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simplegenius042 · 3 months

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Fallout 3 OC - Alph Dolen (The Lone Wanderer)

Further information under the cut:

Here's my Lone Wanderer of Fallout 3, Alph Dolen, son of James and the late Catherine Dolen, he lived in Vault 101 his entire life with his father, growing up with the values embedded to him from his father, and looking up to his dad, wanting to work under him as a junior medical officer alongside his big brother figure Jonas Palmer (and hopefully when his best friend Amata takes over as Vault 101's Overseer when her stuck-up father either kicks the can or gets too old). However, this dream is cut short when Alph's father leaves the vault without warning, and is consequently chased out of the vault due to Overseer Almodovar viewing him as being guilty by association, accidentally taking Amata with him when the guards shoot first without asking questions. The two young adults find themselves out in the Capital Wasteland, and with no way of going back to the vault, follow after James' trail... leading them to Megaton. Little did both know they would be caught up in a conflict between the Brotherhood of Steel and the Enclave.

Alph is a handsome young trans-man who is 19-years-old at a height of 5 feet and 7 inches, stylish with his Tunnel Snakes jacket that Butch gave him as gratitude for saving his mom, and is great with his hands on account of working as a medical officer under his dad. He makes sure to keep the Tunnel Snake jacket, even when he goes off to war in Power Armour with his lovely plasma pistol. He's pretty average in strength, health, hygiene and energy. He inherited his mother's red hair and his father's brown eyes, though has facial features mixing from both.

James ensured Alph would be taught to be highly literate and creative. Alph has a natural charm towards children that not even Amata expected of him. Alph was pretty naive when he entered the Capital Wasteland with Amata, but both his and Amata's own awareness of their surroundings had slowly become good enough that they'd realize a particular place is kind of hostile. Alph's communication is good enough to get the information he needs but often doesn't specify on certain subjects, which Amata has to step in for. Alph is persuasive by pointing out flaws and faults in plans but he can't win everybody. Alph is quite tech-savvy, though old world technology can be quite tricky for him sometimes. He's capable of wandering out on his own, but he prefers to at least have Amata and/or a companion to watch his back. His luck is pretty even, and is able to handle animals like mole rats, dogs, yao guai and brahmin. Mediation is not his strongest suit, but it is Amata's, and his combat is pretty lacking, just like Amata's! He can barely sneak around, and his awkward Rizz only affects Amata (he's learning, give him a break). This man shouldn't cook cause he will straight up eat radroach meat off the floor if he's desperate enough, and even though he was born in the Wasteland, he was not raised in the wasteland, so his street smarts currently solely belong to his father, who didn't think to share.

Alph has high intelligence worthy of a medical practitioner and future scientist. He does devout himself under Christianity just like his parents, and mixes the morals he learnt from that into his actions towards others. He is very much full of anxiety after spending so much time in the Wasteland, which differs from his comforting lifestyle in Vault 101. He does however get confident as time goes on, and becomes impassioned by his father to help with Project Purity. His jokes jokes are hit or miss but aren't as bad as Wadsworth's. His happiness squanders over time after losing friends and family alike, and he is not exactly patient to put off his search for his missing father.

He's a polite dude, though given certain circumstances and the kind of people he's dealing with he can get a bit harsh. He's not used to violent confrontations as deadly and frightening as such in the Capital Wasteland, and is scared out of his mind, but I doubt he'd run. Honestly he'd rather avoid violence, unless he wants to commit to it (especially when dealing with Colonel Autumn and the Enclave). Though he does have that little voice in the back of his head that sets off the second he makes a stupid decision, I'd say that he is quite impulsive. He's very disagreeable with most people, especially those of authority and power (unless your last name is Lyons)... the Outcasts despise him for this very reason. He's definitely inherited more of James' pragmatic thoughts rather than his idealistic, but that doesn't mean Alph isn't as equally passionate about clean water as him and Catherine were. Alph has learnt that nowhere in the Capital Wasteland is cheap, so he saves as much as he can. He's very physical and honestly likes to travel around, and he also likes to spend indoors, especially with Amata. He's calm most of the time, but its to hide the gremlin that's sleeping within him, and Amata acts as an anchor while (eventually) Butch acts as a key for the gremlin side. Alph is very stubborn, quite decisive and sometimes gets jealous of others, especially if Amata pays attention more to someone else than to him.

He's quite charismatic, and ordinarily empathetic towards others (especially if they've lost their home and/or loved one), though sometimes turns this empathy off especially when there comes an opportunity to better the wasteland and make it less hostile for himself and Amata (e.g. increasing Harold's growth instead of killing him). He's quite generous to others (except those of power and authority... unless your last name is Lyons) and has earned a steady balance of wealth (at least he's not broke). He can be aggressive but isn't hot-headed. I think his libido is average, but you'll have to confirm with Amata. I think he's more honest with his intent than he his deceptive, he's definitely a follower himself (following around James, Reilly, Sarah and her father Elder Lyons to name a few) and as stated before, is generally polite. He's very indifferent towards the politics of the Capital Wasteland, but as Three Dog says, does "fight the good fight". Alph is a rather cool person, fun to be around, not to mention Amata finds him pretty cute if sometimes gullible. Saving grace about Alph is that he's only obedient to those he genuinely has respect for (such as his dad and the Lyons), and doesn't bow down to other authority figures that easily, which earns him Butch's respect.

Alph had been (mostly) raised to abide by the moral Christian values, and after almost dying at the water purifier, definitely believes there's a God watching out for him. At first he thought Fawkes' speech about his destiny was a bunch of nonsensical nonesense from being trapped down in Vault 87 for so long, but after surviving his near-death experience in the water purifier (and find out later he is starting to suffer from ghoulification), he actually starts to listen to Fawkes more often. Yeah, Point Lookout and the Dunwich Building make him realize that maybe magic kind of exists. He and Amata are two beans in an inseparable pod, and though there are days they annoy one another to the point she wants to wrangle his neck; he quite believes they're meant to be. With his experiences with Slavers, Cannibals, Super Mutants and the Enclave, you bet your ass he has a black and white view of the Capital Wasteland, and the Pitt doesn't really make much difference considering Alph's natural dislike for authoritarian figures. I guess he believes in luck.

His priorities are kind of all over the place but it's quite clear he aims to reunite with his missing father, keep his friends alive (and stick with him), keep his relationship with Amata and their home in Megaton afloat and to keep his health in check. Alph is also very conscious about other's opinion of him, especially those he looks up to (James, the Lyons, Cross, Jonas, etc) and those he cares for (Amata, Butch, Reilly, Fawkes, etc). He tries to dispense justice where he can, especially for his own, and manages his wealth steadily. Fame and public image are low but he at least ensures everyone knows he's not a menace looking to ruin everyone's days like Talon Company or Raiders. Praise and truth seem to be low on his priorities but if given the opportunity he'll take it.

His SPECIAL stats include:

Strength (6), Perception (6), Endurance (5), Charisma (8), Intelligence (9), Agility (6) and Luck (6).

Tag Skills include:

Speech, Science, Lockpick, Medicine and Energy Weapons.

Main Perks include:

Daddy's Boy, Animal Friend, Child At Heart and Bloody Mess.

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bosbas · 27 days

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Chapter 3: they say looks can kill and I might try

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy!fem!reader WC: 3.4k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, a small part of the dialogue is in French, Colin being mean, reader being mean, perhaps some historical inaccuracies (idk if the royal opera house was actually called that in 1816 IM SORRY)

Summary: It took precisely two days in England for you to utterly despise Colin Bridgerton. It took him approximately twelve hours after that to hate you right back. But he doesn't care that you're the only person in the ton who doesn't like him. You're set to marry someone else anyway, right?

April 23, 1816 – It seems Lady Violet Bridgerton and Lady Catherine Montclair have become fast friends. This author, ever intrigued by the comings and goings of the Montclairs in London's high society, cannot help but ponder: Is there a union on the horizon? Does the blossoming friendship between Lady Montclair and Lady Bridgerton hint at an impending marriage, or are they simply two kindred spirits enjoying each other's company, with no matrimonial plans for their children?

Your mother had taken quite a liking to Lady Bridgerton. In truth, you mostly didn’t mind. Contrary to what Lady Whistledown was telling the ton, your mother wasn’t particularly interested in marrying you off to a Bridgerton. In fact, the only time she wasn’t trying to marry you off was when she was with Lady Bridgerton. It was a breath of fresh air, to say the least.

Benedict was lovely, as was Eloise. The trouble, as always, came in the form of Colin Bridgerton. Typical.

Since your mother’s newfound friendship with Lady Violet, you found yourself thrust into Colin Bridgerton's company at every event. It was ghastly. Even being near him had your heart rate speeding up. You had to make a conscious effort not to grind your teeth and clench your fists every time he spoke.

You weren’t quite sure when it happened, but it seemed that Colin Bridgerton had abandoned all pretense of gentlemanly conduct and settled for matching your disdain. You couldn’t say you were surprised. It was exactly what you expected of him, after all.

Tonight had been particularly taxing. Anthony Bridgerton was hosting a ball, which meant that your mother had strong-armed you into spending the entire night with the Bridgertons—when you weren’t with Lord Barlow, that is. You hadn’t minded much at the beginning, enjoying the respite from your mother practically auctioning you off for a dance now that you were courting the Duke.

Yet, Colin seemed to have made it his singular mission to vex you constantly. Sly glances and biting remarks had escalated to a glass of water “inexplicably” pouring down the front of your dress. Thankfully, the dark blue of your gown successfully camouflaged any stain, but your patience was wearing perilously thin.

To be fair, you had insulted his intelligence, unprovoked, about three or four times before he spilled the glass of water on you. And not-so-subtly called him a “sale enfoiré” (dirty bastard). But still, he was infuriating, and he had been equally as bad all night.

Currently, you were standing side by side, a simmering tension palpable in the air between you. A fragile truce had been brokered by the stern words of your elder sister, Charlotte, but the desire to spark an argument with Colin was ever-present.

He crossed his arms, and you couldn’t help but be acutely aware of his shoulder touching yours. The closeness of his touch sent a jolt through you, an unwelcome sensation that only added to your mounting frustration.

Colin Bridgerton was not the sort of man you liked, let alone respected, you reminded yourself. You were not particularly interested in engaging with a man who viewed you as merely a dowry with a womb.

And yet, you couldn’t help yourself. At every chance you got, you couldn’t resist the urge to show him just how much you disliked him. You might have been embarrassed by your childish actions if he weren’t also an instigator.

“You’ve only danced with the Duke once tonight, Lady Montclair” he commented, his tone dripping with a hint of mockery as he kept his gaze fixed elsewhere. “Has he bored you already with his talk about his family’s estate? Or is that exactly what you’re after?”

You held back a groan. He was particularly relentless tonight, wasn’t he?

“I can assure you, Mr. Bridgerton, the Duke and I engage in far more stimulating conversations than you might imagine,” you retorted, a flash of defiance in your eyes. “Certainly more engaging than your exchange with Miss Abernathy, I'd venture to say. Although her substantial dowry must have held some interest for you, I presume?”

“We were talking about my travels to India, if you must know,” he drawled, the challenge evident in his tone. “Not that you and the Duke would have much to speak about in that regard, given he’s never been.”

You scoffed. “I should hope I would be able to talk about it, Mr. Bridgerton; I spent three years living in India.”

Colin huffed, annoyed that he had forgotten that small detail. It took everything in you not to turn and face him right then, wanting to bask in the fact that you had bested him yet again.

“Well, I fear the Duke would have been bored regardless. Look at him now, speaking with Miss Barrington. He certainly did not look that entertained when speaking with you.”

You glanced over at Lord Barlow. It was true, he was smiling at something Miss Barrington had said, but it wasn’t like he never smiled around you. You knew Colin was just winding you up, trying to get a reaction out of you.

“I see he's asked her to dance. Do you think he'll ask you for another, or has he had enough of you for tonight?”

Your fists clenched. The snide looks and snarky comments and even the water on your dress you could deal with. But you knew that you had to marry to secure your future, and Colin's thinly veiled jabs struck a nerve.

You turned to look at him slightly, finding his gaze still on your suitor across the ballroom. Perfect. You shifted closer to him, momentarily taken aback by the intense sound of your heartbeat in your ears. But you ignored it, much like you ignored his sharp inhale as you moved closer.

With a deliberate motion, you lifted your foot and brought it down on top of his with as much strength as you could muster. The impact was immediate, a sharp jolt of pain shooting through Colin as he fought to stifle a cry.

He staggered forward, lifting his injured foot off the ground and feeling the throbbing of his toes he knew would last for days. Colin’s eyes watered with the effort of standing up, and you could do nothing but smile.

Oh, how he wished to wipe that triumphant expression from your face. He probably deserved your wrath at this point, given his behavior, but dear Lord did you have to make it so painful?

Gingerly, he lowered his injured foot to the ground, his breath catching in a subdued groan as he sought to regain his balance amidst the lingering ache.

“Lady Montclair, I’m sure you’ll excuse me,” Colin managed through gritted teeth, the pain in his foot now a throbbing ache. “I believe I must go tend to my foot, which has been inexplicably injured,” he finished weakly.

You cooed at him, mock concern in your voice. “Oh, Mr. Bridgerton, how dreadful! Pray do take care of yourself. We wouldn't want any lasting damage, now would we?”

He shot a glower in your direction, his eyes practically sparking with irritation as he searched for the nearest exit so he could return to the comfort of the Bridgerton carriage.

“If my toes are broken you’ll never hear the end of it,” he threatened.

“Let us all hope the injury is not so grave, then,” you replied smugly, not the slightest bit bothered that he was in pain.

And as much as you were infuriating and annoying and even slightly murderous, Colin found himself sad to be leaving your side. Even as he limped toward the exit, he missed your presence beside him. He probably just enjoyed a rivalry with someone who wasn’t related to him, he reasoned. It kept his mind sharp and his days entertaining. No other reason.

---

May 2, 1816 – Though the dowager Viscountess Violet Bridgerton and Countess Catherine Montclair remain friends, the hope for a union between the two families might be fading, if it was ever present. Lady Y/N Montclair has been spending quite a bit of time with Lord Arthur Barlow, and even this author knows a Duke is a better match than a Bridgerton, highly esteemed as their family might be.

Today was one of the rare occasions where you could simply enjoy yourself. The Duke and Duchess of Hastings were hosting an intimate garden party, and Lord Barlow was not in attendance. Although you were a tad disappointed, given that the two of you got along quite well, it did mean you could take a break from the pursuit of a husband for one afternoon.

Which is why you were sitting next to Eloise, gently rocking Caroline Basset to sleep as you discussed your marriage prospects.

“Your parents really delayed your coming out so you could marry an Englishman?” Eloise asked, shocked. “What could compel them to be so cruel toward you? The men of the ton are not the sort to write home about, I can assure you.”

You laughed, amused by Eloise’s aversion to marriage. Well, aversion to marriage in the way that you knew it to be. She was so refreshing to speak with: Eloise had rejected two marriage proposals already simply because she didn’t like her suitors. Truthfully it was not something you had previously thought was possible.

“The Duke is not so bad that I would dread marrying him!” you giggled. “And he is fairly handsome, too.”

“The best of a bad bunch, it seems,” teased Eloise, sensing the beginnings of fondness in your voice.

How on earth was Colin related to her? Or any of the Bridgertons, really? Eloise was lovely, and it remained a mystery how she and Colin could share any parentage at all.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Daphne and Simon, who stood in the garden and tapped on a glass to address their guests. Not wanting baby Caroline to wake up, you stood up carefully and made your way across the garden to the nurses.

“And we also have some news to share,” Daphne announced excitedly.

You turned around to face the Duchess after successfully handing Caroline off to a nurse and groaned involuntarily as you saw Colin already standing next to you. Unfortunately, it was far too late to move without causing a commotion, and you did not hate Colin so much as to disrespect Daphne to avoid him.

Your peaceful, somewhat liberating afternoon came crashing down five seconds after being in Colin Bridgerton’s presence. You were instantly irritated by everything about him. Irritated by his signet ring glinting in the sunlight, by his windblown hair landing perfectly on his face, and by his small smile toward you when he saw you standing next to him,

Most of all, you were irritated with yourself for noticing every little detail about him. You were trying to listen to Daphne, but his breathing was so loud, so close to your ear that you found it impossible. It was ridiculous, you knew. And you also knew it was only irritating you because you hated him. But it didn’t stop you from absolutely loathing the way Colin Bridgerton breathed.

You felt anger rising in your chest as more time went on, his chest rising and falling evenly, and the words came out of your mouth before you could stop them.

“Stop breathing. I’m trying to listen to your sister,” you hissed.

“Stop breathing?” he whispered back, incredulous. “Do you suggest I stop entirely and fall dead right at this very moment?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” you shot back.

“It would certainly be on your conscience, then. Or perhaps you don’t have one. I wouldn’t be surprised,” he whispered back angrily.

And then suddenly, everyone was clapping and cheering, and neither of you had any idea what for. You looked around dumbly, trying to figure out what exactly had been said while mentally berating yourself for picking a fight with Colin, who also seemed confused by all the commotion.

Gregory walked up to Colin, clapping him on the back and punching him on the arm.

“We’re going to be uncles once again! D’you reckon I’ll be the godfather this time around?”

“Not a chance,” Colin responded jovially, having realized that Daphne had announced a pregnancy.

Gregory moaned in disappointment and walked away to speak with Simon, surely to convince him of his candidacy as a godfather, but Colin turned to you, a raging fire in his eyes.

“You couldn’t have waited ten more seconds before asking me to 'stop breathing'?” he all but spat.

You cringed, feeling a twinge of guilt in the pit of your stomach as you watched Colin walk away to speak with his sister. You deserved his wrath just this once. Perhaps you’d take the day off from antagonizing him, more for Daphne’s sake than anything else.

---

May 11, 1816 – Siena Rosso, esteemed opera singer and previously a regular performer at the Royal Opera House, has returned to Mayfair after two years away. This author has learned that the Montclairs have been invited to watch from Lady Danbury’s box…

You rubbed your eyes and sighed deeply, already dreading the three-hour-long opera ahead of you as you watched Siena Rosso emerge and begin singing.

Your mother turned around in her seat with a frown, leaning over to you. “Y/N,” she scolded softly. “Ce n'est pas digne d'une dame.” (That’s unladylike)

You rolled your eyes once she turned around again. Usually, you were not opposed to going to the opera, finding the story compelling and the music beautiful, but tonight all you were looking forward to were the closing curtains.

Lady Whistledown had failed to mention that the Bridgertons would be in Lady Danbury’s box tonight, too, and you were upset that you would have to spend the evening sitting next to Colin. Of course, Louis had gotten out of coming tonight, as had Benedict, and you simply assumed Colin would do the same. But no, he had shown up looking disconcertingly good and sat right next to you.

On top of being forced to spend the evening alongside your least favorite member of the ton, you were completely exhausted. Having come to terms with the reality that you would probably be engaged to be married in a few weeks, you had been unable to sleep and opted to go to your spot in the garden to look at the stars instead. Although it had been soothing, seeing the twinkling lights and being reminded of every version of you who had looked up at these same stars, you were now bone-tired and fighting off sleep.

You couldn’t even muster the energy to spite Colin in some form or another. All your energy was focused on staying awake and fighting against your eyelids as they periodically shuttered closed.

You had been hoping that, if anything, sitting next to Colin and inevitably trading insults with him would keep you awake, but he was being uncharacteristically mellow tonight. And you were nothing if not suspicious. In the time you had known him, he had always attempted at least one conversation-turned-argument within five minutes of seeing you.

Whatever the reason for his silence was, you were grateful. Perhaps his streak of combativeness was coming to an end and you could go back to silently loathing him. You hoped so. It had certainly been easier that way.

It would have been easier if you didn’t hate him at all, actually. And sometimes you did wish you could set aside your contempt toward each other and at least be civil. But then you remembered the biting words you heard in Lady Danbury’s hallway.

They were etched into your memory, replaying in your mind when you saw Colin being particularly sweet to one of his nieces or laughing with his brothers and you were tempted to forget the reason you hated him in the first place.

…I suppose it depends on her dowry. The larger the dowry the more I’m willing to overlook… I’m sure you could get away with anything with any of these girls, though I suggest picking one that’s got good hips.

Even just remembering the words made you want to strangle Colin. Colin Bridgerton and Nigel Berbrooke clearly had no respect for you and saw your worth as directly proportional to your dowry, so why should you have any respect for them?

Quite interestingly, you had not seen Nigel since that fateful night. But you didn’t dwell on it too much. Dealing with one of them was already more than enough for you.

Siena’s aria ended, and you realized you had not been paying attention in the slightest. However, you were not as bothered as you would usually be by your lack of attention. The music had become softer and lower, and you could hardly keep your eyes open. It wouldn’t hurt to close them for a short while, right? Siena wasn’t even performing, and you were sitting behind your mother, free from her prying eyes.

An hour later, Colin turned to look at you, sleeping peacefully, for what might have been the four-hundredth time. Your hand was supporting your head, your lips parted softly as you breathed deeply, and he just stared.

He had seen you laughing and smiling around other people, but this was the first time he had been so close to you without you glaring or frowning at him, and it was far more important to him than anything happening onstage.

In a few moments, you would wake up and remind him exactly why he disliked you, but for now, he could just enjoy this moment of peace.

A soft snore left your lips, and Colin nervously glanced toward your mother, hoping she hadn’t heard. He knew the countess would be upset if she realized her daughter was asleep at the opera, and he prayed your snore had been an isolated incident.

But to no avail; you let out another snore, slightly louder than the last, and Colin tensed. Your mother, along with his, seemed too enthralled in the opera to notice yet, but he suspected the snoring would only get worse.

Logically, Colin knew he had to do something. As much as he hated you– or rather hated that you hated him– he knew it would be cruel to let you face your mother’s wrath when you were clearly exhausted. But he couldn’t very well start being nice to you right now, after weeks of feuding.

He was far too proud to admit it to anyone, but you had gotten to him. You brought out the worst in him. Or maybe he brought out the worst in himself, and you were only there to see it. He felt slightly guilty at how aggressively he reacted at Daphne’s garden party, not to mention every other time he had made a disparaging comment about you. But the guilt quickly evaporated every time you replied with an equally disparaging comment.

After a moment, and another snore, Colin settled for reaching over and pinching your bicep to wake you up. You startled awake, almost yelping in pain and looking around in confusion.

Fully awake now, your eyes narrowed as you saw Colin smirking at you, his hand near your arm giving you a very clear idea of who had woken you up.

“Good morning, Lady Montclair. It’s nice of you to join us. There’s an opera happening at the minute, in case you hadn’t noticed,” he said sarcastically.

You clenched your fists, eyes glancing at your mother as she dabbed at her eyes after what Colin could only imagine was a very emotional aria. After a deep breath, you crossed your arms and slumped back in your seat, defeated.

“Like you’re any better. I doubt you’ve paid attention at the opera a single time in your life,” you finally whispered back, stifling a yawn.

As you sat glowering, Colin thought that it might be impossible for the two of you to be in a room without arguing. However, at least Colin had made sure that you had plenty of reasons to hate him. He might not have known why you disliked him at first, but he certainly knew now, and that was a far better feeling than wondering what he did wrong.

—

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havendance · 8 months

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I’m back again with another fic rec list. This time with a baker’s dozen of excellent Batman fics of the hidden gen variety that I’ve dug up. Hopefully there’s something new for everyone on here. Check them out! Give them some love!

Boy Hostage by kuonji

2.5k, complete. A fun little piece showing each of the batboys getting in and out of getting kidnapped for ransom.

but I don’t own a single gun by Molly_Hats (@mollyhats)

1.1k, complete. DICK AND TIM! A conversation between them set at a vague point in the timeline in which various old wounds of the past get dug up.

Get Used to Dying, by papered_king (@paperedking)

1.6k, complete. A very neat character study for Jason that’s formatted as a script for a play and does and excellent job of utilizing it’s format.

It could be worse by Runespoor

2.8k, complete. A series of vignettes about alternate universes where it was somebody else that took Jason in instead of Bruce.

paradoxical sleep by brawltogethernow (@brawltogethernow)

4k, wip. A vibey and cool inception AU. I have never actually watched inception so I don’t know what’s going on half the time when I read this, but I do know that it’s a fun read!

Promises by RenaRoo (@renaroo)

33k, wip. A fix-it fic for Cass’s One Year Later/Evil!Cass arc. This one admittedly, has not been updated since 2018, but it is still very good and you all should read it! It’s got Cass & Tim! Cass interacting with the Birds of Prey! And it really does a great job of digging into her head and all of her raw emotions.

Rose Garden by batling_out_of_hell

6k, wip. In which Cass decides to rebel against Batman and take over the world in order to make sure that no one kills ever. A delight to read. The first chapter is a little slower to start, but chapter 2 onwards is rocking!

Ships and Schemes by Molly_Hats (@mollyhats)

1.3k, complete. A short and fun little fic where Oracle’s been running a misinformation op by harnessing Bruce Wayne/Batman Shippers.

The Fisher Prince by Arctic_Cyclist

3.4k, complete. Damian vs Poison Ivy during the Batman Reborn era. This fic has rich prose, cool lore, and Damian kicking ass through superior ecological praxis.

these crosses by mintchocochips (@mintchocochipsposts)

7.1k, complete. Post-No Man’s Land Helena Bertinelli character study my beloved! Also features a fun Tim & Helena scene for fellow fans of their dynamic.

There is no milk! by chucklesbuckles

2.1k, complete. A fic where Catherine is alive when Jason dies. The start of a Red Hood!Catherine AU, but hasn’t actually gotten to that part in the series yet. It does an excellent job at capturing Catherine’s grief. (Note: This fic is only available to read if you have an AO3 account)

They move and it's fire by Arctic_Cyclist

1.5k, complete. Dick and Damian doing gymnastics together and Damian being recognized as Talia’s son.

when the bodies hit the floor by nashequilibrium

7k, complete. A fun Steph & Damian teamup where they take on a ghost at a sleepover gone wrong with some really fun to read prose.

#fic recs #my fic rec lists #cassandra cain #damian wayne #jason todd #helena bertinelli #tim drake #carthago delenda est #dc #bats + birds + affiliated #dick grayson #last of the flying graysons

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her-power · 4 months

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Last Chance to Dance (Rockstar! e.m. x fem reader)

🚨🛑🔞18+++ MINORS DNI - YOU WILL BLOCKED🚨🛑🔞 TRIGGER/CONTENT WARNING (For entire series): Rockstar! Addict! Sweet! Mean! Eddie, smut, unprotected p+v, fluff, fingering (f receiving), masturbation, oral (m+f receiving), heavy drug use, descriptions of IV drug use, swearing, talks of anxiety, panic disorder, mental illness, talks of suicide

Summary: Modern Eddie + reader are early 30s. Eddie is the famous lead singer/guitarist of Corroded Coffin, who has gotten himself into legal trouble due to his antics and drug use. Eddie broke your heart many years ago and he receives a letter from you asking to meet to talk about what happened between you two so long ago. Secrets are talked about, mental walls are built and broken down. Most of this series will be in Eddie's POV. (I will also be putting song inspirations on each part 🤍)

Word Count: 5k

A/N: There will be a LOT of mentions of heavy drug use in this series. This series DOES NOT glorify the use of drugs. It is not cool, it is not fun, it is something that destroys people and everyone around them. I have loved and lost people I know to drug and alcohol use, a lot of what you read here is my own personal experience from what I have seen with my own eyes. I hope this series will spread awareness and will give anyone and everyone who reads this hope. If you or anyone you know is struggling with addiction, please know you are not alone, there is help out there.

The silence is almost deafening as I sit there in my dimly lit office, tapping my finger against the arm of the chair; the metal of my ring clinking as I stare at my therapist, Dr. Catherine Ryan, in front of me. She had a kind smile, but I wasn’t in the mood to talk today.

“What’s bothering you?” She asks gently.

I gaze at her, gnawing on the inside of my cheek. A stupid habit I formed when I stopped using six months ago.

Let’s see, I’m tired of the noise inside my head that is constantly reminding me what a piece of shit I am. I’m lucky that my bandmates don’t hate my guts for the shit I put them through on tour when I was needle deep in a heroin fog and couldn’t remember the lyrics to a fucking song I wrote. My music career is only surviving because the world thinks we’re on a hiatus to write our next album when I actually did a stint in rehab and have court ordered mandatory therapy once a week. The only way I can have therapy is if she comes to my escape cabin in upstate New York and escorted in and out by a security guard.

Oh, I also can’t stop thinking of you, the one whose heart I broke fifteen years ago back in Hawkins, Indiana because I was too scared to love or be loved. The same you who mailed me a letter that I received at my P.O. Box in Boston three days ago, that I haven’t opened yet and sits in my back pocket folded up, because I’m too much of a pussy to see what you have to say.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I tell her, taking a cigarette out of my pocket. I let the smoke fill my lungs and exhale the smoke away from her.

“What do you want to talk about?” She asks, crossing her legs. I stare at her long legs, and my eyes scan up her body. She was curvy and thick, with a perfect set of tits and stunning green eyes. I almost laugh, if a beautiful woman like her was in my house six months ago, it wouldn’t take long before I’d have her bent over the back of my couch, fucking her until she couldn’t take it anymore. But I couldn’t do that anymore. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, or whatever the fuck the saying is.

“Eddie, this is mandatory therapy. I can’t help you if you’re not willing to talk. We’ve had four sessions so far, and the only thing we have talked about is your drug habit.” She seemed annoyed, and I couldn’t blame her.

“I’m only here because of my drug habit.”

“Is that all?”

She was testing me, and I smile at her, leaning my elbows against my knees. “You know, I bet you are really good at helping people and are able to get your patients to sit here and cry about their shitty lives or whatever it is people tell you. But I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, you’re not gonna get it from me.”

“You keep up a guard. Defense mechanism, it’s common in people who have been hurt before.” She says, scribbling a note down.

I narrow my eyes. “I sense judgment in your tone, and I’m not sure I care for it.”

“It’s not judgement, Eddie. It’s an observation. I’m observing you.”

I sit back against my chair and scoff, lighting up another cigarette with the ember of the one I just had. I inhale deeply. “I think our session should be cut early today.”

She closes her notebook and gives you a kind smile. “If that’s what you want.”

“I do.” I tell her.

I get up from my seat as she stands, walking her to the door where the security guard waited outside. I may be an asshole, but I know how to be a gentleman. Chivalry isn’t dead when your name is Eddie Munson. She nods at me as she leaves, handing me her card for the time of the next session for next week and I close the door behind her. I stub out the cigarette in the ashtray and let out a deep sigh. I plop myself on the couch, hearing the crinkle of the letter in my back pocket and I lift my hips to pull it out. I look at the neat print on the front; seeing your handwriting brought back so many memories that I had forgotten about.

Why would you send me a letter? Is it just to tell me how happy you’ve been these last fifteen years since I’ve been gone, that you’re married with children, thriving in your thirties?

“Well, the only way to know is if you open the letter, dipshit.” I mutter to myself. I groan, shaking my head as I rip the letter open and unfold it. It was only two pages, but you had written a lot.

Hey, You’re a tough guy to find, being famous and all. I didn’t think this P.O. Box was real at first, but I ended up tracking down Gareth and he told me it was real. I can’t believe he still has the phone number he’s had since high school. I don’t know why I’m writing you a letter, I guess I could’ve just texted you, he did give me your number, but I wanted this to feel more personal. Like when I’d write you those stupid folded notes in class. I know it’s been a long time, and you’re probably thinking I’m absolutely insane, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you lately. There are so many things that I wanna say to you. There are so many things that were left unsaid, and I guess lately it’s been bothering me. You’re probably not even going to get this, so I don’t even know why I’m continuing to write. I don’t want you to think that I hated you or have hated you this whole time. It would be easier to hate you, believe me, I’ve tried but I physically cannot have that kind of power over me. I’m proud of you, Eddie. You worked so hard to get to where you are, and you made your dreams come true. I knew you could. I want to tell you I’m proud of you in person; to let you know that what happened in the past stays there and we can both move forward in a way. I mean, I just told you now. I know you’re really busy and I feel stupid now. But I will be in Boston in December, the week of the 18th while my aunt is down in Florida for the week, house sitting. Gareth had mentioned you and the band were taking a hiatus to focus on the writing and doing some self reflecting. I would love to see you, especially with the holiday season.

It’s not every day you get to see the boy you’ve known since diapers be on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine, selling out stadiums.

Please don’t feel obligated, though.

I suddenly forgot how to swallow, and I almost choke on my own saliva. You had written your phone number on the bottom of the last page. I swing my legs onto the floor, taking my phone off the coffee table. I scroll to my contact list, and add your name, along with your phone number.

I pause, my hands begin to shake, and I inhale deeply.

“No no no, not now, not now.” Grimacing, I sit back on couch, closing my eyes as my stomach turns to knots and my chest feels like it was going to explode. I can feel the sweat bead at the back of my neck as the panic attack feels like it’s choking me out and I groan. I go into the drawer of the coffee table, pulling out the lorazepam pill bottle, taking a minute to open the cap because my hands were so sweaty. I throw the pill in my mouth, swallowing it dry and breathe in through my nose.

This happens more often now, especially since being off dope, I had to learn how to deal with them like a normal thirty-four-year-old man. It took a lot of convincing for my doctors to give me the lorazepam, but apparently threatening to go and take a hot shot of heroin to kill myself was convincing enough for them to give me the lowest dose of the stupid pill.

I close my eyes. Thinking back to how I got here; how I could’ve lost everything because of my own stupidity, because of my inability to slow down, because I took sex, drugs, rock and roll too literally. All because I refuse to let love into my soul and hold on tight.

One year earlier

The dressing room walls echo with the moans of myself and...I don’t even remember her name. Sarah? Shelly? It doesn’t even matter. I only see the back of her head anyway; she was very blonde. I hold onto her hips tightly, slamming my cock in and out of her. She was screaming like a porn star, and I’m pretty sure she was putting on a show.

“Oooooh, just like that baby. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. Oh goddd, you’re so fucking good.” She moans and I roll my eyes, slamming into her harder just to get her to shut up. I reach over to the coffee table to grab my tiny vile of cocaine, I pop open the cap, and pull out of her for a moment. She was still rolling her hips as I sprinkle the drugs onto her ass.

“Stop fucking moving.” I tell her, grabbing the plastic straw and snorting back the drugs into my airways. She moans again when she hears me snort another line off her, and I slam myself back into her. My head falls back in pleasure, the effects of the cocaine causing every single part of my body to pulsate, and I can feel my orgasm approaching.

“Fuuuuck.” I moan, my rhythm getting sloppy, and she groans.

“Cum inside me baby, cum inside me.” She moans and I immediately feel myself go soft. Fuck this. I stop moving and slide myself out of her, she turns to look at me, her mouth opened in a gasp. “Why did you stop?”

I take a cigarette out of my pack and light it. “Get out.”

“What?” She snaps.

“Get your shit and get the fuck out of my dressing room. Telling me to cum inside you, I know what you’re doing.” I take her dress off the floor and throw it at her. Her eyes narrow and she gets up from the couch, throwing the dress over her head.

“You weren’t even that good, fucking junkie!” She yells at me, and I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lungs. She looked like a cartoon character. Her eyes wild, her hair a wild mess, her fake tits bouncing as she storms out of the room. I lean back on the couch, a little mad that I didn’t cum, but whatever, that’s what my hand is for. I don’t know why I invite these women back to my dressing room after every show. Most of the time, these women don’t even know the words to our songs, they just want to be able to tell their friends they fucked a rockstar. I sigh, opening the vile and do another bump. I’m one hundred percent in love with heroin, but I’m an addict. Cocaine just takes the edge off when I need it to. I tie my hair back in a low bun, blowing my bangs out of my face. I stand, catching a glimpse of myself in the fluorescent lit vanity mirror. The lighting made me look terrible; I was thinner than normal. The ram skull tattoo across my abdomen looked discolored, but I know it was just the way the light was hitting it. I was losing muscle mass in both of my arms, but since tattoo sleeves covered both my arms, no one could notice. No one knew how bad it was getting with the dope; I honestly preferred to suffer in silence about it, but I knew they noticed. I would feel Gareth’s eyes burn into the back of my skull whenever I would escape to go into a bathroom, or immediately go into my hotel room to get started on my new supply. I felt terrible keeping it from him, he was my brother, my bandmate, but he didn’t need to worry. I was fine, at least that’s what I told myself.

We had awhile before we hit the next city of the tour. The tour bus felt too crowded, too stuffy. We all decided it would make sense to hide out in a hotel for a few days before we got to Atlanta. I requested my own room of course, the supply I just bought felt like it was burning a hole in my pocket. Isn’t that what they say about money?

Money meant nothing to me; if I lost it all tomorrow, I wouldn’t care. That’s the beauty of this drug, you don’t have a care in the world once that shot courses through your veins.

I lock the door to my room after saying goodnight and head into the bathroom. I pull my shirt over my head and undo the belt from my jeans. I set everything up on the table: fresh needle, the drugs, and water bottle cap. It doesn’t take long for me to pull the dope into the syringe, at this point it’s like riding a bike for me. I sit on the floor against the bathtub, I wrap the belt around my left arm, pulling it tight with my teeth and clench my fist. I see the most perfect vein pop up in the bend of my arm; I have to be careful though, I can’t go to the same spot twice or else I’ll blow up my veins and then more people will notice. I’ve always hated needles, isn’t that ironic? I’m thinking that as the tip of it pinches my skin and my thumb is on the trigger, slowly pushing it down.

“A spoon full of sugar makes the medicine go down…” I sing softly, feeling the sweet burn of the heroin flow like a tsunami in my veins. My eyes flutter close as the most beautiful feeling overcomes me; my head lulls back against the porcelain and I feel a smile grace my lips.

A loud knock at my door startles me out of my high, and I’m pissed.

“Hang on a second.” I mutter and awkwardly pull myself up, undoing the belt from my arm. I place the cap on the needle and toss it behind the doors under the sink.

Knock knock knock knock knock

I toss my sweatshirt over my head, putting a cigarette to my lips. “Yeah, I hear you! Fuck, I’m coming.”

I open the door to find Gareth standing there with his arms crossed, I light the cigarette and wave my hand, tilting my head at him. “Yeah?”

“What are you doing?” He asks me.

“What do you mean what am I doing? I’m not doing anything.” I inhale on the cigarette, and he continues to stare at me. If there was a God, I thank him for giving me brown eyes, because at least he wouldn’t be able to see how my pupils look like pinholes. “Do you wanna come in?”

I move to the side, and he walks by me, I shut the door, locking it.

“Do you want a beer or anything?” I ask him, going into the mini fridge, pulling out two, I could feel myself about to nod, but I quickly stand up, clearing my throat so I can at least look like I’m not fucked up.

“No, I’m fine.” His eyes scan every inch of my room, the floor where my clothes were, Sweetheart laying on the foot of my bed. My necklace I always wore with the red guitar pick laid on the nightstand by the bed. I always take it off before I shoot up, I don’t know why, I think something is going to happen to it if I don’t, it means a lot to me. His eyes fix on my belt on the bathroom floor, he doesn’t say anything, but I know what he’s thinking.

“Gareth, if you got something to say, man, just say it.” I tell him, leaning against the small table, I ash my cigarette into a coca cola can.

He turns to me; he was still blessed with a baby face that I remember from school. “How bad is it getting?” He almost whispers.

“How bad is what getting?”

“The drugs, man. Come on dude, I know you’re not stupid.” He sits across from me on the foot of the bed, gently moving Sweetheart over.

I sigh. “Gareth, I’m fine. It’s not getting bad.”

He puts his head down, shaking his head. “Don’t fucking bull shit me, Eddie. I’ve known you for almost two decades. Have you even looked at yourself lately?”

I close my eyes, feeling a wave of anxiety hit my lower gut, and I force it to go away by not caring. “Don’t worry about me, man. I’m serious.”

“Of course, I’m gonna fucking worry!” He stands up, his face full of rage. “If you fuck up this tour, our entire music career is in the gutter! How many times have I had to bail you out when you’ve been coming down from a cocaine binge and are late to rehearsal? How many goddamn times have I had to convince cops not to arrest you when you’re inebriated beyond belief. It’s getting fucking old, man.” He towers over my 6-foot frame and again, I start laughing.

His eyes widen. “Are you seriously laughing right now?

“Yeah.” I chuckle. “I am, because it’s funny how you think I’m gonna be the one who’s gonna fuck up this tour. I built this band from the ground up, nothing and no one is gonna fuck that up.”

“Oh fuck you, dude!” He yells at me. “You built this? What happened to you saying this entire band was built on friendship, loyalty and fucking friends who play nerdy games? What happened to that Eddie?”

“Dead.” I give him a sideways smile. “Dead dead dead.”

He looks at me incredulous. “Wow. You’re an actual nightmare.”

“You’re the one who decided to knock on my door.” I place the cigarette in the can, hearing it sizzle out. I cross my arms over my chest, already itching for another shot. “Anything else?”

He scoffs, walking towards the door and stepping out. “No. Have a good night, Eddie.”

“Yeah, you too!” I scream at his back as I shut the door, locking all the locks and kicking the bottom of it. Suddenly, the chair near the table gets a boot from me, followed by the lamp, the paintings on the walls. I smash the beer bottles against the windows, and when I’m finally spent, I collapse on the bathroom floor, digging out the needle. I’ll leave the hotel a couple hundred dollars to pay for whatever I damaged; I’ll hopefully remember to clean up tomorrow.

I’m pretty sure I put too much in it this time, because I’m riding something wild right now. My eyes are half lidded, my breathing is slow but it’s such a peaceful feeling.

“Makes the medicine go down…medicine go down…”

The beginning of that year was when shit started going downhill fast for me. Once I had gotten my panic attack under control, and I felt calmer, I sent you a text message, realizing that tomorrow was the 18th. I typed up, deleted, typed up, deleted, about six different times before finally sending you: Hey stranger, it’s Eddie. Pretty wild to hear from you. I’m currently up in my cabin in upstate NY, but if you are gonna be in Boston. I can make the trip. It would actually be awesome to see you. Hope you are well.

I forgot how nervous you made me, even back then. You were such a kind, beautiful soul, who loved me and took care of me when I didn’t deserve it. I was so nervous all the time because I really loved you too, but I couldn’t…wouldn’t let myself feel it. You were the only woman in my life that knew me, and actually saw me. You were my best friend, always my partner in group activities in elementary school. It was us against the world the minute I kissed you for the first time when we were eighteen, and then it ended with me, burying my head in the sand, because I’m a fucking idiot.

My phone dings and I see your name pop up. Hey!!! Wow, your own cabin huh? Are you a mountain man or something this winter season? I’m sorry if my letter was all over the place, I really should’ve just texted you but, whatever. Here we are now. Yes! Let’s meet, I can give you a spot to meet for coffee? Unless you just want my aunt’s address, I don’t know how Boston is when it comes to famous people.

I type up a message: Boston is one of those cities that is wild to play on stage in front of, but the people don’t give a fuck if you’re famous. Which is why I bought a condo there, I can live out some downtime in peace. Coffee sounds great. Just let me know a time when you are settled.

You quickly respond: Ha! Boston is pretty rad. I’m already here, I got here a day early. I know you got a pretty long drive so we can meet the day after tomorrow if you’d like? Say around 10?

I type up that that time and date worked for me and begin packing a small suitcase to take with me on the trip.

I honestly felt like I was dreaming all this; I get sober, you, a woman that was literally the one that got away because of my own fucking deep-rooted issues, comes back into my life and wants to see me? I feel like I’m living the Notebook. Except, the rated R version where Ryan Gosling is an ex-junkie, who doesn’t build houses, or used to blow cocaine off a woman’s asshole.

I groan, I already know I’m gonna fuck this up again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The coffee shop you chose was a place I’ve never been before, it seemed newer, and no one batted an eye when I walked in. I take off my sunglasses and scan the place. It was quaint, quiet, with rustic undertones but mostly modern.

“Eddie?”

My eyes immediately fix on you, sitting in the back booth by a small window, and I feel my heart flutter down to my stomach. God, you were stunning. Your eyes still shone that sparkle in them, your smile was just as adorable as I remembered, especially the dimples in your cheeks. I whisper your name and find myself quickly walking towards you. You wrap your arms around my shoulders, and I let out a deep sigh, almost lifting you off your feet, as I hug the curves of your waist, burying my face into your shoulder. We stay like that for a while, you giggle into my chest, telling me you couldn’t believe it was me and that I was here. I didn’t want to let go, but I knew I had to. We pull away and you are still smiling, looking into my eyes, you lift your hand to gently curl your fingers into my hair and I smile at you.

“I love that you still kept this hair.” You say, shaking your head, looking like you’re still trying to process that I’m standing in front of you.

I gently cup your face, swallowing hard, studying you. You turn your cheek into my hand, and I slowly remove it. You nod for me to sit, and I scoot over into the booth, peeling off my leather jacket. I still stare at your face; I couldn’t believe you were real. The server comes over to take our coffee order, I get mine hot with triple espresso and a shot of caramel, and you get an iced coffee with a shot of vanilla and almond milk. I smile, you’ve kept the same order since you started drinking coffee.

Your eyes fix on mine, and I smile at you, sipping my coffee. “You haven’t changed.” I tell you softly.

“My back will have to disagree with you.” You laugh, spinning the straw with your finger. “You haven’t either, aside from more tattoos.”

I smile; remembering that you were there for most of my smaller ones. I had convinced you back then to get a large tattoo that started from under your breast, all the way down to the top of your hip; that was always my favorite part of you to taste. I cross my legs, feeling a tingle in my lower belly. Fucking pervert.

I notice a few finger tattoos on your right hand, and I nod to them.

“I told you they were addicting.” I laugh. “How many do you have now?”

You laugh, a sound so beautiful to my ears, I want to cry. “Sixteen? Seventeen?”

My eyes widen and I laugh. “No way! Let me see.”

You meet my eyes, your face turning crimson. Of course, there were hidden ones, I immediately feel like I overstepped and go to apologize when you speak. “It’s a lot of random ones, all over. I added some stuff to the rib piece.” That one you show me, you lift up your sweater, and I feel my dick twitch.

Pervert. Dirty pervert. It’s been fifteen years, put your dick away.

The cluster of wildflowers that started from your ribs to your hip had added roses to different spots they ended up entwining into a beautiful ivy vine, before falling off towards your back. I notice the bottom of a small piece on your sternum, and you pull your sweater back down.

“That’s beautiful.” I tell her, smiling. “What have you been doing these last fifteen years?”

“Well, I moved out of Hawkins.” I smile at that, she always wanted to leave that place. “I moved to Maine, I bought myself my own little cabin in the woods. I’m a nurse at the local hospital there.”

My heart practically bursts with pride, and I laugh. “See? You don’t have to be famous to have your own cabin. That’s wonderful, I know that was always a dream of yours, becoming a nurse.”

“Yeah, it’s fulfilling. Heartbreaking 99% of the time but fulfilling.” Your eyes fix on mine again, and we just share comfortable silence as we stare at one another.

“Your eyes are sad.” You say suddenly.

“What?” I snap myself back down to my reality; it was easy to get lost in your eyes.

“You look like you’ve been through hell and back again. Sorry for being blunt, I’m just sorry for whatever is bothering you.” Your eyes show me that same familiar kindness, and I smile awkwardly at you.

“I’m okay.” I tell you, only half lying.

You place your hand over my ringed fingers, gently entwining them. I stare at our hands, and gaze back into your eyes. “What am I doing here?” I whisper to you. I can feel my heart do another back flip, and my brain screams at me to get up and run because I can still feel your love.

Your fingers gently move over the bumps on my rings, and your eyes dart to mine. You spot the small silver chain around my neck, half tucked in my shirt, and you lift your hand to gently pull out the red guitar pick. You finger the plastic and smile. “Wow. You kept this all these years.”

“Of course, I did. I never take it off.” Except when I used to shoot dope, but that’s beside the point. I swallow the lump in my throat. “Sweetheart, why am I here?”

You sigh, giving me a sad smile. “Would it be weird if I said that I really fucking miss you? And for the last fifteen years, I haven’tstopped thinking about you.”

Heart exploding.

My breath hitches and my eyes widen slightly. “But…I hurt you…and I left—"

“I know, I know you did, but” you take my hand again. “Eddie, we were best friends. Since before we could even say those words. You were so important to me. You’re still important to me. How could we throw that away?”

I stare at you, reading your face, gazing at the shape of your mouth, the way your hair falls in waves, the curves of your breasts. I squeeze my eyes shut, pulling my hand away from yours. “You wouldn’t think that anymore once you know what I’ve done, who I’ve become.”

“Then tell me.” You say softly, your eyes dart from my lips, to my eyes. I stare at your lips, remembering how perfectly they fit against mine, how soft they were. How eager you would be when your tongue would slip into my mouth, deepening the kiss, your soft moans vibrating against my mouth as I carefully push myself inside you.

I meet your eyes; you’re waiting for me to say something. I shake my head, running my hands over my hair. I sigh. “How long you got?”

You look at your wrist at a fake watch. “About a week.” I laugh and lean back in my seat, sipping my coffee.

Yeah, I missed you too.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Special shout out to: @trixyvixx @originalstar1 @iggyizalien @themorticians-world

& so many of you who supported my last series.

I wouldn’t continue writing if it weren’t for you guys giving me the motivation to do it. Love you all!

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fluff #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x smut #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #eddie munson fem!reader #eddie munson comfort #rockstar eddie munson #Spotify

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fellthemarvelous · 4 months

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I can't stop with the Staged parallels (crossing over with Doctor Who and Good Omens)

I think the main takeaway from Staged 3 is that David and Michael are so co-dependent they end up driving each other crazy.

Michael and David were asked to do an advert.

Michael said no, and thought that meant they were both saying no.

Then David said yes after Michael said no.

And neither of them want to do series three, but David thinks Michael is going to do with series three without him and Michael thinks David is going to do series three without him, so they both agree to do it just to spite the other.

And Georgia is just sitting there after they agree to do the third series like

because she got them to do exactly what she wanted them to do while making them think it was their idea. She knows that everyone just really loves to watch David and Michael bicker so she keeps putting them in situations where she knows they are going to do nothing but argue the entire time.

As Lucy said in season two, "I don't have a relationship like that with anybody" (something like that) after Georgia told her that David and Michael's conversations are like gas, just filling the room with their nonsense because neither of them knows when to stop talking.

And all of this is the very reason that Georgia and Anna and Lucy and Lily (Michael's first daughter) and Olivia Coleman all jump in on the call to be like NOTHING LASTS FOREVER because Michael had just told David he thinks they need to take a break from each other and David was refusing to let go because he's clearly not good at letting go of things...

That was the real David talking. David loved being the Doctor so much that those became Ten's last words. (Why do you think RTD trusted David to bring the old era of Doctor Who to a close?)

That is the real fucking David Tennant right there getting a happy ending with his best friend, Catherine Tate, because Doctor Who will always be her home as well even though she still knows absolutely nothing about the show and I love her for that.

Just wait until we see both Crowley and Aziraphale smiling at each other like that.

Anyway, things are going to be okay. Just like Michael said.

#staged #david tennant #michael sheen #georgia tennant #anna lundberg #catherine tate #doctor who #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #doctor donna #ineffeble husbands #parallels #they split up like aziraphale and crowley did and we know it's just temporary!#the doctor #donna noble #trust in the sheebergnants

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catholic-character-tournament · 11 months

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Catholic Character Tournament

Current Bracket

All polls here (tagged #cct polls)

Round 5 (16 nominees) is Wednesday July 5 12 PST

Character Submission List:

(Note, not in the order in the bracket. They were randomized for the bracket) (crossed out means dead-dead)

*707/Luciel Choi (Mystic Messenger)

*Abuela Alma Madrigal (Encanto)

*Akane Kurashiki (Zero Escape)

*Amon from (Tokyo Ghoul)

*Angel (Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel the Series)

*Asia Argento (High School DxD)

Aslan from (Chronicles of Narnia)

*Aymeric de Borel (Final Fantasy 14)

*Aziraphale (Good Omens) (Disqualified) The Volturi

*Belizabeth Brassica (Dimension 20's A Crown of Candy)

*Bishop Raphaniel Charlock (Dimension 20 - the Ravening War)

*Blake Langermann (Outlast 2)

*Brother Cellanus (The Completely Unerotic Adventures of Brother Cellanus)

*Caesar Zeppeli (Jojo's Bizarre Adventure)

*Carlos Reyes (911 Lone Star)

*Carrie White (Carrie)

*Catherine of Aragon (SIX: the Musical)

*CC (Code Geass)

*Chrollo Lucilfer (Hunter x Hunter)

*Chuck E. Cheese

*Claude Frollo(The Hunchback of Notre Dame)

*Crowley (Good Omens) (Disqualified) Vanessa Ives replacement (Penny Dreadful)

Dana Scully (the X files)

Doomguy (Doom)

*Double (Skullgirls)

Doug Jones (The VelociPastor)

*Dracule Mihawk (One Piece)

*Duo Maxwell (Gundam Wing)

*Eddie Brock (Venom)

*Emilio Santoz from The Sparrow

Enrico Pucci (Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure)

*Farnese de Vandimion (Berserk)

*Father Alexander Anderson (Hellsing)

*Father Brown (Father Brown)

Father John Mulcahy (MASH)

Father Paul (Midnight Mass)

*Felicia Hardy/Black Cat (Spiderman)

Firestar (Warrior Cats)

*Flayn (Fire Emblem Three Houses)

*Frank Castle (Marvel)

Friar Tuck (Robin Hood)

*Gabriel (Ultrakill)

*Galahad (The Mechanisms)

*Gerard (Unholyverse)

Gloria Maria Ramirez Delgado-Pritchett (Modern Family)

Harrowhark Nonagesimus (The Locked Tomb)

*Helena Bertinlli (DC comics)

Hell boy (HellBoy)

Homura Akemi (Madoka Magica)

*Hot Pants (Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure)

*Ibara Shiozaki (My Hero Academia)

*Inori Yamabuki/Cure Pine (Fresh Precure)

Jason Todd (DC Comics)

*Javert (Les Miserables)

Jean Valjean (Les Misérables)

*Jeanne d'Arc (Alter) (Fate/Grand Order)

*Jesus (Jesus Christ Superstar)

*John "Soap" MacTavish (Call of Duty)

*John Gaius (The Locked Tomb)

*John Ward (FAITH)

*Johnathan (Shin Megami Tensei IV)

*Junk Rat (Overwatch)

*Justin Law (Soul eater)

*Kawabuchi Sentarou (Kids on the Slope)

Kaworu Nagisa (Neon Genesis Evangelion)

*Kirei Kotomine (Fate franchise)

Knuckes the Echidna (Sonic)

*Kristen Applebees (Dimension 20's Fantasy High)

*Kuroe (Magia Record)

Kurt Wagner/Nightcrawler (X-Men)

*Ky Kiske (Guilty Gear)

*Kyoko Sakura (Puella Magi Madoka Magica)

*Lady Rhea (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)

*Leliana (Dragon Age)

*Leon (8:11)

*Lestat de Lioncourt (The Vampire Chronicles)

*Libra (Fire Emblem: Awakening)

*Link (The Legend of Zelda)

*Louis de Pointe du Lac (Interview with the Vampire/The Vampire Chronicles)

*Luis Serra Navarro (Resident Evil)

Mac McDonald (It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia)

Maddie Fitzpatrick (Suite Life of Zack and Cody)

*Marcy Park (The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee)

*Mark Heathcliff (The Mandela Catalogue)

Matt Murdock/Daredevil (Marvel)

*Mello (Death Note)

*Mercedes (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)

*Michael Carpenter (Dresden Files)

*Michael Corleone (The Godfather)

Miles Morales/Spider-Man

*Nate Ford (Leverage)

Nicholas D. Wolfwood (Trigun)

*Nico di Angelo (Percy Jackson)

*Ocean O'Connell Rosenberg (Ride the Cyclone)

*Pastry Cookie (Cookie Run Kingdom)

*Patton Sanders (Sanders Sides (Web Series))

Pope Pinion IV (Cars)

Puss in Boots (Shrek)

Quasimodo (The Hunchback of Notre Dame)

Remy LeBeau/Gambit (X-Men)

*Rin Okumura (Blue Exorcist)

*RoboCop (RoboCop)

Ronan Lynch (The Raven Cycle)

*Ryker (Roleslaying With Roman)

*Saint Citrina Rocks (Dimension 20's A Crown of Candy)

*Sasuke (Naruto)

*SCP-166 (Just a Teenage Gaia)

*Seeley Booth (Bones)

Shadow the Hedgehog (Sonic)

*Shiro Fujimoto (Blue Exorcist)

Simon Belmont (Castlevania)

*Sir Keradin Deeproot (Dimension 20's A Crown of Candy)

*Sister Mary (The Young Pope)

Sister Michael (Derry Girls)

*Steve Rogers/Captain America (Marvel)

*Tammy Edwards (Legoland by Jacob Richmond)

*Tatsumi Kazehaya (Ensemble Stars)

*Temenos Mistral (Octopath Traveler 2)

The Derry Girls (Derry Girls)

*The Penitent One (Blasphemous)

*Tobias Schneien (Ghost Eyes)

*Valeria Garaz (Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 reboot)

*Valery Michailov (Goncharov - 1973)

*Vector the Crocodile (Sonic the Hedgehog)

*Vito Corleone (The Godfather)

*Wesley Hailoh (Rhyme and Reason)

*William Murdoch (Murdoch Mysteries)

*Zakuro Fujiwara (Tokyo Mew Mew)

175 notes · View notes

p1nball-c0la · 1 year

Note

i saw your post about the essay you wrote on the gayness in great gatsby, and im doing a similar thing. im wondering what parts you quoted because to me it’s more the vibe rather than any piece of text. thanks!

Happy to provide! I'm trying to not miss anything here, so my apologies for the ultra-long post. And trust me, this is a very long post. I went through all 137 pages. This is likely far more than you wanted or needed, so. Whoops on that front. But I digress. Without much further ado, textual evidence of The Great Gatsby's (mostly Nick's) queerness and where to find said evidence within the book!

The PDF I'm using, found through a single google search. The wonders of a lack of copyright!

Chapter 1

Nick, immediately asserting his Gatsby bias; "Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction—Gatsby, who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn." (5).

When describing Gatsby; “If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him.” (5).

Nick eyeing up Tom and also being a little afraid of him; "Now he was a sturdy straw-haired man of thirty with a rather hard mouth and a supercilious manner. Two shining arrogant eyes had established dominance over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning aggressively forward. Not even the effeminate swank of his riding clothes could hide the enormous power of that body — he seemed to fill those glistening boots until he strained the top lacing, and you could see a great pack of muscle shifting when his shoulder moved under his thin coat. It was a body capable of enormous leverage — a cruel body" and "His speaking voice, a gruff husky tenor..." (8).

Nick finding Jordan Baker, the most androgynous woman around, attractive (Which, while not inherently queer, as a mostly gay man I've found that masculine women and feminine men tend to be a hit with queer folks. Do with that what you will); "I enjoyed looking at her. She was a slender, smallbreasted girl, with an erect carriage, which she accentuated by throwing her body backward at the shoulders like a young cadet." (11).

Chapter 2

Nick being kinda grossed out by Catharine; "The sister, Catherine, was a slender, worldly girl of about thirty, with a solid, sticky bob of red hair, and a complexion powdered milky white. Her eye-brows had been plucked and then drawn on again at a more rakish angle, but the efforts of nature toward the restoration of the old alignment gave a blurred air to her face." (25).

Nick's opinions on the McKee's (Take note of Mr. McKee's description-describing a man as "feminine" pretty much meant nothing but gay when Fitzgerald wrote it. Trust me, he would have known the connotations); "Mr. McKee was a pale, feminine man... there was a white spot of lather on his cheekbone, and he was most respectful in his greeting... His wife was shrill, languid, handsome, and horrible." (25).

Nick doing something that could be described as tender; "Mr. McKee was asleep on a chair with his fists clenched in his lap, like a photograph of a man of action. Taking out my handkerchief I wiped from his cheek the remains of the spot of dried lather that had worried me all the afternoon." (30).

I implore you, read the final few paragraphs of chapter two. Nick 100% sleeps with Mr. McKee. A taste of that; "… I was standing beside his bed and [Mr. McKee] was sitting up between the sheets, clad in his underwear, with a great portfolio in his hands." (31).

Chapter 3

Nick, upon receiving an invitation to Gatsby's party (The 2013 movie had Tobey Maguire stress that 'No one had ever been invited to Gatsby's' with the exception of him. Do with that what you will); "I had been actually invited. A chauffeur in a uniform of robin’s-egg blue crossed my lawn early that Saturday morning with a surprisingly formal note from his employer: the honor would be entirely Gatsby’s, it said, if I would attend his “little party.” that night. He had seen me several times, and had intended to call on me long before, but a peculiar combination of circumstances had prevented it — signed Jay Gatsby, in a majestic hand." (33-34).

A quick aside about the party and Gatsby symbolism; as my English teacher so fervently pointed out, Daisy wears white to symbolize purity/innocence/some other million dollar word. If we are to believe that Fitzgerald painstakingly planned out that symbolism, then this line about Nick's party attire, "[I was] dressed up in white flannels" (34) should have some significance to it, right?

Nick, unaware he is talking to Gatsby, immediately feels better upon talking to him; "It was on the tip of my tongue to ask his name when Jordan looked around and smiled. 'Having a gay time now?' she inquired. 'Much better.'" (38).

And of course, this gem—Nick, instantly smitten by Gatsby's smile; "He smiled understandingly — much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced― or seemed to face― the whole external world for an instant and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just so far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey." (39).

Nick being anxious and a little fixated on a shoulder touch from Gatsby, Gatsby practically planning a date out; "Rather ashamed that on my first appearance I had stayed so late, I joined the last of Gatsby’s guests, who were clustered around him. I wanted to explain that I’d hunted for him early in the evening and to apologize for not having known him in the garden. 'Don’t mention it,' he enjoined me eagerly. 'Don’t give it another thought, old sport.' The familiar expression held no more familiarity than the hand which reassuringly brushed my shoulder. 'And don’t forget we’re going up in the hydroplane to-morrow morning, at nine o’clock.'"

Nick, about Jordan, then very quickly saying something that very much sounds like the closeted experience when you're in an unaccepting environment; "I thought I loved her. But I am slow-thinking and full of interior rules that act as brakes on my desires..." (47).

Chapter 4

Gatsby, picking up Nick for what I will only call a 'Discreet meeting between two close male friends'; "Good morning, old sport. You’re having lunch with me today and I thought we’d ride up together." (50).

Nick, paying a strange amount of attention to Gatsby's stance, and describing it so... yeah; "He was balancing himself on the dashboard of his car with that resourcefulness of movement that is so peculiarly American — that comes, I suppose, with the absence of lifting work or rigid sitting in youth and, even more, with the formless grace of our nervous, sporadic games." (50).

Another interlude; According to my literal teachers, Gatsby's car is supposed to be a euphemism for his penis. I'd censor this, but hey, this book is about affairs. Anyways, this fact makes this sequence very funny to me; "He saw me looking with admiration at his car. 'It’s pretty, isn’t it, old sport?' He jumped off to give me a better view. 'Haven’t you ever seen it before?' I’d seen it. Everybody had seen it. It was a rich cream color, bright with nickel, swollen here and there in its monstrous length with triumphant hat-boxes and supper-boxes and toolboxes, and terraced with a labyrinth of wind-shields that mirrored a dozen suns." (50).

Nick, falling in love with the way Gatsby speaks; "Little Montenegro! He lifted up the words and nodded at them — with his smile. The smile comprehended Montenegro’s troubled history and sympathized with the brave struggles of the Montenegrin people. It appreciated fully the chain of national circumstances which had elicited this tribute from Montenegro’s warm little heart. My incredulity was submerged in fascination now; it was like skimming hastily through a dozen magazines." (52).

Nick being not okay with Gatsby being not straightforward with him; "'Look here, old sport,' said Gatsby, leaning toward me, 'I’m afraid I made you a little angry this morning in the car.' There was the smile again, but this time I held out against it." (56).

Wolfsheim talking up Gatsby to Nick; "'Fine fellow, isn’t he? Handsome to look at and a perfect gentleman.' 'Yes.'" (56).

Nick literally settling for Jordan—Note how Nick describes Jordan as 'wan'. Jordan is, almost exclusively, the only one described as wan. Remember this. Anyways, Nick settling; "Unlike Gatsby and Tom Buchanan, I had no girl whose disembodied face floated along the dark cornices and blinding signs, and so I drew up the girl beside me, tightening my arms. Her wan, scornful mouth smiled, and so I drew her up again closer, this time to my face." (62).

Chapter 5

Gatsby inviting Nick to Coney Island way too late at night; "'...Let’s go to Coney Island, old sport. In my car.'" (63).

Wow Nick. Interesting way to describe Gatsby. That's. That doesn't seem fond no not at all. No but why does 'glaring tragically' sound. Yeah; "Gatsby, pale as death, with his hands plunged like weights in his coat pockets, was standing in a puddle of water glaring tragically into my eyes." (66).

Nick describing Gatsby; "He literally glowed; without a word or a gesture of exultation a new well-being radiated from him and filled the little room." (69).

OH COOL GATSBY YEAH JUST INVITE YOUR ROMANTIC INTREST AND YOUR 'VERY GOOD CLOSE MALE FRIEND' OVER TO SEE YOUR HOUSE YEAH; "'I want you and Daisy to come over to my house,' he said, 'I’d like to show her around.' 'You’re sure you want me to come?' 'Absolutely, old sport.'" (69).

Gatsby searching for approval from Nick; "'My house looks well, doesn’t it?” he demanded. “See how the whole front of it catches the light.' I agreed that it was splendid." (69-70).

Gatsby saying he keeps his house 'full of interesting people' (however, Gatsby has only invited Nick, honestly); "'I keep it always full of interesting people, night and day. People who do interesting things. Celebrated people.'" (70).

Nick, very sure Daisy couldn't possibly be right for Gatsby anymore; "There must have been moments even that afternoon when Daisy tumbled short of his dreams — not through her own fault, but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion." (74).

Chapter 6

Nick tells us of Gatsby's truth, of the name James Gatz. Note that Nick is the one person Gatsby trusts with this. This quote us of little importance aside from me telling you the fact only Nick knows of his past; "He was a son of God — a phrase which, if it means anything, means just that — and he must be about His Father’s business, the service of a vast, vulgar, and meretricious beauty. So he invented just the sort of Jay Gatsby that a seventeen-year-old boy would be likely to invent, and to this conception he was faithful to the end."

Nick once again fixated on Gatsby's smile; "I suppose he smiled at Cody — he had probably discovered that people liked him when he smiled." (77).

This isn't important this is just funny to me; "...in the course of gay parties..." (77).

Nick once again not being that into the women around him; "The girl addressed was trying, unsuccessfully, to slump against my shoulder."

Nick immediatly defending Gatsby from Tom's accusations; "'I didn’t hear it. I imagined it. A lot of these newly rich people are just big bootleggers, you know.' 'Not Gatsby,' I said shortly."

Nick really hating that Gatsby won't give up Daisy and wishing that somebody could just replace her in his mind; "Perhaps some unbelievable guest would arrive, a person infinitely rare and to be marvelled at, some authentically radiant young girl who with one fresh glance at Gatsby, one moment of magical encounter, would blot out those five years of unwavering devotion."

Nick staying late because Gatsby asked him to; "I stayed late that night, Gatsby asked me to wait until he was free, and I lingered in the garden..." (84).

Nick trying to hint that Gatsby should start looking into new people for romance. Perhaps someone in the present. Y'know. Like a writer. Just shy of thirty. With the initials N.C. Y'know. Here's the quote; "'I wouldn’t ask too much of her,' I ventured. 'You can’t repeat the past.'"

Nick wanting to say something to Gatsby; "For a moment a phrase tried to take shape in my mouth and my lips parted like a dumb man’s, as though there was more struggling upon them than a wisp of startled air. But they made no sound, and what I had almost remembered was uncommunicable forever." (86).

Chapter 7

Nick really liking Gatsby; "I wanted to get up and slap him on the back. I had one of those renewals of complete faith in him that I’d experienced before." (99).

Nick, concerned about losing 'men to know'. He doesn't mention women; "Thirty — the promise of a decade of loneliness, a thinning list of single men to know..." (104).

Nick, lying; "I disliked him so much by this time..." (110).

Chapter 8

Intriguing of you to say 'come home' and not 'go home', Nick; "I hesitated. 'You’d better come home and

get some sleep.'" (112).

Nick embodying every lovesick gay; "I couldn’t sleep all night... Toward dawn I heard a taxi go up Gatsby’s drive, and immediately I jumped out of bed and began to dress — I felt that I had something to tell him, something to warn him about, and morning would be too late." (113).

Hey remember how I said Nick pretty much only describes Jordan as wan? Yeah here's Nick describing Gatsby that way; "'Nothing happened,' he said wanly." (113).

Nick essentially being annoyed that Gatsby doesn't want to romance him now; "I think that he would have acknowledged anything now, without reserve, but he wanted to talk about Daisy." (114).

Nick not leaving Gatsby; "I didn’t want to go to the city. I wasn’t worth a decent stroke of work, but it was more than that — I didn’t want to leave Gatsby. I missed that train, and then another, before I could get myself away." (118).

Parallel between Nick and Daisy; "'I’ll call you about noon.' We walked slowly down the steps. 'I suppose Daisy’ll call too.'"

Nick's complement to Gatsby; "'They’re a rotten crowd,' I shouted across the lawn. 'You’re worth the whole damn bunch put together.'" (118).

Nick lying. You don't dedicate a book to a guy entitled 'The Great' with his name and 'disapprove of him'; "It was the only compliment I ever gave him, because I disapproved of him from beginning to end." (118).

The smile, again; "First he nodded politely, and then his face broke into that radiant and understanding smile, as if we’d been in ecstatic cahoots on that fact all the time." (118).

Nick again being a concerned lovesick gay; "I called Gatsby’s house... I tried four times..." (119).

Sounds rather wishful, Nick; "I have an idea that Gatsby himself didn’t believe [the call] would come, and perhaps he no longer cared."

Chapter 9

Nick being basically haunted; "...his protest continued in my brain: 'Look here, old sport, you’ve got to get somebody for me. You’ve got to try hard. I can’t go through this alone.'" (126).

Nick upset at everyone who isn't Gatsby; "I began to have a feeling of defiance, of scornful solidarity between Gatsby and me against them all."(127).

Nick describing himself as a close friend of Gatsby to Gatsby's father; "'...Were you a friend of my boy’s, Mr.—?' 'We were close friends.'" (128).

Tom Buchanan being cruel as usual, drawing a direct parallel; "...He threw dust into your eyes just like he did in Daisy’s..." (136).

And that's it! All possibly queer quotes from Gatsby. Again, I apologize for the length.

#the gay gatsby #the great gatsby #great gatsby #gatsby #natsby #nick carraway #jay gatsby #jordan baker #gay #queer

179 notes · View notes

princesssarisa · 27 days

Note

This… out of curiosity

Do you know the different meanings of the name of Cinderella's Stepsisters?

Charles Perrault's Cendrillon

Javotte: A nickname for Geneviève, which means "of the race of woman," "woman of the family," or "white wave."

(Perrault only reveals the older stepsister's name in one scene, not the younger one's.)

Rossini's opera La Cenerentola

Clorinda: “Youthful” or “greenery.”

Tisbe: Unknown; it’s a name from Greek mythology.

Massenet's opera Cendrillon

Noémie: “Pleasantness.”

Dorothée: “Gift from God.”

The 1947 Russian film

Anna: “Grace” or “favor.”

Marianna: A cross between Mary, meaning “bitter,” “drop of the sea,” or “beloved,” and Anna (see above).

The Let's Pretend radio adaptation

Flora: “Flower.”

Isabella: A form of Elizabeth, meaning “My God is an oath.”

The Disney version, animated and live action

Anastasia: “Resurrection.”

Drizella: Probably a variant of Drusilla, meaning “little strong one.”

The 1955 film The Glass Slipper

Birdena: “Little bird.”

Serafina: “Fiery one.”

The 1957 version of Rodgers and Hammerstein's musical

Portia: “Pig.”

Joy: Self-evident.

The 1965 version of Rodgers and Hammerstein's musical

Prunella: “Little plum.”

Esmeralda: “Emerald.”

The Muppets' Hey, Cinderella!

Mona: “My lady.”

Lisa: Derived from Elizabeth, meaning “my God is an oath.”

Rankin/Bass's Festival of Family Classics

Fatima: “To abstain” (though it serves as a play on “fat,” because she is fat)

Leania: Probably derived from Helen, meaning “light” (though it serves as a play on “lean” because she’s scrawny)

The 1969 Czech film

Katerina: “Far off” or “pure.”

Dorota: "Gift from God."

The 1973 Czech film Three Wishes for Cinderella

Dora: “Gift.”

The 1976 film The Slipper and the Rose

Isobella: “My God is an oath” (see above).

Palatine: “Of the palace.”

The 1978 African-American adaptation Cindy

Olive: "Olive," of course.

Venus: "Love."

The Faerie Tale Theatre adaptation

Arlene: “Honor” or “eagle.”

Bertha: “Bright.”

The Grimm's Faerie Tale Classics adaptation (English dub)

Phoebe: “Bright.”

Griselda: “Gray battle.”

Stephen Sondheim's musical Into the Woods

Florinda: "Flower."

Lucinda: "Light."

The Happily Ever After: Fairy Tales for Every Child adaptation

Margarita: “Pearl” or “daisy flower.”

Esmeralda: “Emerald” (see above).

The musical A Tale of Cinderella

Moltovoce: “Much voice.”

Seppia: “Squid.”

The 1996 Burbank Animation version

Nellie: A nickname for Ellen or Helen, meaning “torch” or “light.”

Melba: Derived from Melbourne, Australia. Melbourne means “mill stream.”

(Their names are inspired by the famous Australian opera singer Nellie Melba, whose birth name was Helen Mitchell and who took her stage name from her home city of Melbourne.)

The anime series Cinderella Monogatari

Catherine: “Far off” or “pure.”

Jeanne: “God is gracious.”

The 1997 version of the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical

Minerva: “Intellect.”

Calliope: “Beautiful voice.”

The 1998 film Ever After: A Cinderella Story

Marguerite: “Pearl” or “daisy flower.”

Jacqueline: “Heel-grabber” or “supplanter."

Gregory Maguire's novel Confession of an Ugly Stepsister

Iris: "Rainbow" or "iris flower."

Ruth: "Friend."

Margaret Peterson Haddix's novel Just Ella

Griselda: "Gray battle" (see above).

Corimunde: Possibly a variant of "Clarimond," meaning "shining defender."

The Shrek franchise

Doris: "Dorian woman."

Mabel: "Lovable."

The 2000 stage version of the Rodgers and Hammerstein's musical

Grace: Self-evident.

Joy: Self-evident (see above).

The 2000 British TV film

Goneril: Unknown meaning.

Regan: "Little ruler" or "king's child."

(In case anyone didn't know it, their names are taken from the evil sisters in Shakespeare's King Lear.)

The Simsala Grimm adaptation

Agatha: “Good.”

Beatrice: "One who blesses.”

The novel and film Ella Enchanted

Hattie: A nickname for Harriet, meaning “home ruler.”

Olive: Self-evident (see above).

The 2004 film A Cinderella Story

Brianna: "High" or "noble."

Gabriella: "God is my strength."

Malinda Lo's novel Ash

Ana: "Grace" or "favor" (see above).

Clara: "Clear" or "bright.

The 2010 Märchenperlen adaptation

Clothilde: “Glorious battle.”

The 2011 Sechs auf einen Streich adaptation

Annabella: "Grace and beauty."

The 2013 stage version of the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical

Gabrielle: “God is my strength” (see above).

Charlotte: “Free woman.”

Alma Deutscher's opera

Griselda: “Gray battle” (see above).

Zibaldona: Possibly derived from Zebada, which is derived from Zebadiah, meaning “God has bestowed.”

Betsy Cornwell's novel Mechanica

Piety: Self-evident.

Chastity: Self-evident.

Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical Bad Cinderella

Adéle: “Noble.”

Marie: “Bitter,” “drop of the sea,” or “beloved.”

The 2021 Sony/Amazon film

Narissa: “Sea nymph.”

Malvolia: “Ill will.”

#cinderella #fairy tale #cinderella's stepsisters #name meanings

22 notes · View notes

lostfirefly · 24 days

Text

Life Must Have It's Mysteries (Ch.8)

Hey. hey!! I hope you missed this couple! English is not my native language, errors may occur. As always, feel free to share your thoughts :) Masterlist is here.

Description: Buggy and Catherine (OC from my “You’ve Got the Same Dream as Me” series) collected all parts of the scepter.

Warnings: Fun, fluff, arguing, sadness, adventure, swearing (as always). Shitty shit again:)

Words: 4224 (Yay!)

Taglist: @gingernut1314, @operationroots, @hey-august, @rorywritesjunk, @yujo-nishimura (I hope you still like it!)

The title is taken from “Life Must Have It's Mysteries” by Hans Zimmer (OST Inferno).

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“Cotton candy, what are you doing? Stop!”

“No, I won't. I love playing with your hair. They are so long, blue, and beautiful. Do you want a crown braid? A regular braid? Or something else?” They both sat on the sand. Catherine knelt behind Buggy and ran a comb through his hair.

“I don't want anything, Catherine. Leave my hair alone.” He carefully removed her hands. “I'll curl my ponytail later.”

“So it’s gonna be the crown braid!” She kissed him on the cheek, hearing his groan, and took a small strand of hair in her hands.

“Geeez!” Buggy rolled his eyes.

Smack. “Oh! Let me make you a bun out of your hair. Two braids and the bun!” Catherine said happily and continued braiding his hair.

“Little shit! Can you even hear me? Why are you doing this to me?” Buggy removed her hands again, stood up, muttering something under his breath, and walked towards the car.

“Buggy Bear, what's wrong?”

He looked at her silently.

“You know, I think you should give me a schedule of your moods.” Catherine crossed her arms and looked at him instantly. “One day you are silent when I touch your hair or kiss your nose, now you are unhappy. And I don't even talk about the fact that I’ve lost count of how many times a day your mood changes. You never say anything, you just get angry, get up and leave. I don't get it. Did I hurt you? You know perfectly that I will never do that. I just love playing with your hair. I’m sorry.”

“I just…” Buggy watched as Catherine became sad and began to move her hand along the sand. He sighed, walked back to her and sat down with his back to her. “Don’t like it sometimes.”

Catherine started stroking his head and asked softly. “Did something bad happen to you before? Did someone hurt you this way?”

Buggy looked at her, showing with his eyes that he didn't want to talk about it, and moved his back closer to her.

She knelt down and hugged him from behind. “Who did all this to you? What have they done?”

Buggy was silent, but Catherine felt that he became more relaxed in her embrace.

“Do you want to continue? Can I touch your hair?” She gently placed her hand on his shoulder.

“Fine!” He said quietly.

“Buggy Bear, you can trust me.” Smack. Catherine carefully took a strand of his hair and started braiding it. “Gosh! The color is amazing, love it and love you.”

“I don't understand why I let you braid my hair. It's not love, Cathie-pie. Admit, you just adore mocking me, right?” Buggy smiled and poked her in the side with his finger. “By the way, I'm hungry, when are we going to eat?”

“You're unbelievable. When it comes to food, drink or sex, you're instantly cheerful.” She looked at the fire where the sausages were being roasted. “Soon. I think another 10 minutes.” Catherine gently took another strand of hair and, humming softly, began to braid it. She noticed a slight smile on his face. “I wonder if you were offered food or sex with me, what would you choose?” She gently ran her finger through the braid. “Buggy?! You didn’t answer.”

“Wait, I’m thinking.” He got lost in thought.

“Fucking clown! I can't believe you're choosing between me and food.” Catherine sniggered.

“Because you ask difficult questions, baby. Food is very important to me.”

“I'll remind you of this the next time you start pestering me.” Catherine made a bun, took a bobby pin out of her hair and stuck it in his hair. She made a crown braid on top. She took a picture on her phone and showed him the photo. “Look! Shouldn't you walk around like this at home?”

“No way! It's disgusting.” Buggy responded with a laugh. “What did you do to me, red-haired shit?”

Catherine hugged him from behind by the neck, standing on her knees, and pressed her cheek to his cheek. He placed his hand on her wrist.

“Cotton candy, I…”

“Shush, clown! Don't spoil the moment.” She sat there for another five minutes in silence. “You're unshaven and prickly.” Catherine gently ran her fingertips over his stubble. “I love it and… you!” She suddenly squealed joyfully, smacking his cheek.

“Fuck! My ears!!” Buggy covered his ear with one hand. “I lo~...” He sniffed. "What smells?"

“Shit! Sausages!!” Catherine jumped and ran towards the fire. “Good new, it doesn’t seem like they were burned.” She took a bite. “No, they are fine. Go have breakfast, my blue-haired love!”

Buggy looked at her carefully.

“Why are you looking at me? Come here. Breakfast is ready.” She put food on disposable plates.

“I’m coming!”

Catherine watched as Buggy split into parts, flew to her and assembled himself piece by piece. She looked at him in surprise. “What was that?”

“Meh, I was too lazy to go.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“You're such a fool! So. We have hot dogs, donuts and warmed up pancakes. What do you want?”

“I want everything!” Buggy poured Catherine coffee and kissed her temple. “Here. Fresh coffee for my Egyptian girl.”

“Thank you!”

Catherine made him three hot dogs and put some pancakes on the plate. She watched as Buggy happily took a bite of the hot dog and started stroking his head. “Tasty?”

“Delicious!” He said with his mouth full and narrowed his eyes joyfully.

“Chew first, Buggy.” Catherine took the mug in her hands and took a sip of coffee. She blushed when she noticed his gaze on her. “Stop looking at me like you love me.”

He swallowed the food and said quietly. “But I lo~.. I.. I just.. I don’t understand how I got you. You take care of me. Come on, you're cooking me sausages in the middle of the desert. Of course, you sometimes squeal like an ultrasound, but.. Why are you with me?”

Catherine put the mug on the sand, crawled up to him on her knees, hugged him, kissed him on the cheek and felt how he place his hand on her back. “I thought you had long ago gotten used to all this,” She stroked his head. “Okay. Then I'll say it more often. Do you want me to say it more often? I love, love, love you! And even though I'm tired of constantly wiping your lipstick traces off of me, I still love you. And when I become a decrepit toothless old woman with a saggy ass, I will still love you.”

“You'll never have a saggy ass, cotton candy.”

“I will, if you keep grabbing it. Stop doing it right now, Buggy!” She hit him on the arm. “Okay! Eat your breakfast. I’ll bring my notes and the scepter.”

Catherine got up from the ground. “Hey, clown! I let you look at my ass! Watch me walk to the car.” She moved her buttocks left and right several times, and joyfully began jumping from one foot to the other towards the car.

“You're amazing, Cathie-pie!” Buggy said loudly, chewing the hot dog.

Catherine grabbed things from the car and ran back joyfully, slightly squealing. She plopped down on the sand next to Buggy, grabbed a pancake and, chewing, pulled out three pieces of the scepter. These were small pieces of gold, clearly once decorated with stones. Catherine twirled each piece in her hands for a long time.

“I think if we don’t find anything and this fucking thing doesn’t fall apart in my hands, we can sell it too and get some good money.” She heard him laugh. “What are you laughing at, clown.”

“Me? I'm just wondering where my honest, decent girl went.” Buggy started imitating her. “We can sell it too.”

“Oh, fuck you!” Catherine raised a piece of the scepter to the sun and squinted one eye. “Look. There are inscriptions on all three parts.”

He moved his face closer to see the scepter, chewing the food. “And what do they mean?”

“I don’t know yet. There is a mixture of languages here. A little archaic ancient Egyptian, which was in the pre-dynastic period, and ancient Egyptian, which was in the time of the pharaohs.” Catherine looked in the notebook and started writing all the symbols down.

“Anything?” Buggy looked over her shoulder.

“Shush! Don't distract me!” She moved her pen over the paper, periodically muttered something under her breath, then put the pen in her mouth and fell silent.

“Cotton candy? Cotton candy!” Buggy snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Catherine?! Do you hear me?”

Catherine poked her pen at the letters and symbols on the sheets, glancing at Buggy periodically, then wrote something down again.

“It's written that this scepter belonged to the one who could cut mountains, breakthrough springs.” She began to assemble the pieces of the scepter until she heard a click on each connected piece. “Look. It's beautiful, isn't it?” Catherine raised the assembled scepter into the sun. “And here are the coordinates on the edges. See?” She pointed her little finger at the small numbers. “Let's see where they point.”

They both bent over the map. Catherine compared the numbers on the scepter and on the map. “My blue-haired love, we need to get this place.” She pointed her finger at a point on the map.

⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭

Catherine sat on the hood of the car and looked at the pyramid with a flat roof and sloped sides, with six layers, one built on top of the other. There was a smile on her face, her eyes were wide open.

“Cotton candy, you surprised me.” Buggy closed the car door and walked up to her. “You’re silent.”

She didn't take her eyes off the pyramid. “Do not tease me, clown.”

He leaned his back against the hood. “Come on, squeal.”

“Can I?” She looked at him.

“Of course you can.” He made a gesture with his hand.

Catherine jumped off the hood, clenched her hands into fists and began jumping around, squealing.

“Well, where are we now?” Buggy asked, glancing at her.

“My love! You’re looking at the very first pyramid in the world. Djoser’s pyramid. It was built almost 5,000 years ago.” She joyfully pointed to the structure. “Just fuck me! The ancient pyramid may contain what we're looking for.”

Catherine grabbed her head, turned to Buggy and broke into a smile. He exhaled, spread his arms, inviting her to jump on him. She threw herself on his neck with a squeal. “Love.” Smack. “Love.” Smack. “Love, love, love you!” Smack. Smack. Smack.

He wrapped his arms around her waist. “I’m happy you're happy.”

“You know, this pyramid was built by the very first Egyptian architect.” Catherine turned around, pressed her back against his chest and took his hand. “It is believed that the steps carry some symbolism - along them the pharaoh was supposed to pass to the kingdom of the dead. According to the notes that I have and what is indicated in the map, we will need to find the king's eyes peeking out through a hole. And we need to be more careful. This pyramid is also included in the tourist route. But it also has fake paths. I don't know what's in them. Traps or attempted tunnels. Be careful, please.” She stroked his palm with her fingers.

“Why are you telling me this?” Buggy asked in surprise.

“You almost got stuck in some hole when you pulled out the third part of the scepter, clown. I don’t want to lose you ahead of time.” Catherine reached out her hand and laid it on his head. “Okay, let’s go and try to find this fucking diamond.”

They collected their things and headed towards the entrance. As they walked towards the pyramid, Catherine told Buggy that it was all considered a vast complex, including courtyards, sanctuaries, temples, and dwellings for the priests. They reached the pyramid, which made of six-tiered “stepped” layers of stone and clay. Buggy listened to her with interest. They bought entrance tickets and, together with a group of tourists, went inside the pyramid.

“Oh my God! We are now inside the very first pyramid in the world. Can you imagine?” Catherine pulled Buggy's hand and turned her head, trying to look at everything as best as possible. “Awesome, huh?”

“Not bad.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“Not bad.” Catherine rolled her eyes at him.

They stood in a small room between columns. It was the central courtyard, from which eleven different tunnels branched off in different directions.

“Look.” Catherine took out a notepad. “We are in the central passage now. It was built above the sarcophagus of the pharaoh. The sarcophagus itself is located at the bottom of a very deep vertical shaft, which is covered with a dome. In addition, the tomb contains 11 carved burial rooms for members of the pharaoh's family. But there are also a lot of tunnels that lead to a dead end. The pyramid has not been fully studied, so the data may be incomplete.”

“Yeah-yeah, I remember.” He started imitating her, walking away to look at the wall. “Be careful. Buggy. You're such an idiot that you can go down the wrong corridor.”

Catherine exhaled, walked up behind him, buried her head in his back and took his hand. “You're my idiot. Just be careful. Okay?”

“Fine.” He squeezed her hand and replied with a smile on his face. “Where are we gonna go, my Egyptian girl?”

“We need to go to the southern part of the pyramid.” She took the map out of her bag. “It's this way.”

They walked along a corridor decorated with ornaments and paintings. Some walls were covered with blue tiles, reminiscent of a reed mat, and were also decorated with reliefs depicting the pharaoh performing various rituals.

“You know, it was previously believed that these corridors and the rooms next to them were used for burial. But do you see these drawings? They simply describe the life of the pharaoh and his family. There is no trace of the ritual nature of these rooms. They clearly look like they were once residential.” Catherine walked from wall to wall and carefully moved her hands over the drawings. “That’s amazing.”

They walked through several corridors, went down a few steps and found themselves in a part of the pyramid with narrow passages.

“Wait.” Catherine looked around. “Where is everyone? We followed the notes and the map, but I don’t see a single tourist now.” She took out her notepad and map again. “See? We went this way, this way. Then we turned here.”

“Maybe we took a wrong turn?” Buggy looked at her notes.

“No, no, impossible. We walked clearly along the corridors that were indicated on the sheets.” Catherine tapped her finger on the notes in her notebook.

Buggy scratched his neck. “Is there any possibility that this corridor where we are now is not intended for tourists? As I understand it, these Egyptian guys of yours were very fond of such things.”

“Perhaps. But everything indicates that we need to get through this narrow passage.” Catherine squatted down and looked around the small tunnel. “There's some light further down there.” She pulled out a flashlight from her bag. "See?"

Buggy sat down next to her and squinted. “Yeah. And what do your scribbles say?”

“It's not a scribble. Stop making fun of my handwriting.” She poked him in the shoulder and checked the notes once again. “They say we need to crawl there.” Catherine pointed with a flashlight at the tunnel.

“As a true gentleman, I will allow you to crawl first.” Buggy chuckled idiotically and nodded towards the tunnel with his head.

“You're not a gentleman. You just want to look at my ass!” Catherine rolled her eyes.

“Not without it, cotton candy!” He lightly spanked her buttocks.

“You're disgusting!” Catherine slapped his hands. “I hate you!”

“Lord, a blow to the heart!” Buggy rolled his eyes theatrically. “How can I live now?”

“Oh, shut up, please, clown. You like pissing me off, right?” She slapped him on the head.

“My baby gets angry. Love it!”

“Go fuck yourself, Buggy! Seriously, be focused!” Catherine looked at him angrily and then stroked his head. “So what? Shall we go back or shall we go forward?”

“You and I didn’t come this far just to go back, right?” Buggy shrugged. “If your notes say that we should go this way, we have no choice.”

“Okay!” Catherine put the notebook and map in her bag, stuck the flashlight between her teeth, got down on all fours and climbed into the tunnel.

“Fuck, yeah! My favorite view of you” Buggy grinned happily, rubbed his hands and also climbed after her.

“Shtp! I’ll pnch u!” She mumbled through the teeth.

They crawled along a narrow passage and found themselves in a large room, the walls of which were made of pale yellow slabs of granite mixed with limestone. In the middle of the wall, everything was decorated with drawings and inscriptions in the form of intricate carvings.

“Where are we?” Buggy asked, looking at Catherine.

“I have no idea. Wait.” She took out all her notes again. “So. You and I walked past the hall with the cobras, past the visitation with the double columns. Then we went down through the side passage. And if we walked correctly, then we are now in the southern passage under the underground galleries. Remember, I told you that the pyramid is not fully explored? We are diffenetly now on those paths that are not listed in the boring guide for boring tourists.”

Buggy took out a second flashlight from her bag and shined it on the walls, “Cotton candy, there are some people drawn there again.” He pointed the light at the walls.

Catherine came closer and began muttering something under her breath.

“Cathie-pie?” He came closer to her

“It says “Hathor and Amset will lead you through the gate. But you cannot go straight.. Start where Amset defeated the enemy”. This is some kind of nonsense.”

“Cotton candy, there’s some kind of lady painted on this wall.” Buggy pointed at the wall with a flashlight.

“Where? Where?” Catherine jumped happily and ran towards the drawings, pushing him aside.

“Geeez, woman!” Buggy walked closer to the wall. “Who is this?”

“This is Hathor. She is Horus's wife and was responsible for strength, love, beauty and was revered by women.” Catherine studied the drawing carefully.

Buggy tapped her on the shoulder. “Listen, is it normal that a piece of the ceiling is lighter than all the other slabs?”

Catherine shone her flashlight at the ceiling and looked at it. “No. Wait.” She looked at the drawing for a long time and muttered something under her breath. “These are not just light spots on the ceiling. This is.. the Milky Way?!”

“What?”

“Well, of course! The ancient Egyptians believed that Hathor's milk was the Milky Way. So we nned to find the stars there. Remember, in the last pyramid I told you about Amset and the fact that he is associated with the stars.”

“Cotton candy, we had wild sex that day. Believe me, I remember you naked, loudly moaning my name, my tongue between your legs and not some mythical guy in heaven.” Buggy guffawed idiotically. “I bet if we did this in his pyramid, he would look at us from his Egyptian clouds and be jealous.”

“Seriously, clown?!” Catherine waved her hands. “You said this in front of the face of an Egyptian goddess?”

“Oh, come on!” Buggy came closer to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “What will she do to me? Will she crawl out of the drawing and gore me with her horns?”

“You're disgusting.” Catherine shone the flashlight on the floor. “Look! There are stars on the slabs here. And you see, on each slab they are drawn only along the edges. Wait! Amset are the stars. Start where he defeated the enemy. Exactly!” She snapped her fingers. “It was believed that Amset defeated the enemy on the right side. So, we need to start from the right side. See? The Milky Way is like a curved line.” Catherine ran her finger in the air, the second drawing is on the ceiling. “We just need to step on those stars that the pictures above point to.”

“This is very exciting. But may I ask a question?” Buggy asked with interest in his voice.

“Sure!”

“Why is this woman... Hat.. What's her name? With horns. Why is she drawn with only one leg?”

“And look. The pattern of stars matches on these plates.” Catherine pointed to the right side. “And on those slabs that are closer to you.” She pointed to the left side.

“The distances between the plates are not the smallest. Sorry, baby, I don’t know how to stretch myself.”

“This riddle is not for one. This riddle is for two.” Catherine whispered.

“What?” Buggy asked in surprise and widened his eyes

“These slabs are for two people. Hathor with one leg. And do you see? There are more drawings of her further down, and she is also on one leg. So we need to stand on one leg and just jump on the stars. Nothing complicated.” Catherine smirked.

“Nothing complicated? Am I an acrobat or something?”

“You run the circus! Stop whining. Stand on the slab on the right on the left side, I'll stand on the ones on the right.”

“Maybe I should try to split up? Well... One leg here, the other there.” Buggy scratched his head.

“I don't think this will work, to be honest. I don’t see any different option. Let's try! Stand on the left side!”

They went to different sides and stood at the first slabs.

“Are you ready?” Catherine asked.

“I have not the foggiest idea.”

“Stop whining, Buggy! We stand on one leg and jump on the count of three. Ready? One, two.. three!”

Jump.

They both took a leap and looked around.

“So. Since nothing is going anywhere, that means it’s already good.” Buggy heard a nervous chuckle in Catherine's voice. “Now the next slab. Jump to those stars in the upper left corner. Okay?”

“Ok.”

“One. Two. Three.”

Jump.

“Great! Just to keep your balance!” Catherine spread her arms out to the side for balance. “I haven’t done this since school. I look like a seagull! Wooohoo!” She made seagull sounds.

“Stop talking and making fun. Where to next?” Buggy tried to keep the balance. “It’s not easy.”

“You're so boring now! Top corner on the right. Ready? One, two... three!”

Jump.

“I even started to like it!” Buggy heard a note of joy in Catherine's voice.

“I'm glad you're happy, my lovely seagull. But where to next?” There was irritation in his voice.

“Upper left corner again. One. Two. Three.”

Jump.

“Shit! Stand still, Catherine! Stand still! Damn it!” Catherine staggered and put her other foot down on the slab. She looked around. “Nothing seems to be happening, right?”

“I think that far wall is moving.” Buggy pointed to the direction they came from.

“What?” Catherine squealed.

“The wall is moving! Congrats, Catherine! You grumble at me most of all, but hello! You’ve just launched some kind of ancient Egyptian crap!” He put his foot down and clapped his hands.

“Enough of the theatrics!" She imitated his clapping. "So, what should we do?”

“Fuck!!” Buggy ran up to Catherine, threw her over her shoulder and ran to the other side of the hall.

“What about the stars?!”

“Are you kidding me? Better think where to run!”

“Look for the horns! This is the sign of Hathor!”

“I see something ahead! It looks like horns!”

“Faster, Buggy! I think the wall is moving faster.”

“Fuck!!” He ran faster and carried her to the other end of the hall. “Here are the horns!” He pointed to the drawing.

“It's a door! Try to open it!” Catherine started tapping his shoulder. “Faster! This fucking wall is getting closer!”

“Does not work!!” Buggy tried to push the door.

“Faster, please! Otherwise, we'll get crushed!”

“And who is to blame for this?!” He said with a grunt in his voice, trying to push the door with the pattern in the other direction.

Catherine began to examine the wall. “There is a passage here! Quickly!” She grabbed his hand and dragged him towards the passage.

They crawled into a small tunnel when they heard a rumble behind them.

“Fucking Egyptian traps!” Catherine muttered as she crawled out of the tunnel. “Buggy?”

“I'm coming!” He followed her out of the tunnel. “Are you okay, cotton candy?”

“Yes! Thank you! You saved my life again, my blue-haired hero!” She hugged him and rested her chin on his chest.

“Always at your service!” Buggy wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “So. Now where are we?”

“I don’t know. Look, there's something here!” Catherine walked into a small recess in the wall and ran her hand over the drawings.

At that moment, a rumble was heard, and the grate came down, locking her inside the room.

Catherine looked at Buggy through the bars. “It seems like I'm an idiot now, yeah? Damn!”

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luffyrose · 1 year

Text

Ghost in a Birdcage - DC x DP AU

I got a name for the Au! I am referencing the song Rule #4 Fish in a Birdcage as the title. I thought the song actually fit this whole au pretty well so yeah :D

Anyway, I told y'all I was working on stuff and part of it was this (plus the memes, which I'll share later) as well as thinking of a design for my Danny in this AU. I have a few ideas, but I'll probably work on the story itself before actually solidifying it.

Here's a little bit of sadness and softness from the past in this AU. Idk if this will be put into the main story, but it's just a general short story that is canon for this au.

~~~~~~~

GiaB AU Taglist: @markus209 @olivethetreebitch @chrysanthemum9484 @blackroserelina @avelnfear @edgyboi10000 @lokiaddams @samgirl98 @phoenixdemonqueen @iceknight-of-sun @autumnwulf @chronicallyonline-fandomwh0r3 @thegatorsgoose @nikki-pondtheauthor @jaxinkh @paper-bag-boy @dxrksong @lesling123 @learning-to-fly-on-my-own @gmkelz11

(As a lil side note the tag list is gonna be on any writing I do for this au, if I make other posts about it I'll leave it to the tag for people to find. Not including a link to the Ao3 when I do make the fic or one-shot series itself, taglist will be there too :D)

~~~~~~~

Small sniffles filled the room. Jason's gaze shifted toward his little brother, a frown overtaking the anger that'd been apparent on his own face. Danny, his precious little brother, was laying on the mattress on the ground beside him. Turning and scooting closer, Jason's hand lightly landed atop slightly wet and messy curls.

"Danny, are you feeling better?"

He could see the younger open his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by coughs. Along with the coughs, a loud clattering noise came from the door that had been locked from the outside. Gritting his teeth, the instant yelling from outside telling them to shut up making him look toward the door. Really, almost three years, and Catherine still couldn't accept that a toddler was going to be loud. Danny wasn't even loud on purpose! Huffing in silent rage, Jason's eyes fell back on his little brother.

Danny was staring up at Jay, his eyes wide in slight fear at the yelling, but he knew his brother would protect them. He was very small, almost 4 now according to Jason! But he was also very smart. His brother told him that a lot, especially when he hid away when the yelling or fights started. Danny liked to be smart. He didn't like seeing the other with new injuries though, but Jason let him put bandaids on them, and then he would take them out to the library.

The library was nice.

Catherine, that's what Jason always called the angry lady, didn't like to go in there. She didn't like to go anywhere with them, but Jason liked to take him places so it was okay. They didn't go places when sick though...so why was Jason getting some of his stuff?

"We're gonna go to the library buddy."

Seeing the smile that crossed the kid's face, the tension in his shoulder's loosened, but with the loud rattling of the door and cursing, they were right back to how they were before. Getting up quickly, he shoved what he could into a little bag and helped Danny up, the small boy coughing again.

"CALEB DANIEL TODD I SWEAR WHEN I GET THIS DOOR-"

Jason didn't let Danny hear the rest of it, carefully getting them both out onto the fire escape. He knew Catherine had been...less than ideal. His father was worse. But now with Willis gone, she didn't hold back. Half the time she wasn't home, the other half the time Jason was keeping her away from Danny. Sometimes he wished she just wouldn't come home, or that Danny wouldn't be in danger because she did.

So he made a plan. He was gonna get Danny a better home. A safe one. Except, when he'd gotten sick and wasn't getting better with the cold medicine he stole, Jason's plans didn't matter so much anymore. Danny needed somewhere to get better, but he needed a way to do that first. He'd found a way...though he didn't like it.

Carrying the younger on his back, the backpack slung over his front while a star blanket Jason had actually bought for once was draped over them both. Danny was watching the people they passed by, a small but nervous smile on his face before he inevitably hid his head in the crook of Jason's neck. "Jay Jay..." The elder hummed, feeling the smaller hands tighten for a moment after. "Is Cat-rin gonna be mad at you again?"

Slowing for only a second, Jason scanned the area before looking at his brother. Danny was too smart for his age, and Jason knew it was because of their stupid 'parents'. "She's not gonna have the time to be mad at me..." He trailed off, the lump in his throat stopping him from saying anything else until they were already in front of the Library. Slipping through the door when a young adult couple was leaving, too distracted in their conversation to notice the two poor kids, they made their way to a small dusty nook.

The nook itself was filled with old books that most no one wanted to read, and the librarian who'd seen them reading there tended to leave them be. Setting Danny down, Jason held up a finger, turning to go get some better books from elsewhere. A small sneeze made him chuckle, knowing his little brother hated how dusty it was when they hadn't been back for a while. Slipping through the isles he got himself some bigger books, and a few picture books for Danny. He knew the kid would read one or two before asking for Jason to read him his books, so he'd started picking light-hearted stories or classics whenever the two came.

Making his way back and sitting down, Jason passed the smaller storybook about stars to his brother, watching Danny's expression almost glow at seeing it. At first, Jason let himself be absorbed in his own book, the only thing other than it he paid attention to being the gentle pressure that was Danny leaning against him. It was after a little while that Jason realized Danny hadn't started to bug him like usual. Looking over from his own book, he saw Danny staring at one of the pictures of a constellation.

"Do you wanna learn more about the stars?"

He'd jumped, but Danny had nodded after a moment. Something was bugging him, Jason could tell, but he wasn't about to push it. Instead, he smiled and grabbed one of the nearby books. It was a much older book, more of a journal really, but it held a bunch of sketches of the constellations. So the two sat there, whispering to one another in the privacy of the little nook. Jason was glad he knew some astrology, and Danny was so genuinely amazed, that he could ignore the lingering pain from old injuries that hadn't had time to heal.

Feeling a small tug, Jason looked toward Danny, frowning slightly when he saw small tears. "Jay Jay...are you gonna go somewhere?" He could feel the pit in his stomach knot even more at that, staring for a moment before a wobbly smile tried to cover his face.

"...What?"

A sniffle caused the smile to fall. "Danny, hey, buddy, I'm not going anywhere...I- I'm gonna find somewhere better for you though. Somewhere where you'll get to feel better and not be afraid." Looking down as Danny's small tears covered his face, he gently used his sleeve to wipe them away, knowing he would never have the heart to lie to him. "That's not gonna happen yet though...and when you have a nice home, I'll make sure to visit. We can read and look at constellations too."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I'll do everything I can to try and keep that promise, alright?"

"Promises are hard to keep..."

Jason felt a sigh escape his lips, putting the book fully to the side and pulling Danny in for a hug. "They are...but just because they are doesn't mean that I won't try my best." Holding onto the younger, he felt the tears soak through the shirt on his chest, ignoring it. After Danny had stopped crying, he moved the boy back, hands on his shoulders. "If I can't keep my promise, you can get back at me." The small gasp from that made him laugh.

He seemed almost offended that Jason had said such a thing. "I don't wanna!" Jason tried not to laugh more, ruffling the younger's hair. "If you don't" —he was clearly thinking deeply about a suitable punishment— "then you have to help me." A proud smile formed on his face. With a slight smirk, Jason pulled the other back onto laying on his chest.

"Help ya with what?"

"With family."

It was quiet for a moment, Jason's fingers twitching for a moment before he started messing with Danny's hair. "How so little mans?" Danny seemed even more confused, pursing his lips as he kicked his feet some. Watching him with a small smile, Jason couldn't help but think this was the reason he'd survived so long. Danny was the one good thing in his life that had no strings attached. He was fine with that...but he needed Danny to be alright, even if it meant not being right there.

"You gotta help us have a BIIIIGGGG family. With more sib-a-lings!"

There was a snort from the older, ruffling Danny's hair. "You said it wrong you little dingus." Danny's own laughter erupted from him after a moment, swatting Jason's hand away. "But sure. If I break my promise, then I'll help you get a big and nice family." The toddler seemed to absolutely beam at that. "However! I still get to be the best brother-" Danny giggled at that, "and if anything is ever wrong you come to me, no matter what. Alright?"

With a happy nod, Danny's hair was once again ruffled up by Jason, the laughter filling up the small area they were in. Even when a few older ladies glanced over, not a word was spoken to the two. And when the librarian found both boys sleeping...well, if she gently readjusted the blanket they'd brought and let them sleep it was between her and the other librarians.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dc #dc comics #dcmultiverse #danny phantom #danny fenton #jason todd #GiaB AU

190 notes · View notes

amarguerite · 10 months

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First sentence for fic:

The sunshine had seemed deceptively inviting, but the strong breeze and sea spray were still unpleasantly cold.

This sparked a little coda to my Northanger Abbey/ It Happened One Night mash-up:

The sunshine had seemed deceptively inviting, but the strong breeze and sea spray were still unpleasantly cold. It was not quite the French Riviera Catherine had seen in the pictures or read about in glossy photo spreads but she was here and the Mediterranean was right there and she was morally certain that too much time had already passed. The two of them must meet. She defiantly put down her towel on one of the many empty chairs adorning the beach in front of the Hotel de Loiselle.

“It really was so good of you and Bill to invite me,” Catherine said to Eleanor through teeth that only chattered a little.

Eleanor, still wearing a wonderfully daring cape and broad-brimmed hat over her Cubist bathing costume, lowered her sunglasses to critically eye the waves. “Of course, darling! It was the very least we could do after all you’ve done for us. But perhaps we ought to rest up in the rooms and try the beach tomorrow? After all, it was your first time up in Bill’s plane and that can be such a horrid trial—“

Though Catherine had spent most of the flight trying not to be sick into her best hat (who knew planes went so high or flew so fast?) she was determined not to waste her first ever day outside of England’s green and pleasant land. “They always are sending people to the seaside for their health in old books. I am sure if I go and bathe I shall feel perfectly fine.”

“Do let me know if you change your mind,” Eleanor said dubiously, before arranging herself on a chair and taking out a very thick novel with one of those modernist covers where everyone depicted on the front was made up of colored polygons. (Catherine wished her joy of it but was internally very glad she had picked up Did the Butler Do It? from the lending library.) Cartherine sat down herself, to unbuckle her sandals and try to wriggle her way out of the white and Nile green one piece beach pajamas that the advertisement had assured her had caused Florida to go wild. The contrasting cross-strap back that had seemed so darling in the illustration had been tricky to button in the hotel room mirror and was now proving somewhat impossible to unbutton. Catherine glanced over at Eleanor, but she was so deeply absorbed in her book she was smiling gleefully at the pages.

Eleanor had been really so sweet already— whisking Catherine away to France for her birthday and providing her with luxurious room and board— Catherine hated to interrupt her. But all the same…

This did not seem like the sort of tangle from which she could extract herself. Catherine had a more-or-less accurate understanding of her abilities at this point, as well as the fact that life as depicted in books or magazines or the pictures was often exaggerated, but it was very hard to let go of that vision of herself tossing off her oh-so-trendily-American one piece and dashing into the ocean with a flick of her curls and a gay laugh upon her perfectly lipsticked lips. Catherine engaged in a series of trying-to-be-discreet contortions that did not help at all, and only resulted in someone— probably another hotel guest— pausing behind her.

“In a jam darling?” asked— oh that was no passerby! She knew that voice.

“Henry!” Catherine shrieked in mad delight. She rocketed up from her chair and flung her arms about his neck, not able to take in all the wonderful facts of him all at once. His aftershave was the same, his arm about her (bare arm!) felt as cozy as ever, his laugh still rang so wonderfully in her ear— what bliss! Catherine nearly kissed him, but remembered in the nick of time that Eleanor was right there. Catherine settled for beaming up at him. “Henry! Henry, you darling! How on earth— you weren’t in Bill’s plane! How did you get here?”

Henry said, impishly, “Would you believe me if I said the bus?”

“How could a bus cross the channel?” Catherine demanded.

“Alright, an aeroplane and then a train and then a bus,” said Henry.

“Frightfully glad you made it, Henry,” said Eleanor. She kept her book open but turned to smile at him. “Bill and I were beginning to despair! You were supposed to surprise Cathy when we got in.”

Henry sighed. “Eleanor, you would not believe everything that happened to me on the way here—“

“I’ve heard that one,” teased Eleanor.

“Oh Henry, will you go in with me?” Catherine interrupted, too excited for tales of travel delay. “Only, my button in the back—“

“At least I don’t need a lock pick to get you out of this one,” said Henry. But he unbuttoned her with alacrity, tossed aside his own shirt and took her by the hand. “Come now Catherine— shall we brave the elements?”

“Let’s!” she cried, and together they raced into the surf, with all the elan and laughter Catherine could have hoped for (… even if it was so cold that as soon as they rushed in, they immediately left it.)

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jadelotusflower · 4 months

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Stargate rewatch: 1x19 There But For The Grace of God

One of my favourite episodes titles of the series, also kicking off what is essentially a four episode arc to end season 1 and kick off season 2. 90’s tv was the eternal battle between episodic and arc-based storytelling, and I actually think the show threaded the needle quite well.

I do love an alternative universe episode, back in the beforetimes when a multiverse served a story purpose and not just a fodder for fanservice of the “your favourite character, and they’ve got a new hat!” variety.

The story credit for this episode is David Kemper, an Executive Producer for Farscape, but this is his only Stargate contribution. Robert C Cooper wrote the teleplay, and the episode was directed by David Warry-Smith, his first of 11 for the show.

Love that they brought back Catherine, Elizabeth Hoffman is great (RIP). Given that Jack is a general in this timeline, perhaps we can assume he kept her on the project as opposed to the main timeline’s General West shutting things down/sidelining her after Abydos?

But Jack still went on the Abydos (suicide) mission so presumably wasn’t a general at that time. I know we have to be la la la don’t think about it with the alternate timelines but I’m so curious how things went down in this universe!

How long did it take them to work out how to use the gate without Daniel’s help? I guess they couldn’t communicate with the Abydonians without Daniel but they still were able to kill Ra - how? If they never went to Chulak what triggered Apophis’s interest in them to mount an attack on Earth? Why is the attack in this universe before the attack in the prime universe when really the events should be delayed in the AU?

This is a decent wig for Sam. Sadly, the only decent wig she’ll get the entire series.

I also wonder what was the difference in this universe so Sam didn’t join the Airforce.

Daniel guilelessly giving the address for Chulak right after taking about Jack intending to blow up Abydos. He’s so used to his Jack whose come so far since then, never even thinking that alt!Jack may not have, and what they might want the coordinates for.

lol, Daniel walks down the stairs, crosses the room, looks at the map, then puts on his glasses.

“Every one of those red dots is a destroyed city.” Apophis a fan of the United Celtic Nations it seems.

Daniel finally twigs that he might be in an alternate reality (with Sam defining it for him), but we can’t be too harsh, he canonically has zero pop culture game and this was the 90’s. Even in todays over-saturation of multiverse content Daniel would probably still have no clue.

They made a decent attempt at Spader!Daniel with this pic!

Daniel and being dead/missing in alternate realities/timelines, name a better duo.

It is interesting that in a lot of the AUs the show explores, Daniel’s lack of involvement in the Stargate program coincides with that universe being doomed.

I forgot that the 38 minute gate window was first established in this episode! That’s a huge piece of lore originating in an alternate universe.

It wouldn’t be an alternate universe without at least one character with silly hair.

Generally I prefer AUs that explore character rather than ones used to advance plot (or are lazy fanservice looking at you mcu), and while the primary purpose of this episode is to give Daniel forewarning of the Goa’uld attack and the gate address to the source, there is some nice stuff here especially around Jack and Teal’c.

Because at their core alt!Jack and alt!Teal’c are still the same - Teal’c still hates the Goa’uld, Jack is still willing to take big risks on his instincts, and there’s a mirror to Children of the Gods where Jack reaches out to Teal’c, but it’s a dark mirror, and it’s the little differences that matter because Jack isn’t the same person as the one in CotG, who went through the Abydos mission with Daniel and came out a better person, instead he’s the one that sent the bomb that killed Teal’c’s family, and it dooms them both.

Opening credits shot!

“I also wish to blow us all to hell.” Alt!Sam is a badass. No difference to prime!Sam there.

There’s also an interesting moment between Teal’c and Daniel in the gateroom - Teal’c doesn’t shoot straight away when he could have, so maybe Jack telling him of the alternate universe where Teal’c was fighting the Goa’uld got through. He still fires as Daniel runs for the gate, but only hits him in the shoulder - at such close range Teal’c could probably have made the kill shot. His hesitation saved Daniel’s life, and ultimately the life of his other self.

Because Daniel’s presence in the other reality changes nothing for it - alt Jack, Sam, Teal’c and Catherine all still die, the Stargate is destroyed and that would have happened anyway (with maybe the exception of Jack being able to stall Teal’c to set the self destruct).

But Daniel’s changed - there but for the grace of god (or fate) go our team.

#stargate sg 1 #stargate rewatch #1x19 there but for the grace of god

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joealwyndaily · 1 year

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Joe Alwyn and Paul Mescal in conversation for Variety's Actors on Actors (x)

Paul Mescal and Joe Alwyn are literary heartthrobs, having both headlined TV series based on Sally Rooney books. In 2020, “Normal People” put Mescal on the map as a brooding student. And as married actor Nick in 2022’s “Conversations With Friends,” Alwyn’s character became enmeshed in a messy love triangle.

Their latest projects show what else the actors can do. In “Aftersun,” directed by first-time filmmaker Charlotte Wells, Mescal is a single dad who tries to bond with his preteen daughter (Frankie Corio) on a trip to Turkey. Alwyn had a busy year on the festival circuit, playing an enigmatic Englishman in Claire Denis’ Nicaragua-set romance “Stars at Noon” opposite Margaret Qualley, and a medieval uncle in Lena Dunham’s “Catherine Called Birdy.”

PAUL MESCAL: So what’s the name of the WhatsApp group that we’re in?

JOE ALWYN: It’s the Tortured Man Club, I think. It’s me, you — and Andrew Scott started the group.

MESCAL: He’s just on it every day. He’s just on it by himself.

ALWYN: Just messaging himself good mornings. We were both in the Sally Rooney universe and crossed over with Lenny Abrahamson. We were so lucky to have that experience.

MESCAL: Yeah, I think Lenny is one of those directors that definitely formed me. He’s been hugely important in everything that I’ve done since then. Was there anything you took from playing somebody like Nick into “Stars at Noon”?

ALWYN: With “Stars at Noon,” that was such a singular, strange, unusual entry point. I was brought on very last-minute, which was a first for me. I got an email Friday morning saying, “Will you read the script as soon as possible? If you’re interested, Claire would love to Skype with you.” And so obviously I did, I Skyped with her, and she said, “Will you join us?” She was already in Panama. And four days later, I got on a plane. And she was standing outside the hotel with a glass of rum for me and gave me a hug. And two days later, we started shooting.

MESCAL: Oh, wow. Is there something liberating in the process? You probably can’t do the amount of prep that you would.

ALWYN: Yeah, it was hard. At least at the beginning.

MESCAL: Was it just gut feel?

ALWYN: Yeah, and some conversations with Claire. Her way of shooting was so unusual. I can’t remember if I told you this before: She would shoot things out of order, even in a scene. It was very fragmented.

MESCAL: Disconnected and fragmented.

ALWYN: I think she feels things in an animal way and is piecing it together as she goes. And there’s no traditional coverage either. I wanted to ask you, thinking about Lenny and thinking about “Aftersun.” I absolutely loved it. And you’re incredible in it. With the space given to you guys to breathe in a room, and not stuff it full of exposition, and just have the camera rolling in a very real, naturalistic way, it felt quite Lenny-ish. Is that fair to say?

MESCAL: I think it probably is. It was directed by Charlotte Wells, who is going to be one of those directors that we’ll all be talking about. I haven’t come across somebody as assured as Charlotte.

ALWYN: Is that confidence in the script?

MESCAL: The stage directions are really confidently written. I don’t know about you, but I love acting in that space when you know that there’s a kind of theatricality to it, but the stakes are high. We only had Frankie for about four hours a day.

ALWYN: How old was she?

MESCAL: She turned 11 on set.

ALWYN: How much of that is improv?

MESCAL: Ninety-five percent of it is scripted, I’d say. The karaoke scene, for example, was just about getting Frankie comfortable with the idea that an 11-year-old who hasn’t ever acted before is going to have to stand up in front of a camera and an audience and sing “Losing My Religion.” And she does it brilliantly. In the rehearsal, the camera wasn’t working, and Frankie ingeniously went, “That’s OK. I’ll record it with my mind camera.” I remember turning to Charlotte like, “That’s the most brilliant line of all time.” Charlotte wrote it in afterwards. What’s a kind of ideal rhythm for you on set? Well, you’re just investing in Claire Denis.

ALWYN: And you know her use of bodies. There’s a sex scene in the first scene . Her direction was just like Francis Bacon.

MESCAL: Wow, just that? And, go! I’d like to get into that a bit, because obviously I think it’s fair to say we’ve done our share of intimate scenes. How did that experience on “Stars at Noon” differ from “Conversations”?

ALWYN: So different.

MESCAL: Yeah, really?

ALWYN: “Conversations With Friends,” there’s an intimacy coordinator. The scenes are spoken about. They’re rehearsed. Every movement is almost choreographed like a dance or a fight. And they’re quite blocked, even though there’s freedom within it. But I trusted Claire and I trusted the crew. And Margaret, obviously. And you feel safe within that. I think trust and feeling safe is the main thing.

MESCAL: That is the main thing, totally. But it is interesting, with that question, being it’s a hot topic in the industry. I think you’re right that you never want scenes around intimacy to feel stale. But ultimately they have to feel safe. And I think you can feel safe multiple ways, and that’s through trust.

ALWYN: Absolutely. I wanted to ask you, which is kind of off topic, but I remember us speaking before about anxiety and shooting and being able to get outside of anxiety in order to do the job. How are you finding that?

MESCAL: It’s that cursed feeling of, once you feel like it’s disappearing, it comes back and hits you like a ton of bricks. But I was talking to somebody about that. They said, “I don’t think it’s ever going to leave you, because it’s a personality type.” But for me, it’s trying to use that anxiety or fear or fear of failure — repurposing that to be like, “What I’m doing matters to me.” Might not matter to everybody, but it matters to me at that moment. How do you feel about that stuff?

ALWYN: It’s interesting and tricky. Because it gets to a point where there’s a degree to which nerves are completely inevitable and can also be helpful. But at the same time, there’s a danger — and I’ve certainly felt this in the last couple of years — where that can start to take away some of the pleasure and the fun of doing it. So recently it’s been a rethink: Going forward, just jumping in in the same way but caring less in the right way.

MESCAL: Talk to me a bit more about that.

ALWYN: Just trying to find a way to have more fun and sense of play.

MESCAL: I learned a huge amount from Frankie, because Frankie had never done it before and just loved acting. I feel like that’s a good instinct to have as an actor — to try and really get to the center of when you watch somebody act with abandon.

ALWYN: On “Catherine Called Birdy,” Bella Ramsey, who plays the lead, she was 17 when we shot it — probably 15 when she was cast. She’s just going for it. It was the first job I went back to out of COVID, and I remember feeling really nervous because I hadn’t done it for a while. And there was this world of masks. And Lena Dunham was having to direct on Zoom when I joined.

MESCAL: What is a Lena Dunham set like?

ALWYN: She’s a force. And full of energy, positivity, creativity. I think maybe also because she performs herself, she has a good understanding of what an actor might want. She really takes care of people. She will come in and tell you what she liked, or she’ll give you a thumbs-up. And, also, she’s just so funny.

MESCAL: Do you like auditioning?

ALWYN: I’ve come to quite like making tapes. It used to drive me mad.

MESCAL: I prefer being in the room, I find. I feel like my issue when I’m making a tape is that I have too much control.

ALWYN: Do you go on and on?

MESCAL: Yeah. And then it’s hour three.

ALWYN: You’ve got 50 takes to watch, and they all look the same.

MESCAL: It’s an absolute nightmare. What do you look for?

ALWYN: Erotic thrillers.

MESCAL: Same. •

#joe alwyn #paul mescal #interview #actors on actors #can't wait for the video !!!!

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literatureismyentirepersonality · 1 year

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Literary Isolation: The Heart of Charlotte Brontë

@faintingheroine answered an ask about Nihal’s isolation in Aşk-ı Memnu and by a series of tangential jumps in my brain, it made me realise that because Charlotte Brontë discourse can often focus very much on Jane Eyre, people don’t necessarily consider just how key a theme isolation, specifically intellectual isolation is in her work, as well as the wider work of women writers of the time.

The most famous example is of course in Villette, where Lucy Snowe is ‘alone’ at the pensionnat over the holidays and becomes ill, mirroring many episodes in Charlotte Brontë’s own life. This is the novel where Charlotte explicitly set out to confront female isolation.

Yet, in this particular instance there are several things to remember, the most mind-boggling being that neither Lucy nor Charlotte were literally alone. There were servants and other lower-class individuals around her who she was unable or unwilling to befriend. The issue is one of a supposedly intellectual difference, but realistically, a class-based difference.

As a governess in English homes and as a teacher/student at the Pensionnat Heger, Charlotte identified that she was operating in a liminal class space. She was neither as lowly thought of as a servant, nor as highly thought of as her employers/students. Even when the holidays were over and she had pupils and other staff members to associate with, Charlotte created false animosities between those who she perceived as above or below her in status, i.e., convincing herself that Madame Heger hated her because she knew of Charlotte’s feelings for her husband (she likely hadn’t a clue), convincing herself that all of her employers hated her (tellingly, reasons less clear). These apparently imagined animosities served to justify the sense of class isolation Charlotte felt and the feelings of isolation, the lack of equal friendships became key elements of her drawn-from-life style.

This isolation from ‘equals’ wasn’t just something Charlotte experienced when away from home, though her sisters and brother certainly supplied the lack. When Maria Brontë, wife of Patrick Brontë was alive, they were social creatures, often visiting and receiving visits from their friends/family in the local clergy, but after Maria’s death, Patrick alienated his female friends by asking them to marry him and, having removed to Haworth not long before Maria’s death, was at a distance from his friends/her relations in the clergy who had their own busy parishes to attend to.

Distance from these friends and business in the parish meant that the young Brontës were mainly in one another’s society; within Haworth itself, the other inhabitants were of a different class and that was a barrier only Branwell was content/able to cross, and not until he was of an age to frequent the public houses. School should have been an opportunity for more socialisation, but after the disaster of Cowan Bridge (the school that inspired Lowood, as repeatedly confirmed by Patrick Brontë and Arthur Bell-Nicholls), Patrick was tentative about sending the girls to their next school, and Anne and Emily both struggled with their health while they were away from home. Charlotte, however, made a few friends, and that she recognised their value can be seen in her handling of isolation in Shirley.

Shirley presents us with a heroine who is also in a liminal class space. She does not belong to the slightly bourgeoise class of new money industrialists, nor wholly to the respectable clergy because of her mother’s past. Yet instead of presenting her with a class equal, Charlotte Brontë presents her with an intellectual equal. Shirley transgresses class to end Catherine’s isolation, but also to end her own isolation as the only woman of status in the area.

One could argue that the Brontës are a unique case, but this is simply not true. There were many isolated parishes in England and no doubt many clergy daughters who grew up without being exposed to other children, and may not have been able to afford to go to school.

Much as Charlotte Brontë likes to distance herself from Austen, the same problem occurs in Emma, when Emma is left as the only woman of her class in Highbury and therefore must either live in complete isolation or associate with those who society believes beneath her. She cannot socialise as an equal, and no doubt there were other young women in Emma’s position, isolated only by their status.

In Wuthering Heights Cathy Linton is isolated in this same way, as were Isabella and Catherine before her. I suspect this is also part of Nihal’s isolation: she is of a particular status and is therefore mostly at home and alone. Those she might associate with are not accessible to her except in public places and until Bihter connects the family with the Melih Bey set, she does not have access to these public places. Yet Cemile is right there! But Nihal is separated from her by status and by false extension, intellect.

The loneliness that these women felt must have been very real, but it’s also difficult for us as modern readers to grapple with the fact that they were very much not alone. They were surrounded by people; the only thing between them and the social pleasure they desire is class structures and false intellectual superiority.

I think my end point is that isolation was a major problem for women of the period and one that is very pressed in literature, particularly the work of Charlotte Brontë. But that problem was not a simple one, and when viewing these works through a modern lens it’s important to recognise the unspoken aspects of these issues.

#charlotte brontë #isolation #jane austen #emily brontë #the brontë sisters #wuthering heights #cathy linton #cathy earnshaw #catherine earnshaw #emma #villette #lucy snowe #aşk ı memnu #nihal

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