Peacock Au Part 1
Okay so Big Huge credit to @stealingyourbones for letting me do my own take on their amazing eldritch Danny idea!!!! This started out as me just doing a drawing but then I ended up with a whole DPxDC fic that I'll be posting the part two for at some point!!! Anyway, here's the vague designs:
And here's the part one of the fic under the cut!!! :D
(Edit: Part 2 is Here!!)
There’s a Lazarus Pit forming underneath Gotham. Normally, this would not concern John Constantine at all, because it’s Gotham, therefore Bat territory therefore not his problem, and honestly he has his own things to worry about. Unfortunately for him, however, the infamous Dark Knight has somehow gotten it into his head that he can do something about it and, Hell, he’d said it would be a ‘big favour’, which meant the man really must be desperate; had to have been in the first place, he supposed, to have even bothered with John in the first place.
Still, he’d almost kind of forgotten what a huge mess any kind of favour for Batman could be, and thus, he now holds possession of a book that is probably going to get him killed.
Whether the actual book itself wants to kill him is up for debate, but Constantine has read the contents of this particular Book of Summonings and nothing in here seems remotely safe. He’s absolutely going to be hiding this away somewhere deep in the archives of the archives of the Justice League watchtower with an incredibly pointed ‘DO NOT TOUCH’ on it once he’s done with this, but for now, it’s the only thing he’s got in the way of sorting out this Pit problem.
There’s an entity that exists, this book claims, that keeps the balance between realms. ‘Closes doors’, apparently, and the doors the pages depict certainly look like a Lazarus Pit. This is brilliant news, obviously, but the book doesn’t describe the entity itself at all beyond that; barely any of the other entries are as vague as this, and that plus some of the frankly bizarre sigils he’s having to draw to summon the damn thing are giving him no comfort. The only remotely comforting thing about it is that the ritual doesn’t require any blood- which either means the entity is benign, or it wants something more valuable than blood.
…Okay, maybe not that comforting, actually.
But, before he can consider that maybe this wasn’t his best idea and backing out would be for the best, the sigils flare with light, and Constantine squints to keep track of the way they activate, desperate for any indication of what he’s managed to summon with that stupid book.
His feet feel feathery against the ground, like they’re barely tethered by gravity and just waiting to float away, and perhaps the seeming lack of atmosphere is fitting with how dust like stars lift from the summoning circle, bringing with them intercepting layers of purple-blue-pink-white, galaxies and nebulae being peeled off the floor. It comes with a sound- something whistling, almost. Seeming hollow, between a shriek and a bell ringing, or maybe more musical than that. It seems to change every moment he tries to focus on it, as if it’s something his ears can’t really hear but his brain is desperate to process, painful to try.
And then, the entity begins to form.
Unnoticeably at first, a white glow drifts forming in the centre. It congeals as Constantine’s gaze finally fixates on it, layers forming like jellyfish trails, or flowers, or peacock feathers with runic circles at the tips, fading smaller and smaller as they reach the centre, and a thing akin to a body unfolds into view at the front, a centrepiece. A child’s image of a shadow in opalescence, a strange curving feature where a neck might be, and searing-green spots of varying sizes scattered along the space where cheeks and eyes could’ve been, fading up and down across the lower-half of the ‘face’ and into the ‘hair’. He barely understands what he’s looking at, but maybe that’s the point.
The sound of a thunderstorm rings across the room, and the curve of the neck unfolds, and it’s an eye, and the tips of a thousand twisted, cosmic peacock feathers become eyes as well, if they weren’t always. They move, wavering, either lashing or flickering from visibility.
“And what is this?” The voice is a kaleidoscope, echoing off and from every corner of the room, and when they speak, infinite eyes become infinite mouths, too many teeth barely contained by the edges of what seem vaguely like frostbitten lips. To have something even remotely human suddenly etch itself onto the entity is somehow worse than the parts he can’t comprehend. “Who are you, to have summoned me, and seem so afraid?”
Constantine wishes, maybe for the first time, that it hadn’t been an obligation to do this alone; he’s never wanted Batman or one of the Light members with him more than now. It’s a difficult thing, almost impossible, to shake off the speechlessness. It’s a wonder that it’s possible at all, with how the room seems to have been twisted into a vacuum. “I was told you could- you could help with the pits?”
“The pits. There are many pits.”
God, this is creepy. “The Lazarus pits to, uh, to be specific. There’s a huge one cropping up under Gotham that’s not supposed to be there, and the local- I mean, the locals are getting antsy about it. …I heard you can take care of them.”
“I can smell its blood between the gaps of atmosphere, encircling. You, whose soul is bound in so many directions, who may be pulled apart like meat in time- can you sense it? Does it draw you?” John doesn’t know how this- this thing knows that, but he’s scared asking will invoke some kind of consequence, and more and more he’s wondering why the Hell he decided to do Batman this favour. He feels exposed.
“Uh… no, I don’t think so. But can you fix it?”
“Yes.”
“…Will you fix it?”
The chill is getting to him. Goosebumps are running across his arms like a livewire, and he’s never doing anyone a favour ever again. The entity makes an approximation of a hum, his ears shriek with whale song and stars, and after a pause, everything switching up and down on itself, the peacock eyes form into huge, reaching hands. For a second, Constantine’s whole body freezes with terror, because he’s petrified the thing’s going to grab him, but then the arms tumble phasing into the ground, and the green spots on their ‘face’ flare with a supernova glow and they make another piercing noise, chiming or trilling.
A long moment later, the hands slowly return to the entity’s back, and fade into the peacock feathers or jellyfish bells or whatever they were before, blinking at him. “It is gone.”
“Uh… cheers?”
“It will not return, but this place shall see its dead for some time. Try not to look.”
This is maybe the worst day of Constantine’s life. “Can I- uh, yeah, great advice. ‘Appreciate it. But, can I ask just, y’know, what you are? Or not.”
“That is up to you.” They say, and though the eyes that appear briefly between sentences bely or reveal no expression, it feels scrutinising. “What is it that closes doors? Is it alive?”
He hates riddles. He hates riddles and he hates cosmic horrors and he hates eldritch entities and he hates Batman for getting him to agree to this horrible favour. He wants to go back to the House of Mystery and pass out for long enough that this whole thing becomes a dream. “Fair enough! Forget I asked- cheers for sorting out that pit, though. Uh, don’t suppose you’ll just let me go on my way or anything now.”
“I know of your Bat.”
Oh dear. Constantine’s stomach sinks like a shipwreck into the Mariana Trench, but the entity moves on like they’d never even said it. “I will recede, and find you in time, perhaps both. You will know when I am coming, and I will find my recompense.”
And just like that, their whole form shimmers into clouds and pearls and smoke and mirrors, and they fade back into the runes that summoned them like tap water down the drain. The galaxies they’d formulated within the confines of the room fold back in on themselves and turn to whispers and then nothing, but the feeling persists on his skin long after weight has settled back onto his bones. He hadn’t known a thing like that existed until now. He doesn’t know what it can do, doesn’t know how all-encompassing it truly is.
And he owes it a favour.
Crap.
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one aspect of azula in the spirit temple i don't think i've seen anyone discuss (because it's largely conjecture) is the form the spirit takes when presenting itself as human to azula. back when book 2 of lok was airing, there were lots of theories circulating that azula had an unacknowledged cameo as the shaman who helped to heal korra in "beginnings." i've even commented on this theory in the past. now, while this hypothesis remained unconfirmed for years, it feels as if this comic is lending credence to that idea with its undeniable imagery. i think this comic is suggesting, however subtly, that the spirit is taking the form of azula's future self.
azula's hair is as crucial in this comic as it is throughout the show. it's been a while since her breakdown during sozin's comet, so her uneven bangs have grown to slightly below her eyes. the fact that she has done nothing to "fix" these loose strands recalls her introduction, wherein "one hair out of place" was enough to upset her for fear of not being perfect. through azula's disgrace, she has shed her perfectionism (born of ozai's abuse), but the state of her hair also illustrates how frazzled and disoriented she feels, and how in not caring about her own presentation here, just how debased she has been since her initial fall from grace.
now, notice who mirrors those overgrown strands of hair in their own presentation. the spirit reflects azula's inner turmoil, not only by projecting manifestations of her desires and anxieties, but externally as well. this spirit essentially functions as azula's mirror (shattered mirrors of course being a hugely significant symbol within azula's psychological landscape).
note who else is framed by these two loose strands of hair:
while this shaman in lok is hardly identical to the spirit's humanoid form in this comic, this crucial piece symbolism (retroactively employed, especially considering that the shaman's loose strands are smaller, perhaps indicating a calmer mindset if we extend the logic of what it signifies) feels like a deliberate allusion on the parts of the writers and illustrators of the comic. they clearly don't have the leeway to say what form azula's future will take (they can't even "redeem" her, since it could potentially interfere with avatar studio's plans for other projects down the line), but by addressing this largely baseless fan theory of yore, it feels like the comic is intimating that in the grand scheme of things, despite how abject her conditions (both external and internal) may be now, she's gonna turn out all right.
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"They found each other in the wreckage of optimism, and it took them a decade to decide that hope was not enough to save the Golden Branch from itself. It was in a library, not an armoury, where the Apostolosian became the sword and shield of Integrity, a Divine who’d lost its Candidate.
Some climb into their Divines, others deploy them across the battlefield, or fight under the blanket of their shadows. But Integrity demands intimacy. It digs into the flesh of the willing, all metal and promises and penetralia, desperate to create an unbreakable unity. It is afraid, and wounded, and it cannot know the power it gives without seeing it first in the reflection of a Candidate's eyes: the loft, the velocity, the violence. And for the first time in centuries, Integrity doesn’t fear its Candidate. It moves with confidence, in muscle and ambition. It believes in Sokrates Nikon Artemisios."
(COUNTER/Weight 22: A Broken Branch)
Great episode to get to after recent palisade happenings. I obviously remember the "Integrity demands intimacy" but there's so much other great stuff here.... "They found each other in the wreckage of optimism" is just incredible.
Edit: Noting the wording of " [...] the Apostolosian became the sword and shield of Integrity" because Integrity literally is both those things - they are the armor Sokrates wears and the weapon they wield - but it positions them here both as a protector of Integrity and someone Integrity acts through (divines & candidates!).
And I love that this gives Integrity pre-Sokrates interiority I had honestly completely forgotten about. "For the first time in centuries, Integrity doesn't fear it's candidate" A divine afraid(!) of what it can do together with it's candidate, the power it gives. And then what Austin describes in pal29 comes to mind, which is like, "if there was a time when Integrity was like, you know, 'Finally someone has come to help me get out of this situation.' That is not what's happening here." It's interesting because that phrasing of if not the current but a past state("that time has come and gone ")... it still sounds like fear a little bit. And that obviously isn't the case anymore (I don't feel like typing out this Austin quote but he said something about the notion of immortality & change that made me real happy. I love that shit) & I'm curious to learn more about this hopefully.
I love Integrity & while I don't think of it as "the good one", it's fate is important to me because is still one of the sickest divines (which is really saying a lot with like, Perennial and Motion et al. around).
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