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myficdump · 4 years

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It’s yandere OFF time

I’m really debating if I should put this in the main tag lmao bc I think the creator of the game has tumblr and I don’t know how often they check the tag. Sort of a work in progress, I’m trying to decide where I want to end it and how.

Mon cher ami: My dear friend

Bonjour mon cher: Hello my dear

_______________________________________________________

His puppeteer was everything to him. They were smart, kind, and purer than he’d ever be. The Batter cherished every moment he spent with them, loving their guidance. He felt empty when they had to leave. He always did. When they weren’t with them, he thought about where they could be and what they were doing. And if they were safe. Batter knew they weren’t very safe without him by their side to protect them. Thoughts of spectres harming them in that… other world… plagued him.

Zacharie found him in the middle of those thoughts today. Batter was almost glad for the distraction the merchant provided.

“What is troubling you today, mon cher ami?”

“The player is gone,” Batter said. “I can’t protect them when they’re gone.”

“I’m sure they’ll be back soon, mi amigo. The game is unfinished after all.” Zacharie sat down next to Batter and pulled a bottle out of his backpack. “Want one?” He offered.

Batter took the bottle out of his hands and handed over 300 credits. They had done this often enough that it’d become a routine. Not by any means an unwelcome one either. Zacharie was pleasant company most of the time and a nice distraction from Batter’s constant worry for the player. He was better than the Judge and the guardians. And most certainly better company than the queen.

“Did you notice their new haircut?” Zacharie asked. “I think it suits them.”

“I did. It does look nice.”

Seeing his puppeteer was comforting. All he had to do was turn his head and they were there on a floating screen. He loved seeing them and he liked standing in front of them during fights. It was like he was protecting them from the impure beings of this world.

In a way, he was. He hadn’t let anything get near or touch the player’s screen. He didn’t know what would happen if he did so he protected them.

“What if…”

Batter turned his head to stare at Zacharie. He motioned for his friend to continue.

“What if we could bring them into our world? They wouldn’t be able to leave either of our sights anymore and you could protect them all the time.”

Batter was silent. Could it be possible? He would absolutely do it without a moment of hesitation if it was. It probably wasn’t but he decided to humor Zacharie just this once. “And how would we do that?”

“Perhaps if you reach into their screen you could pull them here?”

“It wouldn’t hurt to try.”

Zacharie chuckled and lifted his mask just enough so he could drink from his bottle.

“It certainly wouldn’t. If it does work I’ll be very happy to aide you in… protecting them. They are my number one customer after all.” He laughed again and Batter smiled a bit.

“They wouldn’t mind. They have me talk to you just to hear your voice.”

“Oh really now?” Zacharie chuckled again and his face burned pink behind his toad mask. “How flattering. I’ll be sure to show up more to talk to them.”

Without warning, a screen began to glow and flicker on the wall behind Batter. Seeing it made Batter sit up straight and smile.

“Now’s your chance,” Zacharie said quietly. His demeanor had changed, Batter noted. He seemed anxious.

Batter stood up and faced the wall. He reached out and to both of their surprise, his hand went through. When his arm was submerged up to his shoulder, he felt the soft flesh of who he hoped to be the player. He grabbed their shoulder and yanked.

Tumbling out of the black screen was indeed his puppeteer.

“Bonjour mon cher, it is lovely to meet you in the flesh.”

The player sat up, their eyes wide. “This isn’t possible.”

“I assure you it is!” Zacharie sounded enthusiastic. “Welcome to our world of OFF. I do hope you enjoy your stay.”

“But how-” The player went into a coughing fit. “Why’s it so hard to, breathe here?”

“That’ll be the smoke. It’s what we breathe, remember?”

“Do you not breathe smoke in the other world?” Batter asked.

The player shook their head, deciding that this felt too real to be a dream. “No, we have oxygen. It’s what’s.. In the smoke here but not enough of. That’s why all the Elsen gasp when we talk to them.”

Pride filled Batter at hearing them speak. They were so smart. But what should he do about their breathing problem? He couldn’t just let them go on like this.

“Here, I do believe this will help you.”

Zacharie handed them what seemed to be half a mask with two circles hanging from the sides.

“It will help you breathe as long as you wear it. Free of charge, just this once.” He winked at them. “Now Batter, what should we do now? They need a place to rest and food. I suggest my office in my amusement park or my place in the mall.”

* * * * *

Everything was moving so fast. The player could hardly comprehend it all. One moment they were sitting in front of their laptop ready to continue playing OFF, and the next, they were being pulled into their laptop by an arm that had reached out to them. Walking besides their favorite video game characters was surreal. So so surreal. If it wasn’t for the terrible air they breathed in before and for it stinging their eyes, they would have chalked this down to either a dream or a very vivid hallucination.

A part of them still thought it could be either of those options. That part of their mind was how they were able to stay so calm. Don’t get them wrong, the anxiety and uncertainty were still there! They just weren't at the point where it was difficult to stay calm.

They glanced at Zacharie and then at the Batter. Seeing them in person was different. Of course it would be since now they weren’t pixels, but there were a lot of differences between their pixel states and their actual physical states. For one, Zacharie had tattoos on both his arms. The player could only make out a few, but he had stars and vines on both his arms. There was also some kind of blob with a face? They weren’t sure, but he looked so cool. And his toad mask was less freaky in person. They were hoping they could say the same about his judge mask but seeing as it may or may not be made out of Valarie’s face, who knew.

Unlike Zacharie, the Batter didn’t have many differences besides his eyes. Under his hat were two pairs of crimson colored eyes. One pair stared straight ahead while they were walking and the other seemed to be trained on them the entire time. He certainly caught them looking but didn’t say anything.

It was Zacharie who broke the silence.

#tw yandere #yandere #off mortis ghost #off (game)#yandere batter #yandere zacharie #off (zacharie)#off zacharie #zacharie x player #batter x player #zacharie x reader #batter x reader

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writing-frenzy · 4 years

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SQH, but his system is more like a Magical Girl pet (... the Kyubey kind of course). He's still in the cultivation world of SVSSS, but gets "magical girl" transformations for his missions (of course, with an extra skimpy outfit, it's PIDW). He meets MBJ as his alter at some point, tries to keep his identity secret and much ridiculousness happens.

:D Second Prompt! This is an interesting idea, I hope you like my take on it~ (I ended up to stuck into the world building ^^; )

----

Despite what many of his anti-fans would say about him, Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky was not an idiot. He was a proud nerd working hard to make ends meet and pass college with high middling grades, he could not afford to be an idiot. He liked to see himself as a realist to be honest, and let’s be real, no one, not one single person, was paying top dollar for Proud Immortal Demon Way until he brought in the PaPaPa, however much those Anti’s liked to get on his case.

(Did he have regrets for what his vision had turned into? Sure, but considering he actually could pay his rent and online classes with ease now? It was very easy to ignore it.)

So, when he gets a System as problematic as his, Airplane very, very carefully picks and chooses his battles with it. Because for all he is bound to it, it doesn’t take long for Airplane to realize he has to actually agree with it for it to have any power over him.

Thank Instant Noodles for his paranoia and trust Issues; those probably saved his soul or something.

(Note: It did, it very much did.)

It did not save him from the ridiculous outfit tho.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck-oh Fuck OFF!” Airplane nearly growls, sending a blast of lightning at a slithering shadow, easily dispersing it as it leaves dark cubes with circuit-like lines in dark blue all over it. Those then disappear with his system’s blue-green glow around them, gone like they never existed before dark purple eyes.

~Resentful Energy of the Impure God has been Purged, leaving 10X Energy Cubes; collect 10 more to unlock Powerful Healing Upgrades and Better Weapon Options! Ψ(￣∀￣)Ψ ~

“What about new Amour, can’t I get an upgrade for that!?” Airplane nearly cried, even as he has to jump to avoid another slithering shadow from sneak attacking him, though this one a real threat this time. Using his (actually really cool) spear like a pole vault, with the added height and leverage of pulling the blade from the ground, it gives the now white haired man enough force to actually pierce this more boss like shadow, marking the last of them, finally.

~Mourning of the Resentful Energy has fully been collected! Available Upgrades: Ability to null greater Panic and Fear Status attacks, Greater Energy Attacks, and New Item Cloak of the Morning, adds a boost of Energy and Healing, as well as heightens Defense and Special Defense stats. If Host wants better verity, they can always look to options and choose to Upgrade themselves to Multi Class instead of Mono Class ✪ ω ✪ ~

“Ha, thanks, I’m good just being the errand boy for one world thanks.” Airplane shivered, thinking of how he had almost been tricked into it before, his procrastination for once on his side as even after he had risen enough in his rank to possibly upgrade it. He hadn’t wanted to bother as he didn’t really want any harder missions at the time... but then, he had managed to grind enough points to get the chance to access the Host Forum, even if he couldn’t actually chat there yet.

He could still read posts tho, and the first one he read had been the ever so helpful and full of Warning Difference Between Mono and Multi Class, and the reason why they had been chosen in the first place, which the systems only ever explained the bare bones of.

See, the Systems only ever said that their souls had the power and ability to fight off the Resentful Energy of a Dangerous Entity known only as the Impure God, who has poisoned multiple worlds to reap them of all their resources. They would bind with these able souls upon their death and have them fight in the worlds that they so happened to create, giving them a life/role in the world to better settle to better deal with the Resentful Energy, even granting them a wish in return for all this hard work and trouble, that they could redeem anytime they wanted.

(Airplane, who had been put into the role and life of Shang Qinghua, when first hearing of this, did not trust it; as tempting as it was to make a wish right then and there, he thought it better to save it, for in case he ever actually needed it.)

What the Systems never said was how they needed these souls more then they ever would admit; they needed Creator Souls to fight the Impure God, because only another Godly Being could combat another Divine Being. That the wish was indeed a trap, in that it would forever bind the soul to the System, making them essentially a puppet warrior forced to do their binding until the very soul breaks or is consumed by the Impure God. Even the bound Role/new Life was a bit much, as it was actually needed to hide their actual presence from the Impure God.

How Mono Class just stuck you in one world where one could at least live out their life once the world has been cleansed while Multi Class meant one would have to go to other worlds afterwards... Though it was said one could go back to being Mono Class if you found a world you really liked, didn’t make a wish, and received enough points for it to change.

~Would Author Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky like to Equip Cloak of the Morning? Reminder: Multi Class has greater choices for Amour and Clothing, as well as better Upgrades (★ ω ��) ~

What a picture it paints; of course there would be verity if you had multiple worlds to pick from!

Grumbling, Airplane chooses to equip his new cloak, the effects obvious as he puts it on, nearly groaning as the relief fills him.

... Okay, time to see the damage.

Summoning a Mirror from his Inventory Space, Airplane can’t help but make a face.

With his beautiful ash white hair all done up in a rather fancy updo, crystals with what looks like dark rainbows decorating and pining it all together there. Combine that with a waterfall braid below it with the excess hair, and Airplane would never be able to figure out how it works or pulls it off so well, but seeing how it works to keep his hair out of his face out of his his purple eyes, he doesn’t need to complain about that.

No, all the complaints are for the rest of his outfit; he looks like he belongs in a desperate brothel!

Some how, some way, the System took a respectable Ruqun and made it look so incredibly scandalous. With the long blue and white skirt decorating with lightning strikes and ash pulled high, to where it was below his modest pecs, and still show a large amount of calf and slight thigh. The dark waist skirt didn’t even seem to do much, if anything it just seemed to emphasize his chest that he didn’t really have! The upper garment wasn’t any better, because someone thought it was perfectly acceptable to have it cute in a way it would show off an illusion of cleavage he somehow has(?), along with any part of his neck that isn’t covered in hair.

The Cloak of the Morning, done in shades of purples, blues, and the barest of oranges and yellows, only helps the barest bit, and somehow makes it look more like he’s just teasing!

He can’t seem to win, no matter what!

Hearing the groan behind him, Airplane freezes just the slightest bit, his transformed purple eyes meeting those gorgeous, blue on black eyes, the cross shaped pupil still very dazed as they take him him.

Ah yeah... his Prince and him did get kidnapped earlier, the Resentful Energy nicely taking care of their kidnappers for him at least...

With as much cowardice and fear as he can feel in his being, Airplane knocks his King out once more with some sleep powder, giving him enough time to at least transform back into being regular Shang Qinghua and start untying the Demon King before him.

Too Close! And this is the Third Time his Prince almost caught him! First time when he actually had to clean up his King’s Palace, where he ended up in the weirdest Cat and Mouse game ever, the Second Time being at a banquet where he was luckily distracted by his Father and Uncle, and Now This!

Ahhhh, Shang Qinghua has no idea how much longer he can hide this! It’s way too embarrassing!

It is with these thoughts, Shang Qinghua waits for his Prince to wake, unknowing of the many thoughts awakened in his Young Demon Prince.

#SVSSS #Scum Villain's Self-Saving System #Shang Qinghua #airplane shooting towards the sky #Mobei-Jun

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mimik-u · 4 years

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“Change Your Mind” Re-watch:

I’ve been dealing with this feeling on and off ever since I started “Diamond Days” earlier this week, but dang, I’m a little sad that I’ve reached the end of the show again. Of course, I’m excited to visit the movie again and see Future for the first time (!!!), but this episode above all really marks the end of an era. But things end and things change.

That’s the thesis of this episode anyway. And really, the nature of this beautiful show. :’)

Steven’s dream sequence is so haunting, both in terms of it explicitly showing us how Blue Diamond is currently recapitulating the very same cycles which pushed Pink away by showing us such a similar flashback from the past, but also by dredging up the horror of Pink’s memories. The idea that Steven’s gem still has access to some of his mother’s memories is used to its most visceral effect here, in which we get a nightmare heightened lens of how miserable she was, and often times, scared.

When the Diamonds stretched out their grieving hands through the cosmos and towards the world their youngest member loved, how did Rose feel to at once get a confirmation that she had been loved? Loved so powerfully that the Diamonds would try to destroy an entire planet to exact their revenge, and yet, at the same time, loved so terribly that they would never think twice about doing so, or that it took this for them to ever show it?

“This... isn’t normal. How many times did you lock her in here? How many times did you make her cry?” / “I didn’t... I... And I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” God, this exchange always undoes me. Not only is it Steven calling Blue out, but in a way, it’s him standing up for his mother, realizing what misery the Diamonds put her through and putting a name on it for Blue to recognize, contend with, and finally, accept. Blue tries to defend herself at first, but then, in the end, can’t. Because there’s no defense. There’s no excuse. And to horribly mangle a quote from Legend of Korra, by reaching that lowest point, Blue Diamond finally becomes open to the possibility of change.

It’s always so evocative to me that she collapses next to the tower window that’s at her eye level. Never explicitly stated, I think it really is implied here that Yellow and Blue have seen their fair share of this tower before, too, their trespasses of decorum excised out of them by White. In return, they tried to do the same to Pink. Cycles and cycles and cycles.

Gsleidjsneioeis, it never fails to make me laugh that Yellow is just sitting in the darkness, straddling her throne, waiting for Blue. Emo ass. I love her.

The Diamonds both look so shocked when Blue slaps Yellow’s hand away, as though neither of them can fathom, process, and believe what just happened. And yet, really, this is the climax to the schism between them that we’ve known since “That Will Be All.” They love each other—they loved Pink—but they have differed, fundamentally, on how to grapple with the pain of loving someone and losing her and existing from then on.

“When we thought Pink was shattered, when she abandoned us, I alone was there for you, and you would use your power against ME?” GO OFF, PATTI LUPONE EIEOSJSA. But this line gets me, too. Jesus. Yellow loves Blue so much.

“Didn’t we hurt Pink? She was suffering in silence for ages, just like our gems, just like me. And I know you’re suffering in silence, too.” HHHHHHH, AND THIS LINE. I think it’s significant because it’s Blue making a move we’ve rarely seen from her before—empathy. Her whole complex is that she’s been so lost in her own emotions that she forces them on everyone else, but here she does something monumental; not only does she acknowledge her own pain, but she uses it to recognize that others have been hurting, too. She and Yellow hurt Pink. (She makes herself and Yellow the agents of the action, therefore not evading the blame.) And so many of their gems have been hurt, too. Yellow has been hurting.

In her vulnerable expression that follows, it’s clear to the audience that Yellow knows her fellow Diamond’s words to be true, but she’s not ready to accept their veracity, to look inwards at the heart of her own misery. Also, help. I’m only 9 minutes into the episode.

“Does this look perfect to you?” And Yellow’s anger is stopped in its tracks. She looks immediately to Blue, literally smoking on the ground from the force of her attack. A fragment of palace crumbles emptily away. And this is the crux of the Homeworld Empire. It demands every gem, from the Diamonds downward, to sacrifice in the name of of perfection. But they’ve placed too much of an emphasis on appearance, numbers, quantity, and power, never interrogating the consequences that pursuing these ‘impressive’ entities bring: misery, hopelessness, despair.

“Stop... stop it, Blue. Stop using your power on me.” / “I’m not.” Hhhhhhhhh, I’m tender. And then, when Blue Diamond sweeps over to hold Yellow’s head?????? This is what being a Bellow Diamond fan is all about, okay rieososossnjaaj.

“You’ve made a grave mistake. Go to your rooms!” / “Uh, which rooms should we go to?” GJKHDFVHJNJJ. But yeah, White has definitely used the tower on Blue and Yellow b4.

Bismuuuuth, Lapis, Peri!!! God, I love Lapis’s outfit so much.

“Yellow and I will keep White distracted.” / Just go! Go! Hurry! She’s getting up!” Blue and Yellow know that in making this choice, they’ll face severe consequences, but still initially make the choice anyway.

And yet, Steven doesn’t let them make that choice. He doesn’t run away. Because he and this show fundamentally believe that change is effected through communication.

I still have thirty minutes of this episode left to go oskeodjsnsnsk, but now I need to symbolically talk about the Diamond mecha. It’s very on point that White’s ship can’t function if the other parts aren’t cooperating!!

The Diamonds finally expressing their vulnerabilities to the blankly staring ship is just so sad. They’re finally doing the emotional work that they’ve been neglecting for thousands upon thousands of years, and they’re almost literally meeting a wall.

“We Diamonds might be hard, but we’re also brittle.” / “I know my purpose isn’t to be happy.” Hhhhhhhhhh, these lines. The rigidity of the Diamond Authority has forced Yellow and Blue to become hard, to be unhappy. They, like all their gems, are suffering beneath the strain. Starting from the way it literally drains a planet of resources, this empire was never sustainable.

Cries bc the Diamonds are holding hands, AND THEN CRIES BECAUSE THEY’VE BEEN VIOLENTLY AND PAINFULLY PUPPETEERED.

THE FUSING MONTAGE!!! EKSSKSJ, I love how when he goes to fuse with Pearl, he does a few ballerina moves. AND I LOVE HOW 2.0 IS UNREPENTANTLY BRITISH. IT’S SO FJNNY AND RIGHT.

“AH! Steven, we fused!” She’s so happy!!!!!!!!!! Hhhh!!!!!

“I’m here. I love you.” Steven says this before fusing with Garnet, and there’s nothing else that could have ever been so fitting for a fusion who prides herself on being here and being made, so beautifully and entirely, of love.

Sunstone always looks and sounds like they’re two seconds away from breaking the 4th wall on a Sunny D commercial from the 1990s, and that’s amazing.

OBSIDIAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNN. Everything about them is FUCKING EPIC. (Also, if you haven’t listened to the S5 soundtrack yet, you need to go listen to Obsidian’s track without background noises!!!!!!! It’s so motivating! I listen to it when I’m studying sometimes!)

I’m still soft about Bismuth giving Connie her own sword. Let them b sword buddies 2k20.

BIG FYCKING LAVA SWORD!!!!

The animation on this episode is absolutely insane. God, the Crewniverse did so good.

“Poor Yellow. Her impurities absorb all the blue in her light. She’s so strong, but so weak when it comes to Blue.” 😭😭😭 What do you mean I’m still emotional over the fact that Yellow Diamond’s one perceived weakness is Blue? Hahahaha.

“Ah, and Blue. Her impurities soak up all the warmth in her spectrum. She thinks she needs you, Pink.” 😭😭😭 She needs Pink to be warm.

“But you’re a part of me, the part I always have to repress.” White doesn’t yet realize it, but this is actually her revealing her own flaw. Not only does she repress her love for Pink, but she represses her own sense of pinkness, too. So cerebral and so detached, she’s allowed herself to exist for these past 6,000+ years in the gaping maw without Pink as a being who has subjugated the entirety of her emotional expression. Just as Blue and Yellow are equals and opposites, so too, were Pink and White.

“Insecure, dependent, obsessed.” God. Another thing about White Diamond’s powers in relation to Pink is that White has the capacity to know a gem’s thoughts once she possesses them, whereas Pink was able to relate and empathize with their emotions. And indeed, that’s how Steven came to know and help the Gems’ problems over the course of the entirety of this show—through empathy, relation, compassion, and understandings, concepts so foreign to White Diamond. Simply alien.

POV: You’re Connie Maheswaran, and you have to fight a possessed bastardization of the Gem who once lovingly taught you everything you know about how to wield a sword.

White Diamond so simply and so precisely plucking Steven’s gem out of his stomach is the single most terrifying visual on this show. Jfc.

“SHE’S GONE.” The animus of the Pink Diamond gem prmordially screams the truth that White Diamond refuses to accept. Pink is gone. There’s no undoing death. There’s no separation from gem and body. There is only, just as there has always been for fourteen years, Steven.

He is not, and never will he ever be, his mother.

Oh, my God. This show.

And just as White Diamond parting Steven from his gem is the scariest moment in the show, Steven reuniting with him is the most transcendent. He laughs. He hugs himself. He dances. Because Steven Universe is entirely his own being.

And he loves himself. That is the crucial part. That is the beginning and the end and the resolution. Oh, my GOD. This show.

“I am a child. What’s your excuse?” KWIDIDOSJSKSKSISOSMA, GET HER.

Steven walking over to comfort Pink Pearl, even though he doesn’t know her, even though the only iteration he has seen of her has been her lobotomized version—forbidding and detached—is so tender.

WISOSJSJS, I know this is emotionally deep and indicative of just how ingrained their psychological complexes are that they don’t know how to deal with vulnerable expressions of emotion, but White, Yellow, and Blue being so dramatic about White blushing is honestly hilarious.

Sadie singing “Let Me Drive My Van into Your Heart” is so good, but what’s even better is that two second shot of Greg blushing listening to his song being sung. ;-;

Oh! Oh! And Barb is in the audience! Character development! Growth!

“No more hiding! No more running! No more Diamond Authority!” KWOWOEJDKDOSJSJSISSJSJ.

Lion padding up to Lars in a silent recognition that they’re the same ;-;-;-;

I think Sadie and Lars reuniting with such drastically different appearances and mindsets is simply just one of the coolest ways this show has come full circle. This show’s about everyone changing. Look at these two. Look at where they started, and now, where they’ve begun again.

Genuinely crying at the last few shots of the show again. Oh, my GOD. The pure, unmitigated joy. Nephrite and Steven. Bismuth and Biggs. Garnet and Pearl. Jasper and Amethyst. The Diamonds.

This show really is about love and forgiveness and healing, y’all. 😭😭😭😭

AND THEN THEY COMPLETE THE SHOT FROM THE INTRO. I AM UNWELL. IT’S 8AM.

This show, in every sense of the word, is a miracle.

Thank you, Crewniverse for this comet of epic proportions.

#steven universe #blue diamond #yellow diamond #bellow diamond #white diamond #pink diamond #garnet #Pearl #amethyst #connie maheswaran #s: steven universe #mimiku #long post #I am EMOTIONAL

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dragonrajafanfiction · 3 years

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Ghosts’ Journey (End): The Biggest Assholes of Black Swan Bay

Because my Fanfic uses a blended version of the game and the original Black Swan Bay Lore, I had to reconfigure the relationships between the 3 Black Swan Bay surviving orphans as jolly rivals, friends and siblings. While their relationship is devoted and loving, growing up in an environment like that doesn’t create Polly-anna characters. I hope you agree and enjoy what I have created here.

The hardest thing about restraining emotions was controlling your breath.

Adrenaline shot liters of blood through your body at high rates and required you to breathe at high rates. If you didn’t, you could go dizzy or pass out. Your heart quivered with her name and your vision went blurry. Renata… Renata! The secret you learned was to yawn. A deep inhale, a big stretch and a slow exhale could effectively throw a wrench in the stress loop without blowing your cover. You blink rapidly to clear your eyes, finally let out a big, rude yawn and look completely bored, rubbing at them as though sleepy.

Renata was now Zero. She was likely in disguise to hide from Herzog. It made sense for her to be after him too. She couldn't contact you but she was here now because your paths were always on the same trajectory. It's just now that they happened to cross.

You were best friends in the past, but also rivals in combat. To those unaware of her abilities, you and Renata would be pretty evenly matched. But Renata had the skill of deep analysis. The longer you fought, the more she could analyze you and the more she analyzed you the less likely your chances of victory became. You would seem evenly matched and then she would just take you apart like you were an amateur.

She’d somehow survived the gunshot wound and the bombing. She’d somehow infiltrated Cassell and Hydra. Her Black Swan Bay training and behavior would have quickly made her disappear among the rank and file of Hydra. You felt it would have made it easy for you to get inside and fit with Hydra’s militaristic structure after all. That’s why when she talked about how deep she had made it into Hydra’s organization, you knew it had to be Renata.

"In the opinion of Hydra, they are close to total victory. The remaining job is to get rid of the remnants of the Devil Clan, and the King General is, of course, the highest priority target for removal, with you being a close second.” Renata continues to speak to Chime with the cold robotic reality. “You once tried to kill the King General, but in the opinion of the Hydra family, it was just an internal fight. You are an evil spirit, you have long since violated the Clan rules, and the Hydra clan cannot tolerate someone like you." Zero stared into Chime’s eyes, "Your brother also believes that you have no need to exist in this world. He has seen the evil side of you with his own eyes."

"When you spell it all out like that, things do seem hopeless, don't they?" You turn to Renata as if she'd just lectured you like a schoolteacher. The sibling rivalry between two old friends warms up your heart and calms the panicked and fevered response of your sudden reunion.

She thought she knew everything and she did know a lot. You were impressed yet again. Renata had spent all this time on the pulse of Hydra, but she didn’t understand Chisei the way Chime did. She shadowed Bondarev's puppet while you followed Herzog's puppet. And it was Herzog's puppet that was the key. You were third behind her, but that is an elite ranking that could shift and be challenged.

You could not wait to hug her fiercely. But like most precious things in Black Swan, you would have to do so in secret. Her cold disheartening words to Chime reminded you of your rivalry and you wouldn’t be bested by throwing open your arms and sobbing like a naïve child.

“Although there is no proof, I will still do my best to convince my brother." Chime said slowly, "This is the only chance."

"You think we need his power?" Caesar asked.

"No, this is the only chance I have to reconcile with my brother." Chime said softly, "He was determined to be a friend of justice, so he couldn't accept his brother who was an evil spirit. For so many years, I never met with him again. Sometimes I hate him, but we are the only ones in the world who are truly family. Just because of my bloodline, he killed and abandoned me in a well? What in the world is more important than the fact that he is my brother and I am his brother? Justice? What is justice? I don't think there is any justice in this world. Those are just words that adults make up to fool children. But he believes that he can give up everything for the sake of justice. Is his kind of person just or ruthless?"

Everyone was silent, heavy with the sadness of his words. You couldn’t kill Chance even after he lost control. You only held out hope that he would snap back to normal. But Chisei killed him. Yes, you felt it was ruthless. Not just.

"But more than that, I was afraid to face him. I was afraid of the way he looked at me. That I made him feel dirty. I thought that I would never be my brother's friend, that I would only be his enemy. I have done more bad things than just the murder case in the village. I am the Dragon King of the Devil Clan, and I have the blood of many people on my hands. How can I go back to face him?

"But just today I suddenly figured out something. Why did I want to kill the King General so badly? It is not only because I hate him, but also because it's the only thing I can use to ask my brother for mercy. I wanted to cleanse my own mistakes with the blood of the King. Then maybe there could be a slight chance that I can become his fellow traveler again. But I failed. I can't do anything anymore nowadays. Ruri Kazama is still a useful person for my brother, Chime Gen is not. But even so, I still want to reconcile with my brother. I will tell him everything I know, and, as for my future, it is up to him to decide. If he decides to kill me, it will be the right end for me. I have killed so I will be killed, is there anything more fair in the world than that?"

You look up at him with uncertainty. He wasn’t thinking of throwing his life away was he? No. Chisei won’t kill him. Because…

You suddenly understand where his train of thought was going. Chime was weaker but he was still very smart, able to weave his words to great effect, just like you.

Chime bowed deeply: "Thank you for all your care these days. You did not treat me as a stranger. Except for you, only those girls who met me by chance would treat me as normal."

"Have you thought it over? If your brother really decides to execute you, Cassel Academy can't shelter you, Japan is your brother's territory." Caesar said to Chime with some concern.

"I have thought it over. It is true that the danger is great, but there are always people in this world with whom one has to reconcile no matter how much one hates them. Because without them, you will not even be able to talk about life." Chime was silent, looking at Caesar, Chu Zihang, ‘Zero’, Lu Mingfei and Fingel. But there were no more questions. “And to that end, as a precaution, I would like to inform you that MC and I will wed tomorrow.”

Caesar’s eyebrows raise to his hairline.

Lu Mingfei jumped up with his eyes wide at you. “What? You're marrying him? You hardly know each other!”

“That’s not the point.” ‘Zero’ grumbled, crossed her arms and looked away. She knew exactly what you were doing. Internally, you stick your tongue out at her.

Fingel was stunned and then he grinned. His arms shot up into the air. “YES!”

Caesar slowly mouthed the word ‘Wow’. “You were just waiting to throw that out there weren’t you, Chime? No wonder you're so confident.”

Chu Zihang nodded, though he seemed to be hesitant to completely endorse the plan. "At a celebration like that, it will be harder for him to reject you."

“Hey, don’t get us wrong. I love Chime. I don’t want to wait and I want things to go well. I’m sure you understand, Caesar.” You say, keeping your earnest character and trying not to cackle like a villain.

Lu Mingfei continued to sputter. “But… MC! Where are you getting married? You’re not planning on having a wedding in a … place like this?”

“Where else would I have it?” You blink at him.

“This place is.. Uh… well… it’s not very uh…”

“Pure?” You grin. “Well, Chime and I practically have the same father figure. So isn’t it kinda like marrying your step brother? Why would getting married in a women’s club be what you immediately point to as impure? If anything, it’s the cleanest part about this... in fact-”

Lu Mingfei clapped his hands over his ears. "I don’t want to hear any more!”

"MC, be nice…" Caesar drawled. "So it's settled then?" Caesar tossed the car keys on the bar, "Tomorrow night right here, we negotiate with Gen Chisei at MC’s and Chime’s Wedding, which amounts to a negotiation between the Academy and Hydra."

"We can negotiate with the leader of the Hydra on behalf of the academy?" Chu Zihang frowned, "If we make any wrong decision, it will be counted against the academy."

"No, if we make any wrong decision, we can only bear the result ourselves." Caesar lit a cigar, took a deep puff and exhaled green smoke, "Everyone has to pay the price for what they do. If we believe in the wrong Gen brother, or if Chime’s judgement is wrong, the result has to be counted on us."

"Zero said that the Hydra opened the Well of Bones, but until we find the sacred skeleton, it’s too early to confirm that the White King is really dead. That thing is different from any opponent we have encountered before. It lives by devouring souls. As long as humans still have greed for evolution, it can always find a way to resurrect." Chu Zihang said, "If the White King completely awakens, it is unknown whether Tokyo will survive. There are tens of millions of people in this city. Can we decide the course of history?"

Everyone was silent.

“A wedding that will decide the fate of the world? How dramatic!” You just smile at the thought of Herzog salivating over his grand entrance to such a momentous event and pull your hair back behind your ear. What a perfect trap for Herzog.

"Let's think about it, if it was not us in this position, but the principal, what would he do?" Caesar suddenly said.

“'Hesitation will only leave more time for the opponent to prepare.'" Lu Mingfei said. "'Mistakes happen, but a hero who makes a mistake is still better than a fool who didn’t try.' I've heard him say this."

Caesar took out a bottle of whiskey from the liquor cabinet, poured it into glasses, and distributed a glass to each of you: "If Chime and MC can have the courage to meet Chisei Gen on the day of their wedding, then we should also have the courage to negotiate with the Hydra. I think we all are unanimous, right?"

"Since I'm the leader of this group, if we do something wrong, I'm the one most responsible." He drank the liquor in his cup in one go.

Damn straight. If it weren’t for Caesar’s meddling and stopping you from running away, none of this would have happened! You take the whiskey and down it.

You would be counting on him to spring the trap for Herzog, but due to issues of ‘leaks’ you wouldn’t ask him what his plan was. He would take responsibility for that.

Zero put down her glass: "You guys are sure you won't leave the nightclub now, right?"

“Yes, is there any question?" Caesar asked.

"Then call me an orthopedic surgeon, and I'll need a separate bedroom." Zero suddenly fell forward. The hand that had been gripping the edge of the bar was loosened. She had been relying on this hand to keep her balance, otherwise she wouldn't even be able to sit down.

Lu Mingfei swooped down to catch Zero. She was completely unconscious. The bandage covering her knee was soaked with blood.

"She's hurt badly! Damn it! We need to call the doctor!" Caesar untied the bandage and looked at it, frozen.

"There are metal fragments embedded in the bone!" Chu Zihang flicked on the light and did a brief examination.

It took everything in you not to run to her side. But Renata had made her statement clear. Reunions could happen later. She outranked you and you would obey out of both respect and the fact that she had carefully crafted this identity for who knows how long. You wouldn’t be a good friend of you ruined it.

"She should have told us long ago that she has no sense of pain?" Caesar said.

No, Caesar, she was hurt this whole time, but once again, as a Black Swan Alum, she knew how to hide it. The nurses were cruel and merciless. If they were in the right mood, they would look for a child to beat to take it out on them and hear them cry. But because Renata and you learned to never cry, they would quickly grow bored of you. Eventually, they learned that it was useless to beat you and wouldn’t bother.

Renata adapted by just suffering without expression. You adapted by joking around with your tormentors until they laughed. Once they were laughing, their beatings would lose their ferocity and even stop completely. So Caesar could be forgiven for not sensing that Renata was close to passing out.

“Is she a friend of yours?” Chime was close to you.

Your eyes were fixed on the scene before you and there was some tension in your hand as it held the glass. You loosened your grip and looked away. “No. I don’t know her.”

“She must be sent to the hospital!" Caesar said, "A wound like that has to be treated immediately, I'll drive."

"No, it's best not to move her and we shouldn’t leave the safehouse. Call an orthopedic surgeon like she asked.” You say loudly, commandingly.

Everyone turned to you. Your voice and your demeanor suddenly resembled Zero’s! And even though you only met her for a few seconds, you were immediately deferring to her orders over Caesar’s!

Chu Zihang agreed, "In this case she has to lie flat immediately, the metal fragments are grinding her bones."

"Why didn't you tell me earlier when the injury was so serious?" Lu Mingfei propped Zero up so she could lie flat on the sofa.

You stare in shock.

Renata hated being touched by people she didn’t know! You were fine and Z was fine. Did Renata know Z’s brother? She had to. Even in her weakened state, if any of the others held her close like that, she’d knock them out!

"I had to make sure you wouldn't evacuate immediately. If you were going to leave, I'd still have to walk, and that wouldn't leave me time to see a doctor." Zero opened her eyes slightly. "I can't be useless. Useless people will be left behind."

You smile and duck your head as she recites Z’s little mantra. You had a lot to say to that girl. But now was not the time.

You get back to your room and it’s nearly 4 am. You can’t believe how much of a nightowl you were becoming. You wanted badly to talk to Z and give him a piece of your mind, but you hadn’t had time to look for the last bug in your room. Fingel was still recording everything you did in this space. So Z would not appear here. You put on Swan Lake again, sit down with a glass of vodka, and prop a cigar on the ashtray. You light it to smell the sweet tobacco smoke.

When Hydra researched you, they only found you were a ‘Siberian girl’ and did their best to make your room that of a Siberian girl. But Mingfei said that your world was composed of the people you know. And one of those people was Dr. Herzog. That’s why the smell of tobacco was relaxing. It was what relaxed you around Caesar… and the smell of it attracted you to Ruri Kazama and Chime. You lift the glass if fine spirit. “Hm… A toast?”

Renata was here, you were here, Z was here. You’d imagined that they were all ghosts and you were just being emotional when you felt their presence. But they had all been here this whole time! Z had carefully hidden Renata from you and refused to give you much information. After all, you were still a low ranker. It was likely that Renata knew you were here too! Those jerks. You can almost see their smug, haughty, loving faces. You let out a soft little hiss and stand up again and pull two more chairs from the dining room table into the sitting room. Their ghosts sat down in the chairs.

“That’s better.”

With the ghostly figures of Z and Renata in your mind, in this secret place, everyone knew each other and deep down you feel the warmth of home for the first time. “As I was saying,” you raise your glass again. “Raise a toast!” You look at them all and shake your head. “To the glorious and bloody wedding! And… to the biggest assholes of Black Swan Bay!” You laugh and down shot after shot, not caring that Fingel was listening.

#Dragon Raja

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antihero-writings · 4 years

Text

The Offspring of a Dream

Fandom: Bloodborne

Fic Summary: Why does the Doll call you “good”?

Notes:

Obviously the lore in this game is very hidden and up for interpretation, so this fic in part has to do with my personal interpretation of things, so please keep that in mind! I know there's a theory about the Doll being a Great One/Avatar out there (haven't read up about it much through), but currently I find there's something rather beautiful about the Doll truly just being a doll, who is genuinely kind, and just trying to help us out, because the game has little to no other characters like that. I also know whether or not we are "good" is definitely up for great debate, but I'm the kind of person who likes to see/read redemption into everything, so this is just my rather optimistic interpretation of events.

Also, I don't necessarily ship the Hunter and the Doll, but I do think it's a cute ship and enjoy content for it...So you're free to interpret the internal monologue as platonic or romantic, whichever you prefer.

This is one of the only times I've used second person, so go easy on me...I chose second person because I didn't find third or first nearly as compelling for it.

I'd really really appreciate it if you could leave a comment!! They seriously do make my week, and give me the motivation to keep writing!!

I also have another Bloodborne fic about Vicar Amelia's transformation, I'd love it if you could check that out too!! Links in a reblog!!

The Offspring of a Dream:

“New Hunter”

“Mister Hunter”

“Hunter”

“A Hunter!”

“Moon-Scented Hunter”

“Miss Hunter!”

“Good Hunter of the Church,

"have you seen the thread of light?”

“Welcome home,

Good Hunter.

What is it you desire?”—

No name.

Not a greeting, nor title.

No adjectives or addendums like ‘holy’ or ‘accursed,’ ‘beast,’ or ‘man.’ Not a crow, or a wolf, or an avenger, or a knight. Nor a roar of what you hunted.

A lonely hunter without a name, or a word.

Just a hunter, who may or may not be good.

And it was a doll, a doll who had a dreamer, but was equally lonely—

Is this all in my mind? Did I dream her up?

It was this Doll who said you were good, every time you arrived in the dream, always ready to turn your desires, the echoes of a scourge, into strength.

She said it faithfully, and it was not easy to recognize when she said it, it wasn’t a greeting, or a title.

It was a prayer.

Because she had watched a thousand “good hunters” walk through the dream, and a thousand fall. A thousand keep her company, a thousand ask for her to make them stronger with the echoes of their killing. A thousand become drunk with blood, trapped in a very different dream, that some might call nightmare. And a thousand become something other than a hunter…something other than good.

A thousand graves.

Graves for the ones who woke up.

So with a title she prayed to the moon that this one—this one—would be good.

That’s all she needed. That’s all any of them ever needed; one good man.

The title ‘hunter’ was meant to be synonymous with good. A force of holiness to purge the impurity. …But their name became equivalent with evil. Or maybe it was from the very start.

The spreading corruption burned.

Before the blood parched their lips and ravaged their bones. After. At the end of the day, we’re all human. At the end of the day, we’re all beasts.

Born of the blood… undone by the blood…

So she—inhuman, human—she prayed that one day there would be a hunter who could fight the monsters and not become one. That the blood wouldn’t burn and coil and wrap its tendrils around them, twist them inside out, and make them something more than just a “good hunter”…and so much less. She cast goodness over you, as if reminding you not to give in to the beast. Not to give in to your humanity. Reminding you that though you were a hunter, though you were drenched in blood, with heart full of holes, and brain full of eyes, you could still be good.

She put her hands together and she prayed. She prayed, and she helped you on your journey, she channeled death into strength, she whispered, and she tended to frail, living flowers, and feeble, dying, old men, and she cried.

Any god-fearing man, not burdened with an overabundance of naiveté, would know that dolls don’t whisper. They don’t ask if you love them. They don’t move. They can’t help. They don’t pray. And they definitely don’t cry.

Dolls sit lifeless on the floors of children’s nurseries, and the abandoned workshops of bitter, maniacal, old men.

Is this just a dream? Will I know you when I wake?

What’s waking worth without you?

If the gods don’t love me I still promise to love you.

You watched human hands twist into claws, skin into fur, faces into tentacles, tongues into snakes, and eyes into eyes, and wondered if perhaps this doll, with her porcelain skin and hair, with her tears and prayer, if she was more human than the rest. This doll—who asked about gods and love, who cared for you, who hoped even the worst hunters might be worth something in another, better world—was more human than the offspring of an old, forgotten town. More human than we, who are born and die by the blood.

How was she born, and how would she die? What caused her to breathe, to come alive? Was it just our minds, some ill-gotten, internal eyes? Was something so primitive as hope or love? Or was it the twisted will of some faceless moon without a man in it?

Is it just me?

Is it my mind?

Tell me she’s more than children’s toys, and old men’s dreams.

Tell me she’s real.

Could something made of metal and mechanics, and the puppet strings of our own minds die?

Do dreams die when we wake up?

Or, in the end when men are all either monsters or gods, would she stand in the wreckage, the only real, awake thing left…the only thing left that’s still human?

When men become gods, do our creations become human?

She watched them fall. She watched them reach for bare threads of guiding moonlight with human hands, and howl at the same moon with a wolf’s cry, and she still had enough hope left in her to call you “good hunter.” To believe that you would be different.

Did she say this to everyone? Did she hope every time? Or was it just you? And which meant more? If she hoped despite just how many had failed, or if she saw something different within you alone?

Here you stood, steeped in the blood of beasts. Ugly thing. Killer. Cold and merciless.

And she called you good.

Did that mean she saw the blood, and the murder, and thought it was good? Or that she looked past all that and saw the good still?

How could she, a doll, an echo herself, know what it meant to be good?

Perhaps she was made by someone who had seen a world with good left in it. Or a world which was evil, but in which there was someone like her, who encompassed all the good in the world to him.

Perhaps that’s what she was to you too. The good. The human left. Without her you may never keep fighting. You had no one else, after all. Your friends were either mad, or intoxicated, or destined to die, or destined for…worse.

Is she just a trick of the moonlight?

She was the embodiment of hope.

You tried to be good. For her. For the world. They all did. But most became drunk on blood, or knowledge, and lost themselves along the way.

What is it you desire?

It always starts good. Goals, on paper, always seem so noble. In practice, so bloodthirsty.

Laurence made a church. A force of holiness and healing. And he turned the city into a madhouse, a cage for monsters.

Wilhelm made a school. A place of mindfulness and learning. And he dabbled in rituals to hide the moon.

The old hunters thought stealing a child wouldn’t incite the wrath of its mother.

They all thought the world could be saved, that the plague could end through quarantine or amputation.

When they cut off the diseased heads the blood only spread. When they stayed in their houses they went insane instead.

The world needed more than a simple fix to return to being “good.”

The hunters thought they were fighting for a noble cause. They thought they were all good…and they turned into the very beasts they fought, awaiting another hunter to spill their blood, and start the cycle again.

The hunters only did what they could; keep killing. That was all they knew to do to get rid of the the beasts in this brick forest.

They needed a hunter who would break the cycle. Do more than just kill and give in to the call of the blood. Who would seek the paleblood, and end this dreadful night.

Transcend the hunt.

But how to eclipse the chase when evolution without courage is the name of ruin?

A hunter who would look beyond today’s night, today’s hunt, today’s beasts. Beyond the blood. Resist its seduction. A hunter who could learn where all this started, find it. And do what hunters do best:

Kill it.

—(For sometimes death is freedom, at least when it’s a dream)—

Seek the paleblood. Hunt the great ones.

—(And sometimes waking up is far worse.)

The formless blood wanted to have a child. Perhaps he thought he was giving those he chose a gift of a sort. Only horror followed.

Every great one loses its child.

One particular woman, long ago, held the name of this broken town. Perhaps it was only fitting that the child of blood and name was born in voice alone.

This child’s formless cries echoed through more than the nightmare; through the waking world—(if you had enough eyes, at least)—calling you to comfort it, to silence it.

Could everyone in the town hear it? Is that what drove them mad? Listening to a child’s endless cries, with no hope of comforting it?

Many had tried to contact it. Some tried to become gods…and misplaced their minds in the process. But you found it. Knowing it was not to be exalted, but destroyed.

You were a hunter after all.

So you killed the only thing keeping it alive, the thing desperately trying to play a lullaby and sing it to sleep.

You yourself played a tiny music box for it, from the beginning of it all—that belonged to a family ravaged by the blood, the hunt, which held a song about love and loss—just to hear it laugh, before the nightmare let out it last.

Cords of thirds. Cords of three.

One from the child of voice. One from the child of night. One from the child stolen long ago, sitting in an old, abandoned workshop.

A workshop alive now only in hunters’ dreams.

You could have left your own nightmare long ago. You could have woken from this dream and believed the world was not so dark, not so strange, not so fascinating.

But this wasn’t the only nightmare you had to liberate.

There was another, another for which all not-so-good hunters were destined—(and thus you too if the Doll’s prayers were in vain). They sent you there with a piece of a drunken man before you yourself became, inevitably, intoxicated, in this bloody bar, so that you could, perhaps navigate sleeping minds with your sanity in tact.

We, the offspring of an old, forgotten secret. Destined and bound by the chase.

So our forefathers sinned?

Ludwig thought he was holy, fighting for a noble cause, and he stood, accursed, in a bath of the blood he spilled, trampling the ghosts of those he killed.

Is it possible there exist moonlight in even the darkest nights?

When we reach for the thread of light, none of us ever want to know what it truly is. Hope can be so vicious that way.

The church turned their eyes from their hands.

All too often, when men try to become gods—or something akin—they become monsters. There's a reason the moon is out of our reach.

Laurence thought the blood would heal. That the gods wouldn’t mind a little thievery. He thought they could keep their humanity in tact, as long as they prayed hard enough.

And he watched the world burn. Watched his hope turn his universe into a waking, walking nightmare. And he burned in his own broken Neverland, ever searching for his own lost, rotted humanity.

Maria, beloved apprentice Maria—

…Is that you, my dear Doll?

Who was there from the beginning. Who vowed to forsake the blood—including her own. Maria, so sickened by her actions, who threw the hunt down a well. Who vowed to in death to be the hunt’s secret keeper, and sat, alone, a lonely princess at the top of the clock tower, alive by the puppet strings of a nightmare—

She sacrificed herself, her values, to purge you from the plague of wild curiosity.

A corpse should be left well enough alone.

And at last, behind time, was a quaint, sad, little village, that lay dripping with secrets, ransacked for its eyes.

A quaint little village where it all started. Where the sky wept, and sun collapsed in on itself, and the great lake held too soft and depraved a secret.

Every great one loses its child…but this one lost his mother.

A quaint little village where a sympathetic mother fell from the stars. Where her child was ripped from her, dissected for parts, by the very people you once thought were good.

The wrath of an angry god is to be feared. But the wrath of a sympathetic god is far worse.

And the wrath of a mother is a lasting curse.

Death is freedom, at least in a dream. But when waking up is far worse, we rewrite the past within our dreams.

This was an orphans dream, pulling the hunt into a nightmare, as he waited to be freed from reality, as he waited for a hunter to rewrite the sins of their ancestors.

As he waited for a good man.

And the spirit thanked you. And the hunt thanked you.

And the Doll thanked you, for a shackle she never even knew was there had been lifted. She thanked you on behalf of the first hunter, for he slept a little sounder.

But there was one last dream that needed slaying:

Your own.

You could have woken long ago. You could have forsaken it all for the sunrise, and left someone else to find the answers, left someone else to be good.

It would have been nice to believe the world made sense.

It would have been nice to believe the dark side of the moon wasn’t made of blood and bones, haunting a poor, old man.

Few dreams offer you the choice to die before the bad part starts—(or perhaps simply to put an end to all the ‘bad parts’ you’ve gone through, to negate the possibility of more). But you would not bow to a happy, false reality.

Neither would you allow yourself to be taken captive by the nameless presence of the moon, made to perpetuate this hunt endlessly.

You understood the word “hunter” was never synonymous with good. They lost that title before the hunt even started. They lost that title when a little orphan was stolen from his mother.

You understood at last. It was her. Maria. The one who threw her weapon down the well in protest. She—(or at least, a version of her)—stood by your side, trying to guide you back all this time. Trying to guide you back to the beginning, where perhaps her sins could be atoned for. Where perhaps there could be good still.

So in a lonely field full of flowers, it was not you who were released from the dream.

You had enough eyes to see and slay the presence of the moon, who had orchestrated this all.

We’re all just puppets of the moon.

…But a cord of three strands is not so easily broken.

So in the end you neither woke nor dreamed, but saw the world as it was—though through newborn eyes. A child of the hunt. A child of the dream. Not destined to create a nightmare…but perhaps a better reality.

When the Doll picked up your small body, she smiled at last. She knew you’d succeeded, for this was unlike any hunter’s death, or transformation, she knew. She knew you’d atoned for the sins of your predecessors. She knew you’d freed the children, the nightmares, and the men.

And she called you “good hunter” still. For she knew the gods listened to her prayers after all. She knew that though you were a hunter no more—

You were certainly good.

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imaginaryelle · 4 years

Note

Would you do anything with Wei Ying and the 4 main Juniors like either a fic or just how they interact in the show compared to the older generations

(Many thanks to @miyuki4s for the awesome beta work!)

It’s a banquet. A banquet Wei Wuxian was not, technically, invited to, but which he is attending nevertheless because no one in charge figured out he wasn’t supposed to be there until he’d already been offered food.

Such kind servants the Yao Sect has. Such a contrast to their sour Sect Leader, who keeps staring into his wine as if it’s turned to vinegar on his lips.

Wei Wuxian decides not to test his welcome too long—yes, he had been rather useful on the night hunt this afternoon, and yes, his role in Jin Guangyao’s downfall and the known fact of the Chief Cultivator’s favor do buy him a certain amount of social standing with the major Sects, but he’s not going to sit in a man’s hall all night mocking him with his very presence.

Well, he might.

Okay, he definitely would, except the wine is merely decent and the conversation is stilted and, frankly, boring. It would be bearable if he was getting to watch Lan Wangji endure it as well, but alas, the Chief Cultivator has pressing business in Yunmeng, apparently, which must be quite pressing indeed for Jiang Cheng to ask for him and which Wei Wuxian is certain would only be made more difficult by his own presence, even if he does still worry about Jiang Cheng, somewhere in a not-so-secret corner of his heart. So instead of making small talk or setting off into the night he takes his wine and bows out of the hall to Sect Leader Yao’s disgruntled nod of acknowledgment and goes in search of better entertainment.

He finds it just around the side of the disciples’ dormitories, behind a stand of magnolia trees.

Lan Jingyi, Ouyang Zizhen and several other vaguely familiar young members of various clans are sitting in what looks to be a small garden, huddled around what is quite probably either illicitly procured food or, more probably, wine. There’s a flash of gold near the center, and Wei Wuxian is able to answer the slightly-nagging question of where his nephew disappeared to halfway through the feast. Fairy, thankfully, is nowhere in sight. He wonders, for just a moment, whether they purposefully left Lan Sizhui’s reasonable voice out of this clearly ill-advised venture before he catches sight of him half-hidden behind Lan Jingyi’s shoulder, a look of fond exasperation on his face.

Wei Wuxian takes a drink of his own wine and prepares to keep walking—there’s probably a rooftop somewhere with a good view of both the garden and the waning moon to keep him entertained without disturbing anyone else’s fun.

“Ah! Wei-qianbei!” It’s one of the ones Wei Wuxian doesn’t quite remember who greets him, which is a little embarrassing, but the boy’s wearing Yao sect robes and looks like he lost a fight with a thorn bush—ah. Young master Liang Fai, who got a little too up close and personal with a malevolent spirit this afternoon. He beckons Wei Wuxian closer, either ignoring or not noticing those of his companions who freeze in place—Lan Jingyi and two other Lans try valiantly to look as if they have not touched alcohol and Lan Sizhui offers up a slightly chagrined smile—or those who are making only mildly obvious efforts to stop him. Jin Ling looks for a moment as if he might bolt through a nearby bush. “Wei-qianbei, can you teach us that talisman you used today? The one that banished the mist.”

A few of the others actually do look interested in that, even Jin Ling, at least until Wei Wuxian shakes his head.

“You can achieve the same effect with a basic spirit-repelling talisman,” he informs them. Blood is stronger than ink, of course, but he remembers their eagerness in Yi City. Best not to mention that. “It’s nothing special.”

“What about your ward-breaker then?” Lan Jingyi asks. Wei Wuxian arches an eyebrow at him.

“Hanguang-jun did a lecture on it,” Lan Sizhui puts in, soft-spoken and reasonable as ever. “On your inventions, like spirit-attraction flags. He said you had a ward-breaker talisman.”

“I might,” Wei Wuxian allows, though it was never really a secret. “How good’s your brushwork?”

The next half hour is a delightful rush of fresh ink, waving paper and bright enthusiasm. Enthusiasm, of course, is key in the creation of this particular talisman. Enthusiasm, focus, and delicate control of a brush. A few of them can produce a handful of sparks in their first tries. Jin Ling and Lan Sizhui each manage one butterfly, to their evident glee and Wei Wuxian’s lavish praise. Ouyang Zizhen manages a quietly smug three, to general acclaim. They finish the wine, and someone steals more, and an hour goes by and the moon rises higher and then Jin Ling, a little flushed but entirely determined, asks:

“Can you tell us about the Sunshot Campaign?”

Everyone goes quiet. Wei Wuxian laughs, too loud in the long shadows. He is burningly aware that Lan Sizhui—Wen Yuan—is sitting somewhere on his left.

“Surely you’ve learned all about that already,” he says. His smile feels stretched too-thin across his face.

“Not really.” Jin Ling frowns. Wei Wuxian can’t decide if the expression makes him look more like Jin Zixuan or Jiang Cheng, but it’s familiar frustration either way. “Jiujiu won’t tell me anything and—” he stops, lips pressing tight together.

“There are a few stories,” Ouyang Zizhen says in a sort of hushed whisper that makes everyone lean in closer. “but it’s strange, they’re always—”

“It’s always the same stories,” Liang Fai says. “No matter who you ask. It’s always about how awful Wen Ruohan and his sons were, and then the Yin Iron, and the razing of Cloud Recesses and Lotus Pier. Then the Sects rise and Lian—and Meng Yao goes undercover, and Chifeng-zun lays siege to Nightless City.”

“My father always says the Wens reached too far,” Ouyang Zizhen adds. “That they were arrogant and thought they held the authority of the Heavens themselves. But when I ask what happened before the war, or why they attacked Cloud Recesses, he just talks in circles. Sometimes I’m not even sure he knows the answer at all.”

“There’s not much detail,” says Lan Jingyi. “Honestly, I’ve gotten more out of merchants and kids playing in the street than most cultivators. There are more stories about you, really. After. When you were at the Burial Mounds.”

Wei Wuxian sighs. Of course there are. Just as now, when there are so many stories of Jin Guangyao, once more Meng Yao to the vindictive and impressionable, and how people always knew he was up to something. Even at the time, when the events were fresh in everyone’s mind, no one had wanted to remember who the Wens were before the war. If they had, Wei Wuxian might not have been the only one standing by the survivors.

He finds Lan Sizhui’s eyes in the dim moonlight, but Lan Sizhui only stares back at him, as calm and composed as if he’s waiting for a lecture in Cloud Recesses. All the young faces around him are intent and watchful. Waiting. Waiting for him to prove, as he has so many times before, that he’s different from their parents. Because he is, just—maybe not as different as they think.

“It was a war,” he says. “There are better things to talk about. Like—oh, the clouds, the clouds are very nice tonight.”

The clouds are nice. For the record. Worthy of poetry even. But of course these are determined young cultivators. They aren’t just going to let this go.

“It’s when most of them earned their titles,” Jin Ling says. Insists. “And they weren’t—you weren’t—that much older than we are. Not really. What’s so bad that we can’t know it?”

Wei Wuxian remembers a sudden flash of sky, of grass scraping at his scalp and cheek as his brother’s hands closed around his neck. He remembers his sister’s hands, raw and swollen from scrubbing and boiling cloth for bandages. The way Lan Wangji had turned away when he’d asked, and your brother? Your uncle? in the Xuanwu cave. The taste of corpse-dirt in the back of his throat.

There are many, many things that no one should ever have to know. And yet … Jin Ling asks so little of him, in the usual way of things. And not every memory is a weakness their elders will resent.

“What do you know about the Yin Iron?” he asks. It’s a safe enough subject—for one thing, he’s something of an expert, and that’s something he made his peace with long ago. For another, it doesn’t reach too deep into the scars lurking under his skin, and he knows that it has to be part of what Jiang Cheng doesn’t talk about: watching his new recruits, cultivators who trusted and believed in him, become mindless foes with the same face. These young cultivators have seen corpse puppets, but they’ve never seen someone turn before their eyes. Someone they knew and fought alongside. Someone they called brother or sister. He can’t imagine Lan Wangji or anyone else from that time talking about it either.

“It can be used to control corpses,” Lan Jingyi says promptly. “To make them stronger. And used too long, the Yin energy can be damaging to the spirit.”

Wei Wuxian snorts. Of course the Lans would teach that second part. He wonders if they also teach of Lan Yi’s sacrifice, these days. He picks up his brush again and sketches an incomplete array—unbalanced and open ended. Energy ever re-directed against its source.

“Have you thought about what control of corpses means, on a battlefield without Yin Iron of your own? Where every fallen ally can become an enemy?”

The sudden stillness around him would indicate that no, they haven’t. More than one looks like his wine is not agreeing with him.

Wei Wuxian picks up another piece of paper and starts a new talisman—fire, to burn away impurities. “There’s a lot I really don’t remember.” He laughs a little and lights the paper with a twist of his fingers. “My memory has always been bad.”

There is quiet as the paper burns to ash and the night breeze sweeps even that away. Wei Wuxian reaches for the wine and pours himself another drink, and that seems to break the moment at least a little. Jin Ling looks particularly disappointed, and Wei Wuxian is debating telling the one or two actually decent stories he has of Jin Zixuan when someone else speaks first.

“But, Wei-qianbei …” Ouyang Zizhen looks around at his friends and Sect brothers, and then back to Wei Wuxian, determination hardening his features. “If we don’t know how it happened, how will we know how to stop it happening again?”

There are nods around the circle, and Wei Wuxian takes another drink to swallow back the tightness rising in his throat. “I’m really not the right person to ask,” he says. It’s a very noble sentiment they’re nurturing of course, but the world had turned on him much the same way it had on the Wens, and —ahah. He gestures at Lan Jingyi and Lan Sizhui, triumphant.

“Hanguang-jun,” he says. They stare at him.

“Hanguang-jun doesn’t talk about the war either.” Lan Sizhui’s gaze doesn’t waver, trained on Wei Wuxian.

“There are innumerable things our esteemed Chief Cultivator never puts into words,” Wei Wuxian agrees with a languid wave of his hand, “but does that really mean you don’t know what he thinks?”

Lan Sizhui blinks, then smiles at him.

“The seminars,” says Jin Ling. “He’s setting up—I don’t know, really, lectures and trainings and things, in Gusu and Caiyi, inviting people to speak or visit from all over. Jiujiu says he’ll probably be pushing the rest of us to do that too, soon.”

Ouyang Zizhen nods. “The watchtowers were Jin Guangyao’s project after the war, right? My father says Hanguang-jun wants something better than watchtowers. That he’s working on a new talisman, like the Jin Clan’s butterfly messengers.”

Jin Ling frowns, his hands tightening around his sword. “He hasn’t mentioned the butterfly messengers to me.”

“It’s Hanguang-jun. I don’t think he said anything about it to anyone, Father just saw him writing talismans that turn into pigeons after that conference focused on the towers.”

“Sect Leader Yao doesn’t like how he’s treating the smaller sects.” Liang Fai turns his helmet between his hands, his expression thoughtful. “He says the Chief Cultivator will recognize even just two people as a new sect, if they own so much as a single house to train out of. It’s making the bigger sects nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” says Jin Ling, scowling at him. “And neither is the Jiang Sect.”

“Ah, ah!” Wei Wuxian interrupts before tensions can draw any higher and waves his hands in the space between Jin Ling and Liang Fai. “Let’s talk about something else. Right?”

Jin Ling looks away, but the conversation doesn’t change.

“He’s worried about communication and response time,” says Lan Jingyi. “He’s always said it’s a cultivator’s job to go where the need is.”

“If more people can identify a problem, or know the right techniques, it won’t get out of hand,” Ouyang Zizhen agrees. “And with more sects, there are more cultivators in more places. It makes sense.”

“He travels.” All eyes shift to Lan Sizhui, who looks only at Wei Wuxian. “That’s part of what you mean, isn’t it? When Lianfang-zun was Chief Cultivator, everyone went to Lanling to speak with him. To the home of the Jin Sect. But Hanguang-jun doesn’t accept as many visiting parties. Most of the time, he goes to them.”

Lan Jingyi’s face scrunches up, doubtful. “I thought that was because he didn’t want to host so many banquets.”

“He still has to attend just as many,” Lan Sizhui points out. “Maybe more, even.”

“He’s staying neutral,” Jin Ling says, sudden and with an expression like he’s even surprising himself. “He can’t speak for Gusu Lan. That’s why Grandmaster Qiren is still at every conference. Because he’s Chief Cultivator, but not Sect Leader.”

That seems to be some sort of breaking point—several people start talking at once, and Wei Wuxian slowly eases himself out of the circle; he’s not needed anymore, and he should probably see himself out before Sect Leader Yao feels forced to offer him a place to sleep. Also, he’s out of wine.

Lan Sizhui meets him at the gates.

“Tell him we’re happy to help, with anything.”

Wei Wuxian frowns at him, confused. “Tell who?”

“Hanguang-jun. When you see him.” Lan Sizhui smiles and pets Little Apple’s nose. “Tell him we want to help. Even Jin Ling, though he might grumble about it.”

Wei Wuxian feels a sudden pang of homesickness—for the familiar walls of Lotus Pier, and for Lan Wangji’s steady presence at his side. But traveling to Yunmeng is no better an idea now that it was this afternoon.

“Ah, A-Yuan,” he says, “you can tell him yourself. You’ll probably see him before I do.”

Lan Sizhui looks doubtful, but he doesn’t argue. He seems to hesitate a moment, and then he sort of lunges into Wei Wuxian’s side and hugs him.

“What—”

“Thank you,” Lan Sizhui says as Wei Wuxian tries to figure out what to do with his hands. They’ve only done this a few times, still, and he’s not entirely sure what’s allowed when, and he’s desperately anxious to not mess it up.

“For what?” he asks, settling his free hand on Lan Sizhui’s back.

“For helping us,” Lan Sizhui says, almost at a whisper, and Wei Wuxian is sure they’re not talking about the gaggle of young cultivators in the garden anymore. He tightens the curl of his arm.

“You don’t need to thank me, A-Yuan. I—”

“Ning-shushu told me a little,” Lan Sizhui interrupts him, the words half-muffled in his collar. “And I’ve heard—I know all the same stories as the rest of them. I mean it. Thank you.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head, but he doesn’t protest aloud again. Instead he wraps his other arm around Lan Sizhui as well, and tucks his chin over Lan Sizhui’s white-clad shoulder. He watches the gauzy clouds drift slowly across the brightness of the moon and makes a silent promise:

This time, they’ll do better.

#the untamed #chen qing ling #wei wuxian #lan sizhui #jin ling #ouyang zizhen #lan jingyi #the juniors #alex writes #Anonymous

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mushykat · 3 years

Text

i am failing 4 classes

I’m sick and I don’t like it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, and I don’t like how it hurts to wake up. I don’t like how the feeling of hearing damage is the only thing grounding me to a plain of nothing but heartache and tragedy. I hate how much I’ve let myself spiral. I’m tumbling down a black spire that I’ve built for myself. What lays at the bottom will hopefully kill me when I connect with the waters below.

Sometimes I want to draw. The picture I want to use to express the swirling mass of razors and burnt scraps of thoughts that plague my consciousness never turns out how I want them to. I don’t want to sit down and put time into something that I cannot love. It’s why I refuse to try and dig myself from the pit laden with the shreds of memories I hold on to in order to justify the horrible things I see.

I don’t want to write as a career. A career path means choosing a secondary school, and it means going and applying myself to something. I can’t put the effort into keeping myself afloat in the sea of that of which troubles me, and yet I’m expected to weigh myself down with books full of repeated sentences that will suffocate me with a bad credit score and the inability to apply for a loan.

I don’t want money to be spent on me for college. I’m going to do bad and eventually give up, like I always do. I never apply myself to anything like I should. I know better. As I sit and write, and let the crisp feeling of the screen sear the exhaustion ridden pupils I’ve tormented as such the night prior, I have assignments I haven’t turned in. If I can’t bother to not fail an 11th grade math class over my own impotence, then how am I supposed to swallow down the poison that is higher education.

What’s the point of using flowery language to cover the corpse of what I write? What will the sprouts of tulips and daisies do against the rot of myself. Why must I try and work every word into an intricate tapestry to illustrate the images my hands refuse to draw. Why do I try to form the pictures my mind refuses to accept of what I see of myself. Why am I fucking sick?

I can feel the rise and fall of my chest, and yet my lungs always feel empty. I can feel the beat of a heart cradled behind the intertwined digits of marrow that tuck it away in a forest of fleshy fat, and yet I wonder if I am truly living. Is this all life is to be? Am I expected to carry on in the future. Carry on and carrion are easy to mix up, I presume. But what a simple mistake for such a bloated carcass such as myself.

I feel like if I try to chase after the fleeting ideological wisps of smoke that arise from the coals I smother, and do in fact explore writing as a career, I fear I will run out. I think the only mirrors I can truly accept are the ones others have pointed towards me. The only thing I can see anymore is warped and distorted by the heat of a long burnt-out inferno that ate away at the only thing I could hold dear to myself.

These little mirrors sit behind my eyes, and reflex off of each other. They shine beams of light to one another, as some sick paradox that I am too shaded to partake in. I want to see the light, but I fear what I may see if I allow illumination into the crevices of where I hide. The dark is cold and safe, and lets me shelter away from that which wishes to harm me.

The world isn’t out to get you, after all. The only mantra I can remember clearer than the burning gazes of reflected disdain directed towards me. Are the shattered mirrors that try to piece my reality together warped from the heat of myself or others? I think I know who ignited me, but I would rather let the coals die away as I wish for myself. I envy the carbon lumps sitting in the sludge pooled at my feet.

I am one of the ants that get burned alive under a child’s magnifying glass. I can still feel the heat enveloping me, and can taste the smoke as it hangs around my throat in a familiar noose. I welcome it, even. Why else would letting the smog from burning leaves powder kisses of slime and tar across my lungs? I relish the taste I’m left with. It is impure.

Impurity is the only state I know. Disgrace and dissidence is the only way for me to view myself through the shattered lenses that have been scratched and dulled with age. I wish I could pry them out of my skull with the screwdriver that sits in the drawer on my desk. Maybe if I slipped them out of my head and gave them a good rinse, I could have a clean look at the world around me. Maybe I could be happy.

What’s to say they aren’t responsible? Holding tender orbs with a sheen of slime from the crevice they reside, smeared with the crimson shame that comes with self mutilation. I wonder if I could view myself with such an event. Could I get a good look? Could I watch myself desecrate the corpse that I walk in?

Maybe my eyes aren’t the problem. The ants nibbling behind my eyes made my sight throb, as if what I’m viewing of the world is wrong. It’s never right, though. Maybe the ants are just more noticeable when I decide to grace them with acknowledgement. But they’re not real, of course. The idea of something being out of place would require something to be wrong, which there isn’t. I know because you told me. :)

I hate writing. It’s horrible and I’m disgusted with anything I read from myself. I do not approve of the venom that drips from my lips, and yet I refuse to pull my fangs. Maybe I could shatter the rest of my teeth while I’m at it. I could run my tongue over the raw indents where the abused shards of enamel I refused to care for would be. But since when do I care about taking care of myself? I’m scared of what I write. Every word is a little sliver of the mirrors that have cracked behind my eyes. The tears that fall hold shards of the reflective glass, and lands upon the scarred hands with which I type. I’m scared that the mirrors will be gone, and I’ll be forced to see the reality of what is before me in its entirety. And yet, I’m more scared of running out of escaping sorrow.

Why would I pursue a career in writing when I don’t know of what I write? Why would I try to make money off of a skill I do not have? What’s the point of humoring the idea that I can write? The illness that lets the steady drip of sickly ichor flow through me is the only reason I can type as I do. It’s the one who puppeteers this horrid poppet of flesh bound sinew and bone. If I am not sick, then how will I write?

I cannot write. There is nothing to write about. Any of the scorch marks sitting heavy in my chest, and any of the burns lingering against my face from the reflected magnitude of the heat of the abhorrence of the mirrors others hold are from fault of my own. I am the reason I am sick, and I am the reason I refuse to get better. The feeling of the keys popping under my fingers is proof enough that I am not dead, and yet I let myself make allusions as to why I can only experience a dullness in place of stimulations.

Every time I try to sit down and write like this, I try to crack a piece off of the mirrors. They’re melted into a grotesque putty, and it’s not delicate work to try and pry shards of it apart. I can swing and shatter the mass of heathenry, but then I would have to stare into the space between the shards. The spaces where I can see.

How long can I chisel at a deformity before it is gone? Doesn’t the idea of writing to clear my mind imply that there's an end goal. That perhaps I can someday empty myself of the acid that eats away at the tissue behind my eyes. Doesn’t that mean that I’m the reason I’m ‘sick’? I don’t have the right to be upset. I know this. It’s my fault.

The way others see me is the same, even if they claimed to have shifted their realities. Is it so easy? Why haven’t I done it for myself? I know why. I am lazy and prefer the glorification of necrophagous fantasies over the reality that the only rot in me is my own. The only poison that reaches me comes from inside. The bed of soil I rest in is free from mites and grubs, and yet I wrote. The only desecration is my own.

As I write and try to put these pathetic ideas against a sickly backdrop of a fake shade of white, I can’t help but yawn., It seems to be tiring to do the most basic of tasks. Sometimes I wish that I could lay amongst the blankets marred with the imbecility of myself and not be roused. I want to slumber for the rest of time, and let the roots overtake me. Maybe as my flesh is eaten away and my bones are dissolved by a hundred rains, I could finally rest.

I wish that I could bash my head against the wall and shatter everything going on inside of me. If it was in pieces, maybe it would be easier to weep under the rug. I want to hide it from myself. I don’t have anything wrong with me, I am just a hypochondriac that has done too much research. I know seven people who could agree with me. I live with three of them. Even if stories change, the words that linger are the ones that left bruises. Lying can’t fix the purple and yellow that litters my mind.

Sometimes I wish I wasn’t like this. Sometimes I wished I was loved. But why would it change anything? I would be loved and broken. I would be shattered and adored. I would be coddled and ruined. What difference would circumstances make when I’m the one who sets the table against me? I’m the reason the betting is so low. I picked the numbers, and I knew what I was doing. I’m aware of the horrible things I do, and yet I do them. I know I’m failing classes, and yet I write with blurry vision to try and alleviate a fake weight keeping me from breathing.

I don’t like school. I wish I didn’t have to go. But what else would I do with my day? I’m stupid. I’m tired of being told I’m not. I don't know the things people think I do. I only know things I can remember, and things that I care about. Neither of those apply to much. My mind’s empty enough that the few thoughts I can hold are the only thing keeping me from falling back into the static burning the edges of my subconscious.

My neck hurts.

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noobsomeexagerjunk · 3 years

Text

we wake with the intent to find enlightenment

Eret was what any sensible Minecraft server would call a "player of games," descending from the first slayers of the Dragon that dreamed hard enough to achieve the highest level. He was the epitome of what the voices whispered in their little poem.

Well, he was supposed to be.

In a sudden new development of powers, Eret converses and looks back on conversations to finally figure himself out, to finally wake up.

(read on AO3)

chapter 1: and all those sparkles in my eyes still remain

When you talk with enough people, you are forced to think.

When you think hard enough, you are forced to change.

Eret did not mean to trim away (or make disappear, based on his witness) all the leaves from the trees in his castle garden with a flick of his hand, but he just did.

He neared one bald trunk and touched the branches. It was odd how clean the cut was.

He reckoned that something about his person changed that caused the phenomenon to happen.

That kind of change had not happened since he was still growing up when he was as young as the few children on the server, most of whom he loved fervently.

The first time he knew he was different from the other children, human or otherwise, was the white of his eyes, which were aglow perpetually and unnatural enough to make people, who didn’t have the family eyes, unnerved around him. At some point, people began to flee at the sight of him.

Perhaps it’s the legend that one relative of his that he had made for himself— yeah, that’s right.

That said relative had remarkable power and chose to make himself a nightmare amongst servers, which was a feat no one in his immediate family, with their own powers, chose to do. None of them had that kind of audacity.

Neither did he, who then just decided to chop down the naked trees, planting new ones in their place.

The mystery of the kin who had Eret’s blood could make monsters, villains, but also heroes, leaders, gods even! They’re the epitome of dreaming, of what man should be in the sandboxes that Minecraft offered. Eret, by blood, descended from those who lived fully through uncovering the hidden truths from that so-called poem, the poem a server would whisper to those who, when the dragon of that server’s End is slain, actually save the End in question.

Eret’s power gave him a particular knowledge when he first stepped into the Dream SMP, a knowledge that framed him as an alien god trapped in the fragile clay that was the average Dream SMP mortal. It’s knowledge of the End but knowing the art of respect (and in that knowledge, not breaking the rules concerning its restriction).

Despite all that, Eret was left still trying to figure whatever the fuck he was. She was? They were?

Eret was, as far as he knew, something .

Wilbur said he was a traitor.

Dream said he was a king.

Everyone else said he was a puppet.

He made himself a historian.

He was something. Some...things?

Eret knew that he and he alone dictated his identity. He did not know whether he was happy with what he gathered, with what he made, with what he was.

Blinking back into reality, Eret dropped his enchanted netherite axe, leaves now restored. He hadn’t even begun cutting down the trunks!

“Okay, this is getting weird,” He remarked, picking up his axe and placing it back in his inventory.

He then walked back into the quarters of his castle, heading into that hidden boudoir where he did his more private and intimate matters concerning his person.

Armor off, then after some consideration, robe off as well.

In his regality and decoration, Eret always felt most like himself wearing gray shirts and blue jeans. It was bland, (as one drunk Wilbur Soot once whispered to him playfully, during one of those nights before everything went wrong,) but it was comfortable.

The mirror of the boudoir was massive, reaching the room’s high ceilings, making Eret’s figure so small from within the room’s walls.

Eret picked up his crown from off his head and took a good look at it. The marks of enchantment on the golden material resembled blood splatter, the pretty, intricately-carved jewels covered in beautifully contrasting impurities.

Now, the SMP’s other known leaders, or at least those most fascinated by its powers? They were intriguing to Eret, many of them possessing skills he wished he himself had. In their crafts and games, it was odd how Eret never could hold his own against them.

Eret’s craft was a museum. Unlike symphonies, it had the right to remain forever unfinished. It depended on housing so many stories—there were too many stories left unsalvageable.

Eret’s game was the game of Jacks. As bad as he was at the game, it was the game he can’t help but choose to play. The ball is bouncy just as his crown is heavy, the bones in hands as little as the friends he actually had.

The (let’s be real here,) crown of thorns—the Crown which was currently in Eret’s possession—both allured and terrified, like a bomb waiting to be used, waiting to blow up.

Bombs made Eret remember a conversation with Tubbo and Captain Puffy on a visit to Snowchester.

“Independent?” Eret picked up the Declaration of Independence on the podium, reading the haphazard handwriting of the founder of Snowchester.

“Have you come to contest it, your majesty?” Tubbo approached from behind him with a snarking tone; pulling with him on a lead was a bay horse that Puffy was riding on.

“Well, no, as nothing of any harm is,” The nukes, ”um, well-“

“Yes, we are peaceful, aren’t we?” Tubbo maintained his tone.

“Besides the nukes, Tubbo?” Puffy interjected.

“It’s a deterrent!” The teen repeated, “Like I said earlier, Eret. I’ve got them decommissioned and we don’t want any trouble.”

“Yeah, I can see how you’d come to that kind of protection,” Eret remembered Doomsday, “though I would request—actually no, recommend you communicate with me if you are going to use them at any point.”

“For what?”

“The help would be needed. You never know.” Eret was reminded of an equally alien red. Tubbo had mentioned seeing some growths on his land during their earlier conversation.

“I never do know, don’t I?”

Eret chuckled lightly, “Well, Tub-”

Tubbo suddenly smacked the ewe off the horse, much to her dismay.

“Tubbo! That hurt!”

“Thank you for getting off my horse,” Tubbo said, absurdly and frankly.

“Are you alright, Puffy?” Eret quickly went to pick her up, only for Puffy to be standing when he was at a reasonable distance from her.

“I’m good, I’m good.”

Puffy was quite a character. Her request of resignation was something he happily allowed, as her disillusionment with the server certainly coincided with his. He made no public spectacle of it (though to be fair, he never made a spectacle of his knight table, to begin with,) but had a meal with Puffy for it.

This was the price of an unannounced excursion. You leave for a month to make sense of all the chaos you’ve had to endure healthily only to come back to an even worse Dream SMP.

You have come back negligent. Wasn’t the break supposed to make you a better ruler?

Eret remembered welcoming Puffy when she first arrived, disheveled and a bit of a klutz, though nonetheless friendly.

Of course, who wouldn’t be a mess joining the Greater SMP, most especially after a historical act of political terrorism?

Eret quickly repressed the thought of Wilbur, though the dead fellow’s charisma seemed to leak out of Puffy’s excitability. She acted much like him, much like he was before Eret had hurt him: quick to founding family, being a shoulder to cry on, quick to burn when necessary, being a paragon of hope against tyranny and towards peace.

Captain Puffy had long wooly locks, brown and highlighted with a prismatic shade of white. She hid her eyes behind glasses like his, enigmatic like himself, surely? This ewe walked into the server with a friendly, warm wool onesie of many colors, reflected in her horns and hooves.

Eret’s shock was reasonable when she came to their little arranged meal together in a brand new costume.

She looked so much like Wilbur, as attractive as him, even. This was the man who had the ambition to fight tyranny through a division Eret thought at the time as dangerous.

The reminder can no longer be avoided.

In some way, Eret felt he was correct about the effect of L’Manburg, of it being a further cause of division in a server that didn’t need to create factions but to simply negotiate with words—to coexist and be passive and not be so Goddamn stubborn.

Dream and Wilbur, in their disagreements, agreed they were both unbelievably stubborn. Too mortal, too measly, two mere men...Eret found it awful how they fashioned themselves as immovable objects. He, for one, belonged to a race of men far more powerful than that of the two, and yet they had the audacity! What are simple server owners and the children of angels to dreamers? To the descendants of those who had taken the universe’s whims to heart? To the same brood that begotten the nightmare known as Herobrine?

Eret was something, but that something was not Herobrine, that’s for sure.

Wilbur could only handle so much. L’Manburg could only handle so much.

The stains of betrayal still prod and cry at Eret before his very eyes.

Nevermind. Eret wasn’t as sure, now that he thought harder about it.

He huffed to himself. He was being fickle.

Captain Puffy was quite fickle. She bent and broke like him, if her resignation as a knight was of any indication. She mothers a god but is so ever mortal and yet is so humble. People and happiness mattered to her, and that was why Eret loved her.

The tricorn hat and the long coat, worn out by what seemed to be the waters of storms instead of the fires of war, were an ashen color, black like obsidian, and were punctuated with gold pads, embroidery, and buttons.

She wore glasses like his, in that through certain angles, semi-hid eyes of enchanted prismarine. As we know, Eret’s glasses hid a blinding, mythical pair of whites.

“That’s quite the look there,” Eret remarked at the sight of her, almost tempted to blush.

“Yeah,” Puffy failed to hide her hesitance, “I, um, thought I needed a wardrobe change.”

“You didn’t have to dress up for this, you know?”

“I know, I know,” Puffy put a lock behind her ear, “This is just—how do I put this? Um, a necessity.”

He was about to jokingly question whether she was going to war, but then stopped himself in realization.

“I see. Come,” He gestured to her to follow him towards the table and food he set up before her arrival.

#dream smp #dream smp fanfiction #we wake with the intent to find enlightenment #eret #captainpuffy #tubbo #wilbur soot #/roleplay

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gotmilk5101520 · 3 years

Text

Trollhunters: Tales of Arcadia Watch Episode 44 The Exorcism of Claire Nunez (Part 1)

Looks like you’re going to the Shadow Realm, Jimbo.

“Release these shackles”

“or i’ll wear your spine as my crown”

“peasants!”

“That’s a new one” Beats the other ones.

“Apologies for my delay” Blinky, after not appearing at all last episode.

“After i feast on your souls”

“Agony will rule for a thousand millennia”

“How long is a millennia? Is it like a million years?”

“I think it’s a thousand”

“Indeed, Master Jim” I always thought millennia meant millions of years.

“Morgan le Fay, Merlin’s apprentice”

“Like Merlin who made my Amulet?”

“I spit on his name”

“as i spit on his grave”

“Sounds like they didn’t get along” Well, you weren’t there in Wizards.

“Oh, what little lambs”

“My work here is done” “But you didn’t do anything”

“Hi, Madam M”

“I’m Tobias”

“Can you save Claire?”

“If the Eternal Night comes to pass-”

“Blinky, can you save Claire?”

“I think i know someone who can”

Forget saving Claire for the time being, save Toby.

“Darn it” He stepped in shit.

Imagine walking in on this.

“Traitorous Impure!”

“I made you!” Yet you didn’t say anything to the Janus Order after Gunmar was freed. If you did then they wouldn’t be dead right now.

“Morgana is using her as a vessel”

“A puppet”

“a toehold into our plane of reality” “So, it’s like Kingdom Hearts? Why didn’t you get Nomura for this?”

“She doesn’t have a shadow”

“No shadow?”

“Dude” Hey, perfect time for a shadow puppet.

“Claire’s spirit is trapped in the space between worlds”

“The Shadow Realm!”

“How do we get her back?”

“There is only one way”

“Someone must find her spirit in the Shadow Realm”

“give her a deck of cards so she can challenge Morgana to a duel”

“Merlin dead”

“Staff lost”

“But what is lost can be found” So in other word, my life can still be found?

‘When you cross over, say the incantation”

“Modus Occul-Takh”

“Modu- Modus Ocultahm”

“Modus Occul-Takh”

“Perfect”

“Once you get Claire to return, use the rabbit again and say the incantation reverse”

“Hkat-Lucco Sudom” They’re not gonna remember it.

“Claire always made it look so easy” Yeah she had training.

“Modus Occul-Takh”

“Hang on, i have to do something. Check this out”

“Wait. Was that Claire’s couch?” It’s a long story.

“I’m scared, Jim”

“That’s our stone!”

“We need that to save my brother!”

“Oh, no!”

“I can’t. It won’t work”

“IT’S KILLING HER!”

“Jim, don’t let them do this to you”

“Jim, no!”

“Jim, no” So, what was with the memories, and why those ones?

Have this bizarre Claire face.

“Enrique! Mi hermanito”

“Shh”

“There, there”

“Claire?”

“Claire, are you okay?”

“So much to do” “Claire!” Oh, of course she can’t see them.

Well Jim’s been inside Claire.

Now Toby’s been inside Claire.

“Oh, it must be heart-wrenching”

”to see your pupil turn to another for guidance”

“Spare me, witch!”

“Your words are useless on me”

“I spot a pattern”

“Even your own brother turned against you”

“Who can blame him?”

“Where are you going?”

“To find a gag!”

“A gag? Oh, that is one of this girl’s favorite kinks. Read her 101 Favorite Kink List”

Gag or bat.

“CAN YOU HEAR ME?”

“Blink if you can hear me!”

“She blinked!” That doesn’t work cause you need to blink.

“Well, if we don’t get out of here, Claire might have some permanent roommates”

“That’s us, Jim! We’re gonna see her get dress, take a shower, find out the other deleted stuff that Nanny Cam record that NotEnrique won’t tell us about”

“This is pointless!”

“It’s not working”

To be continued.

Part 2

#trollhunters #milk watches trollhunters #tales of arcadia

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kingofthewilderwest · 4 years

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Do you think Mabel gets too much hate? I noticed when a female character acts selfish she gets hated on but when a male character does the same it’s praised

We’re free to love or hate any character with or without reason. That said, I feel sad seeing Mabel hate and agree Mabel receives too much hate. I feel like the rhetoric claiming she’s unforgivably selfish is skewed. I think people have decent criticisms regarding Mabel’s character and how she’s presented. However, I don’t think they sufficiently describe the full picture.

Anecdotally, I don’t think this is a case of sweeping sexism because Ford also receives more criticism than I think warranted. My perspective on how much hate each character proportionately receives could be incomplete, though.

But anyway. Let’s talk Mabel.

First though: please don’t try to debate this with me. If you don’t like my opinion, no worries. That’s chill. I’m just not interested in using my recreation time debating this. Thanks! :) However, if you want further clarifications, analyses, case studies, etc. I’m happy to talk more, because this is NOWHERE close to exhausting my thoughts on this topic.

Mabel’s Selfishness: The General Critique

I think everyday anti-Mabel criticism tends to use points like:

When other characters act selfishly, they’re called out and the narrative punishes them. But when Mabel wants something, she gets it, and it’s a reward (The Deep End, The Time Traveler’s Pig, Escape from Reality).

Mabel never learns how to give up something important and deal with that loss. Even when she lets something go, it’s not something that would have been good in her life. For instance, her failed puppet performance is “dodging a bullet” rather than losing something meaningful, since Gabe’s just a puppet kisser. In the end, she doesn’t have to live with sacrifice (Boyz Crazy, Sock Opera).

Mabel even selfishly causes the apocalypse by giving Bill the rift. She’s never held responsible for that (Dipper and Mabel vs the Future).

The narrative reinforces that Mabel is a good person even when she’s not (The Last Mabelcorn).

People particularly look at Mabel in S2 over S1; many claim that’s when her character began to feel selfish and insufferable.

This isn’t everything, but I have tried to characterize the rhetoric fairly based upon what I’ve seen.

I find these discussion points understandable. Mabel can be self-focused and sometimes ignores others’ feelings. Alex Hirsch admitted in DVD commentaries that he focused on Dipper learning lessons because he put himself in Dipper’s shoes. And some of Alex’s writing intentions could’ve been clearer, like instances where the twins resolve conflicting desires. We could talk about how the show could be improved or the character is legitimately not-selfless.

At the same time, I think how fandom uses these talking points isn’t 100% fair to Mabel’s character or the show’s full narrative.

I want to point out that Mabel hate for her selfishness covers two fronts: one claim that Mabel is selfish, and another claim that the surrounding plot doesn’t handle her selfishness satisfactorily. I think there’s fair constructive criticism when it comes to narrative framing (even if I disagree), but I don’t think the same dialogue is good rationale against Mabel’s personality. At times I see the two concepts conflated. The narrative may annoy you if you think selfishness isn’t addressed in plot, and contribute to you disliking the character, but claiming “Mabel is selfish” because of that is flawed logic.

In this analysis, I’ll cover both fronts. I’ll tackle the four points I mentioned above and explain why I find them too harsh. I’m not going to cover all my thoughts (yes, my original draft was longer!!), but I will argue:

Mabel reverses her selfishness - and that’s the big choice sealing the climax of multiple episodes. She doesn’t get off “consequence free” either (Boyz Crazy, Sock Opera)

Mabel sacrifices for others. The narrative does show that Dipper and Mabel meet in the middle, not that Dipper feels guilty enough to ameliorate his sister’s wishes (Sock Opera, Escape from Reality)

Mabel giving the rift to “Blendin” mirrors Dipper offering a puppet to Bill. Both twins are emotionally compromised and believe they’re making a harmless deal with an inconsequential item. Neither would’ve made these choices in calmer circumstances. Sock Opera doesn’t have Dipper deal with his culpability; relax up on Mabel (Sock Opera, Dipper and Mabel vs the Future)

Mabel’s selfishness is addressed, handled, and resolved. The moral of The Last Mabelcorn isn’t defending Mabel’s goodness; it’s Mabel embracing imperfection. Mabel learns she’s a bad person and changes her perspective of herself multiple times in canon (The Last Mabelcorn, Lost Legends)

I could also have talked about how selfishness isn’t required to be resolved in her character arc, all the times Mabel does nice things for others, how she doesn’t always obnoxiously hog the spotlight, and other things, but I want to cap the length of this essay.

So let’s begin.

Can Mabel learn from selfishness if she’s consequence-free and never handles meaningful loss?

Anti-Mabel Argument: Circumstances don’t adversely affect Mabel. This means she never has to sacrifice for her brother like Dipper does for her. For instance, in Sock Opera, Mabel sees that Gabe is a weirdo over-obsessed with puppets. Her failed puppet performance was “dodging a bullet” rather than losing something meaningful, so she doesn’t learn true self-sacrificial love. Mabel never learns how to give something important up and deal without it. So, she never changes.

Boyz Crazy not only is an episode where the climax is Mabel learning to act against her selfish desires, but it’s got an explicit apology in dialogue. “I’m sorry I went bonkers,” she tells Candy and Grenda. “A catchy song made me realize that you were right. Can you ever forgive me?”

While Mabel has to learn this lesson again in later episodes, it’s to note: most GF characters are fairly static, and Dipper also has to learn multiple times not to hit on Wendy. Character progress doesn’t happen all at once. And in the next episode I’ll talk about, not only does Mabel confront her selfishness, but it’s the last time she lets her boy chasing impact Dipper. It ends after this.

I’m talking Sock Opera.

Mabel’s sacrifice in Sock Opera is big. She doesn’t get off “consequence free.” She decides to sabotage her performance before knowing Gabe’s a weirdo. Mabel is fully willing to lose her most viable romance option… for Dipper. She realizes her brother would be willing to give something up for her, and she’s going to reciprocate by giving up something big for him.

Mabel might’ve dodged the bullet of dating Gabe, but she still gives up something big and will feel it. Sure, she makes the puppet show to impress Gabe. But she’s also entertaining a full audience. She can feel the people booing her, see them storming out and leaving. Mabel is someone who wants everyone happy, so much that seeing everyone happy except Robbie puts her in Crisis Mode. I don’t know about you, but just because I saw some guy kissing puppets, I wouldn’t think, “Yay! I had a happy outcome to this play ordeal!”

Mabel VERY much says, in the dialogue, that her brother would give up something big for her. And that’s what her Big Choice comes down to. Every episode climax in Gravity Falls comes down to The Big Choice. Here, Mabel’s Big Choice… is to sacrificially watch her hard work burst into literal flames.

Mabel apologizes to her brother, “I’m sorry, Dipper. I spent all week obsessing over a dumb guy. But the dumb guy I should have cared about was you.”

In following episodes, Mabel does put Dipper in mind. She gets momentarily distracted by crushes in The Love God, but that’s in a quest to solve her own mistake - a mistake that came from trying to make everyone, from Robbie to Thompson to Dipper, happy. She wants to include Dipper, from the Ducktective finale to her birthday party planning mission. And if you’re focusing on how she teases Dipper, why aren’t you also targeting Stan, who makes the same action without change?

Mabel Hate rhetoric focuses on how Bill was “right” in Sock Opera and she still acts selfishly in the same patterns after that episode. But, the climax is Mabel resisting Bill and demonstrating self-sacrifice, and that arguably does influence her character afterwards. It’s one step in an incomplete process. She might not be ready to handle Dipper separating off with Ford, but that’s because her arc still isn’t completed.

We do see Mabel dealing with meaningful loss like the collapse of her puppet show. She does show sacrificial love for her brother. And, as I’ll talk about more, she continues to grapple with and grow in selflessness through later decisions like Escape Through Reality.

Does Mabel ever realize she’s a bad person?

Anti-Mabel Argument: Narrative reinforces Mabel is a good person even when she’s not. Alex Hirsch wrote with rose-tinted bias because Mabel represents Alex’s twin sister. The Last Mabelcorn showcases that. Instead of Mabel learning she’s a bad person who can’t receive a unicorn’s blessing… the unicorn’s criticisms against Mabel get nullified – the creature’s lying about Mabel’s impure heart. Mabel got affirmed for who she was rather than dealing with her imperfection.

First off: if you haven’t watched the DVD commentary for The Last Mabelcorn, you should. It’s a wild story how this episode got made. Alex Hirsch trashed the script of an entire episode 48 hours before it was due. He crunched to write a new episode - by himself - from scratch. So yeah. A few lines of final dialogue could’ve been tweaked to improve the message, but the fact he wrote as successful an episode as he did in that short of time is incredible. And the message of The Last Mabelcorn is there:

Mabel learns she’s an *IMPERFECT* person. She embraces being imperfect instead of groveling for impossible perfection and meaningless approval.

Maybe that’s not the “Mabel learns selflessness!” episode you wanted, but this is a fascinating lesson, and one I don’t see touted tons in media. I love it.

Mabel spends the episode attempting to be pure of heart through kind deeds. Wendy tells Mabel they should solve their problem the dirty way. Mabel keeps refusing until the unicorns anger her. This is the moment of triumph: she punches a unicorn. Mabel forsakes the route of “pure” good deeds to do what she first considered dirty. That’s the hero moment, dudes!

Mabel says the unicorns are “worse” than her, not that she’s good and they’re bad. Mabel comes out of the adventure declaring, “Today I learned morality is relative.” That’s because the episode’s climactic Big Choice isn’t about Mabel accepting she’s a “pure” person; it’s about Mabel accepting she can make “impure” choices.

Ford is the person at the end who tries to tell Mabel she’s good. But Mabel contradicts what he says with that “morality is relative” quote. What she takes away is that she’s imperfect, she can make non-sparkly-decisions, and that’s okay. She’s become more aware of herself and her flaws, but also accepts she can make choices others might shake their heads at.

So. Ford and Wendy might’ve called Mabel “a good person” in key parts of the episode, which is why I say Alex (not in a time crunch) could’ve considered tweaking lines to make the point clearer. But I don’t think the episode depicts Mabel as a selfish jerk who never learns her flaws.

And frankly? If I had to choose between a standard “you’re not perfect” episode and this? I’d MUCH rather have this, where characters learn lessons, but we also get the show’s humorous, slightly subversive, slightly truthful “anti-morality.” That’s a Gravity Falls thing, after all. (For other anti-morality examples: Stan saying Summerween is about celebrating “pure evil,” Mabel deciding it’s good to lie so Stan doesn’t get arrested, Mabel deciding being an asshole to employees is productive, etc.)

So yes, Mabel realizes she’s a bad person, even if it’s not in the way you expected. And that’s still not the end of her character arc.

Does Mabel ever sacrifice for others Dipper?

Argument: Mabel only agrees to leave her bubble after Dipper promises to drop Ford’s apprenticeship. This apprenticeship would have been huge for Dipper. But all Mabel “sacrifices” is leaving a fake world she’s hiding in, goofing around instead of helping people in literal Armageddon.

Much of Mabel and Dipper’s relationship is about how they’re opposites. We repeatedly see the best place for both of them is the middle. Alex Hirsch talks about this tons. Whether it’s perfectly implemented is a debate for another day. I do think these concepts can be seen even in episodes like Escape From Reality where there’s been criticism of narrative execution.

I’ve seen people say Mabel “gets her way” because Dipper turns down Ford’s apprenticeship when he sees it makes her sad. Hirsch has said in commentaries Dipper was making a mistake wanting the apprenticeship. Mabel wants to avoid growing up while Dipper wants to grow up too fast.

We don’t have to take Hirsch’s word-of-god for it: the story does show that Dipper was erring with the apprenticeship. Ford intends well, but his bias against siblinghood means he’s polluting Dipper’s values. He suggests that Dipper staying with Mabel is “suffocating.” He suggests that Dipper is “greater” and should be doing something with it. “Dipper, can you honestly tell me you never felt like you were meant for something more?” And later: “Listen to me, Dipper: this town is a magnet for things that are special. And that includes you and me. It brought both of us here for a purpose! Stay here with me, Dipper. Become my apprentice. Don’t let anyone hold you [back].”

When Mabel and Dipper make resolutions in Mabel Land, Dipper says he’ll drop the apprenticeship. This emotionally touches Mabel. But being emotionally touched doesn’t mean that’s WHY she makes amends with her brother. Instead, Mabel reassures him that he can take the apprenticeship if he wants. She leaves the choice up to him and is willing to let him live in another state during their teen years. She finds his needs and desires important.

And honestly? It’s Dipper himself who realizes the apprenticeship is bogus; it’s not because Mabel is forcing her brother to change. “Mabel, I thought you were living a fantasy, but look at me! I actually thought I was gonna stay here and be Ford’s apprentice. Spend my entire teens cooped up in a basement with a lab coat? How ridiculous is that?” He sheds the idea because he realizes it’s a bad one, not because he’s ameliorating someone too selfish to accept her brother leaving her.

It’s also to note Mabel Land tempts everyone. Calling only Mabel selfish when everyone else gets pulled in… seems incorrect. Bill considers it a diabolical, inescapable prison. People like Soos, Wendy, and Dipper who know it’s a prison get drawn to Mabel Land’s temptations. Heck, Dipper gets tempted with an old vice. He might have grown more mature, but that doesn’t mean he can’t trip occasionally (we can apply the same understanding to Mabel and “selfishness,” by the way - someone can both grow and keep tripping). Mabel, meanwhile, wants to use the bubble to help and comfort her visiting friends (which is, for the record, not selfish) and thinks reality should be avoided because both her and Dipper’s lives have been adversely affected. Dipper’s pain is important, too. Mabel has been in this prison longer than Soos, Wendy, and Dipper, and the prison was designed for her - ergo she’s going to be more manipulated by it. Lots of her actions are avoidance tactics because she’s scared of growing up, yes. The court trial is a lot, yes. But we should bear in mind that this is a child scared of growing up and feeling the burn of conflict with her brother. Emotional and psychological context is important. We all get vulnerable. Do our lowest lows define our entire personality?

When Dipper and Mabel make their compromise, both reject temptations. Dipper rejects a bad apprenticeship; Mabel rejects a bad reality. They offer each other solutions where they don’t get what they originally want. They meet in the middle, and this is the best way for both to move forward in the aging process. They’re both satisfied and confident with their choice. It’s not Dipper giving up everything for Mabel, ameliorating her because she’s sad. It’s about the twins learning they can make it through life together, through thick and thin.

Potentially muddled thematic framing does not erase the resolution the twins make. It does not erase that Mabel’s depicted as someone willing to give up major things for her brother.

Okay. But that rift thing. How can you excuse the APOCALYPSE??? JUST TO HAVE MORE SUMMER!?!

The point is that Mabel is emotionally compromised and outmanipulated.

She’s a terrified twelve year old going through a Very Rough Day. She’s terrified about the future, she’s learned bad news after bad news, and she’s afraid her life as she knows it will be wrenched apart. It feels like everything she loves - from her best friends to her brother - will be distanced from her.

Would you have handled this well as a kid? Adults have issues with this, too.

When she meets “Blendin,” she’s told that trading one inconsequential item will save her future. It’s self-focused, but it’s important to understand: she wouldn’t have made this choice in calmer emotional states.

Compare this to Dipper making a deal with Bill in Sock Opera. The twins literally make the same mistake for the same reasons, duped by the same villain.

Dipper: Decides to give Bill one of Mabel’s belongings, a puppet, without her knowledge. Mabel: Decides to give Bill one of Dipper’s backpack items without his knowledge.

Dipper: Irritated with Mabel because she isn’t helping unlock the laptop.Mabel: Frustrated with Dipper because it feels like he’s abandoning her to be “special” with Ford.

Dipper: This is an inconsequential bargain. Bill is just unlocking the laptop. He’s just taking a sock puppet - Mabel has plenty of those.Mabel: Nothing bad will happen. Just a few more weeks of summer. And she’s giving an item Ford allegedly won’t notice is missing.

Dipper: The laptop counter is ticking. Only a matter of minutes before the data gets erased.Mabel: Summer is ending in a week. Separation from Dipper is imminent.

Dipper: Not thinking clearly due to sleep deprivation.Mabel: Not thinking clearly, emotionally compromised from a walloping bad day.

Hirsch and company have confirmed that only this combination of factors convinced Dipper to make a deal with a demon. Mabel wouldn’t have shook “Blendin’s” hand in less severe circumstances. It’s ironic that, in Sock Opera and Dipper and Mabel vs the Future, rhetoric attacks Mabel in both episodes.

So yes, Mabel gave Bill the rift. But yes, Dipper jeopardized the town’s safety by letting Bill into his body.

I know that, at this point, people might argue there’s a narrative difference. Dipper learned from his mistake but Mabel didn’t. However, I disagree. There wasn’t dialogue in Sock Opera where Dipper explicitly confronts his transgression and works it out with Mabel on screen. Same thing with Mabel and the rift. I know fans wanted it addressed that Mabel started the apocalypse… and frankly I would’ve enjoyed that too… but it doesn’t make Mabel’s writing as a character suddenly, “OH NO SELFISH SELFISH! AND THE NARRATIVE IS LETTING HER GET AWAY WITH BEING SELFISH!”

It’s no different than how writing handles Dipper in Sock Opera. And again, give a terrified kid a break instead of calling a large emotional low “irrevocably selfish.”

By the time Take Back the Falls comes around, Mabel encourages everyone to work together to fight Bill. Mabel risks her life to save the town and her family. Mabel works together with Dipper and puts the people she loves first.

Lost Legends: Fixing remaining narrative holes

After S2 ended, Mabel’s selfishness is head on tackled. That’s the ENTIRE point of Don’t Dimension It in Lost Legends. I suspect Alex Hirsch read Mabel criticism and intentionally reacted through Lost Legends. In this story, Mabel acts out of self-focused energy and doesn’t realize her actions have negative consequences to others. It puts the Pines family in an interdimensional conundrum. Once Mabel runs into other Mabels from other dimensions, she comes to terms that she’s self-absorbed and needs to be attuned to how others feel. Mabel realizes she put everyone in this mess. She apologizes to her family and resolves to be better.

It’s great.

I’ve still seen people criticize it. And that’s where I think Mabel hate rhetoric definitely goes too far. I suspect there’s bias in how people responded to that comic. By the time Lost Legends came out, criticisms for selfish Mabel were rampant and people were set in their perspectives, so seeing a character arc about Mabel’s selfishness got unfairly nitpicky responses.

I’ve seen people say things like, “Well, she only learns when she interacts with herself, not with others!” But that’s a cool way of presenting story! Mabel sees herself in a literal mirror and takes away truth. Sometimes we don’t see our flaws until it’s right in our faces. This is Mabel’s in-the-face moment. The “I’m selfish” revelation doesn’t have to be with Dipper to be relevant toward how she treats Dipper. She takes away the full lesson she’s self-absorbed and needs to fix that. She immediately makes sure to talk to Dipper about becoming a better person. She owns responsibility toward how she’s treated her brother - and mentions the entire summer as the scope of her fault.

“I’m sorry for being selfish this summer,” the comic ends. “I guess it took me dealing with myself to realize what you put up with. It’s time for us to start some new adventures! And this time I won’t always hog the spotlight.”

There are other criticisms about Lost Legends, which I feel boil down to “I don’t know, still doesn’t satisfy me, not enough.” It makes me wonder what would get people satisfied. Does every possible angle of how someone could learn selfishness have to be covered thoroughly? No franchise can cover that scope. Isn’t there still lots of takeaway with Mabel? Don’t Dimension It alone is an episode’s worth of material, the same amount of content which most fans deemed enough to wrap up Dipper getting over Wendy, Pacifica being a brat, and Gideon being creepy on Mabel.

Mabel’s selfishness gets addressed, multiple times, and gets a final-final resolution in the comics.

Final Thoughts

I think it’s an interesting point you make, anon friend, that male characters get praised while women get condemned. I haven’t talked about gender aspects or other selfishly-acting male characters like Stanley (whose selfishness people perceive as lovable). I said earlier I don’t think it’s rampant fandom sexism, but there still could be a point there. Maybe you’re right it’s a factor. It wouldn’t be the first time gender perception’s done that.

I think there’s also point to be made that Dipper is the protagonist. Mabel’s a deuteragonist. It’s more common to write life lessons for the protagonist. That’s fine. Dipper learning more lessons than Mabel and Dipper giving up a little more than Mabel is a result of being a protagonist, not narrative excusing Mabel for her flaws or letting her waltz around scott free.

So yeah. I think Mabel’s gotten too much criticism for that flaw. Constructive criticism is almost always interesting in fandom dialogue, but rampant hate movements make me sad. Talking about how narrative structure could’ve been improved I find cool; pinning it on the character’s humanity bothers me. I think lots of the dialogue turns into criticizing Mabel unfairly as a person, and given as other GF characters have glaring flaws, it feels imbalanced and uncomfortable that SHE gets disproportionate attacks.

This is Mabel we’re talking about. Mabel Pines, who’s SO selfish she tries to rescue Mermando when that means she’ll never see him again. Mabel Pines, who’s SO selfish she knits everyone sweaters during the Apocalypse. Mabel Pines, who’s SO selfish she calls out Dipper when he’s leading on Candy. Mabel Pines, who risks her life in multiple daring moves to save the town, parachuting through the sky into the demon’s lair… acting as a decoy to distract Bill Cipher… and more. Mabel Pines, who spends an entire episode trying to make everyone happy, down to Robbie, whom everyone else didn’t care enough about (but Mabel did!!!). Mabel Pines, who encourages Soos to date women and find a romantic connection he’s satisfied with. Mabel Pines, who fights in Globnar and risks her life, just so Soos can have a happy birthday and forget about his dad. Mabel Pines, who decides it’s better to be friends with her enemy Pacifica than fight petty battles. Mabel Pines, whose love for her brother helps even the thirty year rift between Stan and Ford mend. Mabel, who couldn’t give up on Stan and found a way to restore his memories when all others thought it lost. Mabel. Fucking. Pines!

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amwritingmeta · 5 years

Text

15x05: How to Fight God

Proverbs 17:3 --> The crucible for silver, the furnace for gold, but the Lord tests the heart.

This proverb really gets to me when looking at it in the light of 15x05, but also when looking at how it relates itself to the series as a whole, because our boys are going through nothing short of a trial by fire, their whole world and sense of self is beginning to take flame and that sounds poetic af, but it’s also so fucking poignant that I can’t even.

Because isn’t this what their whole journey has been? And what it’s been about, too, meaning that the trial by fire serves an actual purpose, the get rid of the impurities (if you will) while the actual trial isn’t by fire, but lies truly in the aftermath, in the lessons and the learning curve: the heart stuff.

That aside, of course, applied to 15x05 it’s quite literally God testing their hearts - and what they’re really made of - by throwing them a proper curve ball in Lilith, not to mention this revealing the fact that he’s still a presence.

We open on Sam, who’s checking his phone to see if Cas has finally replied to all the concerned texts Sam has sent him (my heart leaped I loved it so much!) (of course Sam wouldn’t not reach out) (and amazing that Cas literally decided then and there to walk out the door and he just removed himself entirely) (also - poor Sam!) (he lost a friend!!) and Cas hasn’t gotten back to him.

Buuuut!

Cut to the end of the episode and Sam is just hanging up from having an actual conversation with Cas. Sorry, this was me remembering this entirely wrong and not double-checking - it went straight to voicemail and is clearly stated as doing so, pls, ignore my ignorance!

There’s still a nice, subtle bookend here, and it still underscores the change we get from the opening scene to the closing: the brothers both believing they’re back to business as usual (with the difference of how now they’re actually holding the reins) vs. realising God isn’t gone and that the status quo is not something they can fall back on here.

Speaking of the status quo, the way things have always been, the saving people, hunting things, family business side to the brothers’ lives that is, as far as they’re concerned, the cornerstone of their identities... yeah, let’s speak of that for a bit, because if we look at the episode I believe the status quo, or perhaps the repeat patterns, is/are actually the answer to the question Dean finishes the episode with:

How do we fight God?

So then.

How To Fight God

This is basically speculation based in my meta reading of the episode so pinches of salt, loves, but it’s intriguing to me to think about what the rules of this world actually are, because this is GOD the CREATOR, right? Yeah.

How can you, the puppet, defeat your puppet master when your puppet master determines which of your strings are pulled at any given moment?

Well, firstly, I’m stuck on the exchange between Dean and Cas from 15x02:

Cas: You don’t think I’m angry? After what Chuck did? After what he took from me? He killed Jack. But that doesn’t mean it was all a lie. [...] Even if we didn’t know that all of the challenges that we face were born of Chuck’s machinations, how would we describe it all? We’d call it life, because that’s precisely what life is. It’s an obstacle course. And maybe Chuck designed the obstacles, but we ran our own race, we made our own moves, and mostly we did well with that. Dean: Did we? I’ll tell you what we do know - nothing about our lives is real. Everything that we’ve lost, everything that we are, is because of Chuck. So maybe you can stick your head back in the sand, maybe you can pretend that we actually had a choice... I can’t. Cas: Dean. You asked what about all this is real -- we are.

I mean technically Dean didn’t ask anything, he stated that nothing about their lives is real but alright I get that you want to break through, Cas, because this is Cas trying to make Dean understand that not everything has been pre-determined by Chuck.

If free will didn’t exist at all in the narrative, then there would be no room for any kind of stakes, emotional or otherwise.

If it didn’t come down to what choices each situation brought about and the lessons derived from the consequences of those choices, then the meaning of the character journeys would be completely nullified.

And these rules of the world we’re watching are most clearly demonstrated to us in the S14 season finale, when Dean makes that epic choice of not shooting Jack, effectively ripping up Chuck’s perfect ending and forcing him to go all mental deity on a power trip on all of their asses.

So Cas is clearly right in the above exchange, but Dean can’t hear it, and because Dean just refuses to listen, Cas sees no other choice but to leave in 15x03. Because all Cas can see is how Dean refuses to let go of old patterns of thinking, old hang ups and fears, and how Dean finds refuge in blaming an external source rather than gaining perspective, accepting his own level of responsibility (in any situation) and moving forward.

I’m very curious about the prayer and what level of exposition it will entail. Imagine it being an actual callback to the confession scene in S11, where the exposition of Dean’s internal struggles with his longing for more is so beautifully balanced. Anyway, digression.

What I’m getting at is that choices seem to play an enormous part here, and of course they should, because that’s one of the most prominent thematic threads the writers can pull on.

Our choices make us who we are.

It’s not what you are, but what you do.

No one can tell you who you are, you choose who to be.

And along these, all the times we’ve heard I didn’t have a choice. Often this has been true, when put in a situation that is about not only saving each other, but the world itself as well, but then those world-saving situations wouldn’t really have been brought about if Dean, that first time Sam died, hadn’t made the choice (echoing Mary) to sell his soul to save him, and, of course, none of the choices would’ve been necessary if Mary had let John die, but we know the world that would’ve brought about, so thank...... fate for bad choices.

Perhaps it’s time for good ones.

How do you fight God?

I think you fight him by breaking old patterns, and the only way you can break them is by recognising them for what they are and truly, definitively, moving out of them and into new ones.

Chuck represents the writer not keeping up with their own character’s progression, right? He’s not seeing what this world he’s created has actually become, without his influence. All he sees is what he wants it to be, rather than all that it is, and he believes in his own control to the extent of not adjusting the obstacles he’s throwing at the boys to their ever evolving view of themselves and what they want for themselves.

Which is why the plot point of Dean being seduced by Lilith wasn’t even hinted at until she stated, in dialogue, that apparently it wasn’t happening. Thanks to Dean’s progression away from who he was way back when, yeah? Not exactly the same, are you, Dean?

And which is why I believe the moment when Sam says-->

--> is quite possibly crucial, because Sam can see the pattern, he knows the grooves of it so well that he immediately feels something is off when they’re just handed the solution on a platter, and this hunch proves right, because they know how Chuck’s story works, innately, they’ve lived it for over a decade.

If they can catch up with this fact, if they can begin to use it to their advantage, that would be very cool. If they begin to go against their old mode of being, if they try to think outside of their own box (as it were), then not only is that a viable way of beating Chuck at his own game, it sets the stage for their final leg of character progression rather beautifully.

Because it forces them to grow wholly self-aware, to question their choices and weigh the pros and cons. Realisation City.

And how gorgeous then to have the setup be that to survive and have a healthy sense of control over their own lives, they must evolve away from their old ideas and ideals. *fingers crossed*

And then there’s Chuck as representative of the over-arching shadow, representative of all those things that the boys have battled throughout their journey, and if integration is the goal, then Chuck shouldn’t really be reaped by Billie, should he? I mean, him being reaped by a representative of strong, assertive femininity works on a symbolic level as well, but integration could mean that he simply has his power stripped.

I’d quite like that, to be honest. The way to fight God is to stop worshipping him, stop believing in what he represents, stop allowing his obstacles to be real obstacles and simply move out of the narrative he’s been telling and into a new one, where his chosen ending makes absolutely no sense. And if Jack returns there may be a player with enough power to actually tell God that his time as ruler of this particular universe is done, because they will fight him, now that they see him for what he truly is. Every step of the way.

Alright, lots of speculation here, but the thought of the brothers’ progression actually playing a role in how they can defeat Chuck makes me get all goosebump-y!

The werewolf brothers acted as a Chuck tool of foreshadowing for his chosen ending: one brother killing the other, but there’s a deeper psychological symbology in the werewolf brothers’ story, where one brother’s control and deceit made the other see no other choice but to kill him and then himself, because they were the same.

So looking at them as representative of the codependency, it’s actually the aspect of control and self-deceit that has to die, in both Sam and Dean, for the codependency to finally break. Sam leading the way (as per the water bottle scene at the start of the episode) and freeing them both in his process of breaking away from Dean.

And when Lilith says that she had to die in order to get what she wanted, it could be seen as a statement of that same symbolic subtext, and how the brothers’ progression is moving them away from who they have always been, into who they truly are and want to be: they have to kill off their past ideas and ideals, and embrace the truth of this if they’re going to be victorious in this fight.

We shall see, my loves! We shall see!

I’d be remiss if I didn’t say this, though, to a writer who has given us so much:

Thank you, Steve Yockey.

For everything.

#<3 #spn meta #spn 15x05 #character progression #dean winchester #sam winchester #codependency #breaking the codependency #symbology #chuck #how to fight god

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myficdump · 4 years

Text

Yandere!Sucre x Male!Player

This was a request on my ao3.

Mon cher: my dear

______________________________________________

“I want him..”

Zacharie looked started. “Repeat that?”

“I want him!” Sucre smiled at him and laughed. “He sounds really fun :)!”

“He is fun, but you want me to bring him here?”

“Yes! So we can dance and dance,” Sucre shot up to her feet and twirled, laughing.

Zacharie had to admit that while this wasn’t one of Sucre’s weirdest requests, it was still weird. He sighed. At least it was doable. He stood up and placed his toad mask back on. “Alright, I’ll see if I can convince the Batter and player to come to visit.”

Sucre clapped and threw her arms around him. “See you three soon :)!”

Zacharie hugged her back and promised her that if he couldn’t convince them, at least he’d be back.

He wasn’t sure why she wanted to meet the player. Sure the guy was fun, he, unlike Batter, had a sense of humor. But he wasn’t anything too special.

* * * * * * *

It had taken some time but Zacharie convinced Batter to put aside his “holy mission” for a quick visit to Zone 0. The conversation was an irritating one, but seeing Sucre happy would be worth the migraine he could feel coming on.

He led Batter and the player down to the basement and into the room Sucre was staying in with little comment. “And here we are! Sucre mon cher, the player has arrived.”

The only warning the player was given before he was tackled to the floor was a squeal of delight.

“You’re so cute :D!!!” Sucre pinched his cheeks. “I could just eat you up!”

Batter immediately raised his bat but Zacharie threw an arm to his chest to stop him.

“She’s no harm to him,” he said quietly. “Sucre means well. She’s just excited to make a new friend.”

Batter reluctantly lowered his bat and nodded. “If she does anything, I won’t hesitate to purify her,” he warned.

“She won’t. You have my word.”

While Batter and Zacharie quietly talked, the player got Sucre off his chest by promising her that she could teach him how to dance.

She gripped his hand and yanked him up. Then she grabbed his other hand and pulled him around in one of her dances.

“You move your feet like this and follow my lead :)!”

The player smiled and tried his best to follow Sucre's lead as she wanted but ultimately ended up being dragged around by her. They danced for a long while, finally stopping when the player stumbled on her sugar piles and they both fell in.

Sucre laughs and almost immediately stuffs her mouth with the sugar. “Have some, don’t be shy.”

“Oh uh, no thank you,” the player gently pushes her hand away. He cringed at the sugar and got up. He knew what it was made out of and refused to have anything to do with it. “I already ate and I wouldn’t wish to impose.”

Batter cleared his throat and the player turned.

“It’s time to go. We’re too close to finishing my mission to dwell here any longer.”

“It was nice meeting you, Sucre! I hope we get to dance again,” the player said cheerfully. He patted her head and stepped away from the pile of sugar. Or at least, he tried to. He had taken a few steps when Sucre grabbed his arm and yanked him back.

She quickly wrapped her arms around him and held him against her chest. “No, you can’t leave ):! Stay here and dance with me.”

“Sucre,” the player laughed awkwardly. He squirmed in her hold but her grip was too strong to pull away. “Please let me go.”

“Nope!” She laughed. “You’re so much fun to dance with! Stay here with me and we can have lots of fun :).”

Batter raises his bat and Zacharie’s eyes were filled with fear.

“Don’t, she means no harm!” Zacharie gripped Batter’s wrist and used his other hand to gently lower the bat down. “She won’t hurt him, I swore it. Right, Sucre?”

“Uh-huh! Player’s too pretty and fun to hurt :).”

The player’s face turned bright red.

“She won’t let him go,” Batter growled. “If she is impure, then I have to purify her and save my player. I can’t leave him here, he’s important to my mission.”

“But is he?”

“Of course he is! He’s my puppeteer and I am his puppet. He guides me.”

“Maybe once, but not anymore.” Zacharie gestured to Batter’s arms.

“Your strings disappeared once he appeared in this game. Haven’t you noticed that for once in your short life that you have a will of your own? That you can make your own choices? You don’t exactly need him to guide you anymore and your only mission for him is to protect him.” Zacharie looked at the player, then back at Batter. “You think he can stand up to the Queen?” he said, his voice soft.

Batter was silent. He stood there staring at the player for a minute thinking of all the times he had gotten hurt. He thought of all the close calls his dear puppeteer had come close to death before he lowered his bat and sighed. “No. She would tear him to pieces.”

“What are you talking about? I can handle her. I’m not wea-”

Sucre covered the player’s mouth. “Hush cutie! Zacharie has a plan,” she said as she giggled.

Batter sighed again and his grip on the bat tightened. “What do you suggest I do then? Leave him here?”

“Yes, that is exactly what I expect. I… Sucre and I can take good care of him as you face the Queen. The spectre’s can’t reach here. He’ll be in good hands.”

“What’s the price?”

“Sucre’s life. You won’t harm her and we’ll keep the player safe.”

Batter nodded. “Alright, we have a deal.” Without even looking at the player he turned and walked out of the room.

The player bit Sucre’s hand and she cried out.

“Wait, come back!” he yelled. “Batter, you can’t leave me here!”

But he did. Batter didn’t hesitate a bit and disappeared around the corner of the hallway.

“Please,” the player whispered. “How could you leave me just like that?”

Sucre patted his head. “Yay! Now it’s just me, you, and Zacharie! Let’s have a party :).” She turns his head and presses a kiss to both his cheeks. “I love you, so don’t be so down. Smile for me :).”

“We’re not so bad,” Zacharie said, sympathy in his eyes. “Sucre has enough energy to make things entertaining for as long as you’re awake. There’s hardly ever a dull moment with her. And besides,” he sat down and shrugged his backpack off. “I have plenty of stories to keep us entertained.”

Tears rolled down the player's face as he realized he was stuck down here. The Batter didn’t believe in him anymore and thought of him as a burden.

Sucre wiped away his tears. “Zach, I think he’s hungry :(. I only ever cried when I was too.”

“Ah, don’t worry mon cher. I have something for him if he wants it.” Zacharie reached into his backpack and pulled out some kind of meat sandwich in a plastic bag. “Here, you can eat this.”

The bag was tossed in front of Sucre and the player. She moved her arms to his waist so he could eat but made sure he couldn’t get out of her hold.

Zacharie stared at the two of them before he got back to his feet. “I need to go check on Pablo, okay Sucre? I’ll be back with drinkable water for the three of us.”

“Okay :)!”

She watched Zacharie pick his backpack up and leave, locking the door behind him. She kissed the player’s cheek again and said. “I really do love you, cutie. We’ll be so happy together forever. Safe and happy :).”

#tw yandere #yandere tw #yandere #yandere sucre #yandere sucre x player #yandere sucre x reader #sucre x player #sucre x reader #off (game)#off (sucre)#off (zacharie)#off (player)#off (the batter)#yandere off

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elizabethemerald · 4 years

Text

Eternal Night Redux: Part 5

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

AO3

“We can’t just leave Jim alone in Trollmarket!” Claire shouted. She was on the edge of crying in frustration. Toby was well past that edge. Neither of them could stand the idea of Jim being left in Gunmar’s tender care for any longer.

“Yeah, who knows what messed up stuff Gunmar is doing to him?” Toby said. He immediately felt terrible for saying it as Dr. Lake stood up and had to turn away from the group, he could tell that she was crying.

“Young Atlas was very clear!” Strickler said. His voice fraying with his own frustration and worry. “We cannot risk Morgana being released!”

“Then what are we supposed to do?” Claire asked.

“Blinkous said that he was leaving to try and gather an army.” Strickler said. “When he returns we may have enough forces to storm Trollmarket. At the very least kill enough Gumm-Gumms that Gunmar can’t take the surface without magical help.”

“But how long could that take?” Toby said. “Jim could-”

“Jim survived the worst of Gunmar’s tortures for more than two weeks.” Nomura stepped forward and put a comforting hand on Barbara’s back. “And that was after another two weeks alone in the Darklands. He was able to resist Gunmar’s Decimaar blade even after weeks of hunger and thirst and with no knowledge that you were coming to rescue him. Gunmar will not break him, even when he is able to catch Little Gynt.”

Strickler ran his hands through his hair. “I have no desire to leave Jim there to suffer with no end in sight. We will gather a force to take on Gunmar. He slaughtered the remaining changelings here in Arcadia, but there are many more in the world. They will come, it will just take time to gather them.”

“It is a mistake to put your trust in Impure against Gunmar and Morgana.” A gravely voice said. Toby immediately stepped protectively in front of Jim’s mom his hammer in his hands. Claire had her staff in her hands as well as Merlin walked into the Nuñez living room. Both Strickler and Nomura turned and glared at the wizard.

“What are you thinking Merlin!” Toby shouted. “You attacked Jim! He said you were trying to force him not to save his mom. If he hadn’t gotten away from you then Morgana would be free by now.”

“Yes she would be free. And I would have a champion that could defeat her.” Merlin said. The others stepped back as he set a strange bottle full of a brilliant green liquid on the coffee table. As they watched the liquid slowly turned inky black. Strickler grimaced at the bottle. Barbara spun around her face red with fury.

“He is more than just your champion! He’s my son!” She screamed. Strickler held her back from swinging though he didn’t seem to be putting too much effort into restrainging her.

“He’s your son, but a son is not going to be enough to stop them!” Merlin growled at her. “I need a champion if I am to get my magic back. Since Jim went into Trollmarket so foolishly he will likely be dead soon. Gunmar will show no mercy once the Trollhunter frees Morgana.”

A resounding silence met that statement. The fury and rage that filled the room was almost enough to set the couch on fire. Oblivious to the tension that sudden radiated off the others Merlin clasped his arms behind his back.

“One of you will have to take this potion if we are to have any chance to defeat Morgana.”

The fury in the room almost reached a boiling point in an instant before a voice cut across the room from the hallway.

“What, have you given up on me already?”

The entire room reacted with soft screams and gasps as they spun to see Jim stood at the entry to the living room, leaning heavily on the wall. Claire stepped forward to embrace him when she saw the other person who was with him. Angor Rot helped Jim limp over to the couch where he settled with a groan.

“Your amulet chose me as Trollhunter. You try to force me to change so you can get your magic back. And then you are so quick to abandon me to Gunmar. Do you really think so little of me?”

Jim grimaced heavily as he settled on the couch. Claire and Toby hesitated, staring at Angor but Barbara was immediately at his side. Jim allowed his armor to disappear so she could look at his shoulder and leg.

“Jimbo, while I have never been more happy to see you alive, how did you get here, and why are you with Angor Rot?” Toby said, keeping his hammer ready while the assassin stepped a little away from the group.

“Angor killed the two Gumm-Gumms who had cornered me. Then he used some magic to distract the rest.” Jim muttered past gritted teeth.

“My illusion will keep them distracted for a small amount of time.” Angor growled, his voice sounding like boulders grinding together.

“I’m hoping it’s enough time. I…” Jim hesitated looking away. “I really didn’t want to go through Gunmar’s tortures a second ti-oof!”

He was cut off as Claire and Toby tackled him in a hug. Both of them were crying into his shoulders.

“Jim you idiot! Don’t ever even suggest something like that again, mi amor!”

“Yeah Jimbo. I love you way too much to think about you getting hurt!”

The three Trollhunters hugged and cried for a few more minutes, unable to take the thought of losing each other again. They may have stayed like that for the rest of the afternoon had Merlin not interrupted with a loudly cleared throat.

“While this is very nice, now that we have our Trollhunter back with us again we need to be ready to move forward.”

Merlin took a step forward towards Jim and the potion that still sat on the coffee table. Jim looked at it and blanched, but Claire and Toby each stood in front of him their weapons drawn. Both Strickler and Nomura transformed reaching for their own blades. However it was Angor who stepped into Merlin’s path.

“I spared the Haunter because he reminded me that I was no one’s puppet.” Angor growled menacingly. “I had a choice in what I did. And I refuse to allow you to take his choice from him!”

Merlin took an unconscious step backwards away from the massive assassin.

“I presume then that you have some other plan to stop Gunmar, since you choose to ignore the plan that actually has a chance to succeed?” His tone made it clear how unlikely he thought that was.

Jim struggled to stand with the help of Toby and Claire. He glanced at Angor then faced Merlin boldly. “Actually, I think we do.”

#jim lake junior #claire nunez #toby domzalski #walter strickler #angor rot #zelda nomura #writing emerald #eternal night redux #please reblog

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