constantly feelings like he's not enough and at the same time too much (he feels everything deeply). Ultimately, both of them just want to be fully seen and known and loved for who they are. V.E. Schwab is also such an exquisite writer. She knows how to make prose feel like poetry and REALLY put the emotion into it. I cried at the end :')

2. The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien (and The Lord of the Rings)

I spent the majority of my middle and high school years in a public speaking and leadership nonprofit, and I started out with a HUUUGE phobia of speaking in public. The Hobbit unironically is the story that helped me get over that fear. The stories were a big part of my life back when I was starting out onstage, and so I referenced it in about five different speeches. As I got more confident, I also became known as the resident Tolkien fanatic. (I can do a pretty wicked Gandalf impression, just saying ;)) So in a way, my love for Tolkien is inseparable from my public speaking journey. The stories themselves are deep and beautiful and make me ache with their bittersweetness, but also they're perfect for drawing parallels with my own life. I had a running joke for a while where I'd compare my Gandalf pushing Bilbo out the door to my mom pushing me into public speaking. And if she hadn't done that, I wouldn't have overcome a lot of my insecurity and decided I wanted to pursue acting for life.

3. Macbeth by William Shakespeare

I have a list of dream roles I'd love to play as an actress, and Lady Macbeth is sitting right at the top as my number one. I'm not sure I know all the reasons why, but I've always been really drawn to this specific Shakespeare play. It's so dark! and so tragic! and the spooky atmospheric-ness of it! ughhh so good. Fate as a concept is something I wonder about a lot, which is the underlying theme of the whole story. But also it's an exploration of how far people will go to get what they want. Where to draw the line before ambition goes too far, and all that. I'm sure there are plenty of other things that could be explored. And Lady Macbeth is without a doubt one of the greatest Shakespearean antagonists. I think she's so much more complicated than she appears; she's certainly no good, but she's not pure evil. I also used a Lady M monologue for my drama school auditions last year, so there's a fun personal connection.

4. The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis.

I read this in tenth grade, and it really turned a lot of things around for me in regards to my faith. It's because in the book, you have to subvert everything Screwtape says, since he's a demon and obviously a liar and an unreliable narrator. But in doing so, it means you're forced think through what the truth really is --- which is a surprisingly effective tactic. Lewis walked a really fine balance between showing the chilling reality of spiritual warfare, and rendering them Screwtape & Co ridiculous and ultimately powerless. Yeah. That one was thought-provoking for sure. I think back to it all the time.

5. Matt Fraction's Hawkeye comics run

Pretty much the reason for putting this on the list is because I freaking love Clint and Kate, those two idiots (affectionate). Their dynamic is top-tier. And it has a depth to it too, because these two are dealing with so much shit all the time from their respective dysfunctional families. I was a little disappointed when the show came out, because even thought it did an amazing job of conveying the mood of the comics, the Clint-Kate relationship was portrayed as more fatherlike than siblinglike, whereas I think it was a mix of both in the comics. And Kate's backstory got rewritten too... but I won't start rambling. I just really appreciate the comics and the time I spent reading them during a really rough year of my life.

(I feel like I have to "honorable mention" a few of my childhood favorites too so here you go: The Chronicles of Prydain, The Hunger Games, Divergent, Beauty, The Hero and the Crown, The Chronicles of Narnia)

send me my top 5 anything!

#thanks so much for asking!!#writing this answer just really made me wish i read more quickly and often #but i think these would still probably be my top five even if i was a more prolific reader #i didn't expect it to be so long LOL #lindsay friend #answered asks #about me #the invisible life of addie larue #the hobbit #lord of the rings #macbeth #the screwtape letters #hawkeye

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years ago

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Mysterious Night Blooming Roses pt 3

Hey look, more of that vampire bodice ripper.

Things are really heating up at Castle Pankratz!

tw: blood drinking, horny

---

“Many of your predecessors found my feeding to be...pleasurable,” the Viscount shrugged. “So don’t be embarrassed should any such feelings or physical reactions arise during our time together.”

The blush that bloomed across Geralt’s pale cheeks was enchanting and the vampire felt himself falling a little more in love with his most recent pseudo-employee.

“Wh-What happened to my, uhm, predecessors?” Geralt asked, biting at his bottom lip.

“The one before you, Moira, she’s off to start a wool trading business in Temeria. She wanted to learn a skill and find a job; you know, become a woman of independent means.”

“Oh.”

“And before her there was Thoren, and he’s probably teaching his children to fish by now. I suspect he has his own fleet of ships with the price cod has been selling for in Redania.”

“They’re still alive?”

“Of course! And they left Castle Pankratz with a hefty payment in thanks for their service. Enough to buy a whole herd of sheep, if you’re Moira. Or a nice cottage and a fishing boat, if you’re Thoren. I don’t know what you’ll choose to do with your money when your ten years is up. How old will you be, then?”

“Thirty-four.”

“You’re the perfect age! I became a creature of the night some time during my twenty-seventh year of life and that’s how I appear now; or so I have been told. I’ve actually been living here for nearly two thousand years.”

The peasant’s went wide and he swallowed thickly. “Hmm.”

“May I have your consent to drink from you, Geralt? I know it’s an odd way to meet and a rushed explanation of things, but it’s been rather a long week and I’m… I’m hungry, Geralt. Would you mind?”

“I suppose not, Your Grace,” the peasant murmured, and tilted his head to the side.

---

Their first time together had been rushed and uncomfortable and awkward. Fumbling. Like two teenagers attempting their first romantic embrace in a barn, avoiding their chores and praying that their parents or siblings didn’t accidentally peek inside and catch them.

Things had gotten better since then. The village’s Samhain celebration was drawing ever closer and the darkness of night came earlier every day. There was more time for Geralt and Jaskier to spend together, talking and laughing in the library or sitting room. Jaskier wrote music, and often played his compositions for Geralt on the harp, lute, or piano. Geralt would read out loud some nights, his fingers playing idly with the laces of Jaskier’s shirt or the fringe of his hair as he did so.

Then, early one autumn evening, Jaskier summoned Geralt to his private chambers.

“Your Grace?” the peasant asked, peeking his head and shoulders into his Master’s enormous bedroom.

“Come in, Geralt. Please come in and close the door behind you.”

Geralt stepped inside and closed the door. His eyes remained downcast as he turned towards bed where Jaskier lay, reclining comfortably like some kind of presiding deity. “You summoned me, Your Grace?”

“Come here, pet, and have a seat. I’d like to talk to you about something rather important.”

Geralt crossed the windowless chamber and took a nervous seat at the very edge of Jaskier’s mattress. He’d never been in this part of the castle before; usually the vampire took him to the sitting room or his own bedroom to feed because it was easier to tuck him in for a nap afterward. It was, as the vampire liked to joke, a rather draining experience for the young man.

“Are you displeased, Your Grace? Have I done something wrong?”

“Oh no! Of course not, dear heart! You could not possibly be any more pleasing, in all honesty. I just wanted to know how you were getting along. How do you spend your days in my castle when I am asleep in here?”

“I read, mostly. You have some of my favorites in your library.”

“Such as?”

“I’ve read The Three Musketeers twice. I’ve read Treasure Island, Faustus, and a few collections of poetry as well.”

“Studious,” the vampire smiled, tugging Geralt closer. The mortal man allowed himself to be moved up the bed and into Jaskier’s cold yet inviting embrace. “I like that in a man.”

“In… in a man?”

“Have I misunderstood something, my dear? I thought I saw you peeking at me while I changed for supper yesterday,” Jaskier explained, relaxing his arms enough so that Geralt could easily leave if he wanted to. The vampire was right, however. Geralt had been peeking and he had liked what he’d seen. “I thought that you had perhaps begun to feel the same things for me that I have begun to feel for you.”

“What are you feeling exactly, Your Grace?” Geralt’s voice was low and sweet and dripped like honey. The warm human wrapped in Jaskier’s arms smelled fantastic, like lust and mint; the wine from dinner still sang in his blood. The vampire shivered and narrowed his eyes. The irises flashed from blue to red and then back to blue again, revealing to his guest the intense emotions he usually held in check.

“In regards to you, my dear Geralt? I’m afraid that I feel significant attachment. I have not tasted blood so sweet and floral in over a hundred years, nor have I had conversations so scintillating. I suspect it has been many more years since I’ve had that, if I cared to actually count, but that would be a waste of time in your presence. You are clever, curious, loyal, and your chivalry seems to know no bounds, dear heart. How could I not feel something romantic in nature towards you when you, yourself, are so naturally easy to romance?”

The peasant’s face flushed prettily and his heartbeat sped up to a pleasant, ringing tempo. Jaskier could smell the mixture of love and arousal wafting off his darling Geralt and it nearly intoxicated him. He felt his fangs go sharp and steely in his mouth and he bit back a predatory hiss. “Fuck!”

“Your Grace? Are you alright?”

“Perhaps you should go after all, my pet. I’m afraid I-”

“No!” Geralt stiffened and pulled out of the Viscount’s arms. He shrank back against the covers and looked up at his Master with wide, worried eyes. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I’m so confused. I can’t leave again until I know what your intentions are. It’s only been a few weeks since my arrival and yet I still I -” the young man grappled with his language, pleading for something that would get his feelings across to the ancient, all-knowing vampire before him. “- I can’t stop dreaming about you, Jaskier! I can’t get you out of my head! The more I try not to think about you the more I fantasize about sneaking in here and laying at your side as you sleep. I ache to feel your skin against my own. I long for your hands, colder than death as they are, to caress me and hold me.”

The vampire let his lips part, his fangs gleaming in the low light of a few candles. Geralt’s words caught in his throat and his heart-rate rose again. It was nearly frantic. Jaskier would have been worried, but that particular rhythm combined with the way Geralt had started to smell was really getting to his head.

He allowed himself to give a single, territorial little growl before he rose onto his knees. The vampire placed one hand on either side of Geralt’s head and leaned down, brushing the tips of their noses together as he trapped his human quarry against a goosefeather pillow. “I dream of you as well, my pet. I dream of running my fingers through your soft white hair and listening as you read to me in that deep, rumbling voice.”

“Your Grace?”

“I dream,” Jaskier sighed, tracing his nose along Geralt’s jaw, “Of how delectable you smell when you’re happy. Of how caring you are when you’re worried. Of how you might react to sweet, glorious compliments being whispered in your ear as I hold you close and take you apart. I’ve had centuries of practice, dear heart, and I really am quite good.”

“Your Grace.”

“I dream of touching you, Geralt. May I please touch you?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Gods, Geralt. When you call me that, it -” the vampire’s fangs lengthened again, pushing and straining towards his sweet human sacrifice, “- It really awakens the nature of a beast in me.”

“My apologies, Master.”

Jaskier groaned and leaned away, his hands covering his face to keep his fangs from finding Geralt’s neck on instinct. “That’s certainly not any better.”

“Do you wish to drink from me, Jaskier?” Geralt asked. His voice was meek. Nervous. The vampire’s long-dead heart nearly cracked in spite of itself.

The peasant had never referred to it as drinking before. Always feeding or supping. Geralt understood that he was a food source and kept his distance from the whole process by using such specific terminology for their activities. Yes, the human clearly enjoyed the endorphins Jaskier’s feeding process released throughout his body, and the inhibition-lowering side-effects of Jaskier’s vampiric presence had let a few specific terms of endearment slip through the human’s lips but…

This was different. This was Geralt offering himself up rather than accepting his status as an offering from the village. He was an equal participant, now.

“Would you like it if I drank from you, my dear?”

“Yes,” Geralt admitted. His face was aflame with either shame or lust; Jaskier suspected that it was a strong combination of both. He pulled himself against the vampire and tossed his hair to the side, baring the pale column of his throat. His voice was breathy and a little higher than normal when he locked his gaze with Jaskier’s and whispered, “I’m all yours, Your Grace.”

The backs of the Viscount’s knuckles swept across the smooth expanse of skin and both men shuddered with anticipation. Jaskier curled around Geralt possessively and ran his icy lips down the side of the human’s neck to his pulse-point. The vampire nibbled teasingly for a moment, letting his teeth and tongue worry the skin to a warm, vibrant pink before placing the tips of his fangs down. As he pressed in, breaking through and tasting the first few delectable ruby droplets, Geralt moaned openly.

His hand clenched in the material of Jaskier’s night-shirt and his eyes rolled back into his head. It was rapturous. It was ecstasy. And now he didn’t have to keep himself silent and resigned; he could react the way he’d wanted to for weeks as his Master drank deeply from the fount of his heart.

“Jaskier!” The hand that wasn’t the vampire’s silk night-shirt was grasping at the skin of his hip, digging his fingers into the cold, firm crease where Jaskier’s long torso met his legs. He needed to hold on to something. He needed an anchor to this mortal realm or he’d go floating away forever, lost to the pleasures of his soon-to-be lover.

Jaskier removed his fangs from the human’s neck after another moment or two and slowly licked the wound to clean it. Geralt frowned and glanced up, his eyes bright and his face flushed.

“Done already, Your Grace?”

“Oh, Geralt,” the vampire purred, clambering to straddle the taller man’s hips. “I’m just getting started.”

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lumau · 3 years ago

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Slowly, slowly creeping along with those bits of early Froststorm.

I’ll try to get on with it faster again. And come up with a title.

❄🤍🖤❄

The new outpost was the latest pet project of his majesty. Apparently he had taken a fancy to this particular world's Riviera coast and decided he wanted to establish a personal business there - not out of necessity, of course, but to entertain his interest in the local art trade. So far Li Ming had not been very involved in the organisation. Ao Shun was clearly enjoying planning everything himself and did not allow anyone to take charge even of the more moderate aspects of it.

Now that he came to see the new buildings and offices for the first time in their almost finished state, Li Ming was impressed by his taste and determination. The minimalist, monochromatic design of the rooms was quite different from current local interieur design trends. Several times Ao Shun had complained at length about the struggle to find capable architects and builders who’d follow his wishes to the word, but he had turned down any offer of help.

After an in depth inspection of the office building, they ascended to the penthouse where the private rooms overlooked the city of Marseille. One of the local servants had shown Li Ming to his suite, while the king retreated to his own rooms that stretched out across the whole floor above.

Now that he was alone, Li Ming took some time to marvel at the incredibly sleek, bright and airy living room. One wall was taken in by floor to ceiling windows, currently offering a breathtaking view of the sunset above the cityscape and the sea beyond. The seating area with a white leather sofa and armchair, a low glass and marble table and the few wall mounted book shelves by the simple writing desk were all set up to harmonise with, not overpower the view.

Li Ming wandered to the other side, where further doors led to the bath and bedroom, taking in small details here and there. He would add a few personal touches over time, but there was no doubt that the way these rooms were set up specifically took his personal taste and needs into account. They were a lot less grande than his chambers in the main palace, of course, but he could already see himself feeling at home here.

Running his hand along a bookshelf, he found that it held not only several unknown, interesting looking titles, but also a few local editions of his favorite collections of poetry. He smiled at the pleasant surprise. As he wanted to pull one of them out, he was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Lord Li Ming, his majesty for you,” the servant's voice came through the door.

“Please!” Li Ming turned around, surprised that Ao Shun would pay him a visit here. In his jet-black house robes he stood out against the bright interieur. He let his gaze wander and gave an approving nodd.

“Good. It is apparent that my plans for your rooms have been followed in detail.”

“My lord,” Li Ming sank down on one knee and bowed his head low, “Please allow me to express my gratitude. I am undeserving of such favour.”

Ao Shun walked slowly around him and briefly touched his hand to his shoulder.

“That will do. I hope you find everything to your satisfaction.”

Li Ming rose and followed Ao Shun a few steps behind. He felt another smile twitch on his lips, as he watched him standing by the wide windows, his dark figure picturesque against the bright pink, blue and orange of the setting sun.

“This view… I am afraid none of the works of art we will admire tonight will be able to compete with it,” Ao Shun made a vast gesture at the scene in front of them. “Nature’s sights can only be admired here and now. Art may try to capture its fleeting beauty in an attempt to share the moment with others. Yet, I am glad to be able to share this sight with you now, as nothing can recreate the unique sentiment such beauty evokes in the spirit.”

Li Ming wondered what had inspired this sudden philosophical mood. He had to think back to the night after their return from the monarch’s conference. Li Ming had been left wondering what happened there and what the consequences might be. He was first surprised, then confused, then worried, when, in fact, nothing happened afterwards. Ao Shun behaved just like before, and he began to doubt whether his tired mind had just imagined the significance he had sensed in their interaction. After a few days, he put the thoughts aside, but sometimes he still remembered the look he had seen in the king’s eyes that evening.

After a long moment of silence, Ao Shun sighed wistfully and pulled Li Ming back from his thoughts.

“Our transport to the gallery will be waiting downstairs. We should better get ready for the event. You will find suitable, local attire in your closet. Attend me when you’re dressed.”

With a smile, Ao Shun dismissed further words of gratitude from Li Ming and left him alone in his rooms again.

#froststorm #the invisible library #ao shun #li ming

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xdandelionxbloomx · 5 years ago

Text

Modern AU Idea continued

(part 1)

Jaskier returned to social media slowly -

He started trickling in posts, snippets of song ideas, some random thoughts mostly on Instagram and his Insta stories--

And then came pictures--

The sunset over the mountains behind Kaer Morhen Ranch was first - gold, orange, burgundy, and indigo shades blending into something he told Geralt that Bob Ross would’ve liked to paint--

Geralt had snorted at that comment, but Jaskier could tell that he was secretly pleased - was happy that Jaskier enjoyed being with him on the ranch--

Another picture - blurry, with a caption--

Geralt took this photo and it’s kind of blurry, but nicely artsy, wouldn’t you say?

It was Jaskier, from his nose down, hands plucking at the acoustic guitar, unfocused and grainy in what little evening light crept through their dining room windows--

Jaskier didn’t tell Geralt that he planned to use it for his new single cover.

Another--

Geralt crouched in front of a little girl whose face was obscured by the man himself as he helped her adjust her riding helmet, his cowboy hat tipped a little crooked - the kids never wanted to wear their helmets if Geralt didn’t wear one and he, too, hated them so he’d taken to the hat which in the past had only cemented his nickname--

What are the kids calling it these days? Cowboycore?

All hell broke loose over that photo - from people observing how good Geralt looked in his worn jeans (which Jaskier could appreciate as well because it was true) to people hounding Jaskier about cowboycore and--

Doesn’t cowboycore have gay connotations?

Jaskier replied - That one Ariana Grande gif. And what about it?

The internet promptly lost their collective mind--

Wait, wait, is that who Honey Gold was about? Someone tweeted him.

That song was five years old and so he didn’t reply--

He wasn’t sure he was ready to share just how long it had been yet.

Jaskier had a plan brewing, but Geralt would have to be willing to be on camera for a significant chunk of it, be willing to really be a part of Jaskier’s art--

He wasn’t sure Geralt was ready and so he didn’t propose it for a while yet, working instead on the single that had taken up a significant part of his brain - an ear worm he couldn’t get rid of that made him tap his fingers on whatever surface was closest if he didn’t have his guitar around.

He shared a photo of a sunset, Geralt leaned up against the fence of the solitary paddock where Roach was housed for the moment while he worked with her--

That horse might have the spirit of a devil, but at least she loves Geralt. As she should.

He couldn’t count the number of comments demanding a name for the little chestnut mare and so the next day he ended up out at the paddock as Geralt lunged the horse without a rope, sending her in circles around the paddock as he stood in the center of it--

Jaskier takes a short video as she passes by--

In the midday sun, her scars were more visible and he hesitated to post it before he settled on captioning the video--

This is Roach. Geralt adopted her through a rescue. Her last owners called her a cockroach from what I’ve heard, but the rescue called her Roachie. Geralt insists that Roach has more dignity.

Jaskier ended up showing Geralt the comments because they were just so--

Sweet.

A few people shared their own stories about their rescue horses and Geralt had been annoyed by the phone being shoved in his face every few minutes at first, but by the end of the day Jaskier knew he was secretly pleased because even though he’d roll his eyes when Jaskier pushed the phone towards him over dinner, Geralt would read the comment he pointed out--

And his lips would twitch up at the corners--

Half of Jaskier’s Instagram became dedicated to Geralt and Roach, just random pictures that he snapped--

The other half tended to be short videos of him messing around on the guitar, or voice updates, or photos of hands--

Then suddenly a couple of weeks where he wasn’t very active--

Those couple of weeks had been hard because he’d finished writing the single entirely, but he’d started on that other project and kept working himself up to ask Geralt about it, but how did one even do that?

How could he possibly--

And then one night Jaskier got out of the shower to find Geralt reading a book on the couch. It wasn’t necessarily unusual - Geralt preferred books to television, but there was something so warm about it that night, something that made his chest ache.

With damp hair he’d made his way over to the couch where he climbed up onto it, curling up against Geralt’s side, nuzzling against him. The other man grunted at the feeling of his wet hair, but didn’t complain, shifting his hold--

He kept the book open with one hand and wrapped his other arm around Jaskier, turning his head briefly to press a kiss to the crown of his head.

“What are you reading?” Jaskier had asked, voice small in the space between them. It didn’t have to be big here. There wasn’t an audience. Just Geralt.

“Poetry.” Geralt answered and Jaskier hummed a soft note.

“Read some?” He rasped, softly, and closed his eyes, settling in.

Geralt did, of course, because despite all his eye rolling he was kind and soft and always had been--

And the words he read gripped Jaskier, cemented the whole swirling picture into something linear, and he fell asleep against Geralt thinking about it, listening to his gruff voice--

Four days later he posted a picture of his notebook with a simply smiley as a caption--

They didn’t need to know that he and Geralt had discussed in length what the project would mean, what it would entail - didn’t need to know that Geralt asked for time to think, that Jaskier had taken it as a no at first and instead turned his attention to perfecting the mixing on the single he planned to release very soon - didn’t need to know that Geralt came to him on the fourth morning and told Jaskier that he’d do it, only if Jaskier promised he didn’t have to fly to New York or wear makeup--

Jaskier had kissed him, had taken him to bed, had told him in the proper words, told Geralt he was going to hear it on the project anyways--

Geralt hadn’t said it back yet, but the look on his face told Jaskier all he needed to know--

The picture of his notebook had far too many comments to even begin to reply to - excitement over new music, people telling him to make sure he felt well before returning, people trying to decipher his handwriting, and then there was the tiny section of people who had started a hashtag.

#Roachupdate -

Please can we get a picture of Roach?

How is Roach doing?

Has Roach let you pet her yet?

So Jaskier caved and posted another photo of Roach - it was significantly closer than all his other photos as Jaskier could stand at the fence now without the devil mare losing her mind.

She’s doing good. She loves Geralt to death, but doesn’t let anyone else touch her. Still can’t be lose with other horses but we’ve been able to have them separated by the fence without her trying to snap at them through it. #Roachupdate

And thus Saturdays became designated Roach Update days, though if someone caught him at a good time on Twitter, he might just tweet a photo of her because he could.

About the time his new single - his ballad about a cowboy who went grey early, who liked his coffee with milk and sugar on good mornings, who had warm hands - came out, he posted a photo of his hand on Roach’s muzzle.

She may be a devil, but she’s our devil. #Roachupdate

His single picked up steam in a way he hadn’t expected it to and suddenly there were eyes on him again and--

It was a lot. He’d forgotten how life could be in the spotlight--

And he worried, he worried about his voice, about--

But the night Geralt read him that poem, voice low, would come back to him and he’d take a deep breath and smile--

Because he could do this again.

He wanted to do this again. Wanted to share with the world his story.

Most of all, he supposed, he wanted to share their story, with Geralt beside him, tell the world about it, about him, about the amazing man--

And so on a rainy Saturday morning, Jaskier posted a photo--

Roach had a simple brown halter on, rope hooked to it, and Jaskier held the rope, smiling just a little as he looked at her--

The photo was Geralt’s phone background because of course Geralt would do that, would make Jaskier’s chest feel too tight in the best way every time he opened his phone up to find something--

But he captioned the photo--

Roach might actually like me now. Geralt rode her the other day with a bareback pad so I’d say that it’s significant progress. Oh, and I started working on my new visual album. #Roachupdate

Safe to say that his fans erupted into chaos.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #modern au #my posts #am I going to write his visual album out??#yes.

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kagrenacs · 4 years ago

Text

Explaining the Iceberg #5

*Not everything is covered, take note of trigger warnings before the links

Altmeri Poetic-Architecture: Referencing a response by Lawrence Shick to a question about Alinor buildings resembling insect wings and glass. There was a lot of criticism directed towards the appearance of Altmeri buildings in ESO when it first debuted, and then again when Summerset launched. Shick commented that, despite fanciful descriptions, their materials are still practical, and that architects can’t create buildings from poetry.

Megalomoths: Similar to the Sunbirds of Alinor, Megalomoths are spaceships that look like moths.

Dreugh Undersea Cities: From Mankar Cameron’s and Vivec’s writings. Both indicate the dreugh have (or had) their own empire, or other sorts of colonies that exist underwater.

Possi/impossipoint: Some more MK jargon, an impossipoint is a point in time where nothing suddenly becomes something. Likewise, a possipoint is where something that exists, can become something else. Essentially moments in time where something changes.

Night Mother is Mephala: A well known theory by this point. An in-universe and out of universe theory that Mephala is actually the Night Mother, and that the animosity between the DB and Morag Tong is her own creation.

The Oghma: Presuming this references to the Oghma Infinium. A book created by the wizard Xarxes, he named it after his wife, Oghma, who he made from his favorite moments in history. In general, an Oghma seems to refer to a journal or a recorded history.

Sovngarde on the moon: Shor/Lorkhan is the ruler of Sovngarde. His corpse is also said to be the two moons. This theory ties the two together and proposes Sovngarde is/is on the moons.

Misanthropic Space: Not much on this one. Taken together, Misanthropic means dislike of humanity. The book Sithis mentions that Sithis the god is sometimes thought of as misanthropic. Considering he’s also considered the void itself, Misanthropic space may refer to this.

Tharnatos: The Cyrodillic sect of the Mythic Dawn, mentioned in the Redguard forums. As a side note, tharn-atos probably refers to the Tharn family, of which Jagar Tharn had ties to Mehrunes Dagon

Continental Time: This draws from MK’s C0da and other threads. At the end of c0da a new universe is born, in a later thread (since deleted, it was a jab at the Otherkin community), MK states that this universe is Akavir, and that Yokuda (misspoken as Hammerfell) was the past (this might be a reference to timezones in the real world, but judging from previous comments from MK regarding his writing on the Redguard history I doubt this). This would mean the Redguards are from an entirely different universe and not related to the other humans, which is racist! This lore has since been disowned by MK and LadyN, but fans still perpetuate this theory. This post discusses racism within the writing. (PLEASE NOTE, that if you click the final link or search for MK’s statements on the Redguard lore, there are some anti-indigenous statements by him) https://betterbemeta.tumblr.com/post/190628347692/corsairesix-fallout-new-vegas-2010

The Marukhaki Selective: A sect of the Alessian Order that was named after the First Era prophet Markuh. They caused the Middle Dawn, an especially long Dragon Break, by trying to remove Auri-El from Akatosh.

The Prime Gesalt: Another name for the Numidium. Gestalt comes from the german word for shape, and refers to a school of psychology that essentially looks at behavior and consciousness as a whole. Essentially this is probably referencing the theory that the souls of the Dwemer became the ‘skin’ of the Numidium, like cells in a body.

The Jills: Described as ‘female dragons’ (why they’re female when dragons traditionally have no gender, and not just a subset of dragons/Aka, is an unfortunate product of cis writers). They’re agents of Akatosh(more attributed to Alkosh, the dragon-cat) who mend tears in time. They’re described sometimes as sub-gradients which essentially means they’re small shards of Akatosh’s soul.

Versidue-Shaie still alive: Not much was found on this, but i don’t think much is needed. Probably a theory that the Tsaesci Potenate of the 1st Era wasn’t assassinated and is alive.

Molag Bal Destroyed Tamriel: Not much found on this either, I didn’t look particularly hard however, because there’s a lot of nasty shit people write about Molag Bal! If I had to take a stab at it, I'd assume it looks at the fragments of Nirn in Coldharbour and theorizes these may be from previous Kalpas. Possibly from Kalpas Molag Bal himself destroyed.

Seekers and Ascended Seekers: A possible (if flimsy) connection between Hermaeus Mora’s Seekers (seen in Dragonborn) and the Ascended Seekers of Morrowind. The book, Sithis has a line that states ‘Come unto the Sharmat Dagoth Ur as a friend AE HERMA MORA ALTADOON PADHOME LRKHAN AE AI’ This thread discusses this theory and why there’s probably no connection better than I can.

Ordinated Receptile: Possibly another name for the Eye of Magnus. The King of the Kamal from Akavir landed at Winterhold stating he was searching for the ordinated receptacle

Varlinance+ No results from any site, there seems to be a typo in this entry

Rorikstead: A theory stating that Rorikstead is actually a cultist hotspot. Based on the fact that one of the characters seen in Skyrim, Rorik, states he founded the town. Previously in this area there was a town named Rorik’s Steading, founded by a man named Rorik. There are other key points, Rorikstead having good crop production and soul gems found in every house.

Sovengarde Shor’s Kalpic Army: Sovengarde is described as a hall where the spirits of Nords wait until the ‘final reckoning’ If taken with the obscure text ‘Shor, son of Shor.’ This is explained by the Kalpa cycle, where the universe is reborn and the Ehlnofey wars begin again. Also, this resembles the Norse mythology of Ragnarok.

World-Refusals/Anti-Creation: A primarily Dwemeri school of thought. Basically the denial of the world and existence, either to return to the state prior to the creation of Mundus (godhood essentially) or the nothingness/collective unity of souls before things learned to be separate.

Mathematical Atheism: In the context of tes, this is probably another Dwemer belief. Mathematical Atheism is used to describe a couple different things over the years, but taken in context, I’m guessing it’s comparable to the irl philosophy that math isn’t something fundamentally woven into the universe. It’s more like a language humans have came up with to describe what we see, and aliens may have a totally different language of math than us.

Many Ysgramors: As if one wasn’t enough, a theory based on the fact that Ysgramor exists as a Draugr, and as a Soul in Sovengarde. Either the deeds of multiple people got attributed to his name, or there were multiple people named Ysgramor.

The Crux of Transcendence: another name for the Mantella (the big old soul gem that powers the Numidium when the heart doesn’t)

(D)aedric artifacts sentient: Fairly straightforward, artifacts are the essence of a d/aedra, condensed into an object, they also change hands fairly often, appearing in random locations, possibly by a mechanism inherent to the artifacts themselves. Excluding special cases like Umbra, this theory proposes the artifacts may make conscious choices to jump around.

Paleonumerology: A field of study within tes. Numbers carry significant symbolic value (the sharmat, 1+1, the tower being a 1, ect). Paleonumerology is studying these numbers, their historic basis, and their relation to the physical world. Remember when I said math is the language of the universe? Well this would be it.

Jagar Tharn was good: An argument supporting Jagar Tharn. If he was such a powerful mage, there’s a chance he knew Uriel Septim would be the last heir, and imprisoned him to keep the dragonfires lit. There’s more to it than that, here’s the full thread if you’re interested.

Aldmeris was real (in my mind): The ingame theory that Aldmeris is nothing more than a myth, acting as a setting for ancient stories, or a previous name for the Summerset Isles and/or Tamriel.

Vivec killed Moraelyn: Moraelyn, a member of the Ra’athim clan, was called the witch-king of Ebonheart, during the first era. He has no notable connection to Vivec, so i’m a little confused at this one. My best guess is Moraelyn was likely a proto-version of Nerevar, therefore this might be a roundabout statement regarding Foul Murder

Divine Skin/Dwemer Numidium Skin: A noncanonical statement by MK saying he believes the Dwemer’s souls were collectively absorbed, becoming the Numidium’s ‘skin’

The Dream: The thought that the entirety of the TES universe is either metaphorically, or literally, a dream. Metaphorically speaking, it’s a way to conceptualize the universe, everyone is a character playing a part in the dream, an individual in their own right, but ultimately a part of a greater whole. Literally speaking, the universe may be the Dream of Anu, who is using the universe to comprehend his grief at the loss of Nir and Padomay. It may also be the dream of an entity higher than Anu, called The Godhead. And even beyond this, the Godhead might be a metaphor for the creators of The Elder Scrolls, the world being their creation/drea

True Nords are all Bandits: The observation that bandits within Skyrim often call the gods by their Nordic names, rather than acknowledging their imperialized counterparts.

Sotha Sil’s Last words: An obscure text written BEFORE the release of Morrowind. The author is anonymous, but many speculate that a dev wrote this.

Deep ones: In oblivion, in the town of Hackdirt there are books mentioning the worship of ‘The Deep Ones’ as you descend into the town you can see where the townsfolk worship these entities. There are a good deal of theories about what the Deep ones are, but they’re probably taken from the Cthulhu Mythos, specifically the Shadow over Innsmouth and the short story ‘Dagon’.

Nirnroot tiny towers: https://www.reddit.com/r/teslore/comments/4qdw78/tiny_towers_a_nirnroot_theory/ A half-serious theory that states Nirnroots are created by the Hist to reinforce the towers and prevent them from ‘erroding’

The Loveletter from the Fifth-Era: A noncanonical MK text that acts as the precursor to C0da. A letter sent from the future discussing Landfall and the events afterwards.

Kagrenac possessed Dagoth Ur/Sharmat: Dagoth Ur was said to hold the same motivations as Kagrenac, ie: remove colonizers from their home. Going a step further to look at non canonical sources, specifically the Dwemer Numidium Skin statement, Kagrenac was attempting to share godhood among the Dwemer, and may have succeeded. Morrowind shows us that Dagoth Ur was attempting to do the same. The main theory here is that Kagrenac’s spirit may have possessed Dagoth Ur and was the source of his motivations, or that an entity more powerful than both of them, the Sharmat, possessed them/took them over. The Sharmat may be metaphorical or literal, either a desire for power, a hunger for something more (which is comparable to Lorkhan creating Nirn, in an effort to find something more/enlighten everyone, or to his darker manifestations, the Greedy man, the thief, ect.)

Cuhlecain Reman Bloodline: In universe speculation that Emperor Cuhlecain (the ‘emperor’ before Tiber) and Reman are related.

Cyrodiil Spread to the Stars: Found within ‘Where were you when the Dragon Broke?” Empress Hestra of the Alessian Order, who ruled during the Middle Dawn, stated that the Cyrodiil empire spread to the stars. This could refer to the goals of the Marukhati Selectives in ‘removing Auri-el from Akatosh’, effectively exerting will upon the gods(stars) themselves. Or more likely, a reference to the out of game texts discussing space travel during the Middle Dawn.

Anti-CHIM: Separate from Zero-Summing (having an existential crisis so hard you disappear) although the two are sometimes used synonymously. While CHIM is realizing you’re just one part of a larger whole, while retaining individuality, and Zero-Summing is realizing you’re one part of a whole, but unable to accept that, Anti-CHIM is a person realizing their part in the universe, but refusing to accept it, instead gaining the ability to manipulate the universe but essentially seeing themselves as the center of it, instead of another part. https://teslore.fandom.com/wiki/Anti-CHIM:_A_Concept_and_Theory

Thalmor and Jygalagg: A theory that states that the Thalmor worship Jygalagg due to his nature as the prince of ‘order’

Dibella=Y’ffre: A thought that these two deities of nature and beauty are the same entity. This theory is mostly hinged on the (very cishet) thought that mer are feminine and have the masculine god Y’ffre (who is described as female in lore occasionally), and men are masculine and have Dibella who is feminine.

The Void Ghost: Described as the lost spirit of Lorkhan, who remains because his work isn’t done.

House cats are Khajiit spies: Referring to the Afliq, a form of Khajiit that resembles a housecat. Because of this they’re often used as spies.

TEM (Warspore Tiberia): From the text Cyrus vs.Tiber Septim, either a battleship or battlespire.

The Athedorix Conundrums: A book that is never actually seen in game, and only mentioned briefly. Said to contain 9 riddles that drive people mad.

Aetherius Dream Visitation: Pretty much what it sounds like. The ability to travel to one another’s dreams (probably through the Dreamsleeve)

Revelation at the Death of Alesh: While this doesn’t directly refer to anything I've found, I'm guessing it’s discussing Marukh the Prophet, who in a state of near death was visited by Alessia’s spirit.

Empire ended in 3E 417: This year could be seen as a beginning to an end. The warp in the west occurred, allowing the Underking to die, keening and sunder were lost to Dagoth Ur, which eventually lead to the empire taking an interest in Morrowind and the Heart being ‘destroyed’ leading up to the events of Morrowind and Oblivion and the end of the Septims. As a side note, this seems to be an original theory by the original author of the iceberg, as i can only find it in association with discussions like these.

Coldharbour is the remains of Lyg: The only discussion on this is on 4pleb, while I don’t give enough shits to read that thread, if I had to guess this would be a theory connecting Coldharbours mimicry of Tamriel, to Lyg being a parallel to Tamriel

Falmer White souls: An observation that in Skyrim, the Falmer souls fit into white soul gems, instead of black soul gems. Some theorize this is a result of the Dwemer’s curse upon them, shrinking their souls.

#tes iceberg #this is fun to research because i get to learn more. but mostly i'm learning i hate tes fans on any sort of fourm #long post

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tessiete · 4 years ago

Note

“Perhaps, I killed a Jedi and took it from him.” Clumsy fingers beneath sleek synth leather gloves close over the hilt, the silver of it glinting merrily in the grasp of a cold fist. “Impossible,” Lord Vader says. “I am growing tired of your games, boy. I shall only ask once more: who gave it to you?” “I cannot say,” he replies. “Cannot?” says Vader. “Or will not?” “I will not.” His voice is firm, and does not shake. He reaches again for that serenity: a flash of copper hair, [...] of blue eyes.

This is for the writer’s ask where you ask about 500 characters of one of my fics, and I do a deep dive analysis! <3 Thank you for indulging me.

Alright! Better late than never but I’ve been overthinking this because I DO SO LOVE process and meta! So let’s dive in. The commentary.

First of all, let me say that I am a huge proponent of Korkie Kenobi - and yeah, I’d love to see it canonised - but I think my relationship with this character is a bit more nuanced than people give me credit for.

I was all for arospec/acespec Obi-Wan. That’s the canon I loved. And I was very much not interested in Satine when she first appeared in TCW. But the thing was, once it happened, once they introduced a love interest who played a significant enough role in the story, I felt I could either ignore it...or roll with it. See what it changed. See what it created.

Obviously, the relationship - on a surface level (and tbh probably the only level which the writers considered) is meant to mirror Anakin and Padme. They are the road not taken. Where Anakin and Padme chose each other, Obi-Wan and Satine chose their duties.

This is a...I don’t like this take as an exclusive one, and here’s why: it implies that Padme was also selfish, and made the wrong choice. And yet everything in canon tells us the opposite. She continued working. She jeopardised her career and her reputation to fight against the rise of the Empire. She gave her life trying to prevent it. To put her as a direct mirror of Satine is messy, and to me, cannot justify the creation of Satine enough to convince me.

But I also don’t want to throw away such a huge chunk of TCW narrative. So the other option is to reaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaally lean in.

At which point, you have to examine not just the immediate symbolism of the relationship, but what each character individually brings. You have to give Satine her own agency. She has to become her own person. Suddenly, all the little bits of information that would normally be overlooked become important. We get so little of her, that everything becomes significant.

And Korkie - who hangs around for a couple episodes, but otherwise has no real importance, suddenly becomes significant.

And that, for me, is the crux of the issue. I hate, hate, hate wasted story elements, and if Korkie is so superfluous as to be negligible, then why did we waste not just money, and time, but story on him. And if he is unimportant, then his relationship to Satine is unimportant. And if that relationship is insignificant, then we lose something integral and revealing about Satine, and now suddenly there is less of her to relate to Obi-Wan, and so anything revealed about him becomes less important, too.

Maybe this feels like a stretch, and maybe it is, but to me, Korkie feels very much like Chekhov’s gun.

And it would drive me CRAZY if he were to go unexamined, and unused.

So this whole story was an examination of “What does Korkie tell us about Obi-Wan that we didn’t know before? And what can Korkie tell us about Vader?”

Because what is Vader if not Obi-Wan’s Fallen son?

This was essentially the thesis for this piece: despite the fact that Vader/Anakin had all of Obi-Wan’s attention, love, and time it is Korkie who truly embodies the legacy of his father.

And while I know that “found family” is a massively important part in the SW universe, I think there’s a larger discussion to be had about other aspects of family. The answer isn’t always that Blood is Bad, and that heritage is shameful or unimportant. Sometimes, where you came from does matter. Some people do find strength, and pride, and hope, and motivation, and support in their origins - even if it’s something they’re divorced from in a physical or temporal way.

For me, Korkie is an opportunity to examine a father/son relationship where neither of the two people have an attachment beyond blood, but -

There is still one of love.

But instead of Anakin’s selfish, possessive love for his family, both Obi-Wan and Korkie relate to each other, and treat each other with empathy, compassion, and respect. Their love is noble. Selfless. They put entire worlds before each other. And Korkie learned that from his dad.

A personal pet peeve is this constant depiction of kids whose parents are in high stakes jobs feeling neglected or abandoned. How many cop shows have bratty kids acting out because their dad is never home to share dinner? How many medical dramas show the children of doctors lashing out because mom spends more time at work than at ballet class?

It drives me crazy.

As the child of a medical worker with an on-call schedule, I can say that neither I, nor my siblings, nor any of the other children of my mum’s coworkers have EVER felt neglected. We have never felt unfairly or selfishly entitled to our parents’ time. Because we knew - because someone (another parent? A grandparent? A teacher?) explained to us, and taught us at a young age that what our parents were doing was important. We understood that there were life or death stakes, and that we were very loved, and very much the priority - just not every second. Because sometimes, a life was on the line.

And Obi-Wan Kenobi was fighting to save a galaxy.

I just cannot in any way believe that a child whose mother was a ruler of a planet plagued with civil unrest and a significant terrorist group, and whose father was a Jedi Master, and in charge of securing peace and freedom across the stars would ever be so selfish, and so uncompassionate as to begrudge the sacrifice of his parents.

Korkie Kenobi is an abject example of selfless love. The kind of love the Jedi aspire to. The kind of love that Anakin absolutely does not understand, and fails to embrace.

And it’s not because Qui-Gon died (Korkie never had that kind of paternal relationship), and it’s not because Shmi was killed (Korkie’s mother also dies tragically), but because of the maturity of the person, and the quality of Korkie’s character.

So to pit a Korkie just coming into his own as an adult, aware of his father, and recently bereaved of his mother against a Vader just coming into his own as a Sith…

That, to me, evoked very interesting narrative avenues to explore.

In this universe, Korkie and Obi-Wan have recently reconnected (Korkie having helped Boil retrieve Obi-Wan from an ill-advised trip to Mandalore where Obi-Wan learned that Anakin had become Vader for the first time), and they both know what they are to each other. Obi-Wan has begged for forgiveness, and given Korkie his lineage, and his legacy in the form of Qui-Gon’s lightsaber - something that Anakin never got. Vader wants it.

So let’s get into it:

“Perhaps, I killed a Jedi and took it from him.”

This first line - it’s like poetry, it rhymes.

Vader asks where Korkie got the blade, and Korkie replies...in Qui-Gon’s words. He doesn’t know this, of course. It’s just a coincidence. But the remains of Anakin hear it. Anakin recognises it, and it galls him that this boy - Obi-Wan’s replacement of him - seems to be able to claim the lineage he wishes he had. Korkie is stealing his family. And he doesn’t know them. He doesn’t deserve them. He’s not entitled to them the way Anakin is.

And this is also one of the first things Anakin ever heard a Jedi say. This was the beginning of Qui-Gon’s promise. This is a moment in which Anakin first thought he might find salvation. It was the start of his life, in some ways. This was pure, good, and trusting Anakin Skywalker.

It’s an absolute anathema to him, now. Now, when he’s lost everything. When he’s filled with doubt, and hate, and fear, and suffering. It makes him angry. Because he doesn’t want to see that he was Korkie. He doesn’t want to see that he had this chance, and blew it. And Korkie - who never had Qui-Gon, who never had Obi-Wan - can speak the words without even (in Anakin’s mind) earning them.

Also, and most obviously, Anakin killed the Jedi. And yet...he didn’t kill Obi-Wan. He did not kill that Jedi, and take this blade.

Korkie is alive. Obi-Wan is alive. Anakin resents it. Obi-Wan should not exist without him. Obi-Wan should have no legacy but Vader. Because Anakin doesn’t.

Clumsy fingers beneath sleek synth leather gloves close over the hilt, the silver of it glinting merrily in the grasp of a cold fist.

To me, it was important that we see the weakness of Vader. His hands are not his own. The flesh of Anakin Skywalker is gone, and beneath the serenity of the mask, and the shadow of black, he’s fumbling. Korkie’s wrong-footed him, and he feels young, and insufficient in the face of this boy. This is all about Anakin’s insecurity.

Korkie speaking words he shouldn’t know - speaking in the voice of a literal Jedi - so calm, and so collected (negotiating with the serenity of his father) scares Anakin. He’s hearing and seeing the ghosts of the people he betrayed.

And the blade itself is merry because it belongs in the hand of Korkie. It knows (and the narrative knows) that it won’t be long in Vader’s grasp. It transcends the dark. It glints, and is optimistic. It’s a symbol of faith. It’s delight in being claimed by Korkie is symbolic of Qui-Gon’s own approval of his legacy. Qui-Gon Jinn chooses Korkie Kenobi.

But the thing is, it’s not because he’s a Kenobi. It’s because he chooses to act, and speak like a Jedi. Anakin fears - and knows - he never received this blade because Qui-Gon Jinn would not approve of what he’s done. This is Qui-Gon’s repudiation of Anakin Skywalker. The blade is laughing at Anakin.

“Impossible,” Lord Vader says. “I am growing tired of your games, boy. I shall only ask once more: who gave it to you?”

And then Anakin answers the same way he did as a child. He is still a selfish, defiant, fearful child. He denies the possibility that Korkie could have killed a Jedi.

Now, of course, he knows that the Jedi are dead, he knows that Korkie is not a Jedi, and he’s also denying the possibility that Korkie could have done it.

And, more than that, he’s denying the very possibility that Korkie could speak - could somehow know - Qui-Gon’s words. There is no way that this boy should be speaking with that voice. It’s impossible.

It’s a three-fold denial.

As a more technical thing, Vader’s voice was really hard for me to do, because this Vader still had to be recognisable as Anakin. He’s only been Vader for about a year at this point, maybe a little longer, and he’s just been thrown back into his childhood by memory, so the voice had to hit this balance point between Anakin and Vader.

This is an Anakin who uses language to build himself up. He doesn’t quite buy his own authority - it is so easily undercut by an unarmed boy, here, after all - so he makes himself sound like the seat of power...Obi-Wan. He mimics the slightly elevated phrasing of his former master, and condescends, calling him “boy”. He speaks to Korkie in the voice of Korkie’s father. But it’s distorted, and clunky because it is not Anakin’s voice to claim. And he hasn’t had all the practice that the next 18 years will provide him with, yet.

So theoretically, if I did it right, the motivation - the drive of the sentence - is Anakin, but the pattern is an echo of Obi-Wan.

I also think this is probably the third time Vader’s asked Korkie (iirc), and that’s just a classic storytelling technique - things, especially questions, lessons, or events, happen three times.

Korkie replies differently every time.

“I cannot say,” he replies.

So, at first, Korkie answered a question with a question. He was brash, young, and openly defiant. He replied in the way that Anakin or Obi-Wan may have if they’d been captured. He asked who Vader was. He didn’t know him - he doesn’t know him.

Vader is his brother, and yet Vader - Anakin - has been erased. His own family doesn’t know him. Has no reason to. He isn’t a person anymore. He’s a monster with no face, no name, no history, and no future. He has no claim to his own past.

Then, when Vader asks again, Korkie asks why it matters.

It’s a slight change of tactic, but one that Korkie thinks might put him on a more even playing field. If he knows why it’s important, then maybe they can work out a deal. Maybe he can...negotiate. Again, Vader hears shades of Obi-Wan’s cunning in this kid’s voice.

It also forces Vader to confront the reason he wants this blade - but that reason is intimately connected to Anakin. So Korkie is humanising him. He’s offering Vader a piece of himself. But Vader won’t take it.

Then, after Korkie’s spoken like Qui-Gon, Vader asks again, and Korkie denies him utterly. He cannot say. It’s impossible. It’s something beyond his control.

“Cannot?” says Vader. “Or will not?”

“I will not.” His voice is firm, and does not shake.

Or is it? Because then, Korkie does what Vader does not. He takes responsibility for his choice. It’s not out of his hands. He’s choosing - deliberately, and decisively - to deny Vader. And he does not flinch. He does not hide. He looks into Vader’s face, knowing he might condemn himself to suffering, and death, and chooses that.

This is Korkie as a Jedi. He makes the same sacrifice the Jedi make - he looks into the Dark and chooses the Light.

And in this instance, he has replaced Anakin because he’s protecting Obi-Wan. Korkie is at Obi-Wan’s back. Korkie is making a choice to shield the person he loves - though he hardly knows him - because it is right. He loves freely, and selflessly. He loves Obi-Wan in a way that Anakin betrayed, but Korkie will not betray Obi-Wan here.

He reaches again for that serenity: a flash of copper hair, of soft robes, of blue eyes.

Korkie Kenobi is Force sensitive. Of course, he is. He is the culmination of a series of Light choices, and selfless sacrifice. He, at the end of the Clone Wars, comes out as the very thing they were fighting for. It’s not lost. Obi-Wan isn’t lost - he still shaped Korkie. He still saved something - something of the Force, something of the Light, and something of himself. He saved Satine. He saved the Jedi. He’s not fought and sacrificed in vain.

And so, though it is still rough, and untrained, though, like his relationship with his father, it’s still new, Korkie instinctively seeks to soothe himself, to find peace, so stay calm. In this moment where he is confronted with a Sith Lord, alone, and unarmed he chooses to reach for peace…

And his peace, his hope, is Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He reaches for his dad.

Just like Obi-Wan reaches out for Qui-Gon’s ghost. Just like Anakin reaches out for Obi-Wan (seriously can’t have one conversation without mentioning him). Just like Luke reaches out for Anakin.

Korkie seeks comfort in the Force through the person he most finds solace in. And it doesn’t matter that he and Obi-Wan are nearly strangers, because they choose not to be. And because Obi-Wan is the ideal that Korkie strives for.

Obi-Wan has taught him something about serenity, and bravery, and hope. So when Korkie thinks of calm, and thinks of making his father proud, he sees Obi-Wan. Just flashes in his memory.

And the colours of Obi-Wan are symbolic - the fire of his hair, the chaos of the galaxy and war, the colour of the sand on Tatooine, the heat of its suns, and the shared blood between them. The blue of his eyes like water in the desert, an oasis, a salvation, an open sea, the clear sky, something vast and all encompassing and cool. The soft robes are an embrace. Obi-Wan is a home in the Force.

(Ironically, this is also what Anakin as Vader thinks of, and is thinking of because he also knows Obi-Wan, and so the next beat of this scene shows Vader and Korkie accidentally sharing thoughts. An easy mistake, as they’re essentially running into each other at the same restaurant!)

ANYWAY -

A, um, brief analysis of this passage from Or Else I Shall Be Lost

I hope you enjoyed it!!! And thank you so much @tree-scapes for tagging me!!!!!

#korkie kenobi #meta #sw fic #obi-wan kenobi #korkie #darth vader #writers #gffa #anakin skywalker #qui-gon jinn

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kikyozoldyck · 4 years ago

Text

crappy birthday

PAIRING: hidan x reader SUMMARY: your soulmate is shit at birthdays WARNINGS: swearing, violence, descriptions of murder, shitty poetry courtesy of hidan

You wake up on your birthday and don’t feel any different. You go about your daily routine like you do every other day because, as far as you’re concerned, today is like every other day. You’re hardly expecting chocolates because you have no significant other or even friends who might give you sweets to snack on, and even before the incident, you were hardly one to celebrate yourself, although you vaguely remember your parents throwing some ridiculous party for you every year, in fact, your last real, clear memory of them is the three-tiered, casino-themed birthday cake your mother made for you (and proceeded to bleed out all over later that same evening.)

Oh, well. C’est la vie, and all that, right?

It’s a nice day, you notice once you’ve gotten dressed and wandered out into your kitchen. Not too cold, and certainly not too hot, with a nice breeze, perfect for enjoying a morning that cute little tea shop down the street, with some tea and scones and a book to keep you company.

It’d be nice to share it with someone, if you had anyone.

(You do have one person, your mind supplies unhelpfully, you’ll always have him.)

You ignore that one, disgusting, traitorous thought in favor of grabbing a worn paperback off your shelf, tying your coat around your waist, toeing on your shoes, and opening your front door.

And then you stop in your track and stare. At the body. On your doorstep

“What the fuck, Hidan?” You swear to yourself, though, you can’t say that you’d be too surprised if the creepy fuck just happened to be close enough to hear it.

And then Mrs. Sato from next door comes out, humming merrily under her breath as she locks the door behind her before turning to you.

“Good morning, dear. Such a lovely day, isn’t it?”

You smile back, just a little fixedly. “The loveliest.”

“Oh, well! Best enjoy it while it lasts!” Mrs. Sato bobs her grey head a few times and toddles past, stepping around the corpse, like it isn’t there. “Have a nice day, dear.”

“You too, Mrs. S.” You reply politely, finger tapping impatiently against the doorframe as you wait for her to disappear down the stairwell. Then you’re crouching down in the blink of an eye, every sense zeroing in on the body, and that’s when you realize, the body is still breathing.

And that means there’s definitely some weird, ancient, Jashinist ninjutsu involved because aside from the fact that your next-door neighbor didn’t so much as bat an eyelash as she passed, there’s also 1) a hole carved into the chest of the body, meticulously and precisely heart-shaped, just big enough for you to peer inside and watch the exposed organ beat, and 2) the body isn’t just anybody, it’s your childhood rival — Funai Yuka.

You stare for a moment longer, oddly mesmerized by the physical thump of the blood-red heart that you can both hear and see. It is so gorgeously delicate in this one moment, under your complete mercy.

Then, cautiously, you reach out and tug lightly at one tail of the intricately tied bow around Funai’s arms and torso, just below her breasts but above her bound wrists. It is also linked with a red ribbon.

And there’s a card tucked between Funai and the ribbon, one that you retrieve now. It isn’t anything fancy, note hastily scrawled on what looks to be the back of a soba shop receipt with a doodled version of Hidan, covered in Jashinist symbols and what looks like blood, handing a heart — the conventional symbol, not the organ — out to an equally crudely drawn version of yourself.

You flip it over, and in a slightly messy black scrawl, the card reads,

This dumb bitch thought she was better than you so I Killed her to prove that Nobody is as hot as you P.S. Happy Birthday

It isn’t signed, but you read it a second time, then a third. And then you laugh, bright and bold in the crisp winter morning, genuine and amused because you didn’t even know Hidan knew what a tanka was — let alone that he could write one.

You look down at Funai again, and it really is sobering to see her like that. Your mind travels back to your childhood, all those long days spent practicing your taijutsu in your parent’s yard in hopes of maybe surpassing her.

She’d been your worst enemy sure, but she’d been your best friend too. She was the first person you told when you turned twelve, and Hidan’s name appeared on your arm.

(“Just Hidan?” She’d sneered as you showed her, “hmph. Guess he’s not from any clan. Makes sense, an average soulmate for such an average —”

“—shut up, Bug Queen!” You’d interrupted, tackling her into the dirt, because the name on her hip was Torune Aburame, and everyone knows that the Aburame are total bug-fucking creeps.)

You realize that you’re still smiling when the memory fades. You can almost hear Funai in the back of your mind scolding you about how it’s bad practice for shinobi to show their emotions so freely.

So, first thing’s first then.

You seize Funai by the throat and haul her inside, slamming the door behind you. Not a drop of blood spills from the open wound as you drag your friend onto your kitchen floor. The tile might have to be sacrificed to the cause, but you’ll just have to deal.

You pull the bow loose, and just like that the genjutsu breaks, Funai’s eyes begin to flutter. She goes from unconscious to fully awake in about three seconds. It’s honestly a little impressive, her memories clearly unaffected if the terror and the fury bleeding into her golden irises are anything to go by, but it’s already too late.

You’re already rooting around your drawers for a knife clean and sharp enough to mercy-kill her with. She says something, but it’s muffled by the gag and all the blood in her mouth — though you know her well enough by now to know that it’s probably not happy birthday.

Whatever it is, it’s too late anyway, because you’ve already sunken your entire hand into her chest, palm and fingers wrapped snugly around the rapid-fire recoil of your rival’s heart, by the time she can do anything more than fail at squirming away.

You sigh, because you’re sympathetic, really.

“If it’s any consolation, Bug Queen, you make a great birthday present.”

Then you rip her heart out with one smooth twist of your arm. That weird, old-world soulmate magic floods your system, running along your veins and imprinting into the very essence of your being, with a single glowing soul bond pulsing at the back of your mind and anchoring you to reality so that you aren’t overwhelmed.

(And you weren’t always like this, okay?

You used to be a normal person, with normal friends, and normal hobbies, and normal parents that loved you.

But on your twentieth birthday, you received a letter in the mail — the envelope was big and red, and it had the words ‘to my soulmate’ stamped on the front. You were so ridiculously excited.

When you opened it, it went off and destroyed the entire house and killed everyone inside, everyone except, well — you.

You didn’t show the team of ANBU investigators the card that came a day later.

It was a stick-figure drawing of your home blowing up with your friends and family inside it. Their bodies are scattered to bits over the page in a bloody mess with the words:

‘Sorry I couldn’t be there in person. I hope you liked the gift! :) Love you. — xoxo your soulmate’ scrawled hastily at the bottom.)

(After that, you begin to mark the calendar. It is a simple red X on a single day out of the year. There is no indication of what it is for, but you know.)

— A year later, you get home from a few hours spent at the training grounds, only to find an innocuous-looking briefcase leaning against the door of your apartment.

Your heartbeat quickens, and you groan, stooping to pick it up, plucking up the card as well from where it’s slipped into the handle.

Another Hidan original, you note as you duck into your apartment and place the briefcase on the dinner table.

The drawing is surprisingly minimalist considering Hidan’s usual style, it’s an artlessly drawn picture of you, butt-naked holding miniature globe in your poorly proportioned hands.

Is he gonna blow the whole world up this time? You think with a sigh and flip the card open. In the same sloppy handwriting as before, you read,

Don’t be a pussy. This is not a bomb, okay? You will like this gift.

You thumb the dark lettering before turning to the briefcase and opening it. It actually takes you several long seconds to realize what it is exactly that you’re looking at.

There are files inside, sheaves of papers tucked surprisingly neatly into folders, and—

You reach inside, where two passports are shuffled into one corner.

One has your name, your personal information — all chillingly accurate.

One doesn’t.

Both have your face.

You set those aside, and with a sense of growing urgency, you fumble to open the folders and rifle through the papers.

They’re-

They’re identification papers. Two sets. One is fakes. But the other—

Hidan has restored your identity, you realize, and for a moment, you don’t even remember how to breathe.

(These days, you can get by. You have plenty of cash to use, so you don’t need a job, and so long as you’re not crossing country borders, you have no use for travel papers.)

But it also shackles you, the lack of an identity, walking around like a corpse.

Paying for Hidan's crimes, all these years, even now, as if almost burning alive and watching your entire family die and losing your goddamn mind weren’t enough to atone for the crime of simply having a soulmate.

And now…

You pick up another file with trembling fingers and flick that open. It’s a manuscript. It’s your manuscript, from when you were a writer, a really fucking good one—you might add, and despite having to always battle that hack Jiraiya for the spot on the best seller’s list, which honestly never made sense to you because your works were clearly better — but you suppose there's no accounting for taste, you enjoyed what you did, creating, building your stories.

And now you can do it again. A piece of what you’ve lost, returned.

And it isn’t even just that. The other set of papers – the fake ones – mean something too. It’s a way out, a new start if you ever want to leave. To walk away from this godforsaken country and begin anew. To not only lay your past to rest but also leave it behind so that it will never drag you down again. There’s one last file at the bottom, tissue-thin, and it only contains a single slip of paper.

It’s another note: “Sorry, I fucked up your life and shit. Won’t do it again. Happy birthday.”

— The next year, it’s another card, but only a card, with a classic birthday cake superimposed on a baby pink background. An invitation, with a time scribbled on the inside cover, but dead center on the right, a katauta,

I am running out of ways to show you that I love you lets fuck? (Couldn’t fit this in the katauta but I do oral.)

…The way that it makes your heart skip is ridiculous, and honestly, probably an indication of how fucking lonely you are. It’s not even remotely sophisticated, certainly no Henjo or Kisen. And yet…

Your face. Your face feels hot. God, you’re blushing. And your mouth is doing something funny. It takes a moment to realize you’re trying to pull a truly goofy smile. You’d probably never it live down if anyone else were there to witness it. You take a deep breath. Then you glance at the time one last time before pocketing the letter and heading for the bathroom.

You have a night to prepare for because, apparently, your soulmate is a closet romantic.

— The door swings open, and you’re already smiling as you drink Hidan in. The man has grey hair slicked back with enough grease to start a forest fire and distinctive purple eyes. Still, they suit him, and when he smiles back, it reaches all the way to his eyes – like sunlight reflecting off whiskey, like sunsets when they spark with magic.

Wordlessly, you step back and let Hidan in. He takes a second to toe his shoes off – because he may be a murderous freak, but he’s still your soulmate, and it pays to be polite – but when he rises, he promptly crowds you right up against the nearest wall and kisses you for the very first time, hard and hungry and thorough.

A possessive hand sinks into your hair. Another pulls you close by the waist, and then you’re arching up into him, a twist of his hips sending sparks of pleasure darting across your nerves even as you open your mouth and let Hidan devour you.

The air is heady with the heat of your combined arousal by the time you part for air. Hidan’s lips are swollen red, and you’re both more than a little breathless. You’re not dry humping anymore, but Hidan’s hands remain cradled around your hips, and you’re absently tangling Hidan’s hair around your fingers. Your faces remain close enough that your noses brush.

Hidan’s eyes gleam like firelight as he peers at you, smug and satisfied, warmed by something softer.

“So, like, did all those fucking poems pay off? Do you, like, love me and shit?”

“Yeah. They did.” You smile, and your own words spill over Hidan’s lips, “I love you and shit.”

Hidan smiles and you feel the soul bond glowing bright and solid right down to the atomic level.

A new bond stirs between you, tentative, and fresh but already luminous with potential. Before you can blink, you’re being shoved against the wall again as Hidan flings his arms around you, laughing, laughing, laughing, joyous delight and overwhelming relief.

#i wrote this while dying of mono so like keep that in mind if it's too feral #I FUCKIN HATE THIS #hidan imagines #hidan scenarios #hidan x reader

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