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#art is how we connect with one another; it's how we survive these trials and help each other through
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Hey MAMArtist* KELLY CERVANTES!
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What are the ages of your child(ren), and where do you live?
Jackson, 11 + Adelaide, would be 8yo but passed away in 2019 days before her fourth birthday + Anessa, 4. We live in Maplewood, NJ.
How do you describe your art practice?
I am an writer and public speaker. I write shorter blog pieces and have published a book. I also speak at events and for various companies across the country.
Who is your artistic crush?
Author, Christie Tate (Group and BFF). She is a brilliant writer who tells it exactly as it is - I've never read such honest and real writing before finding her books. She also happens to be an incredibly generous person who helped me along the way without ever having met me. Bonus - she is also a mom!
What is a superpower Mother+Artists have?
Well, you can always rely on a mother to sh*t done, and that applies to her work as an artist as well. But perhaps even more powerful is our empathy. Never underestimate a mother+artist's ability to love and understand another human's trial and then turn that into relatable art for all to experience and learn from.
You have something exciting coming up! PLEASE SAY MORE ABOUT IT! I just published my first book, Normal Broken: The Grief Companion For When It's Time To Heal But You're Not Sure You Want To, and it is a USA Today bestseller! Following the death of my daughter Adelaide from a neurodegenerative disease just days before her fourth birthday, I felt irrevocably shattered by the loss. I was broken. Through connecting with others and myself through writing I learned that not only is grief not linear, but we all grieve differently. It took me years to want to heal, which was the impetus for writing Normal Broken, because every other grief book I picked up assumed I wanted to heal and I didn't. I thought grief meant letting go of my daughter, or moving on without her. What I would eventually learn is that healing actually meant remembering and moving forward with her. That I would never be the person I was again before she died and that's OK. I would always be broken, but that I could learn to be Normal Broken.
How did motherhood directly, indirectly, oppositionally or integrally influence this project? Having lost my daughter (and a pregnancy at 21 weeks), this book is integrally tied to being a mother. However, it was important to me to write a book that was accessible to people grieving all kinds of loss: be it a physical person, parent, spouse, friend - or grieving a dream, job, or person who is very much alive but no longer in our lives. Grief is grief is grief. Comparing our trials and losses serves no one. So yes, I lost my child and this book wouldn't exist without my daughter - without me being a mother - but that doesn't make my loss greater or less than anyone else's. 
What are you currently reading or listening to that is giving you thoughts, feelings and reactions?
I am currently reading Meghan Riordan Jarvis' End of The Hour, which is a stunningly beautiful memoir, and I am listening to Grief is Love by Marisa Renee Lee, which is exposing me to the ways culture and race can impact the way we grieve. So... lots of grief books, but mostly memoirs because I love learning as much as I can about the human experience.
Any message for Mother+Artists reading this?
I read something recently that spoke to how women often think that if they are able to accomplish something then it must have been easy. GIVE YOURSELF CREDIT FOR ALL YOU DO! Surviving as an artist is not easy, motherhood certainly isn't easy - combine the two of them and we should all be celebrating every achievement, no matter the perceived size, along the way. Take a dance break, pop the bubbly, announce it on social media, whatever you need to do to acknowledge and celebrate you! Because whatever it is you've done, it definitely wasn't easy.
BEST LINKS to find you and your work!
www.kellycervantes.com IG and Facebook: @kellygc411 Normal Broken is available everywhere books are sold! 
Photo credits: Top Row: Author photo by Justin Patterson Bottom Row: Kelly & Adelaide, photo by Jennifer Loomis; Book cover, Benbella Publishing
*Each month The MAMAs features a Mother+Artist and their work in the world. Thank you Kelly!
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andromeda3116 · 4 years
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So let's talk about the Lost Generation.
This is the generation that came of age during WWI and the 1918 flu pandemic. They witnessed their world collapse in the first war that spread around the globe, and they -- in retrospect, optimistically -- called it the "war to end all wars". And that war was a quagmire. The trenches on the Western Front were notoriously awful, unsanitary and cold and wet and teeming with sickness, and bloody battles were fought to gain or lose a few feet of territory, and all because a series of alliances caused one assassination in one unstable area to spiral into a brutal large-scale war fought on the ground by people who mostly had no personal stake in the outcomes and gained nothing from winning.
On some of the worst-hit battlefields, the land is still too toxic for plant growth.
And on the heels of this horrific war, a pandemic struck. It's often referred to as "the Spanish flu" because Spain was neutral in the war, and so was the first country to admit that their people were dropping like flies. By the time the warring countries were willing to face the disease, it was far too late to contain it.
Anywhere from 50 to 100 million people worldwide would die from it. 675,000 were in the US.
But once it was finally contained -- anywhere from a year to a year and a half later -- the 20s had begun, and they began roaring.
Hedonism abounded. Alcohol flowed like water in spite of Prohibition. Music and dance and art fluorished. It was the age of Dadaism, an artistic movement of surrealism, absurdism, and abstraction. Women's skirts rose and haircuts shortened in a flamboyant rejection of the social norms of the previous decades. It was a time of glitter and glamour and jazz and flash, and (save for the art that was made) it was mostly skin deep.
Everyone stumbled out of the war and pandemic desperate to forget the horrific things they'd seen and done and all that they'd lost, and lost for nothing.
Reality seemed so pointless. It's not a coincidence that the two codifiers of the fantasy genre -- J.R.R. Tolkein and C.S. Lewis -- both fought in WWI. In fact, they were school friends before the war, and were the only two of their group to return home. Tolkein wanted to rewrite the history of Europe, while Lewis wanted to rebuild faith in the escape from the world.
(There's a reason Frodo goes into the West: physically, he returned to the Shire, but mentally, he never came back from Mordor, and he couldn't live his whole life there. There's a reason three of the Pevensies can never let go of Narnia: in Narnia, unlike reality, the things they did and fought for and believed in actually mattered, were actually worth the price they paid.)
It's also no coincidence that many of the famous artists of the time either killed themselves outright or let their vices do them in. The 20s roared both in spite of and because of the despair of the Lost Generation.
It was also the era of the Harlem Renaissance, which came to the feelings of alienation and disillusionment from a different direction: there was a large migration of Black people from the South, many of whom moved to the Harlem neighborhood of New York City. Obviously, the sense of alienation wasn't new to Black people in America, but the cultural shift allowed for them to publicly express it in the arts and literature in ways that hadn't been open to them before.
There was also horrific -- and state-sanctioned -- violence perpetrated against Black communities in this time, furthering the anger and despair and sense that society had not only failed them but had never even given them a chance. The term at the time was shell-shock, but now we know it as PTSD, and the vast majority of the people who came of age between 1910 and 1920 suffered from it, from one source or another.
It was an entire generation of trauma, and then the stock market crashed in 1929. Helpless, angry, impotent in the face of all that had seemingly destroyed the world for them, on the verge of utter despair, it was also a generation vulnerable to despotism. In the wake of all this chaos -- god, please, someone just take control of all this mess and set it right.
Sometimes the person who took over was decent and played by the rules and at least attempted to do the right thing. Other times, they were self-serving and hateful and committed to subjugating anyone who didn't fit their mold.
There are a lot of parallels to now, but we have something they didn't, and that's the fact that they did it first.
We know what their mistakes and sins were. We have the gift of history to see the whole picture and what worked and what failed. We as a species have walked this road before, and we weren't any happier or stronger or smarter about it the first time.
I think I want to reiterate that point: the Lost Generation were no stronger or weaker than Millennials and Gen Z are today. Plenty of both have risen up and fought back, and plenty have stumbled and been crushed under the weight. Plenty have been horribly abused by the people who were supposed to lead them, and plenty have done the abusing. Plenty of great art has been made by both, and plenty of it is escapist fantasy or scathing criticism or inspiring optimism or despairing pessimism.
We find humor in much the same things, because when reality is a mess, both the absurd and the self-deprecating become hilarious in comparison. There's a reason modern audiences don't find Seinfeld as funny as Gen X does, and many older audiences find modern comedy impenetrable and baffling -- they're different kinds of humor from different realities.
I think my point accumulates into this: in spite of how awful and hopeless and pointless everything feels, we do have a guide. We've been through this before, as a culture, and even though all of them are gone now, we have their words and art and memory to help us. We know now what they didn't then: there is a future.
The path forward is a hard one, and the only thing that makes it easier is human connection. Art -- in the most base sense, anything that is an expression of emotion and thought into a medium that allows it to be shared -- is the best and most enduring vehicle for that connection, to reach not just loved ones but people a thousand miles or a hundred years away.
So don't bottle it up. Don't pretend to be okay when you're not. Paint it, sculpt it, write it, play it, sing it, scream it, hell, you can even meme it out into the void. Whatever it takes to reach someone else -- not just for yourself but for others, both present and future.
Because, to quote the inimitable Terry Pratchett, "in a hundred years we'll all be dead, but here and now, we are alive."
#politics#us politics#optimism#history#humanism#gnu terry pratchett#(i suppose. i do think that i wouldn't be able to think of this in this way without - for example - having read small gods.)#which also sort of illustrates the point? i mean sir terry has been dead five years but his words live on to inspire even now#i've gotten a lot of humbling responses to 'such selfish prayers' that echo that sort of sentiment - and more recently - that just reiterate#to me how important art is in connecting to others#i mean.... i wrote that fic four years ago when i was myself going through a tough time and it may seem like i Had I Together but really#i was writing out what i desperately needed to hear; what i wanted to be told#that's why it is on occasion a little... unfair to aang perhaps (although i think that's more in the writing than the intent)#i was dealing with the end of that kind of relationship - where he wasn't evil and it wasn't bad but we were just *wrong* for one another#and he wanted to get back together and i may even have said to a friend at the time what katara does to iroh about 'i thought he was ready#to be frienda again. *i* was ready to be friends again.'#and especially the last chapter was me writing out what i needed to believe. i distinctly recall thinking 'maybe this is too idealistic.'#before deciding that if ever there was a time for ideals it was that moment. i *needed* the ideals. i *needed* that katara.#and that's clearly resonated with a lot of people and that makes my heart so full i don't even know how to respond#art is how we connect with one another; it's how we survive these trials and help each other through#art is always valuable if only for its sake#i'm trying so hard to get into writing again but mostly what i've been finishing is essays like this. and i suppose that's enough for now#but i need to create again; to express. i have this scream swelling in my chest and it needs to get out and be heard.
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redjaybathood · 3 years
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I kinda want Jason's relations with the all caste to be brought up more often y'know?
Yeah, for sure. A guy has magic swords and doesn't use them? Weak, boring, let's change that.
Especially if you make him go fight zombies. A flaming sword can both decapitate and burn zombies, which is traditionally the best ways to fight them.
Plus, All Acres have literal portal in any dimension, any timeline! How much fun you can have with that, huh?
Jason was an interuniversal traveler once, during Crisis on Infinite Earths. You can stipulate that he was chosen by Bob for a simple reason that he has experience with that. Maybe a part of his trials was doing exactly that!
It could be another Lost Days esque story, or Red Hood year zero, if you will. Any universe you as a writer want to explore, here's your chance. The genderswitch Earth, the middle ages, the crossover with Marvel again, the no powers verse... I don't know what are you into, but go wild.
Another way that would be interesting to me to explore his connection with All Caste is a cultivation novel. Xianxia is a great genre, and I don't know if it's possible to hire a Chinese author for a project like that, but if yes, that would be great.
I wouldn't make Jason the main character in All Caste centric story though, since Essence is right here. Maybe he could be a love interest.
Because as much as I love the possibilities that All Caste opens, the Chosen One story isn't exactly what I am looking for here; tbh, I find it a little more like Danny Rand's Iron Fist story? A white guy appears in Tibetan mountains, martial arts sect takes him in, he becomes the best fighter or in other ways the most important figure. In our case, Jason has a prophecy about him, and he frequently ends up being the only survivor of the sect, except Essence and Sar'u, whose survival is revealed later.
So I don't know if it will work, but I feel like it could, if you don't make Jason the major character. The prophecy? Isn't about him, it's mistakenly interpreted. The journey? Is Essence's. Who has to face what does she want, to succeed her mother as she always supposed to do before Jason showed up. Or to maybe leave the All Caste entirely, as Jason's appearance makes it clear that there's more to life.
And another thing: making Jason a love interest instead of the main character could help writers to display some of his best qualities, which are often forgotten nowadays. His compassion and empathy, his charm and sense of humor.
And another thing: yet again, we're shown that Essence is his ex but not the relationship itself. It's like it's just a formality: yeah, wherever he goes, Jason always gets his girl. Which, ugh. I dunno, show Jason be smitten with a woman who can run circles around him in terms of martial arts, and slowly capture her heart by showing her his own. Emotional vulnerability plus Jason Todd worshipping women as God intended!
Another thing: we get a lot of 'ancient and powerful male entity falls in love with a young and naive mortal girl' in the media, but where's the other way around? Huh? Here it is, I am telling you.
Wow. I didn't expect to feel so strongly about this ship. It is very frustrating in canon but, I think, if you put some thought into it and a little of elbow grease, you could wipe most of these frustrations away!
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This is the Beat of My Heart
happy very early birthday to @jaskierswolf​! have some soulmates.
new soulmate mechanic: you can hear your beloved’s heartbeat whenever you feel frightened
art by the always-talented @mawbwehownets​
tw: mentions of the Trials, canon typical violence but it’s just the cave scene from Posada/Four Marks, minor emotional Geralt whump (self loathing witcher feelings), hurt/comfort with a very fluffy ending
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Geralt’s fingers curl painfully into the tops of his legs. He’s trying to hold himself down against the rough-hewn seat of the tavern bench with all his mighty strength; there’s an irritating sound filling the small room that has activated his fight or flight response, and he can’t do either without drawing suspicion from the already antsy villagers. The haunting rhythm echoes through him, a soft but insistent thud thud thud that floods his senses and soothes his aching head. The sound is more familiar to the witcher than his own gruff voice. More familiar than his brothers’ voices, or Vesemir’s. This staccato beat has marked out every terrifying moment in the witcher’s long life.
The sound that pounds against Geralt’s ears is his soulmate’s heartbeat.
The poor, ignorant fool he’s meant to match in every way is wandering around this shit-hole tavern in Posada, totally unaware of the sad, unsavory fate that Destiny has bestowed upon them. Geralt never thought this day would come, really. Being bound to a witcher was bad enough but being in the same room with one, feeling the subtle pull of forces far beyond your control meddling with your life… drawing you towards danger and death...
It will be better for both of us if I leave as soon as possible, Geralt thinks to himself. He takes a quick inventory of his purse and swords and finds them all accounted for. At least I can spare them the tragic end they’d no doubt meet at a witcher’s side. They would likely hate me if I ever sought them out.
They must be terrified of him, whichever one of these people Destiny has saddled with the other half of Geralt’s soul. They’ve heard his heartbeat, too, in their moments of fear. As well as Geralt knows his soulmate’s giddy, fluttering pulse pattern, they have lived with his slow mutant heartbeat in return. Were they even more frightened when they heard how slow it was? Did the connection serve its purpose, calming them down and reassuring them of his presence, or had it made things worse, elevated their level of terror? How cruel it was for Destiny to chain this person to a living firebrand, to create them to be the perfect other half for someone who’s no more than a monster.
That heartbeat, vibrant and steadfast, is what had kept Geralt alive and fighting for survival during the worst of his Trials. When the poisons and tinctures and potions had crawled through his veins, turning them from black to red to black again and twisting his body into something other, that glorious beating had been there for him. The sound of his soulmate’s fragile mortal heart had measured out the seconds, giving him something to cling onto. That heartbeat had given Geralt something to love. To hope for in his worst moments. When they had dragged him back into those dark, musty rooms, seventeen and screaming with what little was left of his voice, all Geralt could do was pray for his future soulmate’s heartbeat to return to him. To comfort him.
In the relentless pain and terror of those added experiments, Geralt had kept that sound buried deep within his very being, like a candle in the center of a pitch-black room. Even when they said the Trials would take his emotions from him, that the additional testing would obliterate his humanity entirely, the sound of a stranger’s heartbeat never failed to stir the strongest feelings of love and safety he’d ever known.
Can ever know, perhaps.
Regardless of what might have been in another lifetime, Geralt keeps his fingers clenched and his muscles taut. He focuses all his energy on keeping himself sitting. He would have been content to stay there in the corner, his eyes trained on the grain of the worn wooden table before him, ignoring Destiny’s desires entirely… except…
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Except for the damned bard. The novice bard swans his way over to the witcher’s corner table, lashes fluttering and face flushed. Geralt catches a faint whiff of arousal and writes it off as a boyish reaction to the rush of performing. The young brunette opens his mouth and the sweetest voice Geralt has ever heard playfully says: “I love the way you just… sit in the corner and brood.”
“I’m here to drink alone,” the witcher grunts. He can practically feel his fingernails biting through the leather of his gloves. The heartbeat is louder now, closer, and it’s driving Geralt mad.
“Good,” the bard nods, still leaning against a support beam. “Yeah, good. Nobody else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance except-” he takes a slow step forward “-for you.”
The bard is probably barely old enough to order his own vodka, and the bright, sparkling blue of his eyes makes the deeper blue of his doublet look incredibly washed out. Geralt tries to keep his face impassive, rolling his eyes and remaining silent. He’s still thinking about his soulmate… trying to block out the rapid thrumming of their all-too-human heart.
“C’mon,” the brunette urges. “You don’t want to keep a man with… bread in his pants waiting. You must have some review for me; three words or less!”
Geralt hears his soulmate’s heartbeat growing louder, more irregular and more excited, regardless of his efforts to ignore the hurried drumming. The scent of happiness grows thick and hazy in the air as the bard continues to grin and Geralt realizes, with a tiny jolt of horror, that the origin of the life-altering sound is sitting directly across from him. Geralt matches the rabbit-quick jumps at the junctures of the bard’s wrists to the soft rhythm thumping at the back of his head and finds them to be a perfect match.
It’s you, the witcher thinks, eyes widening slightly against his will. He takes a moment to tamp down his more obvious emotions, trying desperately keeping his expression neutral and under control. The bard is the one whose heartbeat kept me breathing in my very worst moments. Kept me fighting. Kept me…
Geralt suddenly remembers that he needs to answer a question: “They don’t exist.”
“What don’t exist?” the bard asks, eyebrows furrowing. The expression is halfway between a pout and an offended grimace, which infuriatingly verges on being adorable. Geralt’s heart lurches traitorously in his chest. He has never known such horrible yearning in all his many decades on the Path.
“The creatures in your song.”
“Why would you know?” the bard scoffs. Geralt prepares to stand, finally releasing his death-grip on his own legs. His fingers and palms are cramped and tight from holding himself still for so long; the bard is really testing his patience. The witcher is less than two seconds away from revealing the big secret and ruining both of their lives when the young man continues, eyes shining, “Ooooh, fun! White hair, big old loner, two very very scary looking swords…”
Geralt stands from the table and collects his purse.
The bard glances up at him, blue eyes wondrously wide and cheeks flushed pink.
“I know who you are,” he practically breathes. He stands, following Geralt halfway out the door. “You’re the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia!”
Geralt’s fists clench again. The retraction of his muscles keeps him from grabbing the foolish human by the collar and dragging him from the room for a proper chat about manners and soulmates. Thankfully. As the disoriented witcher hurries from the tavern’s main room, he hears the bard shouting after him: “Called it!”
---
Geralt snaps back into consciousness with a grunt. As frustration and fear weave themselves into a web of anxiety at the center of his chest, that soft thud thud thudding fills his ears. It soothes him and helps him focus; he is in a cave, it is midday or a little past, and the bard, Jaskier apparently, has been bound against him, back-to-back. He tugs at the ropes that bind their wrists again but it does no good. Behind him, the bard says quietly: “This is the part where we escape.”
Geralt fears for his soulmate’s wellbeing more than his own. He’s technically responsible for this stupid, fragile person who refused to stay behind despite his warnings. He lowers his voice, “This is the part where they kill us.”
“Unfortunate,” the bard sighs. The witcher listens, confused and a bit shocked, as Jaskier slowly starts to even out his breathing by matching his inhales and exhales to Geralt’s slow, methodical heartbeat.
“How can you hear it?” he asks without thinking.
“Hear what?” Jaskier replies, whispering.
“Your breathing,” Geralt says, as if it’s obvious. “You’re matching it to my… to my heartbeat. You don’t have a witcher’s enhanced hearing so how are you matching the rhythm so perfectly?”
“I was matching it to-”
Their conversation ends abruptly as an angry elven woman storms into the cave. She kicks at them furiously, spitting in the Elder tongue, “Beast!”
“Quick, Geralt!” the bard urges, “Do your witchering!”
“Shut up!”
“No!”
The woman doles out more swift kicks to the chest. One for Geralt and one for Jaskier. More muttering in Elder, insults that even the bard manages to understand and toss around. Geralt grimaces as he’s beaten by Toruviel and hears the thudding even louder than before. The witcher smiles when he notices that he can feel Jaskier’s heartbeat against his back, pulsing through the thin material of the bard’s light woolen doublet. It’s so much more intense, close up like this.
“Leave off! He’s just a bard.”
He’s so much more than that, Geralt’s own thoughts remind him. He’s everything to you.
A wave of urgent protectiveness swells within him and Geralt diverts the attention of the Elf King away from the foolish human, whose mouth has run away with him. Eventually Filavandrel tires of their chatter and pulls his short blade. The Silvan rushes forward, arms outstretched to stop his sovereign, “Wait!”
“Torque! Stand aside!”
“The witcher could have killed me,” Torque rushes to explain. “But he didn’t. He’s different, like us!”
Geralt watches with mild trepidation as the battle-hardened King pushes his subject aside, fury blazing in his clear blue eyes. He understands that this may be his final day alive. He wishes that Jaskier would have listened before and stayed at the tavern below. He wishes, with what may be his final moments alive, that Jaskier were safe and not bound to him this way. Literally and figuratively.
“If you must kill me, I am ready,” Geralt intones. “But the Sylvan is right… don’t call me human.”
The witcher tilts his head back, eyes open but unseeing, his entire being focused on the feeling of Jaskier’s racing heartbeat thudding against the back of his leather armor. The killing blow never comes. Instead, Filavandrel cuts the ropes that bind their wrists; Geralt ignores his initial instinct to check Jaskier for injuries and instead ushers the bard onto his feet and towards the mouth of the cave. “Wait!”
The witcher freezes in his tracks and glances back over his shoulder. Filavandrel holds out a gorgeously crafted lute with a beautiful gold design painted across the front. “My apologies for the loss of your instrument.”
“Your Majesty,” Jaskier gasps. “I couldn’t. You’ve already lost so much.”
“Then promise me to do right by him,” the elf nods at Geralt. “And consider it payment.”
“I swear it,” Jaskier nods, tone serious and face grim. Filavandrel lets his eyes flicker between the two unlikely companions and Geralt prays that the Elf won’t say anything out loud, if he indeed understands the bond between them.
“Be on your way, then, before I change my mind.”
Filavandrel winks conspiratorially and disappears back into the shadow of the caves. Jaskier pulls the lute strap over his shoulder and beckons for Geralt to follow him. “Your horse is probably worried.”
---
It takes nearly six months for Geralt to break down and tell Jaskier the truth about their seemingly uncanny partnership. If it weren’t for the rapid approach of harsher winter weather, he probably never would have said anything at all.
But on one particularly frosty evening, two weeks after Samhain, the witcher sits Jaskier down beside their fire and tries to remember how to speak from his heart. The bard is patient, warming his hands over the flames and waiting for Geralt to gather his words. Jaskier has never rushed him, and for that Geralt is eternally grateful. Taking a hint from his companion’s hunched shoulders, Jaskier speaks first. “What’s on your mind, my dearest White Wolf?”
“I… I have to tell you something and I don’t want you to be angry.”
“Did you spill ink on my new doublet?” Jaskier teases. “Because if you have, I promise to be very cross with you.”
“Hmm,” Geralt half-smiles. He’s terrified, and he can hear Jaskier’s heartbeat surrounding him from all sides. “No, I’m afraid it’s more complicated than replacing a doublet.”
“Oh, is this about us being soulmates?”
Geralt’s eyes snap up to meet Jaskier’s and his mouth drops open. “Wha-? When did you- When di-”
“You said it in your sleep maybe two weeks after we first met,” Jaskier explains quietly, like he’s the one who’s been holding back a secret all this time. He blushes furiously as he tries to apologize and extrapolate all at once, “I thought you were just muttering to yourself, really, or I would have woken you up! I swear! You were just…”
Now it’s Geralt’s turn to wait as Jaskier fumbles to speak.
“You hadn’t been resting well and I didn’t want to wake you up. You looked so happy and content that night, with your hair all loose and the moon so bright…” he shakes his head and giggles nervously, “Anyway, not important. You rolled over and reached for me. You chuckled a little between snores and said A bard for a soulmate, how lovely. It sounded happy, when you said it like that.”
“Was that… the only time?”
“No,” Jaskier smiles. He pulls his knees against his chest and rests his chin atop them, “You reach for me all the time in your dreams. Sometimes you say my name or call me soulmate or beloved. It’s rather sweet and I-” tears brim in his eyes and Geralt’s heart skips a beat “-I know that witchers don’t feel things the same way humans do. I didn’t want to get my hopes up and then-”
“I love you,” Geralt says. He takes Jaskier by the hands before he can stop himself and pulls the pale knuckles against his lips for a soft kiss. “You… You have saved my life so many times.”
“Geralt!”
“I mean it,” the witcher nods. “I know that the Path is treacherous, and I wouldn’t ask you to join me on it and risk your life, but I do love you and care about you. Ever since I was young I have marked my steps by the beat of your heart. I would be happy continuing to do so, whether or not you accept me in return.”
“Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier sob-laughs, flinging himself into the witcher’s embrace. Geralt falls backward, shocked, his arms full of emotional bard. His face is peppered with kisses between hurried words: “I love you, too! I thought you didn’t want me that way. I thought it was just… a witcher mutation thing.”
“Come with me to Kaer Morhen for the winter, Julek. You can learn more about my kind; you can meet my brothers and the old swordmaster for the Wolf School, my adopted father of sorts. We’ll protect you and I-” Geralt clears his throat. “I will hold you every night in my arms, if you so desire.”
“I would like it very much if you were to hold me,” Jaskier grins. “And of course I'll come with you to your witchery keep for the cold months, dear heart. I’ll never part from your side again.”
Geralt presses a firm kiss to Jaskier's forehead, their heartbeats echoing faintly in the witcher's trained ears. Something in his chest settles into place, contented at last. He presses another, even gentler kiss to the bard's chapped lips and feels his heart swell when Jaskier smiles into it. He breathes out his promise as they pull apart, "Never."
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thestarbornpilgrim · 3 years
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Okay Okay
You all want my full theory, so as a good blogger I will provide. Tell me if I run off course. And no one tag me with the timeline, I am well aware of the the timeline. What I am theorizing does fit into the timeline. So lets begin.
So we are aware of the Megabird. God, or creator, call them what you will. A creature of light. It gifted the light to the first of its creation, is also aware that the promised land was a lot easier to get through and the only way to be reborn, as mentioned in the first part of the timeline.
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But we are also aware that at one point, immortality or god-like power was reserved only for the elders and that for those who could not make it through the promised land, death was final. This is noted in the time during the “Dark Stone Era.”
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And name one player who hasn't at least heard of the king and the prince. Now all this is connected, so bear with me.
Assuming my theory is correct when you are reborn, you are reborn as a youth, no matter what age you go through. It seems as though the Ancients didn't migrate to the promised land to be reborn until they age. (See image below) For the sake of theory, in the beginning, that was part of their life cycle ritual. You grew old, and if you aged, you were granted access to rebirth through the promise land door. However, if you died before your time, you were not reborn. Pretty simple.Now, you have the prince who seems to have survived several centuries without aging, but their is no mention of him being reborn. Judging by the images as well, you aren’t allowed to be reborn and yet he has not changed. Meanwhile the ancestors are aged, tall and grown, perhaps ready to Migrate. 
The Elders then take their place at each of the realms. Including the prince, who is granted a throne in Eden as king. 
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Proof that the prince is one of the elders is in some of the concept art as well. (Look at baby princy)
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As we know from the timeline, Megabird has created a balance, a chance for people to live their lives, have children, grow and share, and yes, even die. They are eventually reborn to start a new life. And judging by this culture, as well as many other cultures who share reincarnation beliefs, you may have been reborn as animals and plants too. So keep that in mind. This what I meant by Megabird; sure, they may not be perfect. But they seem to be an entity of balance, fairness, and wisdom. 
Mind you, there isn't flight during this time either, at least not by their own power. All the traveling is done one foot, and as the creators mentioned and revealed, there are and perhaps are even more villages in this world. Meaning people settled, people ate, people lived. 
Okay, how we doing? Still here? GREAT!Let’s keep going!
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Now to why the elders may be broken, and yes even dead. The Elders are obsessed with immortality find a way to cheat it, giving themself godlike powers.  Unlike what is believed to be in the timeline, I believe the Elders came before and corrupted the king. 
So why.
Because they thought they had the right to. It’s mentioned that the Elders think they better then Megabird, separating themselves from its worship.
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Note how all the Elders match the above colors, not only in death but even in life. When shown in nonspirit form, it is revealed that all of them match the dark opposing colors of the light. Aka Megabird. Often in myths, legendary characters are torn down by their hubris, which isn’t surprising as they considered themselves “Godly” with the dark stones. But it’s a little more than that.
There is another color, rarely mentioned and rarely even seen throughout the game. Red
Red seems to represent anger and aggression. And it is well noted that Eden has gone beyond corruption. It is swarming with dangers, including red crystals that suck up your light and the red beams of the Krill or Dragons that eat your light.
The king (Once Prince) Became furious, angry. Why? Well, remember those trials last season? And remember Anubis? And remember how I mentioned that if you died before your time, it was pretty much final? 
Anyone who has gone through the trials knows the mural. They know the mural and the prince featured at the end, but they must also remember this:
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(Credit here X) Notice the blue bodies, the ones not moving? Remember how Anubis is the god of burial? What if the prince went through the trials and several of his friends and instead of coming out with them, he came out... alone. Coming out of the trials he is crowned the soul king of Eden, and the corruption begins.
As mentioned in the timeline, the Dark Stones Corrupt. The prince wearing the dark stones as a child is more easily corrupted. The colors are a huge signifier of what side the people are on, which is mentioned in the concept art as well.
The prince, realizing that death is final, facing unspeakable dangers is broken. His innocents shattered and making him even more susceptible to the dark stone. The trials are nothing more than a haunting nightmare. One he can't rid himself.
Infuriated, and broken hearted he goes to find answers, traveling to the realms, angrily destroying that which keeps the elders alive as each of them refuses his wishes. They selfishly hoard their immortality while realizing that the children would die in horrific ways. For what?  Finally, reaching the priest in the Vaults. 
It is mentioned to be a place of hope of wisdom and, of course, kept secrets. He fights with her, trying to find a way to bring back his friends, but she refused to delve into the secret. Perhaps knowing that if he does, it could tip the balance further, destroy her, destroy the elders, who are already suffering due to their broken dark stones. He doesn't accept her answer or forced calm. Instead taking the information by force. Eden is his realm, and soon after leaving the vault, it becomes as corrupted and as inhospitable as him. 
He is trying to bring back his friends; he will get them. But in the process, he tips it too far. Destroying Eden and all the people who are there. Killing all current life and plunging the promised land and the world into silence except for the monsters corrupted and stirring.
Megabird was horrified by this and his attempt. The prince has destroyed the cycle of life and death, leaving an empty world with its most loved creatures gone. Yes, the prince gets his wish, his friends returned to life... in their own way.
As memoryless, motionless, winged lights.
The Megabird then creates a new creature, with the cycle broken and the world in chaos. The only way to bring balance is to create creatures who can collect and remind their past spirits and send them home. The curse of the winged lights is now used to fuel the new creation of their world. While the Elders, including the prince himself, are cursed to relive the last moments of their mistakes over and over again. An echo, a mere shadow of their former grandeur. The prince is trapped within the eye of his anger and corruption, afraid, lost, and eternal.
This leads to the final section of the game, the area where you embrace the light. Huddling and alone in the dark, hesitant at your offer to accept them. And yet another winged light. Giving his light to you and all who visit as eternal retribution for his mistake.
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And Cut!
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sciencespies · 2 years
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The Sex Education Pamphlet That Sparked a Landmark Censorship Case
https://sciencespies.com/history/the-sex-education-pamphlet-that-sparked-a-landmark-censorship-case/
The Sex Education Pamphlet That Sparked a Landmark Censorship Case
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Mary Ware Dennett wrote The Sex Side of Life in 1915 as a teaching tool for her teenage sons. Photo illustration by Meilan Solly / Photos courtesy of Sharon Spaulding and Newspapers.com
It only took 42 minutes for an all-male jury to convict Mary Ware Dennett. Her crime? Sending a sex education pamphlet through the mail.
Charged with violating the Comstock Act of 1873—one of a series of so-called chastity laws—Dennett, a reproductive rights activist, had written and illustrated the booklet in question for her own teenage sons, as well as for parents around the country looking for a new way to teach their children about sex.
Lawyer Morris Ernst filed an appeal, setting in motion a federal court case that signaled the beginning of the end of the country’s obscenity laws. The pair’s victory marked the zenith of Dennett’s life work, building on her previous efforts to publicize and increase access to contraception and sex education. (Prior to the trial, she was best known as the more conservative rival of Margaret Sanger, founder of Planned Parenthood.) Today, however, United States v. Dennett and its defendant are relatively unknown.
“One of the reasons the Dennett case hasn’t gotten the attention that it deserves is simply because it was an incremental victory, but one that took the crucial first step,” says Laura Weinrib, a constitutional historian and law scholar at Harvard University. “First steps are often overlooked. We tend to look at the culmination and miss the progression that got us there.”
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Dennett wrote the offending pamphlet (in blue) for her two sons.  
Sharon Spaulding / Dennett Family Archive
Dennett wrote the pamphlet in question, The Sex Side of Life: An Explanation for Young People, in 1915. Illustrated with anatomically correct drawings, it provided factual information, offered a discussion of human physiology and celebrated sex as a natural human act.
“[G]ive them the facts,” noted Dennett in the text, “… but also give them some conception of sex life as a vivifying joy, as a vital art, as a thing to be studied and developed with reverence for its big meaning, with understanding of its far-reaching reactions, psychologically and spiritually.”
After Dennett’s 14-year-old son approved the booklet, she circulated it among friends who, in turn, shared it with others. Eventually, The Sex Side of Life landed on the desk of editor Victor Robinson, who published it in his Medical Review of Reviewsin 1918. Calling the pamphlet “a splendid contribution,” Robinson added, “We know nothing that equals Mrs. Dennett’s brochure.” Dennett, for her part, received so many requests for copies that she had the booklet reprinted and began selling it for a quarter to anyone who wrote to her asking for one.
These transactions flew in the face of the Comstock Laws, federal and local anti-obscenity legislation that equated birth control with pornography and rendered all devices and information for the prevention of conception illegal. Doctors couldn’t discuss contraception with their patients, nor could parents discuss it with their children.
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Dennett as a young woman
Sharon Spaulding / Dennett Family Archive
The Sex Side of Life offered no actionable advice regarding birth control. As Dennett acknowledged in the brochure, “At present, unfortunately, it is against the law to give people information as to how to manage their sex relations so that no baby will be created.” But the Comstock Act also stated that any printed material deemed “obscene, lewd or lascivious”—labels that could be applied to the illustrated pamphlet—was “non-mailable.” First-time offenders faced up to five years in prison or a maximum fine of $5,000.
In the same year that Dennett first wrote the brochure, she co-founded the National Birth Control League (NBCL), the first organization of its kind. The group’s goal was to change obscenity laws at a state level and unshackle the subject of sex from Victorian morality and misinformation.
By 1919, Dennett had adopted a new approach to the fight for women’s rights. A former secretary for state and national suffrage associations, she borrowed a page from the suffrage movement, tackling the issue on the federal level rather than state-by-state. She resigned from the NBCL and founded the Voluntary Parenthood League, whose mission was to pass legislation in Congress that would remove the words “preventing conception” from federal statutes, thereby uncoupling birth control from pornography.
Dennett soon found that the topic of sex education and contraception was too controversial for elected officials. Her lobbying efforts proved unsuccessful, so in 1921, she again changed tactics. Though the Comstock Laws prohibited the dissemination of obscene materials through the mail, they granted the postmaster general the power to determine what constituted obscenity. Dennett reasoned that if the Post Office lifted its ban on birth control materials, activists would win a partial victory and be able to offer widespread access to information.
Postmaster General William Hays, who had publicly stated that the Post Office should not function as a censorship organization, emerged as a potential ally. But Hays resigned his post in January 1922 without taking action. (Ironically, Hays later established what became known as the Hays Code, a set of self-imposed restrictions on profanity, sex and morality in the motion picture industry.) Dennett had hoped that the incoming postmaster general, Hubert Work, would fulfill his predecessor’s commitments. Instead, one of Work’s first official actions was to order copies of the Comstock Laws prominently displayed in every post office across America. He then declared The Sex Side of Life “unmailable” and “indecent.”
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Mary Ware Dennett, pictured in the 1940s
Dennett Family Archive
Undaunted, Dennett redoubled her lobbying efforts in Congress and began pushing to have the postal ban on her booklet removed. She wrote to Work, pressing him to identify which section was obscene, but no response ever arrived. Dennett also asked Arthur Hays, chief counsel of the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU), to challenge the ban in court. In letters preserved at Radcliffe College’s Schlesinger Library, Dennett argued that her booklet provided scientific and factual information. Though sympathetic, Hays declined, believing that the ACLU couldn’t win the case.
By 1925, Dennett—discouraged, broke and in poor health—had conceded defeat regarding her legislative efforts and semi-retired. But she couldn’t let the issue go entirely. She continued to mail The Sex Side of Life to those who requested copies and, in 1926, published a book titled Birth Control Laws: Shall We Keep Them, Change Them, or Abolish Them?
Publicly, Dennett’s mission was to make information about birth control legal; privately, however, her motivation was to protect other women from the physical and emotional suffering she had endured.
The activist wed in 1900 and gave birth to three children, two of whom survived, within five years. Although the specifics of her medical condition are unknown, she likely suffered from lacerations of the uterus or fistulas, which are sometimes caused by childbirth and can be life-threatening if one becomes pregnant again.
Without access to contraceptives, Dennett faced a terrible choice: refrain from sexual intercourse or risk death if she conceived. Within two years, her husband had left her for another woman.
Dennett obtained custody of her children, but her abandonment and lack of access to birth control continued to haunt her. Eventually, these experiences led her to conclude that winning the vote was only one step on the path to equality. Women, she believed, deserved more.
In 1928, Dennett again reached out to the ACLU, this time to lawyer Ernst, who agreed to challenge the postal ban on the Sex Side of Life in court. Dennett understood the risks and possible consequences to her reputation and privacy, but she declared herself ready to “take the gamble and be game.” As she knew from press coverage of her separation and divorce, newspaper headlines and stories could be sensational, even salacious. (The story was considered scandalous because Dennett’s husband wanted to leave her to form a commune with another family.)
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Dennett cofounded the National Birth Control League, the first organization of its kind in the U.S., in 1915. Three years later, she launched the Voluntary Parenthood League, which lobbied Congress to change federal obscenity laws.
Sharon Spaulding / Dennett Family Archive
“Dennett believed that anyone who needed contraception should get it without undue burden or expense, without moralizing or gatekeeping by the medical establishment,” says Stephanie Gorton, author of Citizen Reporters: S.S. McClure, Ida Tarbell and the Magazine That Rewrote America. “Though she wasn’t fond of publicity, she was willing to endure a federal obscenity trial so the next generation could have accurate sex education—and learn the facts of life without connecting them with shame or disgust.”
In January 1929, before Ernst had finalized his legal strategy, Dennett was indicted by the government. Almost overnight, the trial became national news, buoyed by The Sex Side of Life’s earlier endorsement by medical organizations, parents’ groups, colleges and churches. The case accomplished a significant piece of what Dennett had worked 15 years to achieve: Sex, censorship and reproductive rights were being debated across America.
During the trial, assistant U.S. attorney James E. Wilkinson called the Sex Side of Life “pure and simple smut.” Pointing at Dennett, he warned that she would “lead our children not only into the gutter, but below the gutter and into the sewer.”
None of Dennett’s expert witnesses were allowed to testify. The all-male jury took just 45 minutes to convict. Ernst filed an appeal.
In May, following Dennett’s conviction but prior to the appellate court’s ruling, an investigative reporter for the New York Telegram uncovered the source of the indictment. A postal inspector named C.E. Dunbar had been “ordered” to investigate a complaint about the pamphlet filed by an official with the Daughters of the American Revolution (DAR). Using the pseudonym Mrs. Carl Miles, Dunbar sent a decoy letter to Dennett requesting a copy of the pamphlet. Unsuspecting, Dennett mailed the copy, thereby setting in motion her indictment, arrest and trial. (Writing about the trial later, Dennett noted that the DAR official who allegedly made the complaint was never called as a witness or identified. The activist speculated, “Is she, perhaps, as mythical as Mrs. Miles?”)
Dennett’s is a name that deserves to be known.
When news of the undercover operation broke, Dennett wrote to her family that “support for the case is rolling up till it looks like a mountain range.” Leaders from the academic, religious, social and political sectors formed a national committee to raise money and awareness in support of Dennett; her name became synonymous with free speech and sex education.
In March 1930, an appellate court reversed Dennett’s conviction, setting a landmark precedent. It wasn’t the full victory Dennett had devoted much of her life to achieving, but it cracked the legal armor of censorship.
“Even though Mary Ware Dennett wasn’t a lawyer, she became an expert in obscenity law,” says constitutional historian Weinrib. “U.S. v. Dennett was influential in that it generated both public enthusiasm and money for the anti-censorship movement. It also had a tangible effect on the ACLU’s organizational policies, and it led the ACLU to enter the fight against all forms of what we call morality-based censorship.”
Ernst was back in court the following year. Citing U.S. v. Dennett, he won two lawsuits on behalf of British sex educator Marie Stopes and her previously banned books, Married Love and Contraception. Then, in 1933, Ernst expanded on arguments made in the Dennett case to encompass literature and the arts. He challenged the government’s ban on James Joyce’s Ulysses and won, in part because of the precedent set by Dennett’s case. Other important legal victories followed, each successively loosening the legal definition of obscenity. But it was only in 1970 that the Comstock Laws were fully struck down.
Ninety-two years after Dennett’s arrest, titles dealing with sex continue to top the list of the American Library Association’s most frequently challenged books. Sex education hasn’t fared much better. As of September 2021, only 18 states require sex education to be medically accurate, and only 30 states mandate sex education at all. The U.S. has one of the highestteen pregnancy rates of all developed nations.
What might Dennett think or do if she were alive today? Lauren MacIvor Thompson, a historian of early 20th-century women’s rights and public health at Kennesaw State University, takes the long view:
While it’s disheartening that we are fighting the same battles over sex and sex education today, I think that if Dennett were still alive, she’d be fighting with school boards to include medically and scientifically accurate, inclusive, and appropriate information in schools. … She’d [also] be fighting to ensure fair contraceptive and abortion access, knowing that the three pillars of education, access and necessary medical care all go hand in hand.
At the time of Dennett’s death in 1947, The Sex Side of Life had been translated into 15 languages and printed in 23 editions. Until 1964, the activist’s family continued to mail the pamphlet to anyone who requested a copy.
 “As a lodestar in the history of marginalized Americans claiming bodily autonomy and exercising their right to free speech in a cultural moment hostile to both principles,” says Gorton, “Dennett’s is a name that deserves to be known.”
Activism
Censorship
Law
Sex
Sexuality
Women’s History
Women’s Rights
Women’s Suffrage
#History
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yusuke96universe · 3 years
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Underappreciated Dragon Ball Character: The Crane Hermit's Story
The Crane Hermit is introduced as a very one-dimensional mustache twirling bad guy who quickly faded into obscurity, but after digging into his history and connecting the dots, I found him to be a rare 3 Dimensional villain from classic Dragon Ball.
I mean the dude starts out as a rich snob, humbles himself while befriending his one time enemy and forges a brotherhood with other martial artists under the same dojo. He even is so loyal and brave to the point of fighting alongside his brothers in arms to the bitter end against a horde of Demons. To top it all off, he was even willing to do it again when suggesting they come back and try to defeat King Piccolo again right after barely surviving their first encounter with him. This is very much in tune to what many noble members of the Dragon Team would do, meaning at one point, Crane was a redeemed villain like half the Dragon Ball cast, but willingly CHOSE to return to his old evil ways.
And this only happened after his master gave up the fight which turned his heart away from the light, as if GOODNESS itself betrayed him and/or the lure of the evil King Piccolo's power could've swayed him to be the self-serving man he is today. I would love to explore that side to him because there has to be something still awesome about him for Tien to have held such high respect for him
This is the story that I pieced together from watching a string Crane Hermit related episodes.
He is first introduced in Roshi's picture book as Roshi's good friend and owner of Inoshikacho with early designs before they shaved their heads and started wearing their master's uniform, like in the flashback of them fighting against King Piccolo. Those designs are used two more times, when Roshi climbed Korin's Tower and trained for 3 years gaining the power pole and Nimbus, so they must've looked like that for a few years at least. We get more details on their lives when Mr. Popo sends Goku to the past and meets a sort of cowardly or at least less confident Roshi, we know that this is more of a simulation of the past because this is basically used again for the humans to fight some weak Saiyans in early Z, so the events of Roshi and Crane starting out as romantic rivals in their teens and Crane's highly inflated attitude without any strength yet to combat Kid Goku implies that he came from a wealthy upbringing like a lot of similar people in old Kung Fu movies. You put these together and you got a very interesting character Here is how I rationalize it-
Roshi and Crane's bickering/ fighting over a girl likely got them disciplined hard by their mutually shared master, Mutaito. (Whom they both respected and studied under) Young Crane respected enough to restart his training over from scratch rather than being expelled during the Kid Goku goes to the past episode, so the probability that this would once again apply to a young Crane and possibly young Roshi in this new context seems pretty high. The punishments was probably super harsh and severe, probably was too much for Crane's flunkies to bare and they quit early, but NOT Roshi or Crane. They both are WAY, WAY too stubborn to quit early. Plus the thought of not wanting to be outdone by the other is what probably aided in pushing themselves past their limits throughout the harsh punishments and the intensive training.
So now it's basically two teenagers, one from a humble background and the other from a privileged background. Both with a lot of beef. Now stuck together alone. So while they're busy being bickering and competing, perhaps that girl they both were interested in, Fanfan, found herself a boyfriend in the meantime, leaving both of them heartbroken.
Now, since they are in the same boat together, they can start relating and bonding with one another as teenage punks do. Talking about mistreated they are, how unfair things, mostly complaining and roasting one another, etc. But the important thing is, they put their differences aside to overcome the challenges in front of them and this newfound bond leads them to becoming best friends.
The rivalry while healthier becomes stronger with time though because they're young and brash so Roshi goes to Korin's Tower at some point for bragging rights and Crane probably did something equally outrageous in an attempt to one up him, like maybe he won a Martial Arts Tournament or completed some grand trial of their dojo or something.
After being studying together for many years, they shave their heads and join the other students in wearing the formal uniforms of their master, so this is likely the peak of their disciplined lifestyle as Martial Artists.
Eventually this school made a stand and fought to the last man against Demons that terrorized and devastated entire cities and destroyed armies, harming countless innocents in the process. So in order to face such a threat implies a strong brotherhood and loyalty within the group.
Also the effect of his master giving up the fight being one of the factors for his turn toward evil implied that the Crane had great respect for him and that was the greatest disappointment of his life, plus the allure of power that King Piccolo showed must've been too tempting for him to resist so he left the losing side and returned to a lifestyle similar to his origin, using his skills in service of his own self and living it up in a lavish style (as shown in how much of a big spender he is and comparing his hotel room to the Turtle School's). In doing so, he purposely pushed away all the great teaching his Master had taught him, deeming them as weak or worthless for what he believed to being truly strong in his own distorted mind. He desperately needed someone like his Master to correct his misconceptions, and maybe at one time Roshi tried to, but failed because Crane closed off his heart to his once best friend (kind of like Gintoki and Takasugi frrom Gintama) who exemplifies everything he now hates and stands against.
Though some lessons still stuck, like loyalty, specifically to his brother Tao. Which is his prime motivation in the 22nd tournament was to avenge his brother and he even lamented on how they never patched things up so he tried getting justice for him instead of blaming himself. Dodging accountability, but accepting responsibility. Proving maybe even he is not too far gone, if he felt their was even a point to change.
But that doesn't mean he was the nicest brother. His pride and jealousy couldn't stand the idea that his brother was far more naturally gifted than him and so he attempted to sever one of the few remaining bonds he has in his long life of losses, with his own hand because of his own inferiority complex.
He allowed his greed, anger, pride, and jealousy blind him to what would've been his greatest legacy as a Master of Martial Arts. His students. The most well known are Tien and Chiaotzu. Who he long since failed to guide them to the righteous path which led them pass the point of no return. Tien and Chiaotzu were one in a million prodigies that he wanted to turn into a mere weapons at his command. To make matters worse, these self-centered, cruel and down right malicious teaching actively corrupted Tien's nature and forever shut his Third eye's truest abilities. So he didn't nurture his disciple like he was completely capable of, instead, he actively/incompetently crippled his number 1 student forever preventing him from reaching his full potential by stealing his birthright. Truly failing as a Master.
He makes one last appearance in the 23rd Tournament feeling betrayed and wronged, but leaves as a coward. It is such a shame to see what once was a great man, how far he had fallen.
His Death. Toriyama mentioned that he and his brother Tao Pai Pai got in over their heads and died somewhere in the middle of Z off-screen. In-spite of all of his gifts, he utterly failed as a Master by actively trying to spite everything his Master taught him and what did all of his efforts and years of experiences gift him with? An inconsequential death that will not be remembered, which is heartbreaking for a man who was once and could've forever remained as great as the fan-favorite Master Roshi. It is a shame because unlike his teacher, he never redeemed himself, not even in death. What could've been a Legend, instead turned into a Cautionary Tale.
Honestly, it is such a shame that this character wasn't utilized more. I've got a few more Crane Hermit related headcannons, some from when he was younger, some of how he could've been used after the 22nd Martial Arts Tournament, like a role in the King Piccolo Saga since that is so closely tied to his past, watching his continual, but strained relationship with his students, etc.
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aalapdavjekar · 3 years
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8 Lessons from Vipassana
2010 was a peculiar year. It was the year in which I found the great fortune of stumbling upon a book about the bizarre incidents and experiences of an Australian girl voyaging through the Indian subcontinent. The book — a 21st century rewrite of the lore of the hippie trail, offered little towards cerebral surprises, but made for a curious viewing of the life of someone who was brave (or foolish) enough to have gone through all the trouble that she did for the experiences she sought.
The author chronicled days spent discovering religion and spiritual heaven while avoiding hell — nosy neighbours, opportunistic rickshaw-wallas, and the odd would-be rapist. She portrays an all too familiar India — the world’s spiritual shopping mall serving food-poisoning on Tuesdays, vehicular accidents every Friday, and frightening latrines as a daily course. Not all of her pages carried so much drama, but they laid out a rough sketch of the trials and tribulations of the average foreigner in attempting to make sense of the country.
The smallest chapter in the book spoke to me the most. There was a tiny passage that depicted the joy and punishing solitude of the type rarely considered as thrill — monastic rituals, austere and rigorous routines, distress and hardship — it seemed a bit too much for anyone, let alone a solo adventurer. And yet, it seemed like just about the only thing she really enjoyed during her trip.
That was my introduction to Vipassana. That first memory is still fresh: the desire to confront this awkward specimen of a situation for myself, only because, at the time, it seemed so bizarre. To my ignorant mind, I could not have comprehended the result of ten long days (and nights), sitting around without the utterance of a single syllable. If nothing else, it would just be yet another substance: to taste, chew on, spit out, and rave about having conquered yet another mountain of sensory input; spin it all into a tall tale of profundity and wisdom.
Thankfully, the taste was sweet. To me, this became pretty important. It felt like a gigantic discovery and I often found myself proselytizing like a broken record for days after the first course. I eventually stopped for being seen as a bit of a nuisance, however, my fascination with the practice only grew with time. In those ten short days, I had experienced a deep, resounding change from within. As difficult as the journey had been, I only knew I had to keep going.
That was all ten years ago. 2010 was peculiar, but a dozen Vipassana courses later, life only became weirder.
It’s the stark contrast that gets you; the juxtaposition of life inside a course, and then witnessing the world outside. It is hard to illustrate and is not really the point of this post, but I mention it only because I’d like to warn you that many of the lessons I’ve learnt are all experiential truths. Simply engaging the intellect is not enough. You can’t describe the taste of salt to someone who has never experienced it before, and you can’t learn to swim simply by reading about it.
With that said, understand that even though I have been practicing for a while, it does not mean I have achieved any form of mastery over my practice. I still consider this as the just the first step in a very long path. I share these insights, all of which have broadened and enriched my understanding of not only myself, but of all-encompassing experience existence in itself. My only hope is to encourage you to sit down and focus on your breath.
1. Relaxing meditation is more like aggressive deconditioning…
The mind is a big ball of accumulated, tightly-knotted habits. Habits are not merely mundane proclivities like picking your nose, or a preference for K-pop. Habits are the set of all unconscious tendencies, picked up over the course of one’s life and through generations past, resulting in present thought, action, or both. Natural instincts such as the struggle to survive and the urge for sexual gratification are among the densest of elements residing within the mental landscape.
Mental forces are easiest to imagine when you think of them as analogous to Newton’s Third Law: each action has an equal and opposite reaction. As the mind sees, the mind does. Cause and effect. Through millions of years of evolution, the mind has been shaped to recognize and react to patterns. Certain emotions may result in specific thoughts. Certain thoughts may result in specific behaviours.
When you sit down to practice Vipassana, you essentially train yourself to observe the mind without reacting. The process may not seem like much but, with time, the simple act of observation decreases the rigidity and impulsiveness of the mind. Gradually, the simple act of watching it unravel before you, unveiling its knots until they loosen and eventually fade away, brings about a significant change. This does not mean that after ten days of meditation you will deprogram your mind and achieve liberation. It is a very gradual process. Believe me. Even after all these years, I’ve only scratched the surface and, so far, I’ve managed to adopt a slightly better diet. But I have better focus, more clarity of thought, less anxiety, and things that used to drive me crazy don’t annoy me as much anymore.
Meditation will change your brain. Thoughts included.
2. You are your mind’s weak, pathetic slave.
At any given time, you have very little conscious ability to overrule your genetic programming, emotional state, and natural surroundings (many have even argued that there is no such thing as conscious control and free will is an illusion, but that is a discussion for another time). The goal of meditation is to break free from the mind’s thrall: it’s patterns of thought. That’s the liberation that meditators keep referring to time and again.
If you find it hard to believe how little control you have over your mind, try to focus continuously on the breath just for a few minutes and notice the amount of thoughts that manage to pop up. You’ll quickly see how easily the mind is carried away. It’ll drift away, either to the future, or to the past. Bringing it back and keeping it in the present is a constant, seemingly endless struggle.
Our toxic addiction to our own thoughts creates the biggest hurdle. Over the course of our lives, we have been conditioned by our parents, school, society, even language, to think a certain way. Like the words we associate with objects to learn the alphabet in kindergarten, we continuously associate abstractions — words — to ideas; to the way things work. Our names for objects, people, places, feelings, situations, etc. are just names. They are concepts that are formed in the mind. In other words, our brain holds maps to reality which are drawn and redrawn over the course of our lives. But the map is not the territory, yet we are constantly under the delusion that the map is real.
Our fascination and attachment to our artificial concepts of what is real, important, and urgent is what hinders progress— the practice is essentially training the mind not to identify with one’s thoughts. In other words, to heal trauma, you need to learn to dissociate with the feeling which triggers the trauma. Trauma comes in many shapes. It may take the form of the stories that we forge for ourselves to make sense of who we are. The story we tell ourselves turns into the very bondage that keeps us in indefinite servitude to the mind.
The mind is a slippery serpent, as dangerous when untamed as it is powerful when mastered. Most beginners often find it frustrating how difficult it is to ‘control’ their minds. But therein lies the effort. It is a skill to be cultivated like any other. Exasperation and the desire to stop is a natural byproduct of the conditioning described earlier. There is an inertia to progress that needs to be continuously overcome. With time, it gets easier.
Meditation is simply a tool to harness and rein in the unruly mind.
3. Everything is connected. Every action has a consequence, and it matters.
This can be argued as a simple scientific principle. Richard Feynman in his lecture, “The Relation of Physics to Other Sciences,” describes the artificial divisions we create, forming a myriad of distinct models of understanding to comprehend and explain to ourselves aspects of the same reality. Brian Cox takes it even further.
My understanding leans towards the philosophical side, but bear with me. Most religions and spiritual traditions preach purity of mind, speech, and deed. Whether through scripture or ritual, they teach compassion, loving kindness, mercy and wisdom. I’ve realized that there’s more to this than mere morality.
To greatly simplify this, let’s imagine the world as a closed, finite system — something like a small swimming pool. Any kind of movement results in ripples that gradually extend across the body of water, affecting everything in their path. Eventually, given enough time, those ripples will bounce right back to whence they came. Sooner or later, your actions will meet their maker. But don’t mistake this as a need to be nice out of selfish necessity. The picture is bigger than this.
The world, much like our hypothetical swimming pool, is a melting pot of events resulting from simultaneous interactions causing countless, spontaneous consequences. It’s a chain reaction and an ocean of chaos, with the ebb and flow of individual currents that mingle, coalesce and form waves, crashing into one another to give us the great churning of the wheel that Buddhists speak of, and the agitation that we are almost too familiar with.
The turbulence, in essence, is the mind being washed away with the tide, engulfed and drowned in the vicissitudes of a constantly changing life. To remain steadfast and solid in such stormy waters would require nothing short of supreme mastery in the art of mindfulness. A cornerstone of such an endeavour requires the cultivation of a conscious effort to sustain complete awareness and acceptance for the present moment.
When one remains vigilant of thought, speech, and deed, and acquires a resolute and unwavering focus, then all the torment the ocean can muster will be but powerless against this tranquil state of mind. But even beyond that, tranquility will give way to reflection, understanding, and empathy. In other words, when you respond to anger with love, you cast water over the fire.
With practice, each action undertaken will arrive with more effort, more purpose and consideration. That is the delicate insight to be gained — that every action, every moment, every breath is sacred. Every bit of conscious presence is a gift to be treasured.
4. Nothing matters as much as you think it does…
Vipassana meditation is an exercise in cultivating insight through self-observation. You watch your breath and the sensations across your body as they arise and pass away, each time acknowledging their transient and impermanent nature. That, you come to realize, is the truth of all reality.
You realize that suffering is a form of mental attachment, not to any external object, but to the sensation that object has on your mind. This attachment is sometimes so subtle and imperceptible that it is impossible to witness it without a mind that is steady and calm. These attachments are what cause dukkha or suffering. Attachments are not limited to sensations that feel good. Any sensation that makes you feel like had more of it or less of it — desire and aversion — is attachment. The mind runs after pleasure, runs from fear and pain. These are attachments and they are a hindrance to the practice.
As you grow into your practice, you will gradually slip out of your old patterns of thought, replacing them with a more open, willing, and fluid presence of mind. What once bothered you may gradually dissolve into nothingness. What once seemed as part of you, possessed you, caused emotional havoc when you didn’t get what you wanted, might simply vanish from existence. No, you won’t turn into an emotionless robot. No it won’t make you give up everything in life, turn into a vagrant and move to the beach, unless you already desired those things. Meditation will only help sort out what you really want.
Practice will help you detach yourself from your thoughts until you realize that your thoughts are not you. Feelings come, feelings go. They are impermanent, and they don’t matter. All it requires is time and the simple act of observation.
5. You are not an experiential bubble.
For many beginners trying to embrace the many forms of mindfulness, one of the toughest obstacles to overcome is doubt. It may be doubt in oneself, doubt in the practice, doubt in one’s teacher, and so on. But it’s a natural response to something new, especially to those completely unfamiliar with these types of practices. Imparting trust is a transactional habit. Unless one is certain of attainable benefits and can measure their worth, they may find an unwillingness to take even the first step.
Couple a doubtful mind with the myriad of mental encounters one may face during meditation and the result might just kill the desire for practice. People have reported everything from swirling lights, out-of-body experiences, synesthesia, to demons. This is not unusual. Meditation is a gateway into the unconscious — a surgical procedure as S.N. Goenka, the person who brought the teaching of Vipassana back to India, describes. Through the process of Sankharupekkha (observing mental formations with equanimity), the practitioner encounters dormant impurities in the unconscious that rise to the surface of the mind, and manifest themselves as physical phenomenon.
Juxtaposed with modern-day culture, the meditative experience stands out like a sore thumb, often causing its students great confusion and mistrust in the very quality of what they are learning. It doesn’t help that the ideas and general philosophy presented by spiritual traditions are outright antithetical to “western” schools of thought.
Concepts such as avidya, anicca, dukkha, shunyata, samsara and nirvana are like salt. These are concepts that are almost impossible to understand through mere language—one must personally taste them. They are often horribly misconstrued and usually thrown out, replaced by a far shallower understanding that barely skims the surface of the teaching, conflating meditation with stress reduction and labour productivity. After all, these are the values our industrial societies can easily relate to.
We often make it harder on ourselves by letting our experiences fester. Remember to talk about them, discuss them, debate their true essence, and let them be out in the open. Let these ideas, however alien, achieve coherence and solidity. Give them a better chance to struggle and survive. There are many people out there experiencing the same reality, watching the same movie, feeling the same thing. The emotional outlet, especially when you are starting out in this practice is immensely valuable. It’s a small thing but it matters.
After my first ten-day Vipassana course came to a close, as the new students could finally open their mouths and start speaking with each other about their ten days spent in silence, we could all see the benefits this strange new thing had given us. I was in a room full of fifty-odd people that seemed to have had a similar experience in the course as I did. They all seemed calmer than on the first day, happier for having made it through; in the process, they had visibly changed. That’s what brought forth trust in the system; not only because it seemed to work across a diverse set of people, but because it made me realize that we are all in the same boat.
6. Compassion takes practice.
There is no absolute right or wrong. Understanding which is which requires not only context but patience. An impulsive and ignorant mind does not have the capacity to form correct judgement. An angry and intolerant person cannot be trusted to make rational and thoughtful decisions. Why do you need to develop proper judgement? The simplest possible answer: to progress in your practice. Hence, while Vipassana may bring insight, on the last day of each course, students are taught a slightly different type of meditation.
Metta, meaning ‘loving-kindness’, is a type of meditation that involves concentrating on directing love towards ourselves and others, even those (especially those) who may have hurt us. A daily practice of metta has its benefits, but most significant of all, is the way it complements insight meditation and brings out lasting, positive changes in mind and body.
The feeling is hard to describe, but all I can say is that (at the risk of sounding cliched), through the course of one’s life, pain is an inevitability, but suffering through the pain is a choice. With regular practice in metta, instead of being swept away by one’s emotions, one learns to consciously bring awareness to the suffering being experienced and replace it with compassionate and loving thoughts. Suffering is simply a negative reaction of the mind to any form of pain. With practice, mental aversion to pain gradually fades. Like mental ointment, compassion can heal the deepest of wounds.
But compassion takes practice. Think of it as learning a new language. Even if you have no prior experience reading the script or pronouncing the words, with time, you might just achieve fluency.
Compassion towards all beings, regardless of the situation, is an important goal for anyone serious about walking the path. When you emanate a constant stream of loving thoughts without ever missing a beat, then you might definitely consider yourself having changed for the better.
7. It’s all just glorified play.
By the time children reach the age of 3 or 4, their ego begins to form a cohesive identity — a map of themselves: I am this, I like that, I want to be so and so. Whether through nature or nurture, the child learns to take on a role for themselves depending on what the situation may bring: during interactions with their parents, with other children, and with society in general.
From an early age, children are engaged in play. Their games may be diverse, but are usually a form of role-playing: tea parties, dollhouses, make-believe — simulations of the adult world, to test its boundaries and see how things react. Fueled by curiosity and the joy of discovery, they rehearse and solidify their understanding of their surroundings, finding their place in the greater familial and societal picture, and simultaneously strengthen their masks of identity.
The masks we carry, birthed from the ego, may be necessary for our survival, but they are simply roles — the games we continue to play even as adults, with ourselves and with others. When the student of Vipassana comes to notice their own desires and attachments to the world, the identity of the self is often seen as the greatest attachment. It is the great epic; the story of ourselves that we’re so engrossed in writing and reciting— and madly in love with.
This story never ends. It lies permanently in the state of becoming: I am like this, I like that, I want to be so and so. The attachment to a false idea of oneself is the most difficult thing to witness and understand. It is the biggest delusion of the mind, and the greatest hindrance to one’s liberation from samsara — the endless cycle of birth and death. Whether you choose to believe that is unimportant, but recognising one’s tendencies to cling to one’s beliefs, one’s masks and identity, is a crucial process towards self-discovery and insight.
Recognising the mind for what it is — a constant stream of consciousness always in flux — will bring you a step closer to deciphering it.
8. You Know Nothing.
I know nothing. For knowing involves being certain, but if everything is impermanent and things are constantly in flux, then nothing can be certain.
To understand how truly inept we are at comprehending reality, consider the incredibly narrow spectrum of perception our brains provide. Our sensory organs: the eyes, ears, nose, tongue and skin offer only a slice of all the information that they come into contact with.
The eyes, for example, see only a thin slice of the electromagnetic spectrum, which we call visible light. Similarly, our hearing is restricted to frequencies of sound that fall between 20 Hz and 20 kHz. In the same way, we carry only a limited cognitive capability and intelligence.
It’s a humbling thought. At the very least, reminding oneself of the fragility of one’s understanding is a way to minimize cognitive bias. Further, since no one knows anything, knowing you know nothing will actually put you a step ahead of most people.
“I am wiser than this human being. For probably neither of us knows anything noble and good, but he supposes he knows something when he does not know, while I, just as I do not know, do not even suppose that I do. I am likely to be a little bit wiser than he in this very thing: that whatever I do not know, I do not even suppose I know.” — Plato’s Apology of Socrates
Similarly, from the Dhammapada:
“A fool who knows his foolishness is wise at least to that extent, but a fool who thinks himself wise is a fool indeed.”
Lastly, Shunryu Suzuki, a Japanese Zen Master calls the state of knowing nothing the “beginner’s mind,” the constant prerequisite for progressing in one’s practice:
“The goal of practice is always to keep our beginner’s mind. This does not mean a closed mind, but actually an empty mind and a ready mind. If your mind is empty, it is always ready for anything; it is open to everything. In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities; in the expert’s mind there are few.” — from Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind
May all beings be happy.
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I'd like to start with a song.
One of my favourite musicians, BTS said, or rather sang, a song called 'Life Goes On'. This song is very fond to me, and it perfectly conveys what I feel about the situation we are in.
"One day, the world stopped
Without any warning
Spring didn't know to wait
Showed up not even a minute late
Streets erased of footprints
I lie here, fallen to the ground
Time goes by on its own
Without a single apology, yeah."
"There's no end in sight
Is there a way out?
My feet refuse to move, oh
Close your eyes for a moment
Hold my hand
To that future, let's run away."
"Like an echo in the forest
The day will come back around
As if nothing happened
Yeah, life goes on
Like an arrow in the blue sky
Another day flying by
On my pillow, on my table
Yeah, life goes on
Like this again."
The pandemic has torn the world apart from their loved ones. But we brought this upon ourselves, didn't we? Our greed, our selfishness, our apathy towards taking care of nature, is what led to this situation. Just take, take, take, but no giving back. What's done is done. We have to suffer and learn the hard way.
The resilience of the human race is something that always managed to surprise me. How is it that people go on after suffering the most terrible hardships?
No matter how many trials and challenges the human race has been put through, we have always managed to persevere, to survive.
We never imagined a world where we would be locked up in our homes, unable to meet our friends and family, except through a screen on Zoom. We never imagined not being able go to school, for which we dreaded waking up for. We never imagined a world where we had to stay six feet away from each other. The basic need of humans, is to feel wanted, needed. To feel cared for, to feel loved. What is the world without love? Love is the beginning of life! Love is what inspires artists, whether it's love for the world, or love for a particular person. To quote Dead Poets Society,
"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, "O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?" Answer. That you are here. That life exists, and identity. The powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?"
A beautiful movie, really. Music, art, words, they change the world. They are the essence of what being a human means. To feel. To love, and to be loved. Artists capture feelings, and share them with the world. And the world feels them too. And you realise that we're all connected in this world, and how beautiful life is.
And that is why we persevere. We keep going, because we hope and desire for that day we can go back to normal again. We dream of the moment we can meet our friends and just hang out once more. We dream of the moment we can complain about waking up for school again. Hope is what keeps us going. Hope for a better day. A better life. Isn't that what keeps us going?
Bad things truly happen. It feels like the end of the world. But, it's just a passing phase in your life. It'll go away. Change is the only constant.
Hope gives us the strength to go on. Hopes and dreams and love.
After all, what's the point of living without love?
this is something i wrote a while ago, and i still love it.
please read it and tell me what you think!
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So I Don’t Forget Again: A Breath of The Wild fanfiction
Entry 170: Rito Village
 Even though I can’t fly and most of their techniques involves the intricacies of flying and shooting at the same time I’ve still learned a lot. Teba said we were going to take a break today; he had noticed my arm started acting up yesterday and thought I needed a break. Yesterday he thought I just might not have stretched enough before training but seeing me this morning he thought I might have pulled something and suggested I ask Saki to take a look at it.
I guess I’ll have to visit the Domain soon. I’m not even near finished with the medicine I have now. Feels like a waste to have not finished this stuff before getting new medicine, but I was given an excess amount since they didn’t know how long I was going to be gone for.
Bossa Nova kept nudging my arm and side, I think he’s noticed too. That or he just wants scratches and pets. After getting here he practically had been getting them nonstop from just about everyone. With no one petting him I guess he now wanted me to pet him, and he nudged me less after I pet him. There’s also plenty of foliage here. I think Bossa Nova is getting spoiled here. I hope he’ll be okay with leaving when I’m done here.
I found Amali calling out for Kheel. She had gone missing and Amali was searching around the whole village. Though things are much safer, the Yiga have been around attacking people.
Teba and I had been using them in training as targets. I understand it’s to protect everyone in the village, but… I feel nauseous seeing the bodies pile up.
I offered to search outside the village for Kheel.
She was at Warbler’s Nest. She wants to finally have singing practice with her sisters but they refuse to go and she refuses to leave till they join her. I told her that if she had to practice here I or some other warrior should be there. It seems she doesn’t know about the Yiga. I thought about explaining the situation to her but I shouldn’t scare her, what if she becomes too scared to leave the village even when it is safe. I tried telling her there were other dangerous creatures around like wolves, but she still refused. She didn’t need to practice here every day, but it had been so long she at least wanted to sing here just once. I told her that I wanted to hear their singing and didn’t want to miss a thing, so I asked her if she’d please come with me to find her sisters so I could hear their recital practice.
First Kheel and I checked back home and found Genli at the cooking pot, she wanted to do some cooking and had sent some of the others to help her collect some missing ingredients while she prepared. She did tell us where she thought some of the others would be at like the store and such.
When we were searching Amali spotted us and was relieved to see us back safely. She told Kheel it was still too dangerous to be out. I explained I’d be there to look after them, but Amali wasn’t happy. Apparently Teba had told her we were taking a break and told me I was to be resting, not fighting still. I explained the situation with my arm but that only got her to say that was even more reason to rest. She then sighed, saying I am an adult who could make choices for himself but she highly recommended that I return to the zora before my infections get worse and become more permanent, maybe even stay with them till I’m fully healed since all the Divine Beasts had been appeased now.
Even if I’m still fighting, for me, just staying here is a rest. Amali paused for a moment then so softly told me that whenever I needed a break I could always come back here. She then told me to go back to playing with my sisters as Kheel seemed to be getting impatient. She then got flustered noticing what she had said and apologized. In a lot of ways I am rather similar to Kass and with how I’m always with her daughters, playing with them and such whenever I returned from training with Teba I was like a big brother to them. Kass had spoken much of me before Amali and I had actually met, and the tales were so accurate, she felt like she had known me for much longer than we actually had, so in a way I felt somewhat like her own child as odd as it may sound. Especially with how Kass spoke of me in a similar way he had of their daughters.
When Amali and I were hugging Kheel joined in, confused but didn’t want to be left out. I promised her I’d be more careful and that I’d go see the zora doctors soon and return better than ever. Amali said that when I come back, I should bring my boyfriend so she and everyone else could meet him, though with Kass’ many tales of Sidon he sounded like a great person. I think Sidon would like that and I told her I’d see what I could do.
Cree was buying goat butter. Notts was supposed to be helping but seems she wasw slacking off and Knotts was out fishing. I had to do a bit of climbing to reach her, but we found her on her stone perch and she joined us in our search. Knotts was very close to the village, on one of the pillars which were connected by bridges, there’s a little lake on one of them and there we did some spear fishing to get a hearty salmon. They said I fish funny; I didn’t think spear fishing could differ so much from zoras and rito but I suppose like fighting it can surprisingly be very different.
We all returned to the kitchen to cook with Genli. We made Salmon Meuniere, and it’s delicious! They wanted to make seconds but I convinced them not too so we wouldn’t spoil our appetite for dinner.
On they way to Warbler’s Nest they rode on Bossa Nova’s back, constantly giving him pets which I think he was very pleased with.
After some practice they asked me if I sang too. As far as I could remember I didn’t think I ever tried. They… didn’t seem too pleased with the result. I’m now their pet project of sorts. They want to teach me so I can become a great singer and serenade “The fish prince”. It’s common practice to sing to win someone’s heart and they wanted to help me with my relationship with Sidon. They said cooking was good but since I travel so much, I need to do more like their dad who sings a lot for their mom and them. They then got the bright idea of getting Kass to teach me, since we both have deeper voices than them and maybe someone with a slightly more similar range to me could help more. They pushed and pulled me all the way back to the village and demanded that Kass teach me. This whole affair was kind of embarrassing, but… the thought of singing for Sidon is nice.
After practice I assisted Amali in the kitchen again. Many of the Rito dishes involve a meat of some kind and I think many of them would be good for traveling, maybe not the fish meat pie, but many of the other ones seem like they could work like the Salmon Meuniere.
Kass and I did some chatting after dinner. He asked me it this is what it’s always like when in stay in a place after appeasing the Divine Beast, all the training I had been doing. I told him it differs from place to place, but this time… all I have left is finding the Master Sword and Defeating the Calamity and I want to make sure I’m ready. I told him staying in places is more like today, learning something, entertaining children, just… living here, and training to be a warrior is a big part of living here, though I had been training to excess lately and I told him I’d probably be letting up on it. Kass told me it was a good idea, I did so much fighting already and even if the art was my one true love, too much of anything was never good.
We just chatted, I’ve just chatted with others before, but this just felt especially nice. I wonder if it’s just Kass being Kass or what Amali had told me before, but I just really liked this. Maybe it was the soft playing of his accordion when we hadn’t talked for a while, just watching the sunset.
I asked Kass what he was going to do if I defeated the Calamity. Kass told me he’d still be searching for ancient songs. Even if I completed my task, that didn’t mean his job was done, and being a bard is his life, he’s not just doing it because of a dead man’s wish, like me and my journey.
Kass paused for a moment telling me he still didn’t have a song for Revali but he did have a song for someone else, the hero from a hundred years ago. Kass told me that though I can’t remember much his master was there when the Calamity had struck and met the old, dead me. Kass told me of how his teacher had loved Zelda but she had clearly fallen for someone else, the dead hero, and that likely colored this song, but even with jealousy he believed the hero would return and poured that belief into a song. It was still something that could possibly shed some light on my fogged memories even if heavily warped by another impression of that man.
“An ancient hero, a Calamity appears, Now resurrected after ten thousand years. Her appointed knight gives his life, shields her figure, and pays the price. The princess’ love for her fallen knight awakens her power/And within the castle the Calamity is forced to cower. But the knight survives! In the Shrine of resurrection he sleeps, until from his healing dream he leaps! For fierce and deadly trials await. To regain his strength. Fulfill his fate. To become a hero once again! To wrest the princess from evil’s den. The hero, the princess-hand in hand-Must bring the light back to this land.”
Kass asked me if the song had helped any. I… feel something tugging at the back of my mind, but I can’t seem to quite reach it. I know there was something bright, but… nothing else. But the song, I died protecting Zelda? Kass told me his teacher had witnessed it. And it was as Kass had explained before, his Teacher wanted to help and seek out the ancient songs of the hero long past to help me, and after he died Kass took on his wish. Kass said that it was too bad the hero would never return. After all he died saving the princess. He knows, he learned of my past when I had my panic attack, when he had me read through my journal with him. He knows, but… it’s like back in the Zora’s Domain now. He did however tell me that should I meet the princess I should give her my condolences for being a different person, her knight gone, and if she lives, to try to let her down easy about Sidon and I. I asked him if it was a shock to find out when I was panicking. He told me he had a suspicion ever since we solved that deer puzzle together, so he wasn’t surprised. He then started giving advice. Talking about grieving, how he had tried to deal with his feelings about his teacher passing, someone like family to him. About working with your worries, being so scared about the people you care about when traveling. About getting stuck in your head when you have no one else to talk too, one piece of advice that really struck me was speaking aloud to yourself, even just hearing the words not just in your head can make quite a difference. About how to deal with the deathly loneliness all that plus traveling through such barren landscapes on your own can bring.
Kass asked me if I could do a favor for him. He just wants to see me one last time before I set off to fight the Calamity, share a day with him and Amali and his daughters if I could. He said it might be a selfish wish, but to place his own heart at ease before I go fight the thing, he wanted to see I was prepared and felt ready to do so, maybe by then he’d have a song all of his own for me, he had a lot of material to work with after all.
Kass just pulled me into a hug when I started crying. I thanked him and told him I’d be happy to and that I was just happy to be here with everyone. He told me he was happy too.
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YTTD Thought Dump
Ok I didn’t liveblog this bc I was too busy yelling about it in Yaejin’s and Jenny’s inboxes but I’ve played/watched all parts of this game at least twice now and sometimes in multiple languages and I’m gonna dump all my thoughts and WMGs here bc I have QUESTIONS for Mr. Nankidai
Gashu said something about everyone being ~destined to be winners~, or something? Highly suspicious, what does this mean
Like is this a ZE situation or
In the quick draw minigame, Sou has the power of premonition. Why? 
Esper confirmed, or is this just a hint at his secret knowledge?
Who is the unconscious person in the back of Miley's room?
Could it be Joe or Kai? Or maybe someone from the Hades incident?
Are ASU-NARO and the “””shady organization””” that won out in the Hades incident one and the same?
Hayasaka wonders aloud if the death game is for Sara's sake (Kai also mentions this in his letter to Sara). But why......
Miley claims that Gashu is trying to destroy the death game, and yet he takes his own life to continue it? Whose side is Gashu on? Whose side is Miley on?
Also Miley is the one who gives Sara the list of percentages...why
Who is the person Miley is talking to on the first floor? Some have theorized that Joe is the mastermind but it couldn't be, since we know Sara can recognize Joe by voice
Was this even Miley? The name label had a question mark after, could this have been someone else?
Why did Safalin help Sara by giving her Rio's chip? Whose side is she on?
The file from Kai's computer mentions that Joe should be “watched” because they can't add anyone else. Was Joe not supposed to be there? If they weren’t expecting him there, why was Shin able to start up the Joe AI? Did they have one prepared just in case?
There were only 9 monitors in the monitor room (Sara, Keiji, Shin, Mishima, Q-taro, Reko, Gin, Alice, Kanna), so it at least seems like there was no AI planned for him
Kai, Joe, and Kugie were some of the first to die. They were among the 4 who weren't candidates (besides Sou). We know that Nao was on that list, and Gashu purposely sabotaged her so that she would get the Sacrifice card. Did they really get unlucky, or were their deaths all planned?
Kai says his father says the death game's objective is neither pleasure not revenge. Then what is it for?
Shin, Keiji, and Reko seemed to recognize Sou's face when they see it on the laptop. But why did Kanna and Q-taro also recognize him? Could he also have been an orphan at Asunaro? And could he also be Kanna's biological brother? 
If this is the case, this might explain Kanna's fondness for "Sou"
Also possible that Sou went out of his way to involve himself in all the participants’ lives
Sou was supposed to be a participant according to Kai's hacking, but he wasn't on the percentage sheet. We know that his death was over 2 years ago. What’s the timeline of his revival and of his involvement with the runners of this death game? Was he supposed to be a participant at one point, or was he always one of them?
The game supposedly revolves around Sara, but seems to have more connections to Sou. Was this intentional? Or did Sou hijack the game? Does Sou have any relation to Sara?
When searching the medical office with Gin, he mentions that he smells blood mixed with something burning. He says this regardless of whether Alice or Reko dies, so this must be something else. Is this Mishima's head? If not, what did they burn? And why?
Where is Mishima's head, anyway? Why did it disappear and why was it never discovered?
The memorandum features characters similar to those in this death game, including Sara. Some people also note that the actions of the narrator sound similar to Shin's. Was there a need to "replicate" that death game for some reason? Is it with the exact same people, or just similar people? Why? 
The memorandum mentions that in that incident the high school girl's best friend died--was Joe's participation really unplanned then?
In the 2nd main game of that death game, a young boy and a man who she was aligned with died. This doesn't seem to match the reality of this game (Nao and Kanna/Shin)
The high school girl died in the 3rd "victim conference." Will this foreshadow events in the 3rd main game?
Gashu's hint: “Have you ever had doubts about your upbringing?” What does this mean? Could Asunaro have engineered every candidate's childhood in preparation for this game? Maybe to replicate the first death game by making the new participants as similar as possible?
Considering we don’t know Alice’s motive for murdering Sou, and Sou was able to manipulate Keiji into murdering Mr. Policeman, could Alice’s murder have been planned, too? Was Sou planning to be revived all along?
The portrait in Gashu's room was titled "Inauguration", which probably means he won the Hades incident death game and was inaugurated to the position of leader of the gangs. But since Sara doesn’t recognize them, this doesn’t seem to be Sara’s dad. How, then, is Sara’s dad involved?
Sara has a “dream” at the beginning of 2-2 of Shin bleeding out. Could this be a "hint" for what the "correct" choice is?
Sou says he wants everyone to know their "lost memories with [him]" and the reason Asunaro is having them kill each other. Does that mean they all know him? And are the two related? Did they wipe the participants' memories somehow? 
Sara mentions Safalin's device, so this is definitely possible. 
Is it possible the memory wipe was just before the events of 3-1? The participants didn't seem to react to Midori at all when they meet, even though they all had a strong reaction to seeing his face on the laptop earlier
Who died in the 4th floor locker room? It doesn't seem to be any of the dummies, but it's obviously not any of the survivors, Kugie, or Megumi. It seems like the 5th floor version was clean, so their partner must have  survived, in which case, was there another participant we're not aware of?
Actually, could it have been Hinako’s? It’s unclear why she wouldn’t say anything if this were the case, but her video showed her being lifted up with her feet dangling, and the blood stains might have been from Ranger beating her to death. If this is true, her partner would probably have had to be one of the survivors (Reko, Alice, Gin, or Kai) whose first trials we don’t already know about. Since first trials seem to tend to pair people up who have prior connections, does this mean Hinako has a connection to any of these people? If so, wouldn’t it likely be Kai, who is the only one who never makes it to 3-1?
Ranmaru said there's a human from Asunaro among them. Keiji, Q-taro, Gin, and Sara are the only survivors from both rounds. It can't be the dummies, but can it be Midori? 
He also doesn't specify that there's just one
Why does everyone recognize the consent form but Sara? What were they consenting to? It sounds like some of them were from a long time ago, from Shin's response. Why does Midori want Sara to sign it?
The 4th and 5th floor rooms seem to have connections to the participants:
Boxing ring: Kurumada
Office: Hayasaka
Police box: Keiji
School: Sara, Joe
Art Gallery: ?
Gate: ?
Library: ?
What's the purpose of Asunaro researching how to reproduce humans? This is clearly related to both the dolls/AIs and the death game, but how exactly?
Is the point of the game to prove whether positive or negative emotions make someone human? Gashu vs. Safalin might point to this, as well as Gashu attempting to sabotage the game to "prove" something
Deleted scenes imply the goal of the Asunaro research is to create the perfect AI with emotions, but still...For what purpose.....
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anangelicday-mrwolf · 3 years
Text
Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)
(previous chapter)
Chapter 62 – After the Battle
Beep. Beep. Beep. 
The cadence from the machine was as steady as it could be. 
Thump. Thump. Thump. 
Frankenstein’s heart was just as steady, its beat placid like the surface of water.
In reality, at least from Frankenstein’s standing point, for each pulse his blood was being drained away by a droplet. 
He felt as if the entire room, beyond the spot he was marking with his legs, was already flooded with the red from his body. 
Which he should have expected since his entrance to Lunark’s room. 
The day after the destructive arrival of his body occupied by the Dark Spear to Lukedonia, Lunark was hospitalized in the Lukedonian ward, having yet to wake up. 
It had been merely hours since the battle was officially closed, so it was too soon to see her waking up. 
Frankenstein knew that; after all, she was against none other than the Dark Spear that had unchained itself from his command. 
The Dark Spear that had absorbed Crombel and pieces of Crombel’s Blood Stone. 
No one would deny that it was a life-threatening opponent, even for Lunark. 
Not to mention she suffered a wound from Dark Spear, deliberately meant to kill her. 
A wound that sent Frankenstein’s sanity to the nether world when he finally regained his senses. 
A wound that was more critical than it should have been, for Lunark did not care about anything other than getting Frankenstein back, paying no attention to her own survival. 
Lunark may be top-tiered among the current werewolf warriors, but it is not time yet for her to wake up. 
Frankenstein knew and understood and accepted it in his head. 
However, his heart refused to comply. 
The cardiac monitor that was linked to her was signaling how she was at least stabilized, but Frankenstein felt he would die unless she provides a hint herself that she will be fine. 
Which is why he could not leave her, when she was not the only patient in the chamber. 
He had been receiving multiple suggestions and offers for breaks, if not treatment, from the hospital’s doctors and medical staff, Central Knights, and even few of the heads of clans. 
And of course, he would not heed them at all. 
Or he would answer he will not be staying long, to go ahead and stay transfixed as soon as he was left alone.
‘Looks like the story about me has spread to all corners of Lukedonia.’
Thought Frankenstein as he reckoned the next visitor. 
“I anticipated you to be here. I am glad I did not waste my time walking into your own room.” 
“...Please forgive me. I was supposed to keep better vigilance upon myself. The damage I caused upon your land is of no small...” 
Though what happened was as far as it could be from his intention, knowing that he had caused lot of trouble – in fact, heaps of trouble – Frankenstein willingly bowed to Lascrea. 
In the meantime, he was plotting whatever excuse he could yield to thwart yet another trial to send him to bed. 
Alas, this time he was told incorrect. 
“This is for you.” 
Frankenstein blinked in puzzlement upon locking his eyes on the phone Lascrea handed. 
‘Oh. Right. Tao said he prepared a phone and a couple applications for her in extension of the QuadraNet project.’ 
He was questioning the timing of Lascrea’s presentation of her phone when something caught his eyes. 
The screen was not the sort he identified, but the interface told him it was an application with a vocal chat activated, ongoing.
And there is only one soul that is connected to Lascrea’s phone. 
That moment Frankenstein could feel his throat strangling itself. 
However, he knew who was waiting on the other side of the phone; not even the end of the world can serve as a reason for him to turn it down. 
Thus he took Lascrea’s phone, his heart heavy like never before in the most recent times. 
“...Yes, master?” 
<Frankenstein. You do not sound well.> 
“...Forgive me, master.” 
<Forgive you...? For what?> 
Frankenstein’s eardrums shriveled. 
He could list in his mind more than a handful of things he should be begging forgiveness for, but for some reason he could not name any of them. 
Raizel changed the topic, his previous question obviously meant to be rhetoric. 
<Lascrea relayed the news. You were brought to Lukedonia, your body lost to Dark Spear, until Lunark arrived for your redemption following a blood-spilling battle. Because of which Lunark has met another battle, this time her conscious as a captive.> 
Frankenstein could tell Raizel was being gracious to him on the smallest scale he could afford. 
He may have put the cause behind Lunark’s blackout as an aftermath from her battle, but he would know the truth. 
After all, Lascrea was one of the witnesses for Lunark’s wound, and she would have had enough knowledge to testify for Raizel how she ended up suffering the wound. 
He would know that what forced her into blackout is not the aftermath of the battle; it is the one who was engaged in the battle. 
<Are you all right?> 
<...I’m fine, sir. Lukedonia boasts medical skills good enough to...> 
<My question was posed for more than your body.> 
And he knew how Frankenstein’s vessels and heart were being pulled apart every second with guilt. 
He knew how Frankenstein’s nightmare came true – his hand lost the reins he had placed upon Dark Spear, waiting for a chance to prevail from within. 
He knew because of which he is feeling for himself hatred like never before. 
Frankenstein could still remember the moment when the dam finally started to break down. And when he woke up once it was all over. 
Upon his return from the werewolf realm – rather, not long after he had finally recharged himself with wolfsbane tonic, the substance that should have kept him insomniac, he felt how a venom called sleep yanked his head with an invisible lasso towards the thick, unbreakable swamp of slumber. 
He panicked, a rare occasion for him, realizing something had gone horribly wrong, but he was already swept away by the rapid current of sleep.
Without any rope or boat to save him, he fell deeper and deeper into sleep. 
After who-knows-for-how-long, he was beckoned by a thin sensation from somewhere beyond his conscious as if something had shattered. 
Now that he had thought about it, he was surely fast asleep back then, but he could swear he felt something shatter. 
Promptly, his eyelids shot open as if under electrocution, exactly in the manner of a person miraculously dragged back by the AED from the brink of embarking on Charon’s boat. 
Furiously panting from the bottommost of his lungs, he waved his head in circumspection of his surroundings. 
He knew all too well what he would unleash once he is asleep, and as he feared his perimeter was nothing short from the definition of cataclysm. 
And he needed not to check how he was doing. 
He noticed how the soil and dirt he was thrown upon was of Lukedonian origin, and he wondered how he ended up here until his face grew cold, for he got aware a tad late of an unfamiliar weight upon his body. 
He could not see the face of the one lying upside down upon his torso, but he could make out a flock of hair scattered about where his hugger’s head should be. 
And he did not need to try at all to recognize the color, length, and curves of the hair. 
Immediately his heart froze up, turned much colder than his face. 
Soon enough he discovered a black hole rooted deep into her back, partially hidden by her hair, which filled him from head to toes with ice. 
He could not recall what befell right after. 
He ripped her off his body and ran with no direction or sense to coordinate him, to shriek dozen times and plead as twice as much, to ultimately reach here. 
<Know I it was not your will to hurt her. She would not blame you.> 
“...No. She wouldn’t.” 
<But you would.> 
Frankenstein’s throat grew strained at Raizel’s remark. 
Just as he said, Frankenstein felt highly inclined to wrench off his own head if he could. 
He wanted to drive his nails into his chest to pry out his heart. 
He could not remember the last time when his heart was jeopardized every minute by miserable, violent impulse concerning what did not happen to be Raizel. 
He could not stop thinking that he might make his impulse come to reality if Lunark is to never again open her eyes. 
Lascrea tightened her lips, having never seen such a slick, flawless man speechless for once. 
That was when she was reminded that she did not have much history with Lunark. 
She did have a light clash against her and the 3rd Elder, on the day she visited Raizel to fill his life with the half of her Ragnarok. 
After that, she ran into Lunark when she made her way to the werewolf realm with Kei and Rosaria, when Lunark brought Frankenstein, Muzaka, and Raizel, for them to ultimately reap away Maduke’s life. 
Apart from those occasions, she could not even get to hear Lunark’s name. 
So Lascrea was clueless why Frankenstein would have such a conversation with Raizel with Lunark unconscious before him. 
After all, she was looking at none other than Frankenstein, which made it more challenging for her to determine the exact relation that he and Lunark would share. 
With everything pushed to the side, however, she equally prayed that this werewolf warrior who was making THE Frankenstein spill out his guilt to open her eyes. 
Partially because she had something she had to check with Lunark.
And she could see she was not the only one. 
<It seems your heart as of now is not available for an uninterrupted, untainted reflection. For now best would it be for us to wait for Lunark to rise again. Wish I to hear that she awakens.> 
“...Of course. I believe we have a discussion ahead of us.”
That was when Frankenstein and Lascrea sharpened their eyes with pregnant glare. 
But the latter soon redirected the spotlight to something more important than the business they had with Lunark. 
“Have no concern, Frankenstein. Cadis Etrama di Raizel. I shall help our guest and savior to rise again with body as good as new, even if it takes all of Lukedonia’s art in medicine.” 
<...My gratitude, Lascrea.> 
Lascrea’s phone chimed with a brief word of appreciation. 
Poised were Raizel’s words, but Lascrea could detect softness as light but certain as moonlight, and her cheeks flushed like ripe tomatoes for a second. 
Thankfully for her, Frankenstein was too caught in his own complicated mind to notice her blush and failed to print it in his head with his eyes. 
He thereby unintentionally kept the noble lord’s dignity safe and asked, “Speaking of which, how is everything going at Korea?” 
(next chapter)
Now it’s time to wrap up things that follow the battle one by one, including the relationship between Frankenstein and Lunark. Also, I’ll be highlighting all the events that have yet to be explored in this fic (especially the events mentioned in the early chapters). Which means even though the highlight of this fic is over, I still have lots of work to do. Nevertheless, I shall do my best! :D 
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addictedtoeddie · 3 years
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The full Esquire Spain interview translated from Spanish:  
Eddie Redmayne trial: guilty of being the most talented (and stylish) actor of his generation
The Oscar winner talks about what it means to premiere a film with Aaron Sorkin (The Chicago 7th Trial on Netflix) and filming the new part of the most famous saga of all time under the watchful eye of its author, J.K. Rowling.
By Alba Díaz (text) / JUANKR (photos and video) / Álvaro de Juan (styling) 10/23/2020  
At the Kettle’s Yard Gallery in Cambridge, stands alone and leaning on a piano Prometheus, a marble head made by Constantin Brâncusi, and the only piece of art that Eddie Redmayne (London, 1982) would save from possible massive destruction. He tells me about it as he leaves the filming set of the third installment of Fantastic Beasts in the early days of an autumn that, we suspect, we will never forget. It begins to get dark as the actor nods seriously: "I promise to do my best in this interview."
Eddie Redmayne made himself in the theater despite some voices warning him that he could not survive in it. "Many people were in charge to tell me that it would never work, that only extraordinary cases make it and that I would not be able to live from this professionally." Even his father came home one day with a list of statistics on unemployed young actors. Redmayne, who is extremely modest, polite and funny, adds: “But I enjoyed theater so much that I got to the point of thinking that if I could only do one play a year for the rest of my life… I would do it. And that would fill me completely.
Spoiler: since then until today he has participated in many more. He set his first foot in the industry when he debuted at the Shakespeare’s Globe Theater and won over critics and audiences. He then landed his first major role in My Week with Marilyn opposite Michelle Williams. And then came one of the roles of his life, the character he wanted to become an actor for, Marius. With him he sang, led a revolution and broke Cosette's heart in Les Miserables. “I found out about the Les Misérables auditions when I was shooting a movie in Illinois. Dressed like a cowboy. I picked up the iPhone and videotaped myself singing the Marius song. I always wanted to be him ”.
Now Redmayne is an Oscar winner - thanks to his portrayal of Stephen Hawking in The Theory of Everything - and the protagonist of one of the most important sagas in history, Fantastic Beasts. He plays the magizoologist Newt Scamander in it. When I ask him what it means to him to be the protagonist of a magical world that is so important to millions of people, Eddie sighs and takes a few seconds to answer. “I have always loved the Harry Potter universe. Some people like The Lord of the Rings or Star Wars ... But, for me, the idea that there is a magical world that happens right in front of you, that happens without going any further on the streets of London, that. .. That exploded my imagination in another way.
During the quarantine, J. K. Rowling, who has been in charge of the script of the film, sparked a controversy through a series of tweets about transgender women. Redmayne assures that he does not agree with these statements but that it does not approve of the attacks of some people through social networks. The actor was one of the first to position himself against Rowling alongside Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson and other protagonists of her films. "Trans women are women, trans men are men, and non-binary identities are valid."
After having spent a while talking, Redmayne confesses to me that he has never been a big dreamer not to maintain certain aspirations that ended up disappointing him. So he has always kept a handful of dreams to himself. One of them was fulfilled just a few weeks ago with the premiere of The Trial of the Chicago 7, a film written and directed by Aaron Sorkin that can already be seen on Netflix and in some - few - cinemas. “I was on vacation with my wife in Morocco and the script arrived. I think I called my agent before I even read it and said yes, I would. She probably thought the obvious, that I'm stupid. After that, of course I read the script, which is about a specific moment in history that I knew very little about. I found it exciting and a very relevant drama in today's times. "
And it is that having a script by Aaron Sorkin in your hands is no small thing. Eddie Redmayne has been a fan of his work ever since he saw The West Wing of the White House. “His scripts have delicious language and dialogue. As an actor, it's fun to play characters that are much smarter than you are in real life. That virtuosity is hard to come by. I really hope that audiences enjoy this movie and feel that there is always hope. " He remembers that since he released The Theory of Everything he has recorded, to a large extent, English period dramas, “and although the new Aaron Sorkin is not strictly contemporary,” says Redmayne, “to be able to wear jeans and shirts and sweaters instead of so much tweed is great ”.
Besides acting, art was the only thing the actor was interested in, so he ended up studying Art History at Cambridge University. “My parents are quite traditional and when I told them I wanted to act they gave me free rein but on the condition that I study a career. And I'm very grateful for that because ... Look, beyond that, when I play a real character I usually go to the National Portrait Gallery in London quite often. There I lock myself up. Now, for Sorkin's film, I went through a lot of photographs and videotapes. Art helps me to be more creative, to get into paper ”. If he were not an actor, he would be, he says decidedly, a historian or perhaps a curator. "Although I think he would be a very bad art curator."
Against all logic, Eddie Redmayne is color blind. But there is a color that you can distinguish anywhere and on any surface: klein blue. He wrote his thesis on the French artist Yves Klein and the only shade of blue he used in his works. He wrote up to 30,000 words talking about that color with which he became obsessed. “It is surprising that a color can be so emotional. One can only hope to achieve that intensity in acting. "
Like his taste for art, which encompasses the refined and compact, Redmayne seems to be in the same balance when it comes to the roles he chooses. When I ask him what aspects a character he wants to play should have, he takes a few seconds again before answering: “I wish I had a more ingenious answer but I will tell you that I know when my belly hurts. It's that feeling that I trust. In my mind I transport him to imagine myself playing that character. When I read a script I have to really enjoy it. You never fully regret those instincts. It's like when you connect with something emotionally. "
So we come to the conclusion that all his characters have some traits in common. "You know what? I never look back, and this is something personal, but I do believe that there is a parallel between Marius in Les Misérables trying to be a revolutionary, someone who is quite prone to being distracted by love but at the same time is willing to die for his cause, and Tom Hayden from The Chicago Trial of the 7 who was a man who had integrity and was passionate and fought for the things he believed in. So I suppose there may also be similarities between a young Stephen Hawking and Newt Scamander. There are traits in common in all of them that I don't really know where they come from ”.
When we talk about the year we are living in, in which it is increasingly difficult to find hope, we both let out a nervous laugh. "There must be," Redmayne says. “There is something very nice that Tom Hayden, the character I play in Sorkin's film, said to his former wife, actress Jane Fonda, just the day before she passed away. He told her that watching people die for their beliefs changed his life forever. In that sense, I also think about what Kennedy Jr. wrote about how democracy is messy, tough and never easy ... As is believing in something to fight for. I look at history and how they were willing to live their lives with that integrity to change the world and I realize that somehow that spirit still remains with us. " We fell silent thinking about it. "There must be hope."
I tell him about my love for Nick Cave's blog, The Red Hand, and one of the posts that I have liked the most in recent weeks. In it, the singer affirms that his response to a crisis has always been to create, an impulse that has saved him many times. For Redmayne there are two activities that can silence noise: drawing and playing the piano. “When you play the piano your concentration is so consumed by trying to hit that note that you can't think of anything else. Similarly, when you draw something, the focus is between the paper and what you are trying to recreate ... There I try to calm my mind.
Before saying goodbye, I drop a question that I thought I knew the answer to, but failed. What work of art would you save from mass destruction? "How difficult! I could name my favorite artists but still couldn't choose a work. Only one piece? Let me think. I am very obsessed with Yves Klein, but I would stick with a work by Brancusi. There is a sculpture of him, a small head called Prometheus, in Cambridge's Kettle’s Yard, on a dark mahogany piano. The truth is that I find it very ... beautiful ”.
Before leaving, he confesses to me - with a childish and slow voice - that he would like to direct something one day. We said goodbye, saying that we will talk about his next project. Next, the first thing I do is open the Google search engine. "P-r-o-m-e-t-h-e-u-s". Although Eddie Redmayne has trouble distinguishing violet from blue, he doesn't have them when choosing a good piece. He's right, that work deserves to be saved.
* This article appears in the November 2020 issue of Esquire magazine
Source: esquire.com/es/actualidad/cine/a34434114/eddie-redmayne-juicio-7-chicago-netflix-entrevista/
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Night at the Museum | Adam Milligan x Reader
Prompt: Family
Fandom: Supernatural
Words: 2230
A/N: Wasn’t feeling well for a few days (still don’t but oh well), so here’s yesterday’s story prompt. This is a continuation of [True Winchester Fashion]. I’ll have today’s prompt up later.
-
The cases were getting more confusing with each passing day. One incident looked clearly to be the work of a vampire, the next is a witch, and another a werewolf. All in one town in the span of two weeks. Sam and Dean gathered in Adam’s apartment, their things scattered on the medium sized Ikea dining table.
Adam had been checking up on you every now and again, and you appreciated it, which was why he was the first person you thought of when something bad happened again. You had been working in the museum after hours when you heard noises coming from one of the exhibits under construction.
“Larry?” you called out to one of the security guards in the walkie talkie.
“Everything alright, (Y/n/n)?” Larry asked.
“Yeah, just thought I heard something from the west wing.”
“I’ll check with surveillance and have someone stick with you until you go home if you want.”
“Okay, thank you.”
“No problem.”
You went back to finish sorting through the bookstacks, a small hand radio softly playing nineties music on one of the desks.Twenty minutes later, you were finished with one large stack and deciding to call it a night. You checked your phone and realized how late it got. Looking sound, you had assumed that one of the security guards were guarding the library entrance, but no one was there.
“Larry?” you said through the walkie talkie. You waited, hearing nothing but static. “Larry? Bill?”
You grabbed your things, stuffing a thick and old leather bound book in your bag, and clutched the walkie talkie close to you as you closed up. With every sound or movement you thought you saw in the corner of your eye, you would try to contact the security guards again.
Whenever you had seen these types of situations on screen, you always thought of how foolish that person was for being in a building after hours, alone at night. But, you had always felt safe in the museum. The staff was friendly and the security guards were caring and protective. The fact that none of them were answering was worrying. You thought back to the night that your friend died, your heart racing in your chest as you try to make one last call out before leaving.
“Larry?” you tried again as you made your way towards the exits.
You waited. Static. Then tried again. There was an echo of your voice from a walkie talkie nearby. You turned, but saw no one. You squeezed the walkie talkie, pressing the button one more time without saying anything. You heard the noise again, looking around the dimly lit room and spotted the walkie talkie lying on the ground next to a pool of dark liquid.
You forgot to breathe as you rushed out of the building, your back feeling vulnerable as you jogged to your car. Your hands shook as you tried to unlock the doors and climbed in, locking them again as soon as you sat down, then started the engines.
This was a small town, so you had always tried to stay out of trouble or else the entire town would know about it. Meaning, not once had you gone above the speed limit, in fear that your parents’ friend and classmate gave you a ticket and then they would never stop bringing up the one ticket you ever had and how you disappointed them. This time, however, a ticket and frustrations was not as scary as the possibility of getting murdered.
Once you were locked away in your apartment, you sat in your bathtub and called Adam.
“Hey, everything alright?” he asked.
You let out a long breath, wanting to steady your heartbeat. “I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know why this is happening,” you whimpered, “I didn’t know what to do, I just… i needed to talk to someone to calm down.”
“Okay, we can do that. Do you wanna talk about what happened?”
A hot tear rolled down your cheek as you tried to make sense of the past events. “I think… I think something happened to the security guards at the museum. I panicked. I didn’t get a good look, but I just wanted to get out of there as soon as I could. Am I being silly?”
“No, of course not,” Adam assured you, “Listen, I’m in contact with those feds that came by that night at the bar. I’ll go speak to them and see that they can look into it, okay?”
“Okay. Thanks, Adam. I’m sorry for bothering you-”
“You’re not bothering me. I want you to be safe.”
“Okay,” you said softly. “I, uh, I’m gonna call a coworker and see if she can notify the police of what happened. Can you… can you come over?”
“Yeah, sure. Just text me your address.”
Adam hung up, clenching his jaw as he pictured you at home, too afraid to even go outside after what’s been going on around town. You didn’t deserve to deal with all of this. Whoever or whatever is killing people will have to face the Winchesters for what they’ve done. 
He walked out to the living room and slumped down in a chair next to his brothers. Sam noticed his tired expression, wordlessly passing a can of beer to him. Adam nodded in thanks, popping it open and taking a swig.
“What’s up?” Dean said, looking up from his laptop screen.
“Something’s going on at the museum and I want to go and check it out,” Adam said.
“What, like a Night at the Museum thing or like a new contemporary modern art exhibit with canvases that just have random splashes of paint worth thousands of dollars kind of thing?”
Adam frowned, thinking back to cases in the past few weeks and how they were connected. You were always nearby when they happened. He stood up and grabbed his jacket and car keys.
“I don’t know. The police are heading over there right now. I’m gonna go and check on (Y/n).”
“Right. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Dean teased.
“So do everything except eating healthy?”
Adam shut the door behind him before Dean could retort. The oldest brother shook his head. 
“What an asshole. Where the hell does he get it from?”
Sam gave him a pointed look, then turned his attention back to his research as he cleared his throat.
-
Sam and Dean had arrived at the museum, flashing their badges and speaking with the sheriff. They had found one surviving security guard who was knocked unconscious while the rest who were on duty had been killed.
“Anyone else was here during that time?” Dean asked the museum’s director.
She shrugged. “Usually some curators, conservators, and one or two archivists. Everyone’s been working hard to get the new exhibit up and running, which is why we usually have more than one security guard on duty.”
“Exhibit?”
The director’s eyes lit up. “Oh, yes. We’re doing something fun this year and diving into myths, legends, and magic. These stories have contributed to our history and we’ve wanted to do something different. We even had a few donors who’ve had records and items from the Salem witch trials-”
Sam and Dean exchanged a knowing look. “When did these donors come in?” Sam asked.
She tapped her chin and hummed. “About two weeks ago? Oh, dear. You don’t think someone would kill for these items, do you?”
Sam offered her a reassuring smile. “We’ll figure out who did this. In the meantime, I suggest postponing the exhibit.”
“Of course, of course.”
“Mind if we check the exhibit? You know, just to make sure nothing was stolen.”
“Oh, yes, of course. Follow me.”
The director led them to the back where they stored the items and displays, leaving them for a moment to retrieve the inventory list. Her heels echoed through the spacious warehouse until she reached the back. She frowned at the list, going back and forth between the opened crates.
“Oh, dear, there’s something missing,” she muttered, “Oh, I see. It must have been one of the historians or the archivists. Usually they’d make a note of it, though. They know not to leave the building with any of the items here.”
Dean asked for the list, which she readily handed over. She pointed at the missing item, a thick leather bound book with a metal lock on it. He flipped through the pages, looking for a picture of the book before handing it back.
“Are there cameras in the warehouse?”
-
Adam pulled up in front of your building, double checking the address and apartment number. He climbed out and immediately felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
“Be careful,” Michael said to him, “There’s something here. Get to your friend quickly.”
“Why do you think they’re all after (Y/n)?” Adam asked, speed walking towards the steps.
Michael paused for a moment. “There must be something they’re not telling us.”
Adam knocked on your door and waited a beat. He could hear shuffling on the other side of the door followed by two locks clicking open. You poked your head through the door, opening it wider when you saw that it was Adam. He walked in, watching as you relocked the door and made your way towards the couch.
You slumped against the arm rest, burying your face in your hands. “This is all my fault,” you mumbled.
“What do you mean?” He slowly sat next to you, eyes scanning the room before looking back at you.
“I knew better than to take the book, but… I don’t know what I was thinking. It was almost like it was telling me to take it. Because of me, Rachel is dead. And so is Larry and Billy.” You rubbed your face hard, tears falling out before you could do anything about it.
“(Y/n)), start from the beginning. What book?”
You got up on shaky legs to retrieve your bag from your room. Reaching over to your desk, a bang from the window startled you. A shriek escaped your lips, heart threatening to follow after. Adam rushed over, wrapping a protective arm around you. He narrowed his eyes at the window but saw nothing. He led you back to the couch where you handed him your bag.
He unzipped the bag and pulled out a heavy leather bound book with a padlock holding it closed. In closer inspection, the leather material may not be leather at all, just that it was dyed and weathered to look like it. With one quick look, Adam could easily identify it as some kind of grimoire.
“Where did you get this?” Adam asked.
“The museum,” you said, wrapping your arms around your knees as you curled up again, “The director needed someone who spoke Latin to help translate some of the pages. The historian that usually does it is away, so that left me, though I can’t translate quite as well as the historian, the director insisted that I translate it as soon as possible… Now that I think about it, it seems all ridiculous. I don’t know why I listened.” You shook your head. “I guess I was too scared of losing my job, but I didn’t really realize until I translated the first few pages how dangerous it was.”
“What does it do?”
“I didn’t think that it was real! I just thought… I didn’t know…”
“(Y/n),” Adam said more gently.
You took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly. “It… apparently it has a spell that draws in all creatures within the vicinity, as if it was a beacon. It sounds crazy-”
“(Y/n), trust me. This is not crazy.” Adam inspected the book before putting it down on the coffee table. “Those feds that you met at the bar a couple of nights ago?”
You nodded.
“Well, they’re my brothers…. And they’re not feds. They…. My family comes from a line of hunters,” Adam began to explain.
“Hunters are quite different from brewery owners,” you muttered, trying to lift your mood up.
Adam chuckled. “Yeah, they hunt everything that goes bump in the night and then some. They’re the best at what they do and they’re looking into what’s been happening around town. They can help you with the book, (Y/n).”
You huffed out a laugh and shook your head at the situation you brought yourself into. “That’s great, but is there anything else that you failed to tell me?”
Adam looked down and smiled. “The, uh, the notes from micro lab? I didn’t need them. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”
“Adam, if you’re lying to make me feel better about endangering the entire town-”
“I’m serious!”
There was another thud at the window closest to the living room. You jumped, your eyes immediately landing on that cursed book lying among your stained coasters, ripped envelopes and spare rubber bands. The cursed book that started all of this. It shook with each thud that hit the window, a tall dark shadowy figure standing on the other side of the curtained window. You covered your ears as Adam stood, quickly texting Sam and Dean to hurry over.
“Don’t worry, (Y/n). I won’t let anything happen to you.”
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dnd-vigilante · 3 years
Text
Ignatius
General Concept
People usually play druids around the idea that nature is fundamentally opposed humans and civilization. The druid’s role in this dichotomy tends to focus on advocating balance between nature and human activity, which is a flawed, humancentric view because it assumes people are separate from nature.
A more nuanced, contemporary evolutionary view takes a more holistic view of nature by including people and civilization in nature. Civilization is one way humans have adapted to their environments similarly to beavers constructing dams. Obviously, there are many differences, the point being that the civilization versus nature dichotomy is simplistic and doesn’t take into account the more complicated picture. Plenty examples exist in the archaeological record where cities allowed wildlife to thrive by preventing erosion, and it wasn’t until after the city collapsed that the wildlife was no longer able to survive.
Taking this view into account, Ignatius will be a druid that values people and civilization because he sees them as part of the natural world. However, by giving up their objects of beauty and living modest lives, he believes people are not living in their natural state. He takes inspiration from watching animals, creatures of instinct, and believes it is human nature to be instinctual and expressive. He believes peoples’ instinct is to live freely of inhibition and create meaning which is best manifested in art and beauty. To repress human instinct is a sin.
Ideas and Questions to Explore Through Roleplaying
Ignatius believes in individuals should be free to express themselves because otherwise we are not living true to our nature, and therefore not really living and may as well not exist. How will he reconcile that when people's’ real lives are at stake? At what cost will he be willing promote freedom?
Ignatius believes there is nothing unnatural about civilization and human creation. At what point does human action become unnecessary destruction?
It will often be easy to say “your actions should not hinder another’s freedom” but it won’t always be that simple.
What human characteristics if any will he find unnatural in addition to repression?
Would he be okay with destruction if it promotes his ideas of nature? Fire is a force of nature.
Ignatius believes that people have a nature and it must be followed. In reality, it is much harder to define humanity. During his adventure, will he keep the same belief about human nature? Will he even believe there is a human nature? What does he do if he comes to that conclusion?
Is there really any meaning in life for Ignatius? He believes it should be about instinct and expression, but will he find that really gives him meaning?
Appearance and Personality
Ignatius is a creature of instinct who loves to live in the moment. If there is a thrill to be found in front of him, he will do it (he isn’t stupid or evil he won’t do something if it’s likely to get him killed or cause serious damage to someone else). He loves beauty and extravagance and is therefore outgoing and flamboyant. Insults and not fitting in don’t bother him too much since he tends not to be attached to people because he sees it as inhibiting his freedom. Because he sees civilization as modest and repressed, he prefers to spend time in nature where the freedom makes him feel more human. He also sees nature as more human because it follows its instinct. When he can, he loves to visit ruins which he sees as a time when humans followed their nature.
Ignatius has an extravagant appearance that matches his personality. He has a long fire-red mohawk that flops over to the side hanging down near his jawline. He is covered in colorful tattoos mostly of birds like a quetzal, a peacock and various birds of paradise. His ears are adorned in piercings, mostly carved wooden piercings. If he found any jewelry from ruins he would wear those. He is adorned with whatever brightly colored clothing he can find but he keeps a grey cloak on hand if he needs to obscure himself.
He gave himself the name Ignatius because he thinks its flamboyant and it means fiery one which matches his personality.
Backstory
Ignatius was born Aelus to elven parents in the village of Flatmire. His parents’ long lives instilled them with a casual indifference to those around them which Aelus grew to hate as he found them antithetical to his natural love of life. As respected village elders, Aelus was expected to attend to his duties at home and in the village. Instead, Aelus preferred to explore the wilds where he felt he could truly be human. Flatmire held closely to tradition, eschewing art and innovation. Observing animals taught Aelus a better way of living: to be free and follow one’s instinct.
During his extended time in the jungle, he became close to a small family of trappers and befriended Tawny Jack who also held a deep reverence for nature. Together they were able to explore more of the jungle than before. A more reserved personality, Tawny encouraged Aelus’ flamboyant, ostentatious nature and he grew bolder with his philosophy. Aelus took the name Ignatius, a more fitting name to his personality, and began tattooing himself with elaborate, colorful birds. The village elders became increasingly uncomfortable with my presence leading to an explosive confrontation resulting in his exile. Tawny Jack decided to come with me and we headed toward the nearest rumored village of Eastcliff: Town.
One night during their journey, the hair stood up on the backs of their necks as they felt a malevolent presence approach. All the could see was the howling wind violently shake the surrounding trees whose form was obscured by a mirage. An encroaching pitch blackness that sucked in light as it came closer. They still do not know what it was but they swear it was a daemon and all the could do was run. Despite fleeing, the presence gained on them and right as it seemed to catch them, a strange light resembling a large bluish humanoid with elvish ears appeared and led them into a grove.
Upon reaching the grove, the evil presence immediately disappeared. Ignatius never heard the spirit the saved them speak but he could understand it as though it did. He knew the spirit’s name was Lightsong. Then, Lightsong touched him on the forehead and Ignatius saw visions of another place and time. He saw visions of people controlling the forces of nature and transforming into animals. The last vision was of himself surrounded by a small group of allies facing down the same presence that chased them. When the visions were gone the markings of a constellation appeared across his back. The spirit vanished and Ignatius saw a deep pristine pool of water. Behind the pool stood a large rainbow eucalyptus tree. At its base, a set of leather armor, a wooden shield, a scimitar named Tempest and a wood scepter made out of the same tree were spread out for him.
Tawny Jack and Ignatius made it to Eastcliff where they were welcomed. Some people have shown disapproval of Ignatius’ flamboyant appearance, others have been more accepting. Ignatius feels the same satisfaction in Eastcliffe and is eager for more adventure. Meanwhile he uses his skills as an herbalist to provide tonics and other healing remedies to Eastcliff. Ignatius became enamored with a beautiful statue in the center of Eastcliff. He loves to spend hours staring at it, remembering that expression, creativity and ingenuity of the highest forms of humanity.
Relationship with the The Envoy of The Forgotten [Organization]
Ignatius believes that what the Envoy’s holding back the demons is inherently good. He sees the daemons as evil because they feed off beauty and creativity preventing humans from living. He does not enjoy the Envoy’s ritual, but he understands it to be a necessary means to keeping the terror at bay. Were Ignatius to discover a way of keeping the terror at bay during the campaign that didn’t involve sacrificing “items of beauty” to the Envoy, he would do what he could to make that change. Because he believes the ritual is crucial to keeping the terror at bay, he spends time making beautiful carvings out of wood and paints to offer the Envoy which symbolizes offering up a piece of himself to protect people from the terror.
Alchemical Advancements
Story and Mystery
You have decided to follow Rial on a quest that may or may not be beneficial. Knowing full well that this quest may lead absolutely nowhere. Rial leads you south. Heading far past the lands you once ventured alone and with Tawny. Deep into the jungles which you now know are Yuan-ti territory.
Rial Crestling has been carrying around a pack of odd potions. Something seems to be off about all of them and it is unclear how they were made. Rial tells you he is tracking a man he believes to be a connection to the one he originally purchased the potions from.
You travel from small village to minor town, eventually coming upon a merchant who had acquired a similar pack of potions from a man headed for the now risen city of Goblorado. Rial purchased all of the potions from this man and you head towards the ancient city.
Weeks pass before you reach this metropolis of goblin kind. In this time you help Rial with his experiments. You discover through lots of trial and error that the potions Rial has found are made from the blood and essence of differing monsters. The green potions of healing appear to be primarily made of troll blood. Which gives you a full understanding of why you feel awful after drinking it…
Goblorado is nothing like you expected. It is thriving with activity and in the center of town is another one of those strange Obsidian Stones. You and Rial head to a local inn and wait. Rial tells you that you are waiting to hear something of importance. After hours of waiting and probably too many drinks, Rial stands and quickly heads for the door. Slow to follow you find Rial beating a hooded man in a back alley, a pack of potions on the ground next to him.
The merchant tells Rial he is part of a traveling merchant group he simply calls the brotherhood. An organization of seemingly benign merchants. Rial does manage to pilfer a book on potion making from the man. Rial looked at you for a few seconds, grabbed a hold of the man's neck, and snapped it with a satisfyingly quick crack. “That may not have been the way you wanted to handle that. I unfortunately cannot have someone like this knowing I am looking for them.”
He hands you the book and tells you to study it. “You may be able to find replacements for the monster blood and parts. I would start with the native plants and go from there.” With that Rial left the alley and disappeared into the crowd. You spend the following years studying this book. Eventually making your way back north towards home.
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currentfandomkick · 4 years
Text
JL confronts Marinette
From bio!dad Strange au, where they made her kryptonian to keep her alive. This is post-Hawkmoth (debating using a random and revamping Gabriel altogether tbh)
“Don’t.” Marinette was tired of heroes, tired of being one. She had to handle hawkmoth’s fallout, keeping so many secret identities (hers, JL, miraculus team, her gotham family’s) and she just wanted to sleep.
Flash found her first, but Superman grabbed her and put her in the air for a ‘talk’.
“Don’t what?” She knew superman wasnt a detective. She knew he was a reporter though and she could see baiting and needling just under the surface. He’s an interrigator then, she decided.
“Don’t come in and try to fix what the miraculous team already handled. Paris was abbadonned by your league.”
She figured this was about Ladybug. Paris is always going off the the miraculous holders and ladybugs were always deemed the defacto leaders. She liked that Daesuqa (Talia) took over leading long term missions for the most part, handled meetings and politics so her and Chat and the others could be more like the teens they are in theory.
And everyone knew Marinette was Chat Noir’s favorite after she got how many akumatized people to release their akuma on their own? And that she supplied mirauclous users with kwami food (though it was common for many other civilians). It was common knowledge to all, but Hawkmoth apparently, that if Chat or his miraculous team or the entire team was needed, you went to Marinette.
Superman furrowed his brow at that though. “I didn’t know there was an active team here.”
So it wasn’t about the miraculous or years of magic terrorism her city endured?
“Been here for years. Hawkmoth’s sentencing is in a few hours.”
She hoped it was the kwami’s choice. Tikki murmured that people were surprised by what they could live through, and she is thw kwami of life. Tikki would make him wish he was dead routinely. He deserved it for regualrly slaughtering the city.
“No, that’s...” superman shook his head. “I came here to talk to you about...” he gestures to her then. She didn’t get it until she realized she was floating on her own.
When did he let her go?
“I know you’re Princess.”
Marinette’s blood stopped then. No. He can’t. They can’t.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I know Chloe changed my handle to Princess of Paris a few years ago but indont think heroes can stalk teens for that.”
Good, play into that. Distract until someone you trust can come. She hit an alert on her phone while he wasnt looking.
Pegasus should be here soon.
“I know you know it only as the Chimera project.”
Wrong. It was the surgery that kept her alive.
“And i know you’ve been poisoning yourself to stay hidden.”
Antidotes came from venom. It was fone to ise the stickers, they kept her human. The crystals were for emergencies only.
“What I don’t get is why.”
Why would she want him to kidnap, or abduct her? Take her from her family? Her life?
Don’t show that you’re who he thinks, anvocie whispered. Keep being the Paris Marinette from social media. The savage who snarled Weredad into submission.
“I really think you have the wrong girl. Its listed under my file as a volunteer flyer that i’m a flying meta, like most of the flyers.” Good, keep it up.
“And superman, if I had to guess why some girl that i look like would supress their powers, its becuase this is France and until the Miraculous team came clean about some being meta, you were imprisoned on suspicions of being meta, even infants were, are in the rest of France. Paris is the only place you arent imprisoned for it.”
Superman paled at that. “I. I wasn’t aware.”
“why would you be?”
Superman did respond to that.
“And if this Princess of yours is still hiding, she might be protecting her loved ones. Or maybe she thinks you’d steal her away from her life and home? Everyone knows about the fortress of solitude and i dont think anyone besides you would like living there, especially so far from people.”
Marinette watched him process. As long as Red Robin didnt see her, didnt confirm her identity, she was in the clear.
“Now if you’d excuse me, I’m needed to finish filling out a report on the final battle.”
That had superman’s attention.
“Final battle.”
“Yes, we just took down Hawkmoth a week ago.”
“He already has his trial, in a week.” Disbelief. Not worng either.
“It took the citizens of paris a week to finish voting. Finally tallies come in tonight if we try him as humans or if the kwami—gods of various concepts—are the ones to try him for his crimes. Afterall, he enslaved one kwami and abused another.”
Superman was not doing well, far too pale. Shock? No, they sent so many videos before the JL banned them.
Guilt. Regret, too. Probably.
“Now can you put me down somewhere? I’m not out as a meta and indont plan on being out anytime soon. Any supporting the miraculous teams do have their enemies too, and i dont want to be targetted.”
Superman nodded. Numb? Possible.
She let hersef be taken down.
Pegasus was there, Flash on his way. Another person who could make her.
She had to move fast.
“I hope I cleared things up?”
Superman nodded.
Max was ready to fight, glaring at the blue boyscout.
“Ready to go Miss DC?”
Marinette nodded, letting him guide her to the portal.
Flash didnt make it in, but he didnt see her face either. She’s take the narrow victory.
They exited in the Paris Grande Hotel. The Mayor had Batman and Red Robin with him. Crap.
“Is this...”
“Our civilian contact, Miss DC,” Pegasus stated almost too professionally. Great, now Red would know they know each other as friends. batman too.
“Batman, Red Robin, correct?”
“Yes. We, we just found your heroes videos and came to help. I see we’re too late too.”
Marientte nodded, avioding eye contact with Red. She wasnt sure if he learned to act infront of Batman yet, and wasnt risking it.
“I heard you came up with many of the emergency procedures and built the comms system with Pegasus.”
“As a flyer, yes. As Miss DC I just make sure the team stays fed and Chat doesnt forget to sleep.”
Batman shot Red Robin a look as he said, “I know the feeling.”
Marinette didnt fight the smile then. Yes, that was her Hero Stalker Tim alright.
“Would you two be interested in helping the league develop a better system to sort incoming messages?”
Pegasus moved first. “If we do, Miss DC is to be left alone. Her mother is very atrict about her not getting involved in science, and refuses to believe that her daughter has been actively helping the miraculous team.”
Batman turned his attention to Marinette then. “Is that so?”
Marinette nodded. “My birth father and her left on... terms i never got the jist of. He and his friends teach me in secret. Mama,” not maman, she forced herself to say, “she said something about it being destructive and dangerous, so she wants me to stick to the arts instead.”
Batman nodded. “Experiments can be, but that doesnt undercut the good you’ve done. I’ll tell the league you will work off-site should you accept.”
Marinette nodded along. “I can help where Pegasus gets stuck, and be contacted through him but otherwise would prefer not to be contacted by the League. I’m a civilian, and no offense, but there ahve been leaks before.”
“Understandable. The league thanks you for your help, and apoligizes for what you went through.”
Marinette could feel the hole Red Robin was burning into her. He earings. And the fox miraculous. Shit. He knew.
Marinette wanted to punch the league in their face collectively.
“All May i go now, i have a meeting to get to.”
“Of course.”
Pegasus opened the portal and escorted her out.
They both waited five minites, Max feeding Kaalki, for the call.
“So why didnt you tell me?” Tim was pissed.
“Media blackout. Any time i tried to call it was blocked.”
Tim swore. “Alfred!”
“You are so lucky Pegasus doesnt know anything about gotham.”
“He’s there?”
“I work with him alot.”
“So when you visited Gotham...”
“French government would know. Not hard to connect the dots of girl leaves to see gotham fmaily and suddenly the league shows up after banning all of Paris from contact.”
“I. When did it happen?”
“Before Chrismas. I would have had Nonna tell you but she didnt know either until after the fact and they said if she told anyone itd be me going to jail for her.”
“That’s. What hellscape do you live in?”
“I died so many times i don’t even know now.” She stopped keeping track after she got into the eighties. That wasn’t even a full year into being Ladybug.
“That’s not comforting.”
“Please tell me that you’re not outing me to Bats. I just got two leaguers off my tail.”
“I won’t tell him, but if the new Robin does i’m not stopping him.”
She almost forgot Talia’s son was a Robin. She didnt see him in uniform yet—as Damian (not wayne but damian who was mourning lost family, damian who didnt know how to talk to people his age). She knows he’s a bit thick with social cues, and his detective skills need work in her opinion but he’s skeptical and has good insticts. He might make her as Marinette if he’s there.
“Is he...”
“He’s with the Titans now, but theyre debating coming here to yell at the league.”
“Videoing it?”
“Obviously. Want a copy?”
“Ill make popcorn before watching.”
“Rkc are doing well by the way—stopped a human trafficking ring and i think they took the victims.”
“Harley’s working with them,” marientte got he update earlier. “Hood and zsasz took out the lower and mid tier that woudlnt snitch. The case should be smooth sailing—the sirens put out a blanket hit on anyone trying to touch the witnesses.”
“So managing two teams this whole time,” red murmured, almost... bitter, or disapointed in something—no someone. Himself?
“Just tweaking things. Daesuqa handles most the team since she found me and Chat. Apparently she was compatible enough to do a lot of the non-fighting work. I still did battle strategy and all but,” Marinette shrugged.
“She focused in survival aspects here, and long term stability for Gotham. Daesuqa has handled most of non-kwami work here outside of kwami and candidates,” Max added. “On top of her work as a student and designer and inventor.”
Red Robin groaned. “When do you sleep?”
Marinette hummed. “I have meds to make me. And angry family to make me take them.”
“Her... what are we calling him now?” Mac was asking about Felix, adiren’s gremlin cousin who’s mom isntryign to adopt her. Also a fellow reverse theif and possessive friend.
“Uh, gremlin.”
“Her gremlin calls to let is know if she does get rest on the weekends and we trade off on weekdays.”
Red robin hummed into the phone. “So staying to the shadows?”
Trixx and Tikki looked up at Marinette at that. tikki wanted her to be the Ladybug, the be seen and everywhere and she...
Trixx knew why Marinette liked the shadows and background. Trix understood that bit.
“Yeah, i’ll still play in between and have some kwami things for life now.” She and Chat were working out gaurdian duties still.
She wasnt interested in the JL.
@emeraldpuffguide @ilovefluffbutsmutisalsogreat @mystery-5-5 @weird-pale-blonde-person @dast218
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