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baldurs-gape · 4 months

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Silence

There was a lot Cazador had done over two hudred years. A lot he had taken away, beaten out of or simply tainted to the point that Astarion no longer took pleasure in something. But the one thing he never could fully extinguish was Astarion's tendency to be vocal about anything and everything, usually in the form of complaining.

The tadpole and the sudden freedom was difficult to trust so Astarion kept to safe habits. He didn't miss the appreciative looks his newfound companions sent his way. As little as he was worth, Astarion knew that his value lay in his looks. Cazador had been kind enough to teach him that, had made sure he was well-built, always looked appealing to as many as possible. The price for failing was high enough that Astarion also put a lot of care into learning how to look his best.

"We're not seriously having onion, cheese and the red swill you call wine again, are we?" Astarion sighed as the group settled around the campfire.

"Don't like it, don't eat it." Lae'zel shrugged and glared at him. "Good luck foraging in the forest in the dark for something better."

Seizing the permission, Astarion sneered back as he stood up. "Fine. I'm sure I can do better." He did. Drained a whole boar and spent half the night on his back, so full that his stomach actually hurt as it stretched around so much blood.

It was the start of something. Insidious and slow in a way Cazador never had the patience for, not when it came to Astarion. The phrase "shut up, Astarion" became a daily motto to the point the others were beginning to chuckle about it. He'd heard it plenty enough before, Cazador often told him to quit his whinging. The other spawn were also prone to ignoring him. But that had been a different situation. Despite living through it for so long, Astarion knew, deep down, that it wasn't right. Cazador was just one man, one tyrant who controlled Astarion like a puppet, while the other spawn were all bitter, scared and trying to survive. To be told to shut up by them was like being stung by a wasp and being surprised about it. With his newfound allies though? Astarion had no such excuses to hide behind.

"All I'm saying is that we could go back to camp for a nice rest," he grumbled.

"Shut up and keep moving." There was a growl to Wyll's voice as he marched on at a relentless pace. It was all very well that he could continue but Astarion was tired, hungry and not in the mood to play pretend being a hero. Alas, outnumbered as he was because the others didn't slow down either, Astarion had to keep walking or risk being left behind. As it was, he didn't dare leave the safety of the group, fear of Cazador finding him was still too high.

The longer he spent at camp, the more chances he had to feed, especially as the others stopped paying him so much attention.

"Freedom suits you," Shadowheart called as he washed his shirt. "Made you softer."

Glancing down, Astarion had to think very quickly to hide his true feelings. "Darling, are you calling me fat?"

It was true though, there was a bit of give to his stomach, no longer flat and the muscles clrealy visible under his skin. Cazador would have called him fat for that, undesirable and worthless. Maybe the rest of the group were less interested in him because he wasn't appealing anymore and Astarion grit his teeth in resolve so hard that he almost missed Shadowheart's reply.

"Oh do be quiet. You know what I mean."

He didn't though. Or rather, he did but wished he didn't. That night Astarion didn't go out to hunt. He went hungry the next day. And the next.

By the time his true nature came to light, Astarion was back to his usual self. It was probably what had saved him. As Cazador used to say, it would have been such a shame to rid the world of such beauty, even if it couldn't keep quiet. Part of Astarion hated that Cazador was right, people really were less likely to murder the beautiful.

In the Underdark Shadowheart had turned to him with a lewd smile. "This place suits you. Perhaps it's part of being a creature of the night. It's always night here."

And it was desolate as fuck, devoid of any living creature. So was the Shadowcursed Lands. Astarion was hungry. So very hungry.

"I just want a small nibble," he sighed. "Not even enough for anyone to notice."

"We all need to be on top form, soldier," Karlach muttered. "And it's not like any of us are feeling satiated by any sense of the word. You're not that special."

No, of course Astarion wasn't special. They were all hungry, tired and scared. It was nothing out of the ordinary compared to the last two hunderd years.

Coated in grotesque slime wasn't Astarion's idea of a pleasant time. He wipes ineffectively at his face and flicked what he could to the ground.

"Ruined my shirt. Ruined my hair."

"And you're ruining what little I have left of good will," Gale spat angrily. "Can't you just be quiet for once. I get it, you're a special little vampire who lived in a castle and now has to slum it with the rest of us. But Mystra have mercy, you're making the rest of us feel even worse."

"At least I'm making you feel something. Better than being a forgotten, burnt out waste of talent." Hurt had Astarion lashing out. He hadn't even been talking to Gale, just muttering to himself about his own misfortune. But Gale made a very good point. If he wasn't having a positive impact on the group then he risked being left behind. The more he saw of the world, the more Astarion knew for sure that he wouldn't last long out there on his own. Cazador's spies were everywhere and it was just a matter of time before he was dragged back and punished. It was better to stay quiet and appease his protectors than risk such a thing.

Lifting the curse meant Halsin joined them in their camp. Even stranger, he offered himself up as a meal for Astarion. Hunger outweighed the worry of cost. Astarion knew what he had to offer and acted accordingly. After only a few sips he licked the wound clean and shut before kneeling back.

"You can take more," Halsin offered with heavy lidded eyes. "Don't go hungry."

"I've taken all I need." The lie rolled off Astarion's lips as he patted his flat stomach. Under his shirt his muscles were outlined once again, exactly as they should be. "You've done me a great favour, I haven't had anything as delicious as you in a long time, if ever. How could I ever repay you?"

Halsin smiled up at him. This was it, this was where Astarion traded his body for survival again. Despite knowing this was the outcome when he accepted Halsin's blood, he still dreaded it.

"I was hoping to hear more about your adventures."

The absurdness of the request had a laugh burst from Astarion before he could cover it with something more airy and appealing. "Darling, if you want bedtime stories then Wyll's your man. My talents involve my mouth but a lot less talking."

Still smiling, Halsin shook his head. "Maybe another night then, when you're more comfortable to share some memories."

Such words lingered on Astarion's mind. He hadn't ever been wanted for conversational company. Usually as long as he had one hole stuffed, him companion(s) didn't want anything coherent out of him. Still, it made him hope which Astarion hated so much. But if Halsin was interested then maybe he could try it. Settling by the fire as everyone ate, Astarion listened, waited for his opportunity.

"That ended my attempts at learning to keep the shape of a rat," Gale finished his story and the whole group laughed. "Tara was mortified and I couldn't get the whiskers to retract for a week!"

"Rats were one of the constants in Cazador's castle, no matter how hard he tried to eradicate them." It was a smooth transition, at least Astarion thought so.

"Urgh, spare us the woe and misery," Karlach groaned. "Can't we have just one night where we don't talk about the shit things in life? Let us have a bit of fun!"

Looking around the fire, Astarion saw various nods and heard murmurs of agreement. He knew when he was beaten and Cazador had taught him well. Averting his eyes, he slouched a little, nonchalant yet deferential. "My apologies, I didn't realise my stories about training rats to do circus tricks would be so depressing." Standing up, he gave the group a hollow smile. "Please, enjoy your evening of careless fun away from reality."

As he walked away he heard mutters of "didn't have to take it so personally" and "what a little bitch". The rest of the words he tuned out, not needing to etch into his brain yet more derogatory comments to harmonise with Cazador's words. Walking past his tent, Astarion made his way away from camp, into the dark wilderness. Plopping down on a mound at the edge of a small clearing, he closed his eyes. This was fine. He had changed to suit Cazador's tastes, he could do it again. Not overnight, he needed to learn exactly what was needed of him.

The fact a bear lumbered up next to him should have been a shock. Instead, Astarion stared at it and wondered what he'd taste like to a bear. However, rather than attack, the bear shifted and Halsin stood there.

"Apologies if I startled you, it's easier to find people in the dark as a bear."

"Nothing to apologise for, I should have been paying more attention. Did you need something."

Settling at the base of the mound, Halsin gazed up at the stars. "I was intrigued by rats and circus tricks."

A bitter laugh trickled out of Astarion. "Darling, I did no such thing." Leaning forward, he teased as if imparting some great secret. "Karlach was right, I was going to say how rats all tasted different based on what they'd last eaten. And how Gale likely still tasted just as vile in rat form as in human form. That orb of his certainly sours his appeal."

He didn't expect Halsin to laugh brightly. "I would have loved to have seen his face at hearing that. Do you think Karlach would taste like a fiery pepper?"

Something like delight briefly flitted over Astarion's face as Halsin so easily picked up the thread.

"Well, you're earthy and rich. I think she would certainly have a kick but more like a prank candy. Shadowheart would be a fine aged brandy that has started to turn so it just ever so slightly bitter."

"Lae'zel would taste like pickles!" Halsin blurted out with a wide smile. "And Wyll would be water." It had Astarion actually grinning even as Halsin continued, "My apologies, I do not have the poetic skills you harbour. Leather shoes or wooden clogs are about as creative as I can get with descriptors."

"And yet you're all the more compelling for your upfront honesty. Like a cool breeze on a hot summer night, refreshing yet also mysterious."

The way Halsin flushed was a delight. Without thinking too much, Astarion gave up his perch in favour of scooching down to sit next to Halsin. Their shoulders bumped together and Astarion stayed quiet. He could learn what Halsin wanted him to be. But something told him that all Halsin wanted him to be was himself. A terrifying prospect yet Astarion found himself looking forward to finding out who he really was.

#bloodbear #halstarion #astarion/halsin #astarion x halsin #astarion #bg3 astarion #halsin #bg3 halsin #baldur's gate 3 #bg3

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astaroth1357 · 1 year

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The Brothers are Damsels in Distress!!

I was flicking through my feed, saw something and went: "But what if Rapunzel??"

Content: Hints of Fairytale AU, but on crack

Scenario: One morning, through utterly inexplicable means, a portal opens up and drops one of the brothers into a cottage-style tower straight out of a fairy tale. The whole room is enchanted so they can't break out on their own. Their only means of communication are their phones and a crystal ball they can use to see what the MC and others are doing.

How are they taking this?

~♡♡♡~

Lucifer

This man is livid. Fuming. Almost apoplectic.

He has no idea what being has decided to put him in this position, but he's already planning on making them Cerberus' next chewtoy the moment he finds his freedom.

After establishing that he can't teleport out, break the walls, jump out the window, tunnel through the floorboards, or just blow up the room out of spite... he finally accepts his fate.

Lucifer... is miserable. He's doing his best to conserve his phone battery so he can still coordinate with his brothers from a distance, but watching them stumble around cluelessly through the crystal ball is honestly painful. He quite frequently shouts at the feed like a football dad screaming at a TV.

He puts all his hopes in MC and Dia coming up with something because everyone else is mostly useless... There were multiple instances where he just holds his head in his hands, resigning to the idea of being stuck there until he's just a dried out skeleton.

Even if they finally get to him, he won't be happy. He'll be humiliated by the whole affair and trying to anything in his power to save face and get out on his own as much as possible. Anyone who values their lives will forget that it ever happened in the future.

Bonus:

MC: *standing under the tower*

MC: Lucifer! Lucifer!! Let down your-gah!!

*they rub their head and feel something wet hit their fingers*

MC: Was... was that a tomato?!

MC: You know what, fuck you man!! Go help yourself!! 🤬

Mammon

He's flipping out.

An extrovert like Mammon trapped in a room like that all alone?? He'll go stir crazy in three days tops!

It took twenty minutes and 3 selfies for anyone besides the MC to believe that he was trapped in there. ... Then MC raking his brothers over the coals for them to actually start treating it like a priority. He really didn't do it to himself this time, dammit!!

Mammon's ADHD brain is already going mad after a few hours of nothing to do. MC gets piles upon piles of texts ranging from, "Are ya any closer yet??" to "MC, if ya can't get me out of here, take care of Goldie for me... my car too."

They have to reassure him multiple times that he would not, in fact, die in there if they could help it. Though after his phone goes dead from the constant spam, they do start to worry...

If there was any bright side to the situation, Mammon gets to watch his treasured MC absolutely tear his brothers a new one if any one of them so much as think about giving up or postponing the search. Their anger is truly frightening... so good thing he isn't there! Ha!!

When they finally find him, he's never lept for the MC so fast... Literally. He literally jumps. He wants out of there FAST.

Bonus:

MC: *standing under the tower*

MC: Mammon! Mammon!! Let down your-

Mammon: *leaps from the tower, knowing they'll find some way to catch him*

Mammon: FREEDOM!!!

MC: Oh dear God, don't just jump!!! 😫

Leviathan

Panicking like crazy and running around in circles. Can you even comprehend how many premieres he's going to miss like this?? The spoilers!!!

After the MC gets a hold of him through the phone and they tell him to hang tight and if he figures out where he is to let them know.

So uh... He had intends to keep his phone usage down to a minimum so he could conserve the battery life. However, he figures he could at least do his mobile game check-ins and the next thing he knows his phone dies during a weekly dungeon....

Honestly? His soul might have died along with it.

He spends a lot of time staring at the crystal ball, hoping in vain that one of his brothers will watch TV or something, anything that could give him something to do.

That was his only way of communicating with the others and, more importantly, the only source of entertainment an otaku like him could have in a room like this! Does he look like a cottagecore enthusiast?? No!!!

If anyone is in his bedroom, he'll try to zoom in on Henry's fishbowl and talk to him to decompress... He already feels like such an idiot for wasting his battery life. Henry, why is he so stupid...?

Yeah, he's going to be bored and moping until somebody comes to find him. But at least he won't mind the isolation as much so they're not too worried about him going crazy in there. He'll be fine... right?

Bouns:

MC: *standing under the tower*

MC: Leviathan! Leviathan!! Let down your-

Levi: *scrambles to the window* MC, DID YOU BRING A CHARGER?!?

MC: PRIORITIES, LEVI!!!

Satan

He is naturally furious, but also weirdly intrigued. Is this like one of those escape rooms MC sometimes talks to him about...?

Much like Lucifer, he quickly finds that trying to break through stuff wouldn't get him anywhere... as the heavy countertop he smashed into smithereens again the wall shows him.

Tantrum out of his system, Satan is probably the most rational the seven. He does his best to communicate to the others where the tower is based on the landmarks he can see, but he also uses his phone sparingly to conserve the battery.

While they all work to track him down, he keeps himself busy by listening to their plans through the crystal ball or searching for any weak points on his own, because what good would just sitting around do him?

He's surprisingly flexible. If the group plans to look for him from above, he sets out cushions on the floor just in case of any falls. If they want to look for him on foot, he makes sure to light as many candles as possible to give them a makeshift beacon to guide them.

By the time that they actually find him, he's already figured out a couple ways to help get him out depending on the possible exit points and has prepared accordingly.

Bonus:

MC: *standing under the tower*

MC: Satan! Satan!! Let down your-eh?

*they watch as a looong chain of tied together sheets, tablecloths, and towels gets tossed from the window, followed by Satan using it to calmly rappel down*

MC: U-uh.... Never mind! I guess you got this. 😅

Asmodeus

Asmo would be living his best life if only anyone could actually see him up there!

Asmo is all down for playing the role of the helpless, beautiful victim in need of rescuing but how is he supposed to pull that off if he's trapped all alone?? There's no attention! No pageantry!!

After getting the situation across to his brothers, he also kills his phone battery by posting selfies and livestreaming the situation to his adoring public. They're so scared for him, but he's not worried. MC will come find him, after all!

By the time they actually arrive to come get him, Asmo has already dolled himself up to play his newfound role perfectly.

After his phone dies, he keeps himself busy in small ways... Like practicing his relieved expression in a mirror for a few hours. Or using the curtains and his sewing skills to make himself just the cutest gown!

MC: *stand under the tower*

MC: Asmodeus! Asmodeus!! Let down your... hair...?

Asmo: ✨️COMING~!!✨️

*the MC watches as yards and yards of beautiful strawberry blonde trusses indeed gets thrown from the window above, all connected to a very hammy Asmo standing on the window sill*

MC: ... It's only been two days, how did you even grow all that?!?

Beelzebub

Very confused, upset, and hungry. Somebody please help him!!

The minute that Beel sends the message that he is trapped somewhere, it was really all hands on deck. MC and Belphie were freaking out of course, but all of his other brothers were just as worried as well. This is Beel here! He's going to be so hungry out there!!

And hungry he is. He went through an entire two weeks worth of rations stored in the room within an hour. By the end of the day, he's so mindlessly hungry that he starts taking bites out of the tables, chairs, and even his phone...

Since he can't use half of a phone, Beel has to watch his brothers work through the crystal ball while he gnats on the drapery, feeling guilty about making them all so worried...

At least this time his brothers don't argue nor fight with each other at all. Everyone understands what the priorities are and they follow whatever roles they are to the letter. They want to find him ASAP and they even take turns comforting Belphie with MC while they search.

By the time they find him, the whole family is willing to bust through the walls with pickaxes if that's what it takes to get to him. He would feel really touched by all of their efforts, but he's just so hungry... need... food.....

Bonus:

MC: *standing under the tower*

MC: Beel! BEEL!! I BROUGHT BURGERS!!!

Beel: MC... s-so hungry.... 😓

MC: You stay right there, don't move a muscle! I'm coming to you!! 😫

Belphegor

... Deja vu, right?

So this isn’t Belphie's first rodeo. He's practically a "stuffed up somewhere he can't escape from" veteran now. Though this place was more... cozy than the attic.

Call it the cow in him, but he's always had a soft spot for cottagecore. It's so homey and comforting, just perfect for lazy naps under fruit trees! The atmosphere is so relaxing...

So he naps. A LOT.

He ends up communicating a lot more sporadically with everyone than the others. Largely due to the long periods of unconsciousness. But like, could you blame him? What was he even supposed to do in there? MC would figure something out again.

Whenever he goes over to check the progress, he shoots out sarcastic texts about his brothers' dumb ideas to pass the time. It's very apparent how unconcerned he is about this from the get-go...

Does he know when they are on their way to get him? Surprisingly yes. Does he manage to stay awake until they show up? Unsurprisingly no. Go figure...

Bonus:

MC: *standing under the tower*

MC: Belphegor! Belphegor!! Let down your hair!

Belphegor: .....

MC: ... Belphie?

Belphegor: .....

MC: Bitch, are you seriously asleep?!

Belphegor: ....zzzZZzzz....

MC: ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?!

#sleepy belphie with milkmaid braids~#cottagecore belphie lol #obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me crack #obey me scenarios

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sunshine-and-moonshine · 4 months

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Why?

Requested: No

Warnings: Light angst, Robot!Reader

A/N: Wow, two preferences in one day? What the hell was in my chocolate this morning?

You couldn’t fathom it. Couldn’t….couldn’t understand it. Comprehend it. Accept it. That this person, this living breathing human being, was really treating you like this. That they seemed to….value you in some way. At first you had thought of it as a joke, a cruel one that they shared amongst themselves. Tease the bot, remind them of their place. It was a game you were all too familiar with, and always ended up with a pain in your chest, right where a beating heart would be for a human being. But this person….they were so nice. So genuine in their actions, so unlike all the others you had met over the years. And they had taken care of you, patched you up and repaired you, given you a purpose in this life after you had been tossed aside like common trash, left to rust and deteriorate in a scrap pile, barely clinging to that last bit of battery life, to consciousness. You remembered exactly what you thought of before the lights inside you dimmed.

I don’t want to die.

And you hadn’t. Something that had been quite a shock to you when you woke up in a dark room. The rust scrubbed from your plates, your gears and joints oiled, your battery in the middle of a long recharge. By a cable no less! You couldn’t remember the last time you had been charged by one of those instead of the wireless charging that had become common over the years.

You were alive. You had been given a second chance. And you were determined not to waste it. But that doubt lingered in you, festered like infection in an open wound. And one day, you couldn’t stop yourself from asking the question that plagued you since the day you woke up in their home.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Treating me like a person.”

Price

Price hummed softly, the question not entirely unexpected. It’s likely that he was already questioning that himself for some time now. Ever since he brought you into his home, started fixing you up, growing so attached to you so quickly. Sitting by your bed as he waited for your servers to turn on, replacing your batteries so many times he lost count. So gentle whenever he had to open you up to fix something. Even giving you your own room, and a bed to lay on. And complete and utter freedom to do…whatever you wanted. Sure he’d always been a bit kinder to bots everywhere, some part of him unable to separate their human faces from their mechanical insides, but with you it was like it was dialed up to a thousand. He looked at you, and he couldn’t see anything but a living breathing person.

“....Dunno, Love.” He’d say, tilting his head as he met your eyes. The clear crystal blue soft and shimmering under the moonlight that shone in through the kitchen window. “You want me to stop?” He asked, seeming pleased when you shook your head. “Good. That’s all that matters then.”

Gaz

“You get bonked on the head again, Love?” Gaz would ask in return, arching his brow at you before bending over to pick up a box left at the front door. A new cooling fan for you, since yours was starting to malfunction. “That’s about the dumbest question I've ever heard. You’re a person. Course i treat you like people.” He says, cutting open the box before pulling out the small fan. “Don’t matter that you need things like this. That your insides are different then mine. You’re a person all the same. And I'd bet my last pound that, if such a thing as souls exist, you got one just like me. One much shinier and brighter, all good and perfect. I just know it.” He tells you, a bright sunshine-like smile crossing his face, and you could feel your broken whirring to life as your circuits malfunctioned and started to burn molten hot, heating up your whole body until your systems had to do a mandatory shut down just to avoid melting anything. Leaving Gaz to panic and damn near tear the house to pieces looking for the tools to open you up and replace that damn fan.

Ghost

A slow blink, a tilt of the head. Cold eyes raking over you in thought. Thinking through every word meticulously, making sure nothing left his mouth until he knew exactly what he wanted to say to you. It took a few minutes, anxiety inducing silence that would have you sweating if you were capable of such a thing. Until finally, blessed finally, he graced you with a soft response.

“You are a person.” He whispered, so soft that you almost didn't hear him. He repeated it, a bit louder when you tilted your head in confusion. “You are a person. To me at least. Maybe not to all those bellends outside, but to me. I’ve seen you laugh, get upset, excited, curious. I’ve never met someone who has so much personality to them before. And it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks, because they don’t know you like I do. They haven’t seen every beautiful part of you that you try to hide behind a disguise of being just a bot. I know. And I’ll make sure that you know it soon enough to, so you don’t ever ask any daft questions like that ever again.”

Soap

“Watcha mean, Love?” Soap will ask, head tilted in utter confusion. Like you just asked him something in gibberish, brows scrunched together and mouth twisted in a little pout. “Tha’s a dumb question. You are a person. Course I treat you like one.” He says, shrugging his shoulders before turning back to your dismantled arm piece, adjusting some of the little screws and oiling the gears. It was almost funny how he could say that so casually, as if he wasn’t fixing your mechanics right this instant, his fingers tenderly stroking over metal and silicon, like he was scared he might hurt you if he pressed too hard. You didn’t even get the chance to protest his statement before he was opening his mouth again, effectively cutting you off. “I dinnae wanna hear anymore ah that talk, Lovey. You’re a person, my person. Simple as that.” He says, turning to give you a soft smile, hand reaching out to touch your cheek. His hands calloused and rough, but oh so warm. You could feel your motors backfiring, sensors heating up beneath his touch. And that grin on his face took a mischievous turn when he noticed, leaning in to whisper in your ear. “Glad we had that chat then, Love.”

#cod #call of duty #john price #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #robot!reader

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1moremilgram-enjoyer · 7 months

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MeMe and Control over One's Own Destiny

Alright I've been holding off on talking about Mikoto until Double releases, but I saw he was on a train and my brain went Silly. Don't you understand how crazy the symbolism is?! (<- Mentally unwell)

So now I have to talk about how MeMe handles the concept of destiny and the control the alters have on the system's future, because it's honestly so interesting to me.

CW Murder

Disclaimer: I'm not an expert on DID, feel free to correct me if I get anything wrong

The first big connection between MeMe and the idea of destiny is obviously the recurring theme of tarot cards. These are used for divination, meaning the practice of trying to learn about the future through supernatural means. In other words, they're deeply tied to the concept of destiny, of future events that will come to affect us, and the ways we may influence it. What's important to take away here is that, regardless of whether or not you believe in it, reading tarot cards is a way for people to try to understand their future so they can take try to take control of it.

Once you make this little connection, a lot of the imagery in MeMe starts to get interesting. To give you an example, one of the opening shots is of a bunch of tarot cards all scattered in water.

So, their future is scattered, it's uncertain, it's messy, etc. You get the idea, I don't think I need to elaborate on why Mikoto's life is a bit of a mess.

However, I think there are two scenes which are particularly interesting in this regard. When Aokoto (host) draws a blank card in the first chorus, and when he gathers the cards in the deck at the start of the third chorus.

So first, we can be sure this is Aokoto because the lyrics not only use 'boku', but also express confusion at the situation, which only really fits the host.

Why am I [boku] here? It must be a mistake? Take a good look at me [boku], until you find me The truth will come to reveal itself I won't forgive you if this is happening to me even though I'm right

Why am I [boku] here? It must be a mistake? Take a good look at me [boku], until you find me

(Note: If there is no clarification on which pronoun is used when I put lyrics here, it's because the Japanese doesn't actually use any pronouns)

What's happening here? As stated, the tarot cards are a representation of destiny and their future. By drawing a tarot card, Aokoto is trying to understand his situation and destiny better. And by stacking the deck up neatly, he's trying to take control of his destiny, of his future. The desire to be free and be able to control his life is a very important part of Aokoto's character:

(T1) Q14: What will you be doing in 10 years? M (Ao): I'd like to work independently and make my own design company. That way I'm free to do what I want.

(T1) Q8: What are your reasons for wanting to work for your current job? M (Ao): I work at an advertising company that's at the top of the business world, you know? Just being able to get to that position is something to be proud of. I worked really hard to get hired there, too.

Aokoto places high value on the work he's done, because that shows how committed he is to having control over his life and his job.

(T1) Q12: How do you get to work? M (Ao): I ride a road bike. It's a hobby of mine, and it's good to exercise too. I don't need to worry about missing the train, but that can either be a good or bad thing.

I've seen this answer interpreted a few different ways, but personally I believe what Aokoto's implying is that the freedom of not having to rely on the train is both good and bad. Essentially, he doesn't have to stress about missing it, but there's also no guarantee that he'll get to work in time without the reliability of the train. However, he still prefers the bike, because it gives him more freedom.

... Foreshadowing is a narrative device-

There's also the matter of the tarot spreads which appear in that "blank card" scene. There are two distinct ones:

Now, the whole mess is too complicated to get into here (and I actually am holding off from analysis until we get extra context from Double for that reason), but I believe one of these spreads belongs to Aokoto, and the other belongs to Midokoto (Secret Third gatekeeper alter). Which is which doesn't matter, because the card I want to focus on is the card in the "Hopes and Fears" position (EXTREMELY long story), which is I - The Magician (upright) in both of them. The Magician represents (among a fuckton of other things because tarot cards are frustratingly ambiguous by design) power, potential, basically the ability to achieve your goals. Thus, in the "Hopes and Fears" position, it would mean Aokoto wants to be able to control his life and fulfill his potential, and is afraid he might not be able to.

There is also the "Present" or "Self" card being the reversed XII - The Hanged Man. The Hanged Man upright represents (among other things) patience, the hope that as long as everything continues the same, things will turn out okay. Thus, reversed, it could be read as implying the querent is trying their best to change their situation, but are failing at it.

And this is where we get to the second part of the scenes I pointed out before. Because when Aokoto draws a card by itself, it's a blank card. In other words, no matter how much he wants to, Aokoto doesn't have full control of his future. I mean, obviously, right? He himself can't control his destiny when the other alters are also doing pretty impactful stuff. Depending on what theories you subscribe to, he may have ended up in Milgram without even murdering anyone, which is what I believe.

The same can be seen when he tries to put the deck back together. You might notice the deck there is actually thinner than the other time we see it.

He tries to "fix" or "arrange" his future, but he's "playing with half a deck", he's only half in control of his future. In this metaphor, the other alter(s) would have the rest of the deck, would control the rest of the system's destiny. Does that make sense?

Which gets us to the other alter who does tarot reading.

Notice the red mannequin there? The way 0 - The Fool's pouch of food is now a skull? And you can see this alter, heavily implied to be Orekoto, reads a Celtic cross spread with the Fool in the "querent" or "present" position.

Thus, The Fool represents Orekoto, and he too desires control over their future. That's why he's reading the spread, the same way Aokoto previously tried to draw a card to check his future. And I think it's pretty safe to say Orekoto must have killed or attacked at least one person, which is his way of trying to secure a better future for the system. Protector alter and all that.

[Timelines] Mikoto (Ao): Can you hear me talking like this? If you can hear me, then answer me. Why are you doing such horrible things? Hey. It's your fault things have become like this. ……Answer me!! Mikoto (Ore): Ah, ahhh!! Because, I did it for my/your (Boku's) sake…! Because I/you (Boku-ga) would break apart!!

(Translation by Maristelina)

Plus all the other reasons to believe that.

That spread is a bit odd for many reasons, but one thing we can pretty much be sure of is Orekoto's "Hopes and Fears" are represented by VII - The Chariot.

The Chariot (among other things) represents strength of will and control, basically think of it as a more forceful version of The Magician. Thus, Orekoto also hopes he can take control of their life, though he does it through force, and he fears he might be getting too forceful.

If I could laugh, if I could go back I'd play dead even though I'm alive right? If I could end, if I could stop How long would this dream go on?

Assuming it is Orekoto singing here (no pronouns so), it seems he doesn't want to kill, but sees himself cornered, like he has to kill. If he could stop, he'd "go back and play dead even while alive", he wouldn't kill anymore. But when he feels "boku will fall apart", he tries to save him through any means he can, which is likely murder. The exact reasons are as of yet unknown (someone stalking them, stress, could be a lot of things), but that's the idea.

However, you tarot enthusiast might notice a few interesting differences between this Chariot card and the actual Chariot card. This is important, because the meaning of these cards comes from the images, so when the image differs (apart from stylistic choices obvs), the meaning differs with it.

First important difference: the real Chariot has lions, MeMe's Chariot has bikes. This again relates bikes to the idea of freedom and one's own will.

Foreshadowing is-

Second; MeMe's Chariot has the protagonist swinging around a mace, which the real Chariot just has a wand. I frankly don't think this means anything other than MeMe's Chariot explicitly references murder rather than other, non-physical forms of strength and force.

Third, an important part of the real Chariot is that the man doesn't hold a leash on the lions, he controls them through force of will, apparently. Meanwhile, the mannequin in MeMe's version does hold chains to control the bikes, which again I believe simply implies a more forceful and direct version of the meaning. Orekoto doesn't trust his destiny to guide the system in the right direction as long as they're strong enough, he feels he needs to have more direct control.

And finally, the lions in the real Chariot are fine, but in MeMe's version, one of the bikes is fucking exploding.

So what the hell is up with that? Well, let's keep in mind what I said before. Aokoto also wants control of his life. So I believe in a way these bikes represent Aokoto and Orekoto's actions. One of them Orekoto has direct control over (he controls his own actions, after all), while the other is getting hurt by Orekoto's control. Orekoto may want nothing more than to protect the system, but the way he does it is harmful to Aokoto and destroys the control he wants to have over their life. I mean, it landed them in Milgram (according to some interpretations), and it's not like Aokoto likes the murder.

(T1) Q6: Tell us what you hate. M (Ao): Staying up all night working / reptiles / violence

[Double Preview] Hey now, I [ore] saved you right? So why in the hell are you crying?

(I will use the preview as evidence, watch me)

Temporary CW for abusive relationships and rape (Mono Poisoner)

This idea of "love" that hurts the other is also implied by Mono Poisoner, their Trial 1 cover. Though to be clear, Orekoto is not anywhere near as awful as the protagonist of Mono Poisoner, since he isn't intentionally hurting the rest of the system, and obviously isn't actually abusing the other alter(s).

“She belongs completely, entirely to me!” Kissing, sleeping together, everything beyond that too No one can hope to cut this connection between us

After brandishing that poisonous desire to monopolize and having erased YOU completely, It seems like it can be easily embraced, the entirety of that heart “YOU best not get carried away!”

Taking out the really violent and abusive elements out, this does vaguely fit the idea I'm trying to get across.

Temporary CW over

Anyways, the point is that Orekoto wants control over their life, but is accidentally harming Aokoto by taking away his agency.

There is more symbolism of this ‘drive to control destiny’ in the moon which consistently appears throughout MeMe.

As you can see, it’s in the first quarter phase. This is halfway between the New Moon which represents the beginning of a journey and the Full Moon which represents the end or rebirth, and because of that, it can represent a difficult time where decisions must be made, a point where strength of will is necessary. This again fits both of Aokoto and Orekoto, since they’re both making important decisions for their future. Hence also why the moon is half and half, the future is being decided half by Aokoto, half by Orekoto.

Alternatively, you could read it as only Orekoto making decisions, with the other 'half' being "left in the dark" because Aokoto doesn't know what Ore's doing. That would explain why the moon only shows up in relation to Orekoto in the internal world and the murder scenes.

Heavy speculation incoming (more than before anyways)

But hold on a second. I said before the upright Hanged Man, the card on Mikoto's shirt through most of MeMe, is about patience and not doing anything to change their situation. This is somewhat contradictory to The Fool, which is all about new opportunities and taking new risks (long story), and is obviously contradictory to the reversed Hanged Man because that's how tarot cards work. Because of that, and everything else I've been saying, it feels like the upright Hanged Man doesn't really fit either Aokoto or Orekoto.

Which is why it's so convenient we have a third (plot-relevant, there may be more) alter who does want their life to continue as is, isn't it?

The minus energy that I swallowed Hugged me [boku] Maybe it's okay to try to keep on living Split in half, Make that heart beat

This scene is very clearly connected to the aftermath of a murder, and shows an alter that has accepted the "negative (minus) energy" of violence. However, the use of 'boku' rules out Orekoto as the singer. Thus, we have ourselves our favorite Secret Third Alter, Midokoto. And Midokoto says, filling in the blanks, that ‘maybe it’s okay to keep living [like this]’, as long as they ‘split in half’ to ‘make that heart beat.’

Before we continue, I have to address that yes, I believe Midokoto is represented by the upright Hanged Man, even though he’s the only alter who’s never seen wearing the shirt. Either his back is turned, he’s shirtless, or straight up has a completely different shirt. However, I actually think this makes perfect sense.

It’s widely accepted that if Midokoto exists, he’s likely a gatekeeper alter who co-fronts most of the time, meaning he’s still aware of everything that’s happening even while he isn’t controlling the body (<- simplified version, read more if you’re interested [alter roles] [co-fronting]). Therefore, he’s a constant in Mikoto’s life, and it makes sense for him to always be present in some way as long as any alter is on screen. He’s on the shirt when the other two are there, so when the shirt isn’t there, it’s because the ‘upright Hanged Man’ is the one controlling the body. Does that make sense?

I should note, Mikoto’s version of The Hanged Man includes a bunch of eyes on the background.

Which fits the idea of Midokoto overseeing everything in the others’ lives, and for the inverse in Aokoto’s case could also be interpreted as societal pressure, long story.

Yes, Midokoto's celtic cross spread has the reversed Hanged Man in the middle of The Wheel, but let’s just say that means ‘present’ rather than ‘querent.’ Yes, there’s a Fool portrait in the background of that one scene, I swear there’s an explanation but it’s too long to get into here.

Point is, he’s the one who wants their life to continue as is, and thus the one who fits the idea of ‘patience’ that The Hanged Man (upright) embodies.

But make no mistake. He still has The Magician as his “Hopes and Fears” in the spread which represents him, meaning he does yearn for some control and fears not having the means to achieve it.

However, I believe the type of control he’s looking for is different from the other two. See, while Aokoto wants freedom and control over his life in a more conventional way (good job, free movement, independence), and Orekoto wants control in a ‘no one will stop “I/you” from achieving what “I/you” want’ kinda way (aka safety), Midokoto wants control over the system, not the rest of their life. He wants to keep Aokoto and Orekoto ‘split in half’ because that’s how they can both live as they please, it ‘makes their heart beat.’

That’s why the moon that represents decision-making is split in half. That’s why there’s only two bikes in The Chariot card. That’s why Midokoto never bothers to read a single tarot card. Because the ones deciding where their life moves are Aokoto and Orekoto, all Midokoto does is keep things running smoothly. Though of course, this is all just my interpretation.

In fact, you can even tell based on what we believe each alter to do. Aokoto does the day-to-day work, making sure he has the opportunity to achieve his dream of working independently in the future. Orekoto deals with threats until the system as a whole is safe, which includes throwing away evidence so they don't get arrested. He does a dogshit job at it, yeah, but he's trying.

However, once they get into the apartment, when the external threats have been dealt with, the one who bathes to make sure Aokoto doesn't learn of Orekoto's actions, the one who keeps their lives metaphorically 'split in half', is Midokoto.

Heavy speculation kinda over

So, where were we? I said this was inspired by the Double thumbnail, didn’t I? Well, yes, even if I have very little to say about it in relation to this post. You could say I kinda, uh, went off the rails a bit (<- I am immensely unfunny)

As I said, he’s on a train. And with all the stuff I mentioned before about how bikes are associated with freedom for him and stuff, it makes the imagery of being stuck on a train with the victims (I assume that’s what the mannequins represent, I’ve seen other interpretations) a lot more interesting.

Think about it. When you get on a train, you made the decision to enter it, but you don’t have control over where it goes. And that’s what’s happening here: the alter on screen is in for the ride, and he feels there’s nothing he can do to alter the course. It’s like a railroad.

Aokoto didn’t get on this train. Obviously the scene is metaphorical (otherwise who left their mannequins in the goddamn public train), but we know Aokoto doesn’t use the train. However, he’s on it now, alongside Orekoto who is probably the one fronting here? I assume, given the red light in the background. In my mind it would make sense for the thumbnails to be Aokoto T1 -> Orekoto T2 -> Midokoto T3, but that doesn’t have to be the case.

What I’m trying to convey is the symbolism of the system being stuck in a set path, a set destiny, caused by a decision not made by Aokoto. And if Orekoto is really the one fronting or being represented here, he’s miserable because of the path his actions have landed him on.

If I could break it, if I could change Can I do it, I wonder from when I started to give up

He’s ‘given up’ because he’s accepted he’s ‘on the train’, his path is already set and he can’t change it (“if I could change”). Yes, give me that Orekoto angst!

Anyways, please keep in mind this is all my interpretation of the symbolism and all of this is extremely subjective, especially with how confusing Mikoto's entire story is. I hope you forgive my brainrot at seeing a guy take a train. Take care!

#milgram #milgram theory #mikoto kayano #meme mv #do i tag the alters?#why not #aokoto #orekoto #midokoto

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robo-milky · 1 year

Text

[More Info]

Nicknames:

Henchman (Grim) | Claws (Ace) | Clochey Wochey (Cater) | House Cat (Leona)

Shrimpy (Floyd) | Trickster -> La Petite Clochette (Rook) | City Kitty (Epel) | Kit -> Honorary Human (Sebek)

Kit of Beasts -> Heart of Man (Malleus)

In Return:

Master _____ (Everyone except for faculty)

Uncle (Ramshackle Ghosts)

Bio:

An emotionally distant girl who thinks with her brains more than her heart. Her words may come off as insensitive, but it’s always said in a neutral tone. Prefers to state the facts and look for the most efficient way out, than tackling more abstract concepts like emotions. Despite this outlook on life, she is a skeptical, worst-case scenario planner. Cloche will go the extra mile if it means security and success is guaranteed. When it comes anything, be it a task/person/subject, Cloche is the type of person who would want to know anything and everything about it to be prepared. When push comes to shove, Cloche will take on the role of leadership and make all the hard decision no one else wants to make. Cloche is a very “the ends justify the means” kind of person.

Core Values -> Competency + Freedom

Background:

A cosplayer from Earth who, after exiting from a con, took a wrong turn to get home and was swept away by the NRC horse carriage.

Ghost Camera: “I’m pretty sure Headmaster Crowley gave this to me as binding to keep me here.”

Snow Hand Cream: “Master Rook could tell this cream is from Neige’s line just by the smell! Isn’t that impressive?”

Bandaids: “I originally bought these for myself, but I end up giving them to others…”

Advils: “Would you like one? Binding Bells told me you were getting headaches, so…”

Handkerchief: “Here, let me wipe that up for you, Master.”

Hair ties: “Master Epel gave them to me during a joint P.E. class. The day after, I overheard Master Vil complaining about his missing hair ties.”

Pencil Case: “If you wish to borrow a pencil, I expect you to give me something back as collateral— so I know you’ll return it back to me.”

Lollipops: “The lollipops in Twisted Wonderland are great and all, but they can’t beat the taste of Chupachups.”

Thread and Needle: “Oh, you’re missing a button.”

Lactaid: “You don’t need one… do you?”

Scrapbook: “Do NOT touch.”

Textbook: “I’m so close annotating the whole book. Just a couple pages left…”

Spiral bound notebook: “Master Rook complimented the calligraphy title in my notes! …Maybe I should do the same thing for futures ones.”

Phone: “Master Grim, please stop playing games…”

Sketchbook: “Master Epel complained about me drawing him too ‘girly’, but I only drew what I saw.”

Notable Thoughts: Cloche’s

“Headmaster Crowley must be busy running such a prestigious school like this… So busy, I wonder if he’d have time looking for a way I can go back to my world.”

“Master Grim’s orders aren’t as bad you think. All he really does is make me do his share of the chores. The simplicity of his orders are a blessing compared to other students’…”

“Master Ace may be annoying when he exploits my curse, but he can be a surprisingly sweet friend. Don’t tell him I said that.”

“Is it bad I felt no sympathy for Master Kalim when Master Jamil overblotted?”

“I feel like I’ve been seeing Epel more and more since he stayed over at Ramshackle for the VDC. I get that it’s probably convenient for him to go with me, if we’re going to head back to the same destination anyways, but he doesn’t have to accompany during short breaks.”

“I think Master Rook is very admirable! He’s intelligent, athletic, and creative! …I wish more people could give him a chance and see him for who he really is— but… he probably wouldn’t like that… After all, half the things I know about him, he’s never told me in person.”

“Before asking Master Idia for homework help, Master Grim and I always play a game of rock-paper-scissors. …Why? Because neither of us want to be the bargaining chip.”

Notable Thoughts: Others’

“Cloche could’a been the perfect henchman if he didn’t have to call other people ‘Master’!” - Grim

“With Cloche around, Heartslabyul doesn’t have to resort to using a cat beastman to play the violin, but an actual cat. That way, we can follow rule 529 without any loopholes.” - Riddle

“Me, friends with that stick in the mud? Pfft—! As if!” - Ace

“Even in a sticky situation, I’ve never seen Cloche lose his cool before. I wonder how he does it…” - Deuce

“I can’t have Leona ordering Cloche around, cause he’ll steal my job!” - Ruggie

“It’s such a shame Cloche refused my offer for him to work at the Monstro Lounge. …We could have made good money and attracted more customers if we used his cat form to promote on our Magicam…” - Azul

“I thought I could feel the claws of a wild beast, but there’s a beauty to reservation too.” - Rook

“‘Master Hornton’, an amusing nickname, indeed. I was under the impression Cloche had known my identity, but it seems my expectations had been subverted.” - Malleus

Extras/Trivia:

- Birthday: May 12

- ISTJ-T/6w5

- “She/Her” is only used in a meta/narration sense, otherwise— she uses “he/him”

- When Cloche is in her cat form, she has no conscious thoughts and move as if she’s on autopilot, like a normal cat.

- Cloche has no distinct handwriting. It varies depending on what she’s writing and who it’s for— yet even then, no two letters look the same.

- Cloche has no inner fur in her ears. It’s to signify that the cat ears are unnatural— fake.

- Has a habit of either covering her mouth with her hand/sleeve or turning away whenever she breaks into a genuine smile. Can smile on command for a camera (cosplayer intuition).

- Goes to the school forest to calm down whenever she feels emotional or if she has an inkling that her feral side will come out

- Cloche has germaphobic tendencies.

Gallery:

Cards:

Groovy!! [SR Tsumsitter]

Groovy!! [SSR Union/Birthday Jacket]

[SR Luxe Couture]

[SSR Birthday Bloom]

#hiiiii so I made a new cloche bio for the sake of clarity-#now that I’ve finally settled on her lore and I’m taking her more seriously than a silly meme yuu- I think I’m happy with this?#oc: cloche🎊#cat scribblez 🌸#twisted wonderland #twst #twst oc #my art #twst yuu #twst mc #twst ocs #twst disney #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #yuusona #ツイステ #ツイステッドワンダーランド #twst art #twisted wonderland art

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pinkandpurple360 · 5 months

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i refuse to acknowledge viv’s patreon/twitter like canon of “ozzie never had feelings ever until fizz bc fizz is that speshul” and instead play into his string of failed relationships with sarah, lilith, and make some bs up for solomon too for ✨spice✨. then he can get with fizz and have the spirit of love return to him or something. or maybe even another character. i enjoy fizzarozzie but some of your posts got me thinking of an au where fizz either leaves him for blitzo or dies, and ozzie meets someone new and has conflicting feelings about it

Viv that would be kinda silly and childish. Not to mention recycling Stolas’ story. But. To be fair Twitter likes aren’t always canonised but still.

Asmodeus is thousands of years old. Has met millions of people. It would make sooo much better sense if he was hurt by a failed relationship and that’s why he resents love. Or if he saw his past lovers outlive him and leave, causing him to avoid attachments but when he does, he gets too protective and feels very insecure.

The Sarah and Lilith stories are a perfect opportunity to make Ozzie have some depth, past pain, and have moments where he is a bad person because he is a sin, hello?

I hate to think of Fizz dying and honestly prefer a mature scenario where Fizz sits him down after a while when problems have been building up for a long time, and they talk, not sing or dance, or cry dramatically, but talk.

I wrote this for my fic Trouble in Rented Paradise but here heck it, I’ll spoil some of the breakup I wrote:

“Oz, we both know this wasn’t meant to be forever. You helped me when I needed it, you put me back together. I’ll always be grateful for that. You were my partner when I lost my. When I lost everything. But. Like you said, i need to step off the stage, out of the spotlight. I don’t want you to watch me die slowly, while you stay here, all alone”

“But fizz, maybe, maybe if we just marry, you can be my queen, forever! Just you and me. Don’t you want that?”

“I.. don’t want to either stay in lust forever, with eyes around me, or for the duration of my time. It’s just that I don’t…belong here, it’s not home to me. not really. So. No Oz..I’m sorry, but I don’t want that. To be bound to anybody eternally. It feels wrong.

I’m an imp and no better than any other mortal. And I don’t think you really want this either. You value your freedom as much as I value mine. You could never really relax while trying to take care of me and watch over me. Protecting me from others. I love you so, so much. But I also love my friends, my family, my colleagues, the people who raised me and stayed by my side, too. And I have an opportunity to reconnect with them again, after so much time! I know it’s not fair..but I need you to not be my whole world. And I’m not your whole world. You have a huge family, you have your staff, the sins, the Goetia”

“Those stuck up birds and those other freaks like Mammon??! They—-I’m sorry..I don’t mean to raise my voice. But they just dont. They don’t care about me. And I don’t about them”

“I know that’s not true. Bee is your sister. Mam is a clown but you’ll need to end your feud someday. That prince stolas guy from Ozzie’s, he annoys you, but I can tell when you scolded him about his wife and daughter, it came from a place of care. Then he helped you save me when he didn’t really have to. I think that family, especially the children, need some help. Guidance. Something only you and Bee have the power to give. I know you’re good with kids, you just get nervous”

“I guess, but you see too much good in people sometimes fizz”

“Maybe but. I feel like I’m seeing clearly right now. I’d like to drop the curtain on this without shattering your heart beyond repair, and I don’t want the show to go on forever either.”

“Please, Fizz”

“Please Asmodeus, let me go. It’s not that there’s someone else. This, is for me. And it’s for you. Before I go, and after I go. Just do one thing for me?”

“Yes? Anything for you”

“Whenever you’re alone, or lonely, even when you don’t want to see anybody. Please try to keep the doors open ok? No more shutting people out.”

“…I’ll try”

This conversation will definitely be back and forth for several days. And they’ll still be intimate a few times before drifting apart. But it wouldn’t result in a broken heart that is irreparable. Only a slightly crooked one that they can clean up together.

#helluva boss critical #helluva boss #fizzarozzie critical

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skayafair · 9 days

Text

Part 41

I finally got to listen to it!

Arthur has a lot of spite left in him sounding so pissed off screaming out Kayne's name, huh

And yet, knowing how he's not shy of swearing, all he can call John is a helpless "villain". Aw.

Oh, YOU GO JOHN! I support all your rights but more importantly your wrongs. I have no idea why John acting on his worst gives me such a kick every time but I properly enjoy and wholeheartedly support it ^_^

Also I liked the echo on "I'm trapped!". Reminded me of previous intances of him eldritching out. Morrrre~

Oh, I like the turn it's taking. John's lack of freedom, of agency is getting broadened in its scale, John doesn't compare it to a human's (who he wanted to be) one - but to a god's (who he was). Seems like the DW rattled quite a few memories and John had to stop running away from his past (I mean considering the supposed atrocities he had to commit there he was basically forced into his old self so it was kind of inevitable). Who you were isn't who you are and doesn't have to be your future self either but it's still in there, it still matters and has its fair share of influence. He had to face this and I'm glad that he seemed to do it.

I don't want to imagine what it should feel like to be in John's metaphorical shoes though. He used to be a god - and then lost all the agency completely and kept failing to regain it, time after time. First he ended up in the DW despite his intentions with no chance to escape on his own accord, then was yeeted into Arthur and failed to take all control, then he had a chance during the ritual but that chance flew out the window, too. In the end of that path he had to lose even the little amount of freedom he had, giving himself back to the King. Frankly I think returning to the King could actually be a chance to take over - John managed to rival him in his will, after all, so who knows - maybe he could win, too. However, Kayne yanked him out and back into the DW, making him basically a slave yet again. Returning to Arthur should have felt heaveny at the very beginning, there even were moments of his own actions and achievements, like with cutting the tendrils. And yet this is still far from being free, being his own, even with the deal out of the picture. It should feel like a torture to have a living, independent mind and be unable to act on its will. No wonder he's a bit drunk on the opportunity to finally have some range of options.

Also now his attempt to kill Oscar that seemed very contradicting to his latter values and behaviour looks actually natural. Just out of the DW, with a reviewed perspective and confused about in what direction to head next, old instincts refreshed and most likely habitual again (if it was even possible - I mean what form did he have in the DW to even be able to do anything?) - no wonder in the moment of intense emotional turmoil he fell back to those old ways without much thinking. Still very bad but at least explainable now. Also it looks like John isn't sure he wants to be human now. Hmmm, I like this direction, too. The experience will stay anyway, he'll have the understanding, and that's important.

"I don’t know. But stop turning that frustration towards me." Wow, Arthur, A+ for the ability to articulate what exactly you want and are discontent with! Communication, yaaay!

I like how they arrived from defensive opposing positions to shedding the defences off and coming to an understanding, still managing to vent the emotions off in the process. Hey I want this level of the skill!

"Why wait? - Nothing. I thought I… it’s nothing. - You’re sure? - Yes." Uuuuugrh. High time to learn that's a bad way of addressing the suspicions, boys *sigh*

"How did it… feel? - It felt… powerful. - Hm." This whole conversaton of theirs, especially coupled with the overall situation, really reminds me of the very beginning of season two. Fresh of the portal in an unknown surroundings, under the rain, talking about John's bad choices and things Arthur postpones to talk about ("The deal with Kayne… - In a moment."), only the last time John didn't let him. I guess now he feels too rattled himself.

The owl. Ow. I'll get to my eldritch owls AU, I promise! (Also, Alexander?! In what way is it comfortable?.. It means "the defender", so well maybe, but still - ehhh?..)

"This world could be very different than what we expect." - ooohhh, will they meet dragons?! *__* Hardy, I know, but the possibility is still thrilling.

*John describes the surroundings* I've been to just one DnD session but the shift in the perspective cannot be undone. Is that how you guys have been seeing the whole setting all along???

"Look, we can’t afford to be at odds here, John. Not anymore." Oh. I like the place they are at dynamic-wise. By now they've long established they want to be friends - trying to be as best as they can. No one has an upper hand, unlike in previous seasons. Season 1 os obvious, season 2 - John still knew more about the world they found themselves in than Arthur and hid some things, the relationship was still very rocky. In s3 Arthur had an upper hand at the very least emotionally-wise. Season 4 - John's turn again. Now thought they've come to some pretty good communication and know each other well enough, there's trust (despite everyting), and both are about equally in the dark. There's the "John's crimes in the DW" bit still looming over them but both are aware of it, which helps to some degree.

Meaning - more or less (John still has little agency, although it's a bit better now) equal partnership. YAY. I'm excited.

"It is time to grow up, in every sense of the word." Ahhh. There it is. I have to say it's been bugging me the whole time but I couldn't enunciate what exactly and with what grounds. The thing is, I distaste the way a person lacking in one field is being constantly compared to a child overall. This infantilization happens not only in Malevolent. It's often brought into other stories - the most recent one I came across was Resident Alien TV series. Often enough the said field is the emotional and the social one. You know who else is often infantillized the same way with similar issues? Neurodivergent people - I think autistic ones more frequently but I didn't look into the statistics (if they exist), that's just what I've heard of the most. I know I've been referred to in a patronizing way both by some friends and relatives just because I don't get things obvious to them but unseen to me (and half of those things makes no fucking sense even when you learn about them). John is far from being a child, his lack of knowledge and understanding, of experience lays in very concrete fields.

So the constant comparison to a "parent-child" dynamic is irritating to me when it's simply a "more experienced in one or two ways person & a less experienced in said ways person". Yes those fields are very important. Still, there are things John knows of and Arthur doesn't, but I don't recall anyone comparing our dear detective to a child back in Dreamlands, for instance. John knew how dangerous it was out there and was more coutious, had some memories and knowledge about some things existing there and got frustrated with Arthur's attempts to befriend everything around more than once. From this point of view, Arthur behaved "childishly" and lacked crucial experience John sort of had (even though it was mostly forgotten), while social skills and emotional intelligence meant next to nothing (save for once instance).

So can we please cut this tendency of sustainably comparing adults to children because they aren't as well-versed in one or two fields as others.

"There was so much I couldn’t explain, because you weren’t able to know where I had come from. But now… with you knowing, perhaps…" Oh shit THEY CAN FINALLY TALK EVERYTHING OUT clearly yaaaaay! I forgot! Looking forward to this.

Also John's very quiet for the most of the episode, as if he's afraid to say another word, like moving across a mine field. Very uncertain in any way, like he doesn't trust himself.

Aaaaand Arthur confirms his title of a disney princess trying to befriend every creature he meets once again! Thanks for addressing this in canon! =D

I like how the podcast is consistent with the fact that John has sense of smell but it's not as developed as Arthur's.

Damn it's so wierd to hear John at loss of words, and so often, too.

"You really started to master your investigative ways, you know?" I like how John sounds so lost for the majotiry of the episode, but once there's an opportunity to fall into a familiar process of the investigation, his tone immediately changes to a lighter, more confident one. There's comfort in it. And Arthur noticed this and paused to give a friendly praise. It's important after all the forgetfulness in New York, and judging by John's reaction he appreciated this, too. It's something to hold on to, like "I still have it, we've got this, it can still be okay".

Wow Arthur's filling the bingo card starting right from the very 1st episode! Falling yet another ladder are we :D Now there's rather a bad injury, too, and they didn't even meet any monsters yet :DDD Arhtur has certainly stepped up his game!

"No… no, nothing. - Is it the wall?" Arthur is really acing the whole friendship thing the whole episode. He took notice of how unsure John is of everything now and made this extra effort to help, to support.

Yay the glass is back in the game! I llike that they decided to revise the bag contents.

"Kayne’s dagger. - Frustratingly useful." Yay the humor this apisode is certainly humoring! =D

Three black candles, in the 13th century, right. That screams "ritual", guuuuys where is your cautiousness!

I like how this episode took its time and didn't skip over some "mechanics" like the podcast usually does. There are more directions from John (THANKS), more pondering over what to do and which way (the torch, the dagger and tracing the way along the wall), the sense of smell, the way the cloak kept the water from soaking through - these little details are what does the trick to me. What gives more quality to the story and the way it's told.

The membrain, ew. Arthur's been holding exceprionally well, honeslty.

Ah, I finally found the word to how John sounds for the most of the episode. Defeated, even in situations when he would have had other emotions before. "The Undefeated" title considered, this is extra sad.

A recurring thing of the episode is that they find themselves in the darkness and John can't see. I think it adds considerably to his feeling of being powerless. It often sounds like he's giving up.

"No. But we’re close to the surface!" And someone said he's going to be properly done with all the pits like two seasons ago :< (I don't really remember when it was exactly so maybe less but the notion still stands.)

So. The hole in the wall was a mouth with teeth, wasn't it?

#malevolent podcast #malevolent spoilers #malevolent #john malevolent #arthur lester #john doe malevolent

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justagalwhowrites · 10 months

Text

Beskar Doll - Ch. 32: The Palace

Din used his bounty hunter skills to track you down, now he just has to get you out. A continuation of Beskar Doll Ch. 1-31 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence and a bit beyond. Torture. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only

Length: 4.1k

“You’ve been with us for 36 hours now.”

You were back in the chair. You had been for a while, though you weren’t sure exactly how long. They’d injected you with serum again, keeping you conscious and your body in a heightened state of sensitivity.

Though you’d been in that state so long, the agony from where they’d taken skin had faded to a dull roar. It had been too loud and too constant for too long to still mean something, that part of you fracturing off. That pain had been deemed unimportant, like white noise.

“I’m sure you’d like to eat something,” the woman said. “Drink something. Sleep.”

You scoffed, even though your mouth was dry and your body kept trying to put you under and failing. Even hunger pains were magnified with this drug, the ache in your stomach violent and gnawing.

“You really think that’s what’s going to do it?” Your voice was raspy. “Food, water, sleep?” She shrugged. You rolled your eyes. “Maker, you really are new at this, aren’t you?”

The man pressed the electroshock probe to your side. You would have screamed if it didn’t make your whole body seize, the pain of it radiating down every nerve ending. It felt like you could trace a map of your nervous system with the agony of it, so all consuming and clear cut. He took it away and you went limp with a whimper.

“Sounds like we’re getting closer,” the woman smirked. You panted for breath.

“You know,” you managed. “There is one thing you haven’t tried. It’s how I know you haven’t done this much, at least not with anyone who can withstand it.”

“What’s that?” She asked, her brows raised. Your brain was foggy, you couldn’t get enough of a bead on her to know if she was being serious or humoring you.

“You haven’t asked if there’s anything I want outside of the obvious,” you watched her. “Food, water, sleep. Freedom. Death. All obvious. You should ask if there’s anything else I want and what I might be willing to trade you for it.”

She looked you up and down for a moment, considering. Or, at least, you thought she was. You were starting to feel yourself fracture in your mind. The things you’d locked away - your rebellion secrets, your real name, the most important things like Din and the child - were safe. Everything else felt like wet sand, loosely held together but malleable, easy to break away, threatening to crumble at the slightest provocation.

“What would you like?” She asked after a moment, curious. “Besides the obvious, of course.”

“Some information,” you replied. “Some that probably wouldn’t matter to your organization at all but matters to me.”

“And what would you give me for that?” She asked.

“Information in return,” you said. “Not what you’re really looking for, of course. But things that can give you insight. Maybe be of use. Almost certainly of greater value than what I’d ask for.”

She looked you over again and you tried to make sure you looked strong, durable. Like she wouldn’t get anything out if you for a long time otherwise.

“What do you want to know?” She asked eventually.

“When you moved into the area, you cleaned up some messes for the Hutts to get in their good graces,” you said it, didn’t ask it. She nodded once. “Was the Barktan family one of those messes? Moisture farmers, only a few clicks outside Beggar’s Canyon.”

She gave you a cocky half smile.

“You were right about the information not mattering,” she said. “Yes, they were. What information are you willing to trade?”

“We weren’t in Beggar’s Canyon looking for your stash,” you said. “I’m guessing you’ve got, what, thermal detonators and disintegrators stored in the caves? Could not care less about those.”

She frowned.

“What were you looking for then?”

“What did you do to the Barktan family?”

She considered you again.

“What we’ve done to you,” she said after a moment. “Though they couldn’t withstand what you have. The Hutts were interested in a daughter. We couldn’t find her. The man died first, he was weak. The woman held on for almost a day. She never gave us anything. We never did find the girl.”

You fought to keep the fire from your eyes. You had to look neutral, even though it felt like your body was going to burn with rage, the hateful ache of it snarling and chewing at your chest.

“You’re the daughter, aren’t you?” She cocked her head slightly. “I think I can see it now. You look like your mother. Got her will, too. Is that what brought you to the canyon?”

“No,” you said. Your voice shook. “No, I didn’t know you had anything to do with them when we came here.”

“Why did you come here?”

“You wasted your second question,” you said. You wanted to hurt her. You wanted to do it with your bare hands, with your teeth and your nails. You wanted to taste her blood, rip at her flesh.

“The Hutts will still pay for you,” she said. “Alive or dead.”

“They’re mercurial creatures, those slugs,” you replied. “Smarter to leave me alive. They’ve had years to change their minds about what to do with me. You can’t bring me back once you’ve finished me.”

She crossed her arms and slowly walked over to you so her face was only inches from your own.

“If you weren’t so subborn,” she said. “I’d want to keep you.”

“If I weren’t so stubborn, you’d have no use for me.”

She smirked and jerked her head at the man who pressed the probe to your side again. Just as he pulled it away, the floor shook.

For a moment, you thought you’d imagined it. It would make sense, your nerves relaying false information to your decaying mind. But the woman’s eyes went wide and she looked toward the door. There was a crackle of a com link. The words were fractured.

“Attack… coming… armed…”

The man and woman looked at each other.

“Stay with her,” she ordered him. “Don’t you dare fucking kill her.”

The building shook again. She went for the door. The man looked nervous.

“Something have you worried?” You asked, smirking a bit. He glared.

“She said I couldn’t kill you,” he snapped. “Didn’t say a damn thing about anything else.”

***

The location the woman had given Din was vague enough that it took him hours to find the palace. He’d been right, much of it had been swallowed by the sands, only a single, domed roof with a makeshift entrance visible through the dunes. It would have taken him who knows how long to find on his own, the hot sand muting the heat signatures inside the walls.

There were guards stationed immediately around the entrance - all camouflaged - but it wasn’t more than he could handle.

He put the child in the pod, his chest tight. The baby cooed, his eyes wide, ears low.

“We’re going to get her,” he said gently. “We’re not leaving here without her.”

He cooed again. Din gave him the toy you’d gotten him on Nevarro and the small silver ball from the Crest.

“You’re staying in here,” he said. “You’ll see her soon. I promise.”

Din closed the pod and put it under an arm before igniting his jetpack, flying high before moving closer to the palace. The guards weren’t looking up.

He dropped into them, releasing the pod the second his feet were on the ground. He kicked the first guard, who just stood there looking at him in shock, in the chest, sending him stumbling back before he grabbed his blaster and shot him. One down, five others alerted to his presence.

One of the fools threw a thermal detonator and Din swatted it away. He glanced down and watched it roll down the dune, far enough away that it wouldn’t do damage to him when it went off. He continued on.

The first blaster bolt pinged off his armor and he didn’t even need to look to return the shot in kind, catching sight the man as he fell out of the corner of his eye. The thermal detonator blew, the sands shaking and shifting.

“We’re under attack,” the man furthest from him fumbled with his com. “Don’t know how many are coming, they’re armed with…”

Din cut him off with a shot to the head.

A staff struck him in the side, catching him where the armor wasn’t there to protect him. He shifted focus. The man came at him quickly, swinging the staff for his more vulnerable points. Din caught it and shoved him back before shooting him.

The strike from behind was harder, a knife to the leg. It was an indirect blow but was enough to rip his flight suit and cut his skin. He barely felt it. He’d barely felt anything since you’d been taken. It was a flash of shock more than pain, something his mind filed away to do deal with later, once he had you. Nothing else mattered until he had you.

He rounded on the man with the knife. The man was familiar, young. It took him a moment to realize that it was the bounty, the whole reason you’d gone into the desert to begin with. The reason you’d been here to be taken at all. He backed away from the Mandalorian with fear in his eyes and an almost pitifully small blade in his fist.

Din hit him, hard, dodging the man’s second strike with the knife. He sprawled into the sand and started scrambling to get up, the ground shifting below his feet. The Mandalorian stalked over to him, standing over him for a moment, his head cocked to the side.

“Warm or cold,” he said. “You’re worth the same.”

He shot him and the man slumped into the sand.

The next blaster bolt pinged off his helmet. He rounded on the final man, blaster drawn. He backed away, fumbling at his belt for a thermal detonator. He threw it at the Mandalorian who just swatted it away again, into the building. Din shot him. The detonator blew, a hole opening in the roof of the dome.

Din called the pod alongside him and peered into the dome. The Palace was either sparsely populated or the syndicate had taken cover, the room below empty. He dropped inside, the pod following close behind.

He kept his weapon drawn, moving silently as he looked for signs of someone who could give him directions. He switched his helmet to heat sensor mode, the interference from the sand no longer a problem now that he was inside the building that was buried by the dune. There was a cluster of people in an antechamber to his left, huddled at the back, likely trying to avoid detection. He stalked to them, weapon drawn.

There was a hail of blaster fire when he walked in, the shots ringing off his armor. He knew he should feel the impact of each one and part of him could, but they mattered so little. All they were was an obstacle, something to be overcome to get to you.

There were more than a dozen people here, so he raised his wrist and fired the whistling birds, the tiny projectiles flying forward, finding their targets and sending them collapsing to the ground. Three men were left standing. They kept shooting.

He shot one before he spoke.

“I need information,” he said over the sound of blasters. They stopped shooting. “Tell me where interrogation is and I’ll let you leave this room with your life.”

The men looked to each other for a moment before one shot him again. Din sighed, shooting him and then pointing the blaster at the other man.

“Where is it.”

The man swallowed. His weapon was still drawn. He looked over the Mandalorian.

“Sublevel one,” he said quickly. “Center of the level…”

The Mandalorian stepped to the side. The man ran. The moment his feet crossed the threshold of the room, he shot him. He’d left the room with his life. It was all he had been promised and more than he deserved.

Din pressed on.

***

The man seemed like he wanted to test just how long an electroshock probe could run before it needed to be activated again. Without the woman to rein him in, he kept it against your side until your body thrashed and your eyes rolled back in your head, only removing it for a moment before starting again.

“Can’t kill me now,” he snarled. “Thought you were strong when you killed him, thought you could fuckin’ scare me…”

He pressed the probe to your side again, a small scream managing to make it through your lips before that part of you seized up. Crying out wasn’t the relief you’d hoped it would be, the pain still consuming in spite of it. He kept the probe against you until you started to feel it in your heart, the electricity making it stutter against your ribs.

“Mandalorian!” The single word came through his com link. You weren’t sure if it had been preceded by anything else. Everything around you was muddy, you couldn’t discern much. But that word it seemed like you would always hear. He pulled the probe from your side. You panted for breath. He held the com to his lips.

“The hell do you mean a Mandalorian?”

You smiled, your head lolling to the side. You weren’t able to hold it up, unsure if you were exhausted or if your body had just stopped working.

“He’s here for me,” you managed. The man looked at you, skeptical. You just held his gaze. “You should run.”

***

Any other time, Din would have been concerned about being so outnumbered. He’d faced odds this bad before and survived, of course. But it was dangerous. The only reason it crossed his mind at all now was because of the pod at his back. If it weren’t for the child, he doubted he would have even noticed the numbers.

He’d made it to sublevel one and so, it seemed, had the rest of the syndicate. He’d killed several dozen men so far and there were dozens of others standing between him and you. They were keeping you from him. They had taken you. He activated a thermal detonator he’d taken from a body, waiting as long as he could before he threw it.

“Shit!” Someone screamed before it blew, the palace shaking, sand and plaster falling at his feet. He couldn’t bring himself to care about that, either.

The detonator had charred the walls of the corridor, bodies blown apart. He didn’t care. He was nearly to the center of the structure, judging by his scans, nearly to you. You were close. If the first man had told him anything remotely accurate, you were close.

He heard you before he saw you, a small, strangled cry before you went silent. He snarled, running for the sound. He almost collapsed when he saw you.

The man beside you had an electroshock probe pressed against your ribs and your body shook with it. Your face was bloody and bruised, skin had been stripped away from your stomach and the man beside you twisted the probe, grimacing as he did.

Something took over him in that moment. It was like the moment on Garqi, seeing your husband hurt you. It consumed him, the need to protect you, to avenge you. He roared, the man jumping in shock and pulling the probe from your side. He lunged for him, tackling him to the ground. The man punched Din in the helmet, serving only to rattle the Mandalorian and fracture the man’s hand on his beskar. He went to put the probe to Din but he knocked it away, sending it flying before bringing his fist down on the man’s head.

The man scrambled, managing to get a grip on the Mandalorian and sending him onto his back for a moment as he tried to pull a blaster, but Din was too fast. He leapt to his feet, freeing his knife as he went, and brought it down into the center of the man’s throat. His eyes went wide as he dropped to his knees, blood pouring from him and spilling onto the ground. Din panted for breath as he watched the man crumble, not moving until he landed in a heap on the floor. He turned to you then, your eyes hazy but finding his below the helmet. You were always able to find him, always able to look through him.

“Cyare,” he breathed. You smiled slightly.

“Hi,” you said.

He reached out and cupped your cheek and you pressed your skin into his palm.

“You came for me,” your voice was hoarse. “Shouldn’t have done that… Told you not to…”

“My hunt, my call,” he replied. “I’ll always come for you.”

The building trembled around you. He glanced around, plaster falling to the ground. The thermal detonators were too much for this structure. He needed to get you out of here. Now.

He went to the controls for the chair and released them. You slumped forward and he jumped to catch you. You cried out when he touched you, grimacing.

“They’ve got me drugged,” you gasped. “Heightens pain, makes it so I can’t pass out… Old Imperial shit…”

“Is there anywhere…”

“No,” you shook your head. “It all hurts, I can take it, I just need to get out of here…”

“Can you walk?” He asked. It hurt seeing you like this, like someone was tearing into his chest seeing you struggling and in pain.

“Put your arm around my waist,” you were looking at the ground, grimacing. All he wanted to do was touch you, hold you, comfort you. It would only hurt you now. “Try to not touch where they cut me…”

He obeyed, trying to bury the white hot fury that was swelling in his chest. He wanted to rip and tear for you, he wanted to destroy for you. It would have to wait. The building shook again. Your hand was on his chest, your fingers bloody. There was skin missing at your arm, too. You took a shaky step but managed to stay upright, a gasping groan escaping from you. He went to pick you up but you shook your head.

“Walking is better,” you said quickly. “I can’t fight right now, don’t think I can shoot, I can’t see straight, you can’t carry me.”

“We need to find a ship,” he said. “Can’t get you to Mos Eisley on a bike in this condition…”

“I’ve only seen this room and a cell not far from here,” you managed as you started off. You hissed when you took a step. “I’m not even positive we’re still on Tatooine, but I think we are.”

“We’re in an abandoned palace in the northern Dune Sea,” he said. “Know of it?”

“No,” you grimaced. “Sorry, I’ve been a pretty useless partner this hunt…”

He glared at you and you must have sensed it because you smiled for half a second before crying out in pain again. Din switched the helmet back to heat sensor mode, saw one person in a room up ahead. He led the way, leaning you against the wall just outside the door. You were panting for breath but gave him a nod as he went into the room.

The man inside was trying to gather up something. He didn’t notice the Mandalorian come in. Din grabbed him by the collar, lifting him off the ground and slamming him into the wall. He yelped, dropping the bag he was stuffing.

“Where are the ships,” Din demanded.

“I… Um…” the man scrambled for words. Din ground his teeth and more plaster fell. He didn’t have time for this. He pulled him back from the wall and thrust him into it again.

“Where!”

“North side!” He said quickly. “Up a level!”

Din released him, shooting him before leaving the room. He glanced at the bag. He’d been grabbing spice. He shook his head, going back to the hall and gathering you against him again.

You’d buttoned your shirt back up, something he was relieved about. He knew the injuries were there, they were burned into his mind, but it was easier to handle not ripping every person in this building apart when he couldn’t see them.

Much of the syndicate had been killed or had fled, almost no one left to intervene as he worked his way up with you. You felt faint against him, your limbs loose. Like you were barely able to hold yourself up.

“Almost there, Cyare,” he said softly.

The hanger was full of ships, but most were one man fighters. There were only two smaller transport vessels and Din opened the hatch of the first one he could reach, helping you up the ramp as quickly as he could. He lowered you into a seat when there was a shot at his shoulder. He turned to face his assailant. It was a woman. She was tall, a tattoo around her eye, her teeth were bared in some strange combination of a snarl and a smile.

“You’re taking what’s mine,” she said, her blaster leveled at Din. “The Hutts will pay for her. I’d expect better from a guild backed hunter, stealing someone’s bounty out from under them.”

“Don’t recognize Hutt bounties,” he replied, sizing her up. You started trying to get to your feet and he gently pushed you back down. You grimaced.

“She killed my parents,” you snarled, singularly focused. “Took them, tortured them… I want to hurt her, I want her blood…”

He lifted your chin delicately, so your blackened eyes were looking at him and not her.

“I’ll take her for you, Cyare,” he said gently. “You don’t need to suffer that.”

Another shot rang off his beskar and he released you, stalking down the ramp toward the woman. She stood her ground.

“You took my Cyare,” he said. She shot his chest, the sharp ping glancing off the armor. He pressed on. “You took her family.” She shot again, starting to back up now. “You hurt her.”

She tried to aim for part of his leg that wasn’t covered by armor but he dropped his knee, the bolt hitting his thigh where he was protected. “You will pay.”

He closed in quickly, igniting his flame thrower. She screamed, her clothes and hair catching fire quickly. She dropped to the ground, writhing in pain, trying to extinguish the flames. He kept the weapon running as he drew closer, keeping her burning, her screams cracking in her throat.

It wasn’t long before she stilled, her body still burning. Din cut the flamethrower, panting for breath as he watched the fire consume her. The building trembled again. He pulled more stolen thermal detonators from his belt, setting the timers on them and throwing them into the hall and around the room before joining you on the ship. He closed the gate and removed his glove, delicately holding your cheek in his hand. Your skin was still so soft against him, even damaged and bruised. You leaned into his touch, a tear slipping down your cheek.

“Are you satisfied, Cyare?”

You pressed your lips together and nodded, looking up at him like you were about to break.

“Close your eyes for me,” he said softly. You obeyed. With his free hand, he lifted his helmet just enough to expose his lips, pressing them gently to your forehead. He breathed you in, bloody but still smelling like you, his body calming now that he could touch you again. You melted into his kiss, a choking sob slipping from you. He pulled back and secured the helmet, delicately brushing your lashes with this thumb when it was safely in place.

He took his seat in the cockpit, you and the pod with the child safely behind him. He took off, pulling the ship out of the hanger and entering the upper atmosphere just as the palace collapsed into the sand behind him.

#fanfic #mandalorian fanfic #enemies to friends to lovers #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x f!reader

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imagobin · 7 months

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🌊Dragon King Childhood Friends HCs🌊

I thought it'd be a neat concept to have the Reader be Dragon King/Ao Guang's sea-dwelling childhood friend, since in his song he talks about being bullied a lot as a kid- so here, hope you enjoy!

Childhood

The first meeting:

As a kid, Ao Guang always had trouble playing on land with other kids, not because he didn't like the games they played, but because they would NOT let him play with them. His sensitive skin would dry up so fast in the sun and the kids found it creepy, to the point were they were scared of being touched by him, which was an extremely big offense, especially since he was also a royal!

So, after several failed attempts, he'd just given up and would look at the kids playing from the water. That was until you came around. Instead of legs, you only had a tail, so playing on land was a no-go. You noticed Ao Guang leaning onto a rock, looking defeated, and you chose to approach him.

He was skittish at first, fearing that you might mock him too, but the moment he understood you were there to make friends his eyes immediately lit up with excitement, and, given how neither of you could go out of the water you spent a wonderful afternoon exploring undersea caves, although he'd always send you in first to make sure they were safe.

Unbreakable Friendship:

Ever since then, you two were inseparable; Ao Guang didn't care whether you were a noble or not, you were his only friend, and you meant the world to him.

He'd come to you for anything: company, advice, gossiping, he really felt like he could trust you with his every thought, and of course, he'd do the same for you as well, doing his best to give some advice, although... it wasn't always the best, but at least he tried! And you valued that a lot.

Arguments and disagreements weren't frequent, but not completely absent either, but that was mostly due to his brash and sometimes self-centered nature. You two always made it a point to try and work things out though, surprisingly, Ao Guang made an especially big effort to not do something again if it ever upset you, because frankly... he didn't want to be alone again.

Adulthood

Big changes:

After several years, Ao Guang came to rule over the eastern sea, something he'd been getting ready for his whole life. You feared that now that he was King, your friendship would dwindle down, but that wasn't the case at all.

He'd planned everything out, and since he was a King now and could do whatever he wanted, he proclaimed you his royal advisor, whether you were actually qualified or not he didn't care, he just wanted an excuse to keep you around without having to explain too much to other people, and besides, the eastern sea was fairly peaceful, so there wasn't much actual advising to do.

You still had full freedom to go and visit your family and other friends, but the Dragon King would be lying if he said he didn't feel at least a little jealous.

Present Day:

Thanks to you simply being by Ao Guang's side, he's managed not to go off the deeper end; his feelings of inferiority disappeared the moment he understood just how good life underwater can really be, especially thanks to you.

It still takes a bit to get through to him, but when you actually do some royal advising, everything ends up going right.

You even manage to convince him to let the rain fall from time to time, which also accidentally caused the immortals to respect him a little more, because he's actually doing his job!

When both of you aren't working, you love having silly 'sleepover' nights, like you used to when you were younger, and you always end up telling each other stories and gossip about what happened during the day until you both fall asleep cuddled up to each other.

---

#dragon king #monkey king headcanon #monkey king 2023 #netflix monkey king #the monkey king #ao guang #dragon king headcanons #this took way longer than anticipated #wholesome headcanons #the childhood friends trope is one of my faves tbh #it's just so cute

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signoraviolettavalery · 1 month

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I have drunk roommates + their friends and I'm stuck in my room. Any distractions? (JO related? I'll take anything at this point)

(I need something to divert my attention before I fully panic)

I'm sorry this is late nonnie but remember that captive prince AU, well @touchyourblood has this idea that after Kris frees Bojan and they get together, Kris suggests that Nace (who was an advisor/councilor in the kingdom Bojan comes from and Bojan's friend) comes for a visit, because he's one of bojan's friends and Bojan misses him and Kris wants to "make up" for all the time Bojan wasn't free

so Nace comes, and Jan gets sent out to greet him (with some guards, of course)

introduces himself, and Nace's like "they sent osmeone as important as a council member to greet me?"

and Jan just shrugs and says "Bojan told me you are important to him. And, of course, an honored guest"

Nace's like 0_0 Bojan told you? you're on a first name basis? he's been talking to you?

and then they arrive and as soon as bojan sees them he runs down from the castle ramparts and throws himself into nace's arms

and nace notices how bojan is free, there's no guards watching him, he can move around as he likes, no one seems concerned

"I missed you," Bojan says, hugging him deeply, whie Jan watches them and smiles

and then of course bojan says 'let's go meet kris' and Nace does a double take like. Kris. the king. you call him Kris

he's slightly more formal with the introductions, like, this is Nace, my bestest friend, and this is Prince Kris. Nace's all formal, of course, bowing, and Bojan is all 'you don't have to stand on ceremony with him, really" while coming to stand by Kris' side, and Kris puts an arm around his waist and now Nace....understands. or thinks he understands

so afterwards they go off together, and Nace of course asks how he is, how he's been treated, etc, which Bojan reassures him "i've been treated well, like an honored guest from the very first day, and i've been giving my expertise and strategy in return"

and perhaps Nace presses him on that, says he looks a little pale, asks if he's alright, and Bojan brushes it off like "yes. I was...sick, but i'm fine now'

but nace won't let it go

'you were sick?" why was he sick? was he taken care of?

so Bojan has to admit "someone tried to assassinate Kris, and I stopped them, but I got injured, and the wound got infected, and it was a whole thing, but I'm better now, I promise. All healed."

which is....a lot for Nace to process

and of course there's that other thing

"Kris?" he asks

Bojan is on a first name basis with...the king? who is just "Kris" to him?

and they're clearly 'together' in some way, judging by Kris' arm around him earlier?

and did Bjoan really protect him out of care/affection or because he felt like he had to?

and Bojan, feeling like he can confide in Nace becauese Nace is his friend, admits "I love him"

"you were his captive" Nace reminds him gently

"I know," Bojan says, "and I know how it must look. But he never once treated me that way. He's been good to me. Better than some other kings I know."

Which leaves Nace worried that Bojan is just clinging to what affection he can find

"It's not like that. He listens to what I have to say. Values my opinions. He cares deeply about his people, and he trusts me to help him take care of them. And at first I simply respected him for that, a king who actually wants the best for his people. But then we bonded. Over music and books and art. Philosophy. He started to confide in me about personal matters. Before I knew it we were friends."

Nace still isn't convinced. "And when did he start taking you to his bed?"

"Nace. Please trust me."

"He didn't take ME to bed. I took HIM to bed "

"What?"

"You should've seen him. How shy he was. He felt so bad about wanting me despite our positions. He asked me to take him to bed. After I was free"

"A freedom he could take away if you didn't do what he wanted" Nace insists

And bojan gets frustrated

"Why do you refuse to believe he could be a good man??" Bojan demands. "He didn't ask to be gifted a person. That was OUR kingdom's idea. Or do you assume all kings are like ours?"

#bokris #captive prince AU #enjoy

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tinytinybumblebee · 5 months

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Today on “I’m exhausted hearing awful takes on astarion” as a trauma survivor myself I think astarion struggles to show weakness in the sense of recovery… like now that he’s free of Cazador, he’s supposed to be strong, independent, always knowing what he’s doing and who he wants to be. And for the most part that’s true, he is all those things, but when ghosts of his past come back to haunt him he feels shame in being someone vulnerable again who needs care. He hides it and bottles it up for such a long time but…

Then Tav comes along, his partner but also cg, and when the dam finally breaks they’re right there reassuring him that he is competent and capable and independent, he’s fought for his freedom and won and no one can deny that. But sometimes he needs coddling and that’s okay, he can be both strong and in need of protecting and support, they aren’t mutually exclusive (because a lot of people treat them like they are and as a survivor myself I do value my independence and not being coddled, but put simply and people don’t think about this with Astarion I’ve noticed, sometimes you just need to crumble and need to be needy and that’s not a sign that you’re recovering wrong or relapsing or anything)

Tav assures him he can be weak and need things if that’s how he feels, that being in need once in a while doesn’t invalidate everything he went through. And maybe he needs to regress that night. And it’s gonna be ok while he does.

Tav sits down with him, assuring him he’s going to be big again soon, but for now he should relish being little and not feel ashamed at all for needing cuddles and bottles and diapers and pacis. He’s still allowed to need things even if he’s won over his abuser. And the baby bat can be happy and get lots of cuddles and treats knowing no one thinks less of him and his beloved Tav will be there for him—he’ll pay them back somehow later and find a way to support them when they need him, but for now no thoughts baby bat. Give him headpats and kisses. Wrap him up into a little baby bat burrito. Put him in comfy safe diaps and be there to change them, and put him in all kinds of pretty clothes (tbh he would look so cute in “classic” baby gear like bonnets or mittens/booties you can’t convince me otherwise)—the entire camp has a whole “spoil Astarion” day because he deserves it and shouldn’t have to always force himself to be strong.

(sorry for the ramble he is very precious and dear to me and i’ve seen so many bad takes on aspects of him that dishearten me as someone who relates to him jddhxndvnd sorrry)

Yes yes YES to this all nonny!!! You got the most galaxy mind for tiny Astarion aaaaaa this poor vampire wants to be the perfect example of a survivor who has made it through without a care past the revenge he wanted- he doesn't want to be seen as some weakling, he doesn't want to lean on others!!

But, in small steps, Astarion is able to let his walls become thinner, allowing Tav and those he trusts in when it comes to his regression aaa♡♡♡

#agere #age regression #sfw #fandom agere #mailbox #bg3 #Astarion

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jenyifer · 2 months

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Dead Friend Forever ep 12 initial reaction

It’s over am I happy? Not particularly. It is interesting though. Let’s go over it and then I’ll make my rating post for the whole series

Disclaimer upfront I get triggered by blood so I did watch some scenes with my hands covering the top of the scene so maybe I missed things.

Okay so let’s get into the ep

I find it interesting that Top, Jin, and Fluke all include their ‘friends’ in their hallucinations. While White, Phee, Tee are more self solo focused. I imagine if Por was alive his nightmare scenario would be group based because he wanted to be cool or if it was solo maybe it would be man he’s a really big asshole personality wise. Probably good he didn’t live to this last scene would have been redundant or abhorrent.

So Fluke was afraid of being bullied by Top and Tee. He never really felt a hundred percent with the group. I find it telling that Por and Non convince him to take his eyes out because people felt like he had no guilt for both of their deaths. Realistically if Fluke had stood up to Top and Tee when the camera got broken I do think because Fluke and Por were good friends Por might have believed Fluke over Top but maybe not. Por was an asshole. But him doing anything in the other scenes won’t have really helped. He didn’t have any power in the group dynamic. He wasn’t even particularly close to Jin the reason they both found non and the teacher was because they were in the same class.

I started to get suspicious we might be in dream sess for Top’s he’ll scape. 1 idk how he is still alive 2 he’s still very much on drugs anyways. Also the fear of being betrayed by his friends them not listening to him was an interesting motivation. We saying top was a people pleaser I guess? Idk I wanted more from his character. Did find it poetic he and Fluke offed each other when their fears were so routed in their friendships their bonds. Then that’s what threw them down the stairs.

Tee 😭😭😭😭 even in the nightmare trying to help Non over and over trying to give him hope. Trying to do all that he could. Trapped and trying his best. Shows that he deeply fundamentally didn’t want to be a bad guy. A caged animal tortured animal doesn’t run when you open the cage you have to show it the way out first. I think Tee was hoping seeing Non escape would mean he could go for his freedom too. I cried during his and White’s scene. Also how beautiful are they? I hope Tee survives

Once again I think something bad happened to White to make him feel like he’s dirty that he’s automatically a slut for making friends. Yes Tee gets jealous but I won’t say it’s abnormally so White puts that pressure on himself. He desperately wanted to be Tee’s above all else a very sweet motivator. I once again cried watching what happened. I’m glad Tan had second doubts about his death at least.

Jin stalker/unhealthy obsession? Idk it’s just what the TV imagery and the cell phones make me think of Because my mind goes to BTS Suga’s solo MV for Shadow. Jin’s certainly ashamed of what he did. He also had his friends in there saying he was scared they’d hate me. Very interesting. Jin is MAJORLY insecure. He values his perception and hates who he really is and the pleasure he desires. I was disappointed to see him still alive but then again if he had that injury I was curious if he would survive just based on blood loss to the hospital. Really really hated the visuals on that so… maybe I missed something

Found it heartbreaking that New’s Non was a good little brother. Ugh I can’t imagine losing my sister and this scene really hurts. That New has done all this shit but deep down he knows what New really felt about him and New’s scared he’s done the wrong thing.

Found it sus we see New die of a gut injury when the shot hit his shoulder. But was sweet that Non came back to thank him in his head. A good end although doubting it happened.

Wow Jin being the human one in this scene of the future. I guess he’d be an idealized version of Jin.

Uhhhhh yes? In that Tee would need to accept what happened and seek help. But also no? Phee showing his double standard here. Phee didn’t you just learn you would have been there for Non if you could? Well if Tee was suffering like that Phee you should visit him even if it’s hard it’d be his duty. Phee is partly responsible for what happened. Phee you can care about people you ain’t fucking and or their family members. It’s okay to have friends naturally and support them.

Season 2!!!! Big reveal? So how much of this ep was a dream?? Whole thing? From when new used the gas? I also wonder would New’s protections for himself actually work? Yes he has those cure smoke things but the nightmare stuff is still in everything. I would like it if maybe Non had survived and some how drugged them all? I don’t think he did but 9th person Mr Keng? Non? White? Steps in and all of this outcome has been Phee’s interpretation of the truth ep 12? Maybe idk. I can’t wait for season 2

#dead friend forever #dead friend forever the series #dff the series #dff spoilers #dff meta #dff #dff episode 12 #dff ep 12 #dead friend forever episode 12 #Jenny’s watching

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forasecondtherewedwon · 1 day

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seven degrees east - chapter seven

Fandom: Masters of the Air Pairings: multiple Rating: E Chapter: 7 / ? Word Count: 4397

Professor Harding moved amongst them, and the boys had the sense that they had been in the trenches of Walden together, that a bond had been forged between bean fields and the fundamentals of self-reliance, that the murky veil of authority between instructor and student had been thinned, all for the better. It was now mid-July, and the summer semester was almost at an end.

In the two weeks since the party in Cringleford, the boys felt their worlds—social and academic, personal and shared—had been changed. University, which in its functions and expectations cared little for the lush, revolving inner worlds of its students, ploughed ahead as though nothing were different. This meant it was time for the boys to immerse themselves in the plotting and planning and researching and revising of concepts for their final essays. It was time to show what they’d learned.

Feeling he worked in the spirit of Thoreau’s project, Harding had permitted, for this last assignment, arguments which yoked Walden and each boy’s particular literary speciality. The professor’s aim was to make the essay useful to them, as Thoreau’s excursion to the woods had been to his own mind and methods. This allowed Harding’s students more freedom for creativity, and so more space for development had also been allowed. Harding had allocated that day’s class for the workshopping of final essay ideas.

Curt was sitting next to John. Had this arrangement been tried even the week before, it would have set the rest of the class—including Harding, who didn’t concern himself with his students’ spats and scuffles but, like a barometer, always noticed a change in atmospheric pressure—on edge. However, John’s bruises had faded, and he and Curt had worked to clear the air. This had involved less effort than either might have expected. Since John hadn’t hit Curt, Curt’s primary grievance had been the insults John had slung at him while baiting him into the two right hooks he had thrown. John had apologized sincerely and, because Curt understood he hadn’t really meant what he’d said, had his apology accepted at face value.

Curt’s secondary grievance was all tangled up with John’s primary one: that John hadn’t kissed Gale, while Curt had. When they’d hashed the whole thing out over a smoke, Curt had placed the blame for all the shit between them on John’s failure to act on his feelings for Gale sooner. John had taken this criticism on the chin—close to where he’d taken Curt’s fist at the party. Once John had cooled his head and his heels (and was sober), he had more easily accepted that what he’d seen through the door of that Philosophy classroom had been a combination of friendship, trust, and spontaneity. Gale had been newly (officially) single. Curt was known among their group to be the least uptight about his sexuality. Like Gale had told John the night of the fight—and other things as yet unexamined—it had been a one-time occurrence. Had Curt enjoyed kissing Gale? Of course. (John had clenched his fingers into a fist beside his leg where Curt hadn’t been able to see, then forced himself to relax them.) Was Curt rooting for John and Gale to get together? Abso-fuckin’-lutely. Why hadn’t it happened yet, Curt had wanted to know? What was this new weirdness between them that no longer seemed to have anything to do with Curt? John had staggered into a sentence he didn’t know how to finish before just letting it float away like the smoke he sighed from his nostrils.

Now, Curt was ranting to John about his two favourite ideas he’d come up with for his final essay.

“You got the travel narrative, right? You with me, John? You got fuckin’ Kerouac, fuckin’ On the Road. That,” Curt said, “versus Thoreau’s, I dunno what ya’d call it… his stayin’-put story. Ok? So, we got movement and restlessness and how that gets channeled.”

“Right,” John said, more to show he was listening and less because he was totally following.

“Or—second idea, second idea now, John—we got city and country. Another comparative essay, external conditions seemingly in opposition. And for this we go to Baldwin. Yo, Buck! Baldwin!”

Gale, who was mid-discussion of his own essay with Rosie, glanced over and offered Curt a thumbs up. His gaze slid automatically to John, who blushed for no good reason, scratched his head, and turned back to Curt.

“I’m a little less sure about that one,” Curt admitted, focus back on John. He kneaded the knuckles of his left hand into his right palm until they cracked. “But if I could figure it out, it’d kick ass.”

“It’d be fucking killer,” John said, really quite at sea, but carried along on the tide of his friend’s enthusiasm and, more than anything, wanting to demonstrate his renewed love and support since the rupture in their friendship.

“Ok, and for my third idea—”

“Your third?” John had one idea for this essay, exactly one, and he rubbed worryingly at his chin as Curt prepared to launch into another pitch.

“Yeah, dude. So, this one I’m thinkin’ Hinton—you know, The Outsiders?”

“Sure, man. Patrick Swayze.”

“Patrick Swayze? Goddammit, John.” Curt’s hand shot out and lightly cuffed the back of John’s head. “This is a fuckin’ literature class. Read a book, would ya?” He shrugged. “But sure, Swayze, if it helps ya follow along.”

John scoffed before giving in to his grin. He planted his elbow on the table and sunk his head into his hand as he listened.

“This one’s simple. It’s so good,” Curt promised. One thing they shared, luckily, was confidence in their work. “I look at belonging in a group and belonging in a place.”

“That’s interesting,” John said. He meant it.

This time, the idea struck something deep within him, something that twanged back. He was warmed by the resonance. It was them, he thought. He could see that Curt, himself, and the rest of the boys fit neatly at the center of Curt’s concept. They were Thorpe Abbotts’ English PhDs, the Bloody Hundredth, their own favourite company to keep. And they were a part of this place, this university, these grounds, this country they’d transplanted themselves onto in the hopes of learning something of books and life and driving on a different side of the road.

“That’s the winner,” he said.

“You think?” Curt asked earnestly.

“Yeah, man. Run it past Harding.”

“Alright, alright, but tell me yours first. Whaddaya got?”

John smiled a slow smile and said, “Hemingway.”

“I’m shocked,” Curt joked, and beckoned with his hand. Gimme more.

“It’s not much,” John explained, meaning the idea was spare, unadorned, not that he thought it was a poor one. He straightened up in his seat. “I’m just thinking… Thoreau. Hemingway. A man alone. Not sure yet if I’d go Old Man and the Sea or For Whom the Bell Tolls, but one of the two.”

He nodded conclusively.

“I mean, yeah,” Curt said. “If you say so.”

“I do say so.”

“Then fuck yeah!”

“Fuck yeah,” John agreed, nodding again.

Curt shoved his chair away from the table, preparing to speak to Harding about his idea. He paused before rising.

“That’s everything you got?”

“That’s it.”

“Sick,” Curt praised.

“Thanks, man.”

A man alone, John thought when Curt had gone to the other end of the room. He drummed his fingers on the table. Without meaning to, he found himself gazing idly at Gale. Gale sat so still as he listened to Rosie, who was speaking with sweeping gestures of his hands. The other brainstorming group—comprised of Crosby, Nash, and Bubbles—already had three members, so John knew it was Rosie and Gale he should join. And he would. Any minute. He made his body as still as Gale’s, heavy and content, chest moving in and out. Gale’s gaze swung over to meet his and John immediately pushed his chair back and went to join them.

Gale watched as John approached, as he flung his pen and notebook down and took an empty seat, stretching his legs out beneath the table. He wore a brown t-shirt. It might’ve been nothing on someone else, but dark brown on John made his hair look lustrous, his sunburned nose and cheeks peachy rather than painful—these were Gale’s thoughts, and this study of John as he moved, as he sat and unfurled his long limbs, recalled the John of two weeks prior, if only because of the contrast (and because that John had rarely left Gale’s mind in the interim). That John had been compact; Gale’s gaze had darted madly to take in the taut-muscled twist of his best friend’s body. John had been on his knees and ducking his head to avoid the jeep’s ceiling, though turned towards Gale, the hunch had resembled a bow. And his cheeks; the flush on his cheeks had been blood, not sun, lit up just enough by the porchlight that Gale could see the heat trapped beneath John’s skin. God help him, he had ached since that night to know what it felt like to touch the heat rolling off John when he came.

“Whadda we got goin’ over here?” John demanded, forcefully casual.

“Poe,” Rosie said, steepling his fingers against his own chest. He indicated Gale next. “James.”

“Hemingway,” John supplied with a grin, sticking out a hand for each of them to shake as though they had taken on the names of these authors as their own and were introducing themselves. They humoured him. Gale hung on a little long before letting his fingers slip free of the hold.

“Let’s hear it,” John encouraged, waving Rosie on.

“You want my shpiel?” Rosie checked wryly. He smirked. “Alright. Picture Thoreau’s cabin.”

Gale had heard the shpiel already, so while John closed his eyes to center himself inside the narrative Rosie was constructing around him, Gale stared at John. They had talked, and the talking had been a relief after the days John had spent freezing him out. Unfortunately, they had talked about everything but the night of the party. Gale was beginning to wonder if they ever would, and the wondering filled him with a longing he couldn’t have described with all of Henry James’s winding, self-conscious language of introspection. Like James’s characters, Gale felt divided between past and present existences. He felt he was leaving some version of himself behind with the new one not yet fully formed. Though he could not go back, he feared going forward alone. If only John would say something. Why was he suddenly such a good listener?

Listen was what John did as Rosie laid out the argument for convincing his reader that Walden could be interpreted as a Gothic story. He spoke of legacy and sustainability, the fickleness of memory, the blurriness surrounding whether the landscape intruded upon the characters or they upon it. “The Fall of the House of Usher,” Rosie insisted, would help him break new ground on Walden.

“I like it,” Gale was quick to say when Rosie had wrapped up.

“Same here,” John said, and Gale felt the satisfaction of their agreement from his scalp to his toes.

Rosie, caught in the middle, glanced from one of his friends to the other with a knowing smile. A slight action of his shoulders showed his shy acceptance of their approval.

“Gale’s turn for show-and-tell,” he informed them.

John started a facetious drumroll on the edge of the table. Gale snatched up Rosie’s eraser and bounced it at him. When it landed in his lap, John gave Gale a look (You wanna pick that up? the look said) before slowly returning it to the table. His eyes glittered like Gale remembered the streaks of rain on the jeep’s windows had, catching headlights as Bubbles drove them home.

Gale cleared his throat.

“I’m thinkin’ of something a little cerebral.”

Through a fake cough, John barked out, “Snob.”

“Maybe,” Gale allowed, grinning. “Maybe.” He stared at the table for a few moments while he collected his thoughts. “So, Thoreau spends a lot of time doing, but there’s a lot of thinking there too. He talks about meditation. He, uh, he… really makes you see the value of patience, besides just that it’s necessary when you’re waiting for something like crops to grow.”

“Sure does,” Rosie encouraged.

“You wanna talk about what’s worth waiting for?” John asked abruptly—so abruptly that the question seemed to short something in Gale’s brain and he forgot, just for a moment, what it was they were discussing. He blinked and recoupled the cars on his train of thought.

“More the worth of waiting at all,” Gale corrected. “I’m going to throw in Washington Square to complicate that. I think what James really shows is… the importance—but the difficulty—of trusting your own mind.”

“Hmm,” Rosie said thoughtfully, which was a not-discouraging response.

“I think what James really shows is how much the mind sucks ass,” John declared. He added, “Figuratively.”

“You do, do you?” Gale countered, slightly annoyed.

“Yep. It’s too much thinking that keeps whatshisname and whatsherface apart.”

“You haven’t read it.”

“You’ve talked about it,” John said shortly. “I listened.”

They had a brief, silent standoff during which Rosie wrote down some useless jot points in his notebook. Gale suspected he was working hard to resist the urge to break into a self-soothing whistle.

“Morris and Catherine,” Gale emphasized, “stay apart because her father believes Morris is after their money.”

“Which he can never confirm?” John checked. “And neither can she?”

“That’s right.”

“So, it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid. It’s a great work of literature.”

“Yeah,” John drawled, “but it’s stupid that Catherine decides to be suspicious and alone. If you ask me—”

“I didn’t,” Gale pointed out.

“—everybody in that novel thinks a little too much. Where’s the…” He snapped his fingers, attempting to summon the right word.

“Spontaneity,” Rosie provided without looking up.

“Thanks, Rosie. The spontaneity. Why doesn’t Catherine grab life by the fucking balls?”

“Maybe that’s not who she is, fundamentally,” Gale said.

“Maybe it could be,” John challenged.

“She’s a product of her time.”

“Bullshit. Love is timeless.”

A laugh burst from Rosie, who could no longer pretend he wasn’t listening to the exchange happening across him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, beaming. “I was imagining my grandmother embroidering that on a tea towel.”

His laughter cleared the accumulated tension from the air. Gale took a deep breath and stole a glance at John doing the same.

“My essay is mind over feelings,” Gale said weakly. “It’s what I know.”

“It’s not all you know,” John said. “But, for the essay, I get it. I think the ‘trusting your own mind’ thing’ll work with Thoreau, that pretentious fuck.”

“A little respect for our dead friend, Egan,” Harding called over.

“Don’t worry, sir, I meant it as a compliment.”

Gale had his back to their professor, but he heard him sigh. The three boys chuckled quietly.

“Bet he can’t wait to get us out of his hair,” Rosie guessed.

“Nah,” John said, “he loves us. Especially me.”

Who wouldn’t, was the thought that came to Gale unbidden.

As John took his turn, once again delivering his idea in a style so stripped-back it rivalled Hemingway’s own, another trio was brainstorming in the opposite corner of the room.

Aside from the mandatory course texts for their class, Nash hadn’t read anything written by a man since he’d spent the night with Helen. Helen hadn’t directed or even requested this. It hadn’t mattered, and Nash was already in deep. Rosie had walked into their floor’s shared kitchen in the dorms the other night to see Nash squinting at the fine print on the Pop-Tarts box (probably bored while using the toaster, Rosie had figured). To mess with his friend, Rosie had shouted, “A MAN WROTE THOSE NUTRITIONAL FACTS,” not expecting to laugh so hard he almost peed his pants after Nash dropped the box in horror.

Nash’s essay idea wasn’t one the boys felt moved to mock though; he planned to set Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s fictional Herland up next to Thoreau’s portrait of the actual Walden Pond and compare them as utopias—what they had, what they were missing, through whose eyes the reader was meant to view them as idyllic. At another time in his life (pre-Helen), Nash might (would) have joked about Herland as the utopia to end all utopias because it was full of women, but he had grown, he had changed. He felt less eager to surround himself with women and much more eager to get himself drunk on Helen. Just intoxicated. Falling-down, slurred-speech sloshed on the sight of her, her laugh, the feel of her fingers raking through his hair when he’d had his head between her thighs.

Since the party, Helen had borrowed Sandra’s car to visit Nash once on campus. He’d taken Rosie’s keys and seen her three times. Between these four meetings, it had felt as if they’d barely been apart, and Nash liked it that way. He was up to his heart-shaped eyeballs in love and overflowing the joyful energy into writing his final paper, just so he’d have something to talk to Helen about when he called her at night—as he had been every night they weren’t physically together.

Where Nash deconstructed an idealized vision, Bubbles went for realism from the start. Feeling he hadn’t spent enough time with his pal Steinbeck this semester, Bubbles was bringing that author into his final essay to help him examine the dichotomy of working man and intellectual. He thought Thoreau inhabited both archetypes, and while Thoreau’s life-on-the-land project had perhaps taken a few shortcuts, Bubbles was keen to dig into the messier side of a collision between two seemingly contradictory paradigms. The struggle was everywhere but in how he explained it, words rolling off his tongue.

Bubbles’ only distraction—though he proceeded through it—was Crosby. His best friend’s face was so serious as he listened. It was nice to be heard with such rapt attention, Bubbles felt, but he worried. He’d overheard Crosby on the phone with his mom the night before. Touching base with home would be good for Crosby, Bubbles thought, but none of them would be making the trip back to the States until the semester ended. Bubbles knew Crosby, and if he was reaching out to his mom now, it suggested something was up, that his balance was off, that he was looking for someone or something to right it. Did Crosby really need to be reminded that Bubbles was right there? But then maybe he did. Bubbles had seen how mixed-up Crosby could get himself if he wasn’t careful, and it was a shame when Bubbles thought the whole world of him.

“Last but not least,” Bubbles said, when he was finished and had turned towards his best friend. “What’ve you got for us, Croz?”

“Mystery?” Nash guessed.

And usually, knowing Crosby, this would have been the correct guess, the easy right answer, but today, Crosby leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms against his chest, his ankle over the opposite knee. His own limbs wound tight around him, he smiled a smile that troubled Bubbles.

“Maybe the mystery is why people are still reading Walden,” Crosby quipped.

Coming from Crosby—usually so eager, so earnest, so desperate to get it right (whatever it was)—this remark was shockingly irreverent. Bubbles and Nash looked at each other, at a loss. Nash made a noise between a laugh and a choked sigh. Bubbles pondered what to say. Long seconds later, it was their professor who was the first to come up with a response to Crosby’s snark.

Sidling silently up to their clustered chairs, Harding ordered, “Go with it.”

Crosby jumped.

“Sir?”

“‘Why are we still reading Walden?’ Go with that.”

Bubbles cast his gaze from Harding to Crosby.

“I was just—” Crosby began, the flush of wrongfooted embarrassment creeping up his neck.

“And now you are,” Harding cut across him to state with finality. He fixed his student with a commanding stare which, despite its ferocity, wasn’t without humour. “Consider writing the paper punishment for your curiosity. You asked the question, Crosby. I expect you to answer it.”

“But I don’t know…”

“Find out.”

Crosby stammered, but Harding turned abruptly away and went to Rosie, who had his hand raised. Crosby looked to Nash and Bubbles instead.

“What do I do now?”

“Write the paper,” Bubbles suggested with a smug smile. “What other choice you got?”

“It’s one essay,” Nash reasoned. “Just write something.”

“You can always start over if you don’t like it. We both know you’d be doin’ that anyway.”

“Yeah, but Harding assigned me this topic,” Crosby protested. “Normally, the only person pressuring me to get something perfect is me.”

“When’d he say it had to be perfect?” Nash asked.

“It obviously has to be perfect!” Crosby picked up his pen and began rapidly clicking the end. In, out, in, out.

“There’s not just one way,” Bubbles assured him. He reached out to stop the clicking and Crosby sighed, sliding the pen behind his ear instead.

“It’d be simpler if there were.”

“Simple’s not really your style, buddy.”

“Nobody overcomplicates shit like you, Croz,” Nash threw in.

Crosby bowed his forehead to the table and groaned.

—

The next day found Nash and Rosie in their suite’s common area. There was no air conditioning in the dorms, so they usually left the windows shut on the hottest days in an attempt to keep humidity out. Today, they had shoved the windows up in their casings and surrendered themselves to the heat.

Rosie was lying on the floor in his boxers. Next to him was the boombox. An infectious pop song—“Wannabe” by the Spice Girls—had come out earlier that month, and Rosie had found a radio station that was playing it on repeat. The first time he had heard it, he’d just listened. After a couple more listens, he’d sung the chorus under his breath. Now, he knew all the words and hummed the melody even when the song wasn’t playing. This included when he was washing dishes, brushing his teeth, and getting gas in his car. Not when he was showering, of course; then, Rosie belted “Wannabe” at the top of his voice. Other residents of the dorms (and anyone passing by outside) were instructed to not go wastin’ Rosie’s precious time. As a boy, Rosie had never been particularly self-conscious. As a man, he lived in the same building as John Egan, who was not exactly a role model for shame or restraint.

Fortunately, Nash could work through pretty well any kind of commotion—it was silence that he found distracting, and he avoided the library accordingly, except when he had to collect a book. Also stripped down to his underwear, Nash sat at the desk and worked on his essay. The biggest hindrance was the damp paper, courtesy of the humidity the boys had failed to shut out. When the Spice Girls were silenced mid-verse, Nash swivelled around in the chair to see Rosie sitting upright.

“What’s up?” Nash wondered.

Rosie looked at him.

“I’m gonna ask Liss to marry me.”

“What?”

But Rosie leapt to his feet and strode into his bedroom, closing the door. When he reappeared, he was dressed in shorts and a polo shirt, the collar flipped under against his neck. Nash spied the glint of keys twirling around his roommate’s finger.

“Rosie. Rosie.”

Rosie didn’t seem to hear him, marching to the door. His jaw was set, his gaze determined.

“Rosie!”

The door slammed behind him.

“ROSIE, FIX YOUR COLLAR!” Nash yelled at the closed door.

Nash sighed in annoyance and tossed his notebook down before forcing himself to get up. The heat was oppressive and he hated to move. He went to the door, opened it, and peered down the hallway. Rosie was already gone.

Leaving the door ajar, Nash shuffled over to Gale and John’s dorm. John opened the door to Nash’s knock and automatically glanced down.

“Aw, Jesus Christ, Nash,” he said, assaulted by the sight of Nash in his briefs.

Nash grinned and shrugged, then remembered why he was there.

“Rosie’s being weird,” he reported.

Gale arrived in the doorway, encountering the same view that had provoked his roommate’s exclamation. He blinked and asked, “Compared to what?”

“He just blew outta here. He said he’s going to propose to Liss.”

John chuckled and Nash, who was still smiling, raised his eyebrows to underscore the ridiculousness of such a thing. Gale, however, cocked his head thoughtfully.

“That’s fast,” he observed. “Good for Rosie.”

“Good for— what?” John demanded in disbelief. “Rosie can’t get married.”

“Sure he can. He’s a grown man, John. Knows what he wants.”

“Ken’s married,” Nash noted when it looked like John was opening his mouth to protest.

“And Lemmons is a helluva lot younger than Rosie,” Gale added.

“I just can’t believe he didn’t talk it over with us,” Nash went on, affronted.

“Hey,” John said to get his attention. “He’ll be back. We’ll talk to him then.”

And so they rounded up Curt, they rounded up Bubbles and Crosby, they went back to Nash and Rosie’s dorm (they made Nash put some clothes on), and they began their vigil. The aura of disbelief lingered, but the fact was that Rosie wasn’t there. Had he really driven up to Cringleford? Did he have a ring? They asked Nash and he could only tell them there was no ring that he’d been aware of; it had seemed to be a spontaneous decision with no clear impetus beyond “Wannabe” playing for the zillionth time. The boys were perplexed.

They received some answers within the hour. Instead of coming back through the door, Rosie called the suite’s landline. Nash picked up.

“Liss said yes,” came Rosie’s rushed voice. “Can you come meet us?”

“Where?” Nash asked, flapping his arm at the boys to demand background silence when they tried to ask what Rosie was saying.

“Norwich City Hall.”

“What?”

“I’m getting married, Nash.”

Nash could hear the smile in Rosie’s voice. Still, he said, “When?”

And Rosie said, “Now.”

#my writing #seven degrees east #MotA #Masters of the Air #MotA fic #Neil 'Chick' Harding #John 'Bucky' Egan #Curtis Biddick #Gale 'Buck' Cleven #Clegan #Bucky x Buck #Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal #Herbert Nash #Joseph 'Bubbles' Payne #Harry Crosby

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jeannereames · 1 year

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Good evening, Dr. Reames I wanted to ask you something, a long time ago I read that during the XIX century there was a lot of discussion about the veracity of the figure of Alexander, like: Did he really exist or is he a legendary character? What do you think about it? Thank you very much, I love your work very much.

Did Alexander the Great Actually Exist?

Skepticism about historical figures was part of a larger development in the discipline of history: the critical evaluation of our sources.

“Historiography,” or the history of history. Instead of just taking sources at face value, historians began to interrogate them: who wrote it, when, and what was that person’s perspective?

These are just the most basic questions. As time progressed, historiography became ever more refined. I’ve discussed some of these refinements before in my longer posts here. For instance, the difficulty in untangling imperial Roman tropes/themes overlying anecdotes about Alexander. We work for awareness of layering, narrative context, big-picture themes….

Yet sometimes the pendulum swings too far, at least IMO. Scholarly trends can get out of hand. Shiny new toys (ideas) are fun, but must be woven into the larger scholarly conversation, not suck all the air out of the room. History has fads just like anything else—including undue skepticism. Some things I warn my own students about:

Smoke does not always equal fire. That is, don’t assume the negative report is true over a neutral or positive one; especially the latter can be denigrated as whitewashing. Fact is, people love dirt and lie about or exaggerate bad things just as much as they polish up events or a person’s image.

Things can be exaggerated rather than invented out of whole cloth. Without solid evidence to support pure invention, I’ll tend to assume exaggeration. Layers of “truth” exist. It gets tricky.

Back to historiographic development….

The Enlightenment led to the questioning of much received truth. That’s the era of Darwin, of historical Biblical criticism, Reason over Faith, the birth of archaeology, etc. As part of the critical evaluation of ancient sources, scholars began to doubt the existence of heroes such as Agamemnon, Achilles, Theseus, and events too, such as the Trojan War. In fact, all events in Greek myth/history before 776 BCE—the date of the first Olympics—were regarded as fictional. As archaeology took over Egypt, Mesopotamia, the Levant, and Italy, Greece was fighting for freedom from Ottoman control, archaeology new there—bronze-age Greece yet uncovered.

In any case, as part of the new en vogue skepticism, some scholars questioned not only heroes and myths, but historical figures too, especially those further back in time. Did Solon exist? Cyrus? Croesus? Or even … Jesus? (Radical!)

Proposing Alexander as mythical falls into that same hyper-skeptical period. The fact all our biographies were written so long after he lived made it easier to hypothesize he was a myth!

Yet recall… archaeology was new, epigraphy (study of stone inscriptions) just starting. A lot of information we have now simply didn’t exist at that time.

Today, trying to argue that Alexander wasn’t real is ridiculous. We have coins minted in his reign, epigraphical evidence from his own day naming him, oodles and oodles of images, archaeological evidence from Macedonia itself, etc. There’s no question Alexander of Macedon existed, and he conquered a hella lot of his known world. The basic outlines of his campaign are documented in hard evidence.

We can, however, (and should!) question many of the stories and anecdotes about his campaign. Even the outlines of some battles. Two mutually-exclusive versions of the Battle of Granikos exist. Some famous events probably didn’t happen at all (the whole proskynesis affair). Others didn’t happen as they’re told. After all, we have competing stories in the original sources themselves—take the Gordion Knot episode. That’s where we apply our critical historiographic eye now.

But to return to our story of burgeoning historiography in the 19th and early 20th centuries….

In 1870, Heinrich Schliemann began to dig at Troy, which opened up the Greek bronze age and put a hard skid on the “it’s all fiction” trend. Now, that shithead Schliemann did boatloads of damage and has earned his rep as a lying little Colonialist weasel who’s roundly cursed by most modern archaeologists. But you gotta give him that small sliver: he reversed the trend that regarded Greek myth as entirely false.

Then the pendulum swung the other way. If the Trojan War had really happened, was myth just barnacle-encrusted history? That notion wasn’t so different from what the ancients had believed about their own myths, in fact.

Many historians sought to “purify” myth: find the truth behind it. The trend remained popular well into the 20th century in both academic history as well as historical fiction (see Mary Renault’s The King Must Die and Bull from the Sea). It also encouraged periodic “searches” for mythical places. The seemingly never-ending “Search for Atlantis” is the most obvious example. (Newsflash: Plato made that shit up. It’s a philosophical metaphor, y’all.)

Today, most professional historians regard Greek heroes as fictional. Instead, we trace how myths and heroes morphed over time and across cultures. So, Greek Herakles translated into Etruscan Hercle, then into Roman Hercules, plus Greek Herakles’s probable antecedent in ancient near eastern myths of Gilgamesh, Marduk, Sampson, Melquart, etc.

We’re also interested in how myths/legends embed reality at the edges to make them realistic to their hearers. It’s not barnacle-encrusted history but may still convey reality…much as fiction does today. If you watch a TV show about, say, hospital emergency rooms, most people don’t assume the characters are actual doctors or the events real except in broad brushstrokes. Yet we do rate such shows for how well they approximate ER experience. World build. That’s how modern historians and Classicists tend to approach myths today.

Myths are the stories a culture tells itself about itself.

What a culture valued, emulated, and how it wanted to think about itself can be found in myths.

These are the same things reception studies consider, btw. They’re less about what actually happened in history, than what people later wanted to believe happened. That’s as interesting a question (to my mind) as the truth of the event itself.

So perhaps all those fads in history tell us as much about the historians who purvey them as what they were uncovering. 😉

#historiography #Alexander the Great #classics #tagamemnon #asks #birth of archaeology #myth as history #purpose of myth #skepticism in historical thought #did Alexander the Great exist?#ancient Greece #Greek history

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swimmingelectron · 4 months

Text

More chlonette/queen bug cz exams are coming and i do not want them to

Part 1

Lb now deals with two of her regular partners flirting with her

Hello, m'lady~

Hey, bug, need me?

Chloe legit did her homework the next day and complained to mari over call ab how hard it was

She realised she couldn't stop being mean to everyone simply out of habit, so she just straight up started being mean about things they shouldn't do.

Sabrina! You need to tell me if you can't do something.

Ugh, Kim, if you don't stop being so loud in class-

You're such a worrywart, marinette, maybe learn to live a little.

Sure, a lot of mistakes were made, but it was that much better being around chloe.

In just a few months, chloe proved adept at staying out of sight of akumatised victims and capable of shattering akumas on her own. Moreover, she was a great fighter, a good hero.

With time, the number of akumas targetting her went down to zero and she was almost a new person.

Then, one day, lb needed her for something different. She needed bee to find out chat's identity and pass him messages in his civillian form.

When chloe found out it was "ADRIKINS!?" she realised she couldn't possibly continue hating chat. But she also couldn't give lb up to him for grabs.

That's exactly what she told him.

Adrien, Chat. You've been my best friend since childhood. I've seen what you go through, with your fa-umm... what you've gone through since your mother's death.

If you ever need to talk about anything, you are always welcome. About anything at all.

Thanks, but i kinda already stop by mari's terrace to talk about my problems as chat. Of course, i haven't revealed my identity to her so maybe there are some things i can come to you about.

Righhhht. Hm- so another thing is, chat, i really like ladybug too. And i won't give her up to you without a fight. And I'll never lose to you!

XDXD Looking forward to it, your highness :)

Then on, queen bee would drop by at the bakery, through the front door, flowers for her buginette.

(I'd like to imagine chat also upped his game when he found out chloe was getting close to mari and brought his princess little trinkets.) (He wasn't aware she was also lb at all.)

With time, mari became fond of the bee buzzing around her everywhere.

Before either of them realised they were calling each other sweet treats and honey tart, bug and bee

Mari couldn't have pointed out when she fell, but at some point, she accidentally told queen bee she loved her as she left for home from the bakery.

Chloe carried that blinding smile all the way through the weekend and into school on monday. Sure, mari was an anxious wreck that whole week. Because what else would you expect out of her? But chloe? Chloe had learnt a new skill in the past year. The ability to stay hidden and melt into bright light. She became the white noise in marinette's life until mari couldn't help but feel comforted by her presence.

They started dating in secret in a few months. As lb and qb, they told chat. He was, well, depressed to say the least. He'd tell mari all about it, and mari couldn't help but feel guilty.

Chloe and mari had comforted him in the bakery more than once in the middle of their dates. Chloe could forgive him. She'd also be broken if mari chose him over her.

Chat never did get over lb, but he got better at putting his mask back on.

Meanwhile, the viewers get to realise something about marinette that is not too obvious in the show. Marinette is not a mary sue. She is stubborn, she needs things to go her way, and she doesn't think any of her partners are capable without instruction. Yes, she is a good leader, but she is a very, very bad standby observer.

Chloe and mari both value their freedom, they both don't like making too many compromises and they both prefer if things move according to their plan. So while chloe is quick to anger, marinette frets. They get into fights. Chloe uses insults as her weapon. Marinette launches into tirades or sasses her back.

The fights aren't frequent. Because both the girls do compromise to quite an extent; out of guilt, love, and empathy. But there are these other more frequent little squabbles between the two about little things.

One wanted a particular flower. The other can't afford a certain cafe. Marinette's morals, chloe's standards. Usually, marinette would bring chloe baked goods and chloe would give in.

All good, right? Well, everything keeps happening according to mari's wishes. Marinette rarely compromises on these. Rose accidentally points it out during a project one day.

It sort of breaks chloe when she realises. When she asks marinette, the girl points out she thinks it's because chloe realises she's wrong.

Chloe barely manages to keep her tears in check as she breaks up with marinette. Does mari still think she is better than chloe? Maybe. She goes straight home and locks herself in. After crying 2 days straight, she finds chat at her window. She can't tell him anything really. But the support is good enough.

When he realises she isn't in a position to answer his questions, he simply gets her into the bath, playfully swatting the water at her with his tail. He gets her a towel after about 30 mins, washes off all her running makeup, and wraps her up in it. Chloe sits, dripping water on her bed while chat rummages for a change of clothes.

He gets her one of her childhood favourites and begs her to change out of wet clothes. It takes chloe another half an hour to make it even with pollen's help. Chat dries her hair off and brushes it into a fancy updo. He recharges and takes chloe to a food joint, and gets take out that they have on the eiffel tower.

(Chloe doesn't speak but chat doesn't actually need her to. Afterall, lb has been out of it too. But he knows something now. Because he comforted marinette through a breakdown, he knows who his lady is, now. He doesn't tell the girls. They don't realise it through their pain either.)

When the girls start talking to each other again, months later, the pain and hurt remains. But they've both grown into better people. Sometimes, they still call each other bee and bug. Old habits do die hard.

#chlonette #the miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #chloe bourgeois #chloe redemption #they're idiots your honor #marinette is not perfect #the fandom keeps forgetting that #chat noir #chat noir is my baby #queen bee #miraculous ladybug #this still sets up for [md-c]lb x [aa]cn #do i want to set up that mari is also infact not straight?#yes.

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