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bewarethewolfarmy · 7 months

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Music To Bring Us Together

(This one was on my mind for a while (yes a certain fic of mine has a twin of sorts to this...) sooo yeah it just took a while to write it actually up.

If anyone wants a steamy followup to this particular chapter then say so and maybe i'll gather my spoons Oh and I've decided to call this kind of series The Phantom and his Songbird so enjoy:

A Celebration for Two

Things Better Left Unshared )

If asked separately both Erik's and your answer to what your favorite time of the week was, it would be the same: it was when you had the chance to get away from everything at the opera and had time to go spend the night with the lonely ghost that lived below the operahouse. He lived for those times, unable to stand the fact that he still could not simply always be with his beloved, to hold and shower you in affection and attention constantly, but he had even in small bits learned his lesson from before and he would not dare do anything that could even possibly make him lose you. He would wait, impatiently, and watch and admire you from afar despite wanting to do so far more personally, and when the time came he'd appear and whisk you away and the smile you'd wear on your face would send his heart a flutter to think that there really was someone who enjoyed his company and didn't fear his face. Could he truly believe it? Of course not, he still expected some trick, some lie or deceit of how this was not real, could not be real, and that you truly did fear and hate him for all he was, had done and could be. The gentleness of your tone and kiss to try and reassure him calmed the voices within for a time but never enough; he needed you by his side always and how you wished you could be but you did love the Opera Populaire for what it was and could be, almost as much as you loved it's resident Phantom.

Today was one such day; a break in rehearsals and you slipped away to that small side room, knowing that any second the secret passage would open and Erik would appear. You could always go down yourself, how many times had you walked it to the being able to do so in your sleep if necessary, but you knew how much the man loved to be able to whisk you away and who were you to ruin that for him? The Phantom, still spoken of in terrified whispers and hunted by those who knew and remembered, had so few joys as far as you could tell, things that truly could bring him happiness and peace in his admittedly lonely existence; to take this one away was far too cruel to you and thus you would not. Part of you wished instead that you could do more.

You had only been waiting for a fraction of time when there came the familiar sound of the hidden doorway opening and familiar touch upon your hand. Some days he grabbed you so fast and hard you could practically taste his desperation and need for closeness but this was not one of those days. His touch was light, almost hesitant, and you knew exactly what to do: you smiled and moved your hand to entwine your fingers in his, your tone soft and happy as you spoke, “Erik.”

“Songbird,” he responded and you were pulled close into a tight hug; you were surrounded by the scent of roses and old paper, ivory and water and wood.

And yarn; you could feel a familiar scarf against your face and could not help but smile brighter. Since you'd given it to him for your shared birthday he become stuck between wanting to constantly wear it and treating it like some precious treasure bestowed upon him by a god. Which you supposed made some sense considering his feelings about you. You of course were happiest seeing him wear it, able to see him enjoying your little present and know you had done well in making it for him. It added a little color to his darkness, a light for the man sometimes lost to the shadows but a man who nevertheless you loved dearly.

“Shall we go down to the lair now?” As much as you loved being in his arms, and you truly did, the secrecy of his hideaway under the operahouse gave you both the space and ability to do more than this small room ever could.

The fact you would ask brought a shiver of delight to him and a smile to those ruined lips of his. It was like a puppy being offered a walk in the park by it's master, an apt enough comparison considering how he reacted to you. Luckily you liked that in him, the excitement he seemed to get from the acceptance you gave and the lack of fear you had for him.

He moved with the swiftness and ease of exactly what he was and the two of you were soon off, practically gliding over steps to go down, down, down deep below, into catacombs, into an abyss lit only by candlelight, past traps that were sent not to harm you but to prevent any from following, to an all too familiar lake. You settled into your seat upon the boat and watched him, unable to resist a smile at how he looked as he rowed you both across.

Once, near the beginning of this love you had found yourself in, you had offered to help only to see the strangest look of shock to cross his face. He had refused so verehemently you at first had been hurt before it had come out that rather he couldn't imagine making you do such a thing, that it was in his mind only right he do so for you and that you need only relax. The fact you had been hurt by his refusal even for a second had left him devestated in such a way that required quite a bit of cuddling and hair stroking and reassurance. It was one of those things you found both funny and adorable about Erik: he, the Phantom, terror of the Opera Populaire, murderer and genius, could be so full of confidence and self-importance yet so easily fall to the deeps of despair and terror with the simplicity of love. The complexity of his character was fascinating and endearing, making you unable to tear your eyes away at times when the layers started to show.

The trip across was like that, full of you watching him, adoring his figure as again he looked more the imposing Phantom than the lovesick puppy, though every time he caught you staring with your adoring gaze, his face turned red behind his mask and you only continued to smile knowing it. His eyes would widen, it was hard to miss as someone who so often looked at him, watched him. He brought you to shore without a word though you were sure his mind had a thousand and one things he wished to say to you, sing to you, beg of you.

Erik stepped out first and like the gentleman he really was he offered his hand to help you step out of the boat. This too was something you could do on your own, as easily remembered as every other step of this trip, and again it was something you would never try to take from your phantom. You placed your hand in his and saw him smile so brightly and happily; you stepped off the boat and into his arms once more. Any chance he had he seemed to take in hugging you, holding you, as if afraid that if he didn't keep doing it you might prove to be an illusion, a dream he conjured up from nothing to replace the dark and painful memories of his love for Christine Daae. You of course were indeed real and warm and loved him even knowing what had happened, what he had done. Because behind the rumors and stories and fears, you had found a man who was desperate for love yet never knew how quite to get it or give it healthily.

After he seemed convinced for the moment that you did care and would be going nowhere, Erik led you into the house proper and you sat in the sitting room, watching as he went back to being the adorable Erik that you knew and adored. His fluttering around, muttering about how best to please you, what he would do for you, what kind of food he should make, what kind of music he should play. Part of you was half tempted to tell him to just sit down with you so you could cuddle for a while; he always seemed to like that as did you, though if it went on for too long he would start to cry and weep about how he was not worthy of such softness, of how he was a monster and you were a sweet songbird, that he was something even his own mother could not love so how could you? You did not mind reassuring him of course, it was normal enough for you both at this point and being able to give your sweet traumatized Erik some love and reassurance was something you were happy to be able to do. But tonight, tonight you wished for something different.

You smiled as he made another pass across your path and you spoke up, making sure to be heard, “Erik, I do have a request.”

This immediately stopped him in his tracks and he turned to you, wide eyed, before falling to his knees before you. Requests from you were rather rare; you did not often ask much of him, because he always had hundreds of ideas and plans, because you knew he liked having some control in his life and this was an easy one, because you did not like to impose or possibly trouble him. But he jumped at any request you did make and fumbled to take your hands in his, staring right into your soul it seemed.

“Your Erik is listening, anything my songbird wants, I will give you; just ask and it will be done.” He didn't slip entirely into third person which was a good thing in your book; his emotions sometimes got so overwhelming he couldn't help it and you didn't mind but you didn't want to overwhelm him today.

You squeezed his hands with another smile. “I wish for you to teach me to play something”

He seemed taken aback, blinking a few times and staring at you in confusion. But of course, you were a songbird, a singer, and that was all you truly really ever asked to be; you liked to be part of the choir, to let the music fill your lungs and fill the air. You'd never before expressed an interest in learning more than that but you had listened to him play so many instruments, he loved to show off to you like a peacock shows off it's feathers to a potential mate, and you found yourself curious to try. No, you were more curious to be able to try to play alongside him one day; you may never reach the level of a natural talent like his but you wanted to at least try.

“You...you wish to learn an instrument?” He asked his words slow and measured.

You nodded and he let go of you so quick you felt you might get whiplash. Especially as he quickly ran from the room like his cloak was on fire. The speed with which he moved, grabbing case after case from another room and placing them all on the coffee table before you was honestly both a bit shocking and very amusing. You had a pile of them soon enough, of slightly different sizes and shapes, but you recognized them all as instrument cases; you tried not to giggle or laugh as he continued this until you had so many to choose from it was a bit silly. And finally he stood still, breathing hard and looking at you expectedly, practically bouncing on his heels with excitement and energy.

“Which would you like, songbird? Your Erik can you teach any instrument, Erik is very good at all of them, Erik is a master of them and Erik would love to be able to teach you, just please tell Erik which you want please please please?” Oh no now he was completely into third person.

You stood up and gently took his face in his hands, careful not to upset his mask since it would help him ground a bit better. “Breathe, my angel, please. I already know which instrument I want to play but if you're going to teach me then I need you to breathe and not panic so, alright?”

He whimpered, a good whimper, maybe too good of one; he shuffled on his feet and closed his eyes at your touch before nodding. You would take it and smiled before kissing him lightly upon the lips. It was hard to resist such a good boy.

“Which...which one does...do you want Er...me to teach you?” he asked, trying his hardest to pull himself together, you could see it; he bit his lip and looked at you with such expectation and love it made your heart flutter. How could one man be so precious and so adorable and so dangerous all at once?

You smiled again and pulled away from him, the whine he gave was not a happy one but he did not hold you back; you leaned down to the table and gently pulled from it one case in particular, opening it to reveal a beautifully crafted violin. His eyes widened at your choice and you did not need to ask to know why; you had heard all the stories, all the legends. Knew that Christine Daae's father was a known violinist, that Erik had once used that knowledge and that violin to try to entrance her in the graveyard after the disasters before. And thus there was a shadow that clung to it, so much so that while you knew he had it, you had never heard him play it; you supposed it held too much of a memory of his failures, of his darker side, that he had been too afraid.

You were not though. Gently, reverently, you removed the instrument from it's casing and took up the bow with one hand. It felt cold in your hands and heavier than you expected but you refused to back down now from your choice. You turned your gaze back to him, still smiling, still hopeful as you spoke, “I wish you to teach me this one, Erik.”

“I...” he seemed to be in some shock but at least he stayed in first person; he opened his mouth only to shut it again, emotions running across his face at incredible speeds.

He cleared his throat, tried to collect himself, and attempted to speak again, “Are you sure? There are better ones I can teach you.”

You both knew that was a lie. Few were as beautiful as a violin when played right; only the piano and organ were more precious and close to his soul as that violin. But memories were a terrible thing and there were things Erik still never did that you suspected were from that terrible, terrible experience.

You were resilent though and stubborn, shaking your head. “I really wish to learn the violin, please Erik? I couldn't imagine learning from anyone else, for who else could possibly be as good as you are at playing it. And I have heard such beautiful things when a violin and piano play together by those whose skill are no doubt less than your own and so surely with your instruction...” You were not playing fair with him. He could be fluttery and excitable and oh so absolutely adorable and lovable with you but you knew there was a pride there and a part of him that did wish so terribly to be able to teach you. And here you were, tantalizing him on both regards, drawing on those parts of him in hopes of getting what you wanted. You could see in his expression the fight between doing so, allowing his pride to win out or his fear.

“But,” he said in a voice no louder than a whisper, a fearful small thing and you were reminded how sensitive your phantom truly could be.

It hurt you and you lowered the instrument, approaching him. “Oh Erik, sweet angel, I truly wish to learn but I don't wish to cause you actual distress, I promise.”

He looked up at you and your eyes met; you smiled gently at him, lovingly, and he bit a ruined lip. You wanted this, you truly did and you wanted it to be the violin but if it really was so hard on him to teach you, if pushing it would only hurt him more, you supposed you would need to let it be. Because it wasn't worth harming the man you loved so much.

Finally a sigh left him and he shook his head. “No, my wonderful songbird, I...I will teach you. Your Erik will do anything my songbird wishes of me.”

A smile formed on his face and you felt your heart swell with how cute it made him. Any expression of happiness was always a good one to you and you nodded, kissing his cheek. “Thank you, mon ange.”

Erik's heart fluttered at the kiss and his smile grew before he cleared his throat again. “Now let's see about your stance.”

You did not expect so much touching yet one he took a deep breath to compose himself his hands moved along your body, adjusting it, moving your arm, your head, the instrument so that it was cradled just right, that your fingers were in the right positions. Your skin heated up as he placed his hands on your waist and commanded, not asked, you to play. “A few notes, just to start.”

You did as instructed and only got in a few before he clicked his tongue and stopped you, readjusting you slightly. “No no no, relax, let the music fill you like when you sing. But instead you make the violin sing for you; caress it, feel it, the bow is an extension of your body, not simply a tool. Now again.”

Again you tried and felt his hands on you. They were warm, even through your dress, and your heart pounded hearing his breathing in your ear. You knew you were far from perfect, this being your first time, but it was better than you expected, because he had made sure of it. But it was strange to you; learning was something you had asked for, wanted, and you knew he could be passionate about teaching, something you always had been able to gently dissauage in him when it came to your singing. But perhaps the closeness, the actual physical contact, made this feel all the different, and you couldn't help but think as well how warm his breath was and strong his grip and how you wished to obey that smooth, alluring, commanding voice. So different than your Erik, your sweet and often self conscious angel, your excitable and loveable man, who slipped into third person at the smallest embarrassment or flustering, who smiled so geniunely and clung and loved with such intensity but not like this. His intensity was normally of desperation and love; this was passion of a different nature and it made heat build up within your heart like a fire you were not sure you wished to have extinguished. It felt both wonderous and a bit strange.

He nodded behind you, making pleased noises that only made it worse inside you. “Good good, much better. Though you still are far too tense.”

He placed a hand over yours holding the bow and closed his eyes. “You know how it feels to become one with the music, I know you do, songbird, just translate that to this.”

You certainly tried. You tried to take a deep breath, to forget he was there, that he was touching you, that he was so close. To focus on the notes, the violin, the music; get a feel for each note, what it was like, what it felt like, which was which and how they sounded together and in sequence. But Erik was a horrible distraction and you could not focus with his hands on you.

“Erik,” you muttered and this seemed to be to no avail; perhaps he was too far into his own mind, the Angel of Music he once was creeping out and overtaking.

“Focus, my songbird.” His voice was so exact, how could you possibly disobey?

“Erik,” you repeated and felt your heart ready to pound out of your chest.

“Give into the music.” His grip tightened both over your hand and at your side and you had to work very hard not to shake and play incorrectly. Even with all this you did not want to do that.

He was not listening and you were not sure you could take much more of this. But you being the smart songbird you were, knew of one thing that your angel could never resist no matter what happened, a thing that was guaranteed to break him of anything and return him to his sweet blubbering self.

It took all of your strength to pull it off, gripped as you were by his strong callused hands, but you managed by some miracle to turn enough to press your lips to his. Erik's eyes widened behind his mask and you knew that his whole face was turning red, could feel his hands lighten their grip, his body start to stiffen as it often did when you kissed him only to relax again. And move to grab your arms and pull you ever closer; Erik was a master of music but he was a slave to your love and desperate as always for every bit of it he could get. To be kissed by you was something he seemed always to want more and normally you delighted in giving it to him, everything you could. All the love you could muster for this sweet broken man. But the fire inside you was still burning and the aching that grew from the way he had spoken, the power of the Angel of Music, and there was plenty of desperation of your own as you leaned into the kiss, into him, only to have to break away for the all too human need of air. You both panted and you could see how blown out his pupils seemed to be as he looked at you.

“Songbird,” he said in a low voice.

“No fair,” you muttered in response and bit your lip, “All too unfair.” How did this man, this phantom in the dark, have such power yet seem so delicate and sensitive so much of the time? You did not know the answer to it but you knew it was unfair, that such a beautiful soul had to feel and be trapped by the past, by insecurities, by others.

“What is unfair?” he asked and there was still an edge, a trace of the angel within the man.

“Everything,” you stated and looked back at him, into those eyes that roiled with such emotion and thought, at your Erik, “But especially that you only seem able to have confidence in yourself and your place in the world when it comes to music.”

That seemed to fluster him but you took the opportunity to kiss him again, no little light thing as the flame inside continued to burn. If not for the violin and bow in your hands you would have grabbed hold of him but you did not dare drop the precious instrument, for him and for yourself, thus you could only lean into him and want more while getting only that. You heard him whine behind the kiss but Erik did not resist it and that grip he had on you loosened only so he could wrap his arms around you. How he delighted in holding you, it burned you more because here was his soft side showing again and you felt a tear hit your face. Not your own, his; the kiss broke again and he was looking at you with that sad expression he would get when things started to overwhelm the man, filling him up and demanding to be let out.

“Songbird,” he repeated with the essence of the whine woven in.

“We will have to continue the lesson later.” When you can explain better, when you can tell him gently how much it made your heart race to feel his touch, your skin burn to feel his breath against your neck, your body yearn because of the power of the Angel's voice and the love for the man. But right now you could not, need was too strong and he nodded all too quickly, sidetracked so easily by you.

He let you go long enough for you to be able to put the violin and bow safely away and close the case but not a second longer. His arms wrapped around you again, pulling you close and picked you up, burying his face in your neck. “Your Erik wishes to be loved by you, please.”

“I wish to be loved by you as well, mon ange,” you whispered to him.

That's all you needed to say. The instruments and music were left behind as he carried you off to his room, to make music with you of a different type.

#erik x reader #erik destler x reader #phantom of the opera #poto #phantom of the opera x reader #fanfiction #the phantom and his songbird

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youngroyals-hc · 1 year

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Wille and Simon are at the castle their final night before returning to Hillerska after the Jubilee day speech and Wille takes Simon's hand and starts to direct him to a wing they haven't been to yet. Simon follows along a little bemused because Wille seems so intent, but they reach a door that Wille pushes open to reveal a beautiful Fazioli grand piano in an airy sitting room. Wille tugs Simon over to the piano stool and they sit together. Wille's gaze darts around before settling on Simon's gaze and asking "will you play the song for me?" And Simon says "you mean the one from the ball?" And Wille nods his head and Simon huffs out a little laugh and says "it's not very happy Wille" and he replies "I don't care, you wrote it about me. No one's ever done that before" so Simon sings it for him while Wille closes his eyes and gently sways. When he finishes Wille opens his eyes and grins, clapping for Simon who laughs and hides his head in Wille's shoulder. He sits up and looks at Wille and says "now you play something for me." And Wille groans a little and says "but you're so much better than me, I was just made to learn for ages because apparently that's something a prince has to do." And Simon says "well at least you can read music! Surely you can still remember something" and Wille looks a little nervous but nods and settled his hands over the keys. He plays Simon Poulenc, and his fingers are sure in the movement. Simon almost stops breathing from concentrating on the sound Wille makes. When the piece finishes he just turns to Wille and stares before gently shoving him and saying "what the fuck Wille I thought you said you weren't very good!" And Wille goes pink and says "I'm not, I don't have the music... In me like you do. I mean 11 years of learning and that's all I've got to show for it? You've never had one lesson and you write these incredible songs!" And Simon just has to laugh because he knows Wille won't change his mind. Instead, he turns and says "maybe we could write a song together? With your theory and my so called innate talent, we could be the new Leonard and McCartney!" And Wille just barks out a laugh and says "oh yeah, you really think so? Well guess we better get started!"

As they laugh and make up silly lyrics and melodies together, Kristina walks by and stops when she hears them. She pokes her head around to glance at Wille and Simon at the piano, smiling and teasing each other. Her façade drops slightly, seeing for the first time her son interacting with someone who wasn't Erik so carefree and brightly. Something clicks inside her, and she realises that Simon isn't going anywhere. This isn't some little sexual exploration that Wille would eventually grow out of. Her son was in love, and nothing would change that.

#he plays suite française d'apres Claude Gervaise: Pavane #listen #its beautiful #young royals #yr s3 #wilmon #prince wilhelm #simon eriksson #wilhelm x simon #wille young royals #yr #i tried to think of a swedish composer that would be appropriate but the more modern ones are very angular and i dont think Wille would be #very into that kinda music #queen kristina

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colleendoran · 1 year

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OK, so you are looking at a comic I did back in 1990 that changed my life in so many ways. Not the way you’re thinking of.

It taught me some very important lessons about the comics business, fame, and more importantly, how fame doesn’t rub off. And how having reasonable expectations will keep you centered and on the right path.

Many people don’t internalize this lesson. And now that our industry is no longer just Fandom Culture but is now Celebrity Culture, we see more and more creators with incredibly unrealistic expectations getting into comics, expecting the sun and moon to rise out of whatever they do, and being disappointed and frustrated when they don't.

I got occasional mainstream comics work in the early 1980’s, but I was still looking for my big break years later, especially since a major gig I was working on got shelved forever. I cannot even begin to tell you just how much being out of the eyes of the market for YEARS at a time while you work on a gig - and then the gig never coming out - can absolutely sink your brand.

Nowadays we have social media. Back then, you had no way to be seen if your work wasn’t being published. People forgot about you in about 15 minutes.

So when I got a gig working on Amazing Spider-Man, you bet I was thrilled. And even more thrilled when the darned thing sold like crazy. This issue of Amazing Spider-Man outsold previous Todd MacFarlane issues. And I knew Marvel was looking for a new artist. Huzzah! I outsold Todd! Maybe the new artist should be me!

You can imagine how pleased and excited I was to go to conventions and sign copies of a book that hundreds of thousands of fans bought. It was fun getting my first big lines of fans. I thought it would be a perfect opportunity to push my other works to them as well.

But few Spider-Man fans were interested in my other books. They could not possibly care less about Amethyst: Princess of Gemworld, that’s for sure.

The Spider-Man glow was gone in no time. And Marvel picked Erik Larsen to be the regular artist.

I might as well have never worked on Spider-Man for all the long term good it did. Were it not for that one brief shining moment of royalty check (which was darned good,) it had no effect on my prospects.

While I got more work at Marvel, I was scrambling to make a living and took on too much, doing sub-par art that didn’t please anyone.

I realized pretty quickly that Spider-Man’s fans weren’t my fans. I might as well have been a spark plug on that issue. Fans lined up, got me to sign a book, and forgot about me the next day.

(Yeah I know some people say they love that comic, but I often hear from people who tell me how much they hated my art back then and how much they grew to love it later. Thank you, I’ll take it.)

Anyway, it was all a very tough lesson. But I appreciate that I learned it early before I got to the point where I could never learn it.

Fame isn’t transitive. It doesn’t rub off.

The public needs more than your proximity to something they know to transfer their attention to you and your work.

A lot of people got a taste of this in the early 1990’s. For a while, self-publishing was The Big Thing. I self published A Distant Soil and did well for some years, at one point making more than I could in mainstream comics, until the market crashed in 1996. A lot of creators thought if they just went to Image Comics, they’d all be millionaires.

That didn’t happen for almost all of them.

An old frenemy saw how well I was doing self publishing and assumed that if they just transferred their mainstream comics fan base to their creator owned work, they’d get rich.

But that didn’t happen. Their self-published work sold a fraction of what mine did. Their project died in the red. I never got my art back, including work from an unpublished future issue of the project. I remember being with this creator at a show and enduring their fury at how fans weren’t paying attention to them and their project.

How could this happen? They were a star mainstream creator!

The mainstream cred did not transfer to the other work. The fans wanted the famous characters, not the indie project they were trying to push.

There was no point in explaining this either. I’d learned this lesson myself, but this person never learned it.

Most people never learn it.

How is it that I work on Famous This or with Famous Person and why am I not famous Too?

Because fame isn’t transitive.

I’ve worked on projects that got a lot (and I mean a lot) of buzz, but there are projects that didn’t necessarily set the world on fire that did more for me as an artist and for my finances than “big” projects did.

Reign of the Zodiac and The Book of Lost Souls, both early/mid 2000’s comics with mediocre sales set me on a solid financial footing because they are two of the few regular monthly gigs I’ve done in all my years working in comics. That monthly paycheck paid more than the projects I’d done before them. The financial and emotional stability was beyond price. I loved everything about those projects.

Except for their premature demise.

The one and only famous project that had a major transformative afterglow effect re: me and my work was Sandman. I met Neil Gaiman years before I worked on Sandman, before he was famous. I only worked on two issues. Many other artists were far more important to the project than me, of course. Then I went for nearly twenty years solid without working with Neil at all except on a pinup and short story adaptation of Troll Bridge that almost no one remembers.

I started working with Neil again when he saw some art I did for a book for Tori Amos back in 2008. Tori Amos fans didn’t flock to my side when they saw it, yet another example of how Famous People Fame Doesn’t Rub Off. But I lavished time and attention on the project, did the art on spec with a completely new style and process, and showed it to Neil. I asked Neil if he’d take a chance at working with me again after lo, these many years and let me have a go again at adapting the story Troll Bridge that I’d botched in 1998. Neil said yes.

After The Book of Lost Souls got killed back in 2006, I could barely get arrested in comics and I wasn’t sure I had a future. I was shocked that Neil said yes.

That Tori Amos job reestablished my working relationship with Neil and brought me to Dark Horse Comics, a publisher which had shown little prior interest in my stuff.

It took me years to complete Troll Bridge and during that time, Peter David contacted me to ask if I’d work on Stan Lee’s autobiography. That came out of the blue, and boy did I appreciate it. It sold like crazy, which was unexpected, really.

So I went from Not Being Able to Get Arrested in Comics in 2008, doing 1$ sketch cards and working for page rates I worked for in 1986, to Not Being Able to Remember What I am Doing Because I have Too Much To Do in 2022. I mean literally couldn’t remember I did a pinup for a gig back in February, and I not only forgot about it, I didn’t know it was published last June.

It looks like I had a super fast and fun run up if you’re just looking at my highlight reel. But it wasn’t. I’ve had peaks and valleys, (a few very fine peaks, the best being around 1993 and the other now), and sometimes the “big time” projects I thought would make my career held me back worse than the “small time” ones. “Big time” projects got shelved or came and went, quickly forgotten, and I said no to other projects while I was busy, and the one that got away ended up getting made into a multi-million dollar film franchise that would have set me up for life.

Ow.

If just being next to a famous person or working on a famous project was a guarantor of success, than I’d have been hugely successful every day of my adult life.

That is not how it works.

Even the famous people are not as all that as you think, otherwise you wouldn’t see so many actors with haunted looks on their faces at conventions.

I met Neil before he was famous, but it took over thirty years for me to establish a solid working relationship with him.

Thirty.

Years.

I’ve worked with famous wrestlers, actors, musicians, politicians, a Pulitzer Prize winning author, and on almost every single major licensed character there is. And I’m not super-famous or rich. I mean, I never wanted to be famous in the first place, but I’m not completely unknown in my field, and I’m not poor (anymore). Still, seriously, folks. I’m not going to movie premieres and living in Hollywood.

I actually get asked about that, and I think it’s so funny.

I was watching some recent art auctions, and I was absolutely shocked to see original pages by an Eisner-nominated creator go for rock bottom prices, mainstream interiors at around $50 per page. I could not believe it. This artist is over 40 years old. I wonder if things will turn around for them.

Time will tell.

In the end, it’s not all about the people you’re standing next to. Or the character. Or the company. Or the award. And it's certainly not all about you.

Fans are here for you one minute, and forget about you tomorrow. Then you get $50 for your Eisner nominated art.

Art either takes off or it doesn’t. You either take off or you don’t.

And then you can fly too close to the sun and fall.

Worse yet…you just fade and no one even notices that you crashed beautifully into the surf.

If people knew what the magic formula was, they’d be selling it and everyone would have what they want out of their art life.

But there is no magic formula. There just isn’t.

Everyone wants to be special to someone. Especially artists. Everything you create is special to you.

But it is extremely rare that what you create is as special to others as it is to you. Sometimes artists are just like everyone else.

Here and gone.

Fame and success is not transitive. And they're not forever.

That’s the lesson.

I'm working on Good Omens right now. The Kickstarter pre-sign up news is here. No, it's not an icky newsletter, it will just let you know when the Kickstarter launches.

I have a Patreon. I'm funding the final volume of my space opera A DISTANT SOIL with it, but I won't be working on it again until Good Omens is complete. I have one of the most active and productive Patreons on the site.

I'm also on Twitter and Facebook and Instagram. Not too much though, they are distraction pits.

Make art because you love it. Because the rest...well, good luck. If it happens for you...it happens. And I hope it does.

#comics #neil gaiman #sandman #essays #comics industry #fame #spider man #tori amos

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sarcasticgaypotato · 5 months

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tell me about chell, that potato hauling criminal

Chell is such a fascinating character to talk about because she, even more so than Caroline, isn't a character... but she absolutely is, at the same time.

On the surface, Chell is simply a player stand-in. She's silent, her actions are decided by the player, and we never get the game telling us outright how she feels or what she thinks. The closest we get to a backstory comes from an Easter Egg (which I've already said I don't necessarily consider canon) and insults made at the player's expense. Insults that, for all we know, are completely baseless.

Chell can reasonably be whatever the player decides she is. (If she's like me, she's actually terrible at tests and fails at puzzles repeatedly before giving up and googling the answers.) Your Chell could be compassionate towards the robots— trusting Wheatley right off the bat and being torn up by his betrayal, forgiving PotaDOS and working together easily— or your Chell could be a silent, bitter, furious killing machine, craving robotic blood and hating every second she's stuck in this hellhole. Neither Chell is technically wrong, but neither is right either.

There's a lot that could be said about the personal projecting that people often do to their favorite characters in fandom, especially with characters as open-ended as Chell, but that's an entirely different can of worms. TL;DR If it makes you happy to picture a character as being like you, go for it. It might not be my cup of tea, but you're not asking me to drink it, so who cares?

All that rambling out of the way, who do I think Chell is?

I think Chell has more character than first glance would give her credit for. We can learn a lot from what actions the game's story forces her to complete and how other characters react to her, ultimately giving us a lot more to work with than Caroline.

Chell is intelligent. If you complete the games (even if you're terrible like I am), you've completed complicated tests and outsmarted a robot that nobody else has survived before. She has a logical brain for solving puzzles as well as a quick wit for thinking on her feet and getting through life or death situations. Chell might have some internal damage from her time in stasis, but she's not slow.

Chell is tenacious and stubborn as all hell. Canon material tells us this outright, I don't need to elaborate much. Chell refuses to be kept in Aperture against her will, she refuses to stay down, and she was willing to risk dying in space just to beat Wheatley. Our girl can hold a grudge if she wants to.

Chell is a little bit of a shit. There's an achievement for breaking all of Wheatley's monitors. Chell doesn't have to do that... but she can, and I think she does. Her jumping when told to say certain words? She's playing dumb knowing Wheatley's not going to get that she's making fun of him.

Chell is fair. She held up her end of the deal with Wheatley, he didn't hold up his, so he learned his lesson. GLaDOS saves her life, even when she didn't have to, and held up her end of the deal? Chell leaves Aperture without a fuss. She doesn't try to kill GLaDOS again or wreck shit on her way out. I believe that Chell's respect is hard to win back once you've lost it, but with the events of Portal 2, GLaDOS succeeded. Chell is perfectly willing to work alongside a partner, and in fact she does so quite well as we've seen, but only if they give her the respect she deserves. If you cheat her you are going to regret it.

Finally, concerning the 'mute' part of our favorite dangerous mute lunatic; I personally am in the camp of 'Chell can speak, she just doesn't want to give the robots the satisfaction.'

There are out-of-universe reasons for Chell not talking. Erik Wolpaw actually talks about the decision to keep her silent in the Kotaku article "Why Chell Doesn't Speak" and I'd recommend hearing what he had to say on the matter. However, that explanation doesn't necessarily need to dictate in-universe ones. I think Chell can speak because frankly, it checks out with the other observations I've made here.

She's a bit of a shit, so yeah, if she noticed it bothers the robots that she's not talking, of course she'd keep it up to annoy them, and she's stubborn enough to keep at it even when she's allied with one of them. Further, she's smart, so she would know that she has very little control in a place like Aperture. This is one thing she has complete control over, this is one card she can hold over everyone else, and she's going to keep it.

All that combines to become my Chell. She's probably different from your Chell, and that's okay, but I think I've made a pretty good case for why I see her the way I do.

I could spin potential backstories for her, but they'd all be very headcanon and speculative, so I'll save that for another time.

#chell #portal 2 #portal #I'm so sorry this took so long #nanowrimo was a lot

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sflow-er · 11 months

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Some notes on the aristocracy in Sweden

I’ve decided to collect some of my research into the Swedish aristocracy into a post in case some of it could be of interest to other fanfic writers - or any other YR fans who want to learn or remind themselves how nobility works in Sweden.

I’ll start with some background info, move on to the current situation (with examples from YR), and finish with a couple of observations on names and emblems.

As always, any corrections and additions are much appreciated! I am sadly not Swedish myself, but my country was until 1809.

Some sources: Riddarhuset (logo pictured above), Ointroducerad Adels Förening and Ritarihuone, column by nobleman/author Niklas Natt och Dag, various history websites (e.g. this one and this one), Wikipedia (e.g. list of noble families and uradel), Svenska Dagbladet (e.g. book review and recent article), Adelsvapen Wiki, article on Scanian nobility getting EU subsidies and article on billionaires, history lessons in school, visits to historical sites, etc.

Relevant concepts & history

Adeln / the nobility: People belonging to the aristocracy i.e. the highest social class in a country.

In Sweden, there are two kinds of nobility: titled and untitled. I’d say the closest English equivalent is the difference between (titled) nobility and landed gentry. The latter aren’t considered noble as such under the English system but are basically the same as untitled nobility under the Swedish system.

The titles are greve & grevinna (count & countess) and friherre & friherrinna (baron & baroness); count is higher than baron. A handful of naturalised families of also bear foreign titles.

Hertig & hertiginna (duke & duchess) are reserved for the Royal House and are the only titles the monarch is allowed to grant today. (In the show, only Wille and Erik are close enough to the Crown to be dukes.)

Untitled nobility used to have different ranks, but they don’t anymore. Initially, they came from humbler/more recently elevated origins than titled families (e.g. knights, high-ranking public servants, successful bourgeoisie) or were otherwise less powerful, but this distinction disappeared in the early 1700s.

Most noble families go back to the 1700s or further. From 1865, ennoblement was reserved for special conditions, and no new families have been ennobled since 1902. The monarch lost this power entirely in 1974 (with the exception of the ducal titles).

Frälse: A term used in the Middle Ages to refer to the privileged classes. The non-clerical frälse became adel in the 1500s/1600s.

Frälse referred to exemption from tax and was granted in exchange for supplying fully equipped horsemen for the king’s army. It also included other privileges, e.g. eligibility for the highest public offices.

From 1420 on, frälse became hereditary. Families whose forebears were frälse before this change are known as uradel. One of them is Horn.

In the 1500s to 1600s, the requirements changed. The new adel were just ennobled by the grace of the king.

In the late 1600s, the Crown took back some of the land given to the nobility. This sped up their transition into an elite class of public servants, as some old families lost power and new ones rose up.

(Riks)stånd / estate (of the realm): One of the classes under the social hierarchy and political system that existed in Europe from the Middle Ages on.

There were four estates in Sweden: clergy, nobility, burghers/bourgeoisie (urban merchants), and peasants (only a small portion of the entire peasantry). The clergy and nobility held the most power at the ståndsriksdag (diet of the estates).

The nobility gained more power again in the early 1700s when the monarchy was weak, but the tables turned towards the end of the century. The monarchy grew stronger again and the noble houses’ privileges started to be stripped away.

By the time the estate system was abolished in 1866, the bourgeoisie had gained a lot more power (largely thanks to the industrial revolution).

Riddarhuset / House of Nobility: An organisation of noble families, established in 1626.

Under the estate system, a family had to be introduced into the House of Nobility to participate in politics. Some unintroduced noble families still exist, most of them of foreign origin.

Today, Riddarhuset is just an association that upholds traditions, grants scholarships, catalogues the families in Adelskalendern (the Swedish Peerage Book), etc.

Every three years, the heads of the families (oldest living men) gather to make decisions at adelsmötet, the Assembly of Nobles.

That feels like a fitting segue to the current situation.

Some current statistics

The aristocracy only make up 0.2% of Sweden’s population today.

There are about 28,000 introduced nobles belonging to 657 houses, plus about 450 unintroduced nobles belonging to 100 houses, alive today.

Out of the 657 introduced houses, 480 are untitled, 131 are baronial, and 46 are comital houses.

Approximately 50% of introduced nobles live in Stockholm and the surrounding region, 25% elsewhere in Sweden, and 25% abroad.

The overwhelming majority of nobles aren’t rich or powerful. The ones who are may be disproportionately rich and powerful, and even the ones who aren’t may still benefit from their ancestry.

Out of the 542 billionaires in Sweden, 32 are noble (6%). Their fortune is usually inherited, and many of them belong to the most influential families in Sweden.

The aristocracy are also major landowners. The days of them owning up to 40% of all land are long gone, but they still own roughly 400,000 hectares / 4,000 sqkm / 1,544 sqm south of the Dal River. Especially in Skåne/Scania, where their holdings amount to 46% of farmland. Scanian nobles are the biggest recipients of agricultural subsidies in the EU.

Nobles are also overrepresented in high-paying jobs and related fields of study, as well as elite schools (e.g. the ones Hillerska is based on).

Rules on who counts as noble

[Apologies for the binary language that cannot be avoided.]

Only noble-born men can pass their rank on, and only to their wedded spouse and biological children by said spouse. This rule is based on centuries-old orders, but the Assembly of Nobles has the power to change it. They simply don’t want to, so...

A nobleman’s spouse becomes noble, regardless of sex. They retain their rank after divorce/in widowhood but lose it upon remarriage.

If one of the Society boys - say, Henry - married a man, his husband would become noble. If they got divorced, the ex-husband couldn’t pass it on to his children.

August’s mother Louise was very likely a countess or baroness while married to Carl Johan, as most of the Horn family branches have been titled. Marrying Rickard will have cost her the title.

Noble-born children remain noble for life (nobility can’t be renounced). Women cannot pass it on, and men can only pass it on according to the rules.

Felice can only be noble if Poppe is.

Felice is noble for life, but her children won’t be, unless she marries into another noble house. If House Ehrencrona has no male descendants, it will become ‘extinct’ in the male line, whether or not Felice’s children have her last name.

Biological children can be ‘legitimised’ after birth. If August discovered that he had a son and the mother agreed to marry him, the son would become his noble heir.

Adoptive children cannot be ‘legitimised’ at all. If Vincent and his future wife decided to adopt a son and had a biological daughter later on, only the daughter would be considered noble.

The exclusion of children by anyone other than a wedded spouse means that Henry and his husband could not have a ‘legitimate’ heir even by going abroad for surrogacy.

So, by swearing to prevent the extinction of their noble families, the Society boys are actually swearing to marry a woman and have babies with her. Preferably male babies.

Firstborn sons

The emphasis on firstborn sons is more of a tradition than a rule today. The firstborn will become the head of the family and has historically been the one whose responsibility it is to continue the bloodline, but in most families, all children are considered noble. In fact, a count’s sons are all counts and his daughters are all countesses, even while their father is still alive! And when the time comes, all the children inherit their share of the family estate (with wills etc. taken into account).

However, there are two notable exceptions.

Families ennobled after 1809 are subject to male-only primogeniture. Inheritance works the same as in any other family, but only the head of the family is considered noble.

Around 15 landed estates are still subject to fideicommissum - an ancient legal instrument that allows the firstborn to inherit the entire estate. In the old days, these were very common. They were set to expire from 1964 on, but families could petition for an extension, with each generation arguing that their estate had particular cultural-historical value and should be kept intact. New petitions are being denied now; the number was still 25 in 2019.

So if most noble families don’t fall into either of the above categories and don’t even have any special privileges anymore, what does any of this matter?

Well, it matters to them.

Value of nobility today

Many aristocrats are very proud of their noble roots and want to pass those on. They have their own networks and clubs; e.g. Ridderskapet och Adelns Ungdomsklubb (RAUK) for 18-35-yo members of introduced noble families. The photo above is from their summer ball in 2016.

The quote by a young (presumably queer) countess interviewed in one of the SvD articles above is quite illustrative. Nobility doesn’t matter when she dates women since they can’t pass it on anyway, and lack of nobility is not a dealbreaker even when she dates men. But it is definitely a selling point if her kids could grow up noble and inherit their dad’s title.

The two noblemen interviewed in the same article are indifferent to the matter of passing it on, and one of them even says he can’t be proud of an ancestry that exploited those under them. However, it’s worth noting that these guys are outliers for talking to the reporter at all. The many land-owning nobles who refused, e.g. the guy who jokingly said “we’re doing well here at the top”, might see it differently. In general, it’s hard to get the elite to talk about their privileges - this was also described in Agnes Hellström’s book Att vara utan att synas about the real boarding schools, which I’ve posted about before.

Anyway, nobility also matters to the rest of the upper classes. The pecking order among those who all have ridiculous amounts of wealth isn’t just based on who has the most money. What matters is how long they’ve been able to retain their wealth, what else they have besides just money, and crucially, how much social capital they’ve amassed as part of the elite.

So-called upstarts who only just made their money lack connections, are ‘out of the loop,’ and don’t know the social codes necessary to fit in. A typical example is that the nouveau riche may be eager to show off their newly improved lot in life, while the established elite strive to act humble about it.

This disdain for new money is demonstrated in YR by August’s look when he introduces Alexander as “son of Ulf Bragé, owner of Bragé Investments” - and of course the way Rickard sticks out like a sore thumb at Parents’ Day. He shows up in a flashy car and expects valet service, unlike the alumni who parked their own expensive but nondescript cars, and he’s also very ungraceful at the table when Wille snubs August.

As seen in the show, information in the form of gossip and rumours, as well as connections in the form of who knows whom, are essential.

Old families haven’t just sat on their money, they’ve invested it in their estates and things like works of art over the centuries. Those are so valuable precisely because they aren’t strictly ‘necessary’ - it’s not real wealth if you have to keep it all at hand. It is considered an enormous shame to have to sell up, as seen with Årnäs in the show.

So maybe it does make sense after all. The nobility have been ‘in the loop’ since way before the bourgeoisie became a thing, and they are such an exclusive lot that the only way to join their ranks is by birth or marriage. That’s the kind of social capital that money can’t buy - directly, that is. Historically, nobles who fell on hard times often found a spouse among the rich bourgeoisie, trading some of their prestige for an economic lifeline.

Speaking of joining their ranks, I want to conclude this with a quick look at two emblems/markers of nobility, so to speak.

Noble names and coats of arms

There are a few different types of noble family names in Sweden, the most prevalent being compound names made up of two words. To distinguish from regular Swedish surnames, noble names often have rather lofty or unusual meanings. For example:

Gyllen - golden, Silfver - silver, Adel/Edel - noble, Ehren - honour/glory, Lejon/Leijon/Löwen - lion, Gripen - griffin, Adler - eagle, Oxen - ox, Lager - laurel, Ceder - cedar...

...stierna - star, crona/krona - crown, svärd - sword, sköld/skiöld - shield, hielm - helm, crantz - wreath, stråle - ray of light, etc.

These can also be combined with more commonly used parts: felt, gren, etc. Some of them may be in a longer, older form: Linden- instead of Lind-, Rosen- instead of Ros-, and so on.

Not all names made up of these parts are noble names! They can also be names that only survive in the female line, or names made up by people who maybe liked the sound of noble names. Furthermore, these are not the only type of noble names out there. A few examples from the long list on Wikipedia, which includes extinct names:

Very simple names: Horn, Grip, Sparre, Creutz, Uggla, etc. These are usually old names with meanings that were easy to paint on a shield.

Non-Swedish names: Walkendorff, Breitholz, Nauckhoff, De la Grange, Duwall, etc. Many of these belong to families who immigrated centuries ago, predominantly from Denmark, present-day Baltics, or present-day Germany.

Names that include a place of origin (town, region or estate): De Geer, von Hofsten, Svinhufvud i Västergötland, Wachtmeister af Johannishus, Hamilton af Hageby, Munck af Fulkila, etc. Or indeed names made to sound like this, such as von Essen.

Names composed of the preposition ‘af’ and the original family name, to signal that they are descended from someone: af Huss, af Sandeberg, etc.

Branches of the same family, distinguished by their estate names: Horn af Åminne, Horn af Kanckas, etc. I guess we can add Horn af Årnäs to the list for YR.

And so on. If you need a noble name for a character, you can look at the list for inspiration - or even just use an existing name. This is what the writers have done in YR with both Felice and August.

Ehrencrona used to be a real name: untitled family number 879, ennobled in 1675 and extinct in 1917. Another branch of the same family was ennobled under the name Ehrenkrona in the same year, as baronial family number 210, and that one is still alive today. Here are their coats of arms - untitled Ehrencrona on the left and baronial Ehrenkrona on the right.

Each family has a coat of arms, and a number in the House of Nobility. The first 100 numbers were drawn at random, the rest are chronological.

Noblemen often bear their coat of arms on a signet ring, like the one we see August wear in the show (the ring can also just be engraved with their monogram, or perhaps a combination of both). In fact, Chrille/Krille wears one too, if you look closely at the Society party scene! Here’s a screenshot of August’s:

The show may not be allowed to use the real heraldic imagery for legal reasons. Most of the branches of the Horn family are extinct, but the main branch, the comital family Horn af Åminne, is still alive. YR can probably get away with inventing a new branch as long as they don’t make the connection to the real family too obvious.

If the coat of arms was accurate, it should include a variation of the typical horn (left) and various things around it, similar to the Horn af Åminne coat of arms (right). I don’t know anything about heraldry, but titled houses often have a whole lot of stuff going on there, symbolising their history and position.

An interesting detail about the signet rings is that in the article mentioned above, one of the men is described as wearing his ring all through their interview, but hiding it when it’s time to take photos. He says “it’s one thing to wear it privately and another thing to show it in a newspaper,” even though he uses it to sign his books sometimes. Which fascinates me - he’s the same guy who said he wasn’t proud of his ancestry and even wrote the somewhat satirical column on nobility linked above, but I guess the signet ring still isn’t just any old trinket to him.

So, that’s it! Thank you for reading all this way! As I said at the start, any additions and corrections are most welcome.

#young royals #young royals meta #swedish nobility #swedish aristocracy #fic writing #fic research #fanfic resource

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mochidom · 25 days

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FAIRIES HEIRS (THE COBRA)

nb: presenting my first fan-child and its obviously the child of my favourites Kinana and Erik. The others are coming soon!! Masterpost here !

Kinana and Erik were one of the first couples to get married but they only had their first and only child, Hayes, years later. (if you don't count the multiple snake pets that Hayeis would get later)

Considering the fact Erik was still out and about on long missions with Crime Sorciere and Kinana was busy with the immense work at Fairy Tail after the war, they both decided they would have children when their schedule would allow it.

It's only multiple years after the war and after Crime Sorciere officialise their legal guild status and installed their headquarters in Magnolia that the couple finally decided to complete their little family.

Hayeis grew with both the Fairy Tail and Crime Sorciere members but ultimately decided to join Crime Sorciere (Erik cried tears of joy) when it was time for him to choose.

Hayeis is sort of a mad genius, he's been obsessed since he was little with poison and their effets on everything. When he starts middle school, he starts creating some of his own.

Erik, who will literally do anything for his son, even roped in Midnight and Jellal to help him build a mini lab at home for Hayeis so he could continue with his experiences.

In middle school, he created a poison that replicated the effets of a cold and sold it to others students that wanted to trick their parents into staying home.

He has a nasty habit of testing different poisons he created on friends and family without their knowledge. He would give them the antidote later of course but only after observing the reactions.

At some point, everyone learns their lessons and stop accepting to eat the food he would give them "out of kindness".

Before she died, he spent a lot of time with Porlyusica and aspire to be doctor-mage like her. He had found her after roaming in the forest looking for a plan and getting lost.

Best way to describe him is very charismatic but like, in a very weird way.

#fairy tail #fairy tail next generation #kinabra #kinana #erik cobra #fairies heirs #fairy tail next gen

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carpeossa · 1 year

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Nadir and Erik goes to the market in Paris

Erik: *the whole day*

“Ugggg, my neck.”

“Damn this back of mine.”

“God, my shoulders.”

“Ah! My knee!”

“Oh my hip! Just wait a minute, Daroga.”

“Gah! My hands are killing me.”

Nadir: “You know, Erik. If you slept in a regular bed and not a coffin you would not have these issues.”

Erik: “Ah yes, but a regular bed is for a regular man with a regular nose. I am not a regular man nor do I possess a nose. Therefore a coffin is my resting place.”

Nadir: “Erik, how exactly does not having a nose affect you while sleeping? All I’ve heard you do all day is complain about how you hurt. I know you have enough money to buy a decent bed or at least put cushions in your coffin! There is no excuse for not sleeping in a regular bed except as a means to complain as a child!”

Erik: “Oh my dear Daroga. Are you so simple to understand that as a living corpse a coffin is the most fitting place of rest for me? That I should become accustomed to the things in the next life, even in how I will be slumbering for eternity?”

Nadir: *slaps the back Erik’s head with his hand*

“You are a melodramatic child who should have learned his lesson when the Viscount punched you in the stomach. I only wish that boy had hit you in the head! Perhaps it would have knocked some sense into that moronic mind of yours!”

Erik: *mumbles* “It was a lucky punch.”

#get him nadir #Erik is a giant child #the phantom of the opera #erik the phantom #phantom of the opera #nadir khan #the daroga #daroga #erik poto #poto

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burnwater13 · 28 days

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Concept art by Christian Alzmann and Erik Tiemens, of the Seeing Stone on Tython. Image from The Mandalorian, Season 2, Episode 6, The Tragedy.

“No, Grogu, we don’t have enough room for one.”

The Mandalorian looked at his petite apprentice and sighed. They had been arguing for over an hour and nothing was going to change his mind.

Grogu grumbled at him and pouted.

“Buddy, like I told you when you first brought this up, we don’t actually have enough land to build it. That’s just the way it is.”

Grogu continued to pout, turned around, and stomped out of the cabin. It was all the Mandalorian could do to not laugh out loud. He’d learned the hard way that Grogu never forgot a slight.

There was the time that Din Djarin had told the little one that he couldn’t have another fresh frozen froglet because it would upset his stomach. Grogu hadn’t been happy about that, but he grudgingly agreed. Then, as the Mandalorian was clearing the table, he tripped over nothing and the one container that went flying was the one with the frogs. Of course Grogu managed to reach it before Din could and of course Grogu ate the froglets as quickly as he could. The next morning Grogu was groaning because he had a stomach ache and didn’t want to do his lessons.

But this time his apprentice had to understand that, even if they had the land, the time, the equipment, a much, much larger ship, Nevarro still didn’t have anything like the history with the Force that Tython had. The Seeing Stone and it’s megaliths would never work here the way they worked there. Din Djarin was certain of it.

Grogu, for his part, was just as adamant that he could make it work.

It was true that Grogu had done some amazing things with the Force. Things that Din Djarin couldn’t explain. But, despite that, he still didn’t think that Grogu was being reasonable when he asked if they could rebuild the Tython temple in their yard on Nevarro. It just seemed like a bad idea to him. Grogu did not agree.

It all started innocently enough. Grogu commented that he’d like to take a trip to Tython. The Mandalorian asked him why and Grogu said he really hadn’t seen very much of the planet and there was supposed to be an abandoned Jedi temple there and maybe if he found it he could tell Luke about it and Luke could use that one for his school rather than the one on Ossus.

“I thought you liked Ossus?”

Din had heard enough about the planet to feel like he had traveled all around it, rather that just spending part of a day there and then being turned away by Ahsoka Tano without ever getting to speak with Grogu.

Grogu had grunted and sighed.

“Does he know you call it ‘Luke’s Jedi Sleep Away Camp’?”

Grogu had giggled. The Mandalorian loved that sound. It meant everything to him. The joy and happiness of childhood encapsulated in a single sound.

“Okay. I understand. Anyway, why would the Jedi have more than one temple on the same planet? That seems strange, doesn’t it?”

It had been a simple observation. A simple question. Mandalorians tended to build something once and that was that. Except when it came to capitals. They had duplicated many of the features of Keldabe when they moved the capital to Sundari. He had been happy about that after their trip to Keldabe.

Grogu however was silent. He didn’t answer the question and he didn’t ask for food or anything else. He closed his eyes and his lips began to move in an out. The Mandalorian had never seen him do that before.

When Grogu finally opened his eyes and stopped the whole lip thing, he chirped, cooed and chattered at his dad, at a rapid pace that Din Djarin could barely keep up with.

“Buddy, what do you mean you want to move the temple here? Where here? And which temple? No, not which temple, why? Why do this at all?”

Then Grogu gave the Mandalorian all of his reasons at once. He’d be able to keep track of Luke and Ahsoka and any other Jedi who remained in the galaxy. And he would be able to communicate with them. Then they could build the school on Nevarro as well and Grogu could keep an eye on the younglings. That meant also meant that it would be the first Jedi temple built someplace the Sith had never built a temple. So it couldn’t be corrupted. Easy peasy.

“Grogu, Luke already has his school built. I don’t know if he has any students, but he has the buildings. He must have picked Ossus for a good reason. Ahsoka Tano must have told Luke about the seeing stone and other temple on Tython, but he still chose Ossus.”

Grogu grumbled that Luke chose Ossus because he thought he might find holocrons there, but they were already gone.

“Does Luke know they’re gone?”

If there was ever a question Din Djarin shouldn’t have asked, that apparently was the one. Grogu had explained to his master that they were gone, but when he was on Tython he felt two of them calling out to him. Luke did not believe him. Grogu even told Luke the names of the two masters, but still Luke didn’t believe him. Grogu reminded Luke that he was older than the young man and had studied more Jedi history than Luke could have in his few years of training. Apparently Luke got very upset with that and told Grogu that Master Yoda had guided Luke to Ossus. Then he had sent Grogu to meditate until he learned how to be respectful to his Master. Grogu had missed lunch, dinner, and breakfast the next morning. That had not been the Way!

“Okay, buddy. I get it. If we go there, we could look for the holocrons, but we are not going to transport a Jedi temple back here just so you can prove to Luke that you are stronger in the Force than he is. I know you mean well, but some people just have to learn certain lessons in their own way and in their own time.”

Grogu started a whole new rant about protecting the temple, preventing Moff Gideon or one of his clones from going back there, giving Grogu a place to train, and saving them time from having to travel back and forth to Tython so he could use the Seeing Stone to contact Luke or Ahsoka if he needed to without going to Ossus.

That brought them right back to not having enough room on their plot on Nevarro. Grogu couldn’t argue with that…

Din Djarin heard a strange sound and the whole cabin began to shudder. He ran out of the cabin to find Grogu holding both of his hands up. The Mandalorian swirled around and tried not to laugh. IT would just encourage him.

“Grogu! Put the N-1 back on the landing pad. This is not the way to make more room for your temple. I’ll talk to Karga and see if he can find a space for it. Okay? Now, put it down… gently, gently.”

Uff. Now, where was he going to find a transport for megaliths?

#calendar prompt a day #the mandalorian #din djarin #grogu

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angel-with-paper-wings · 1 year

Text

Modern!AU Phantom of the Opera Headcanons Part 2: College/University

More modern!AU headcanons for our favorite squad of weirdos. Enjoy!

Christine:

Major: music performance, Masters program (originally in creative writing but took an elective music class and was so good/loved it so much that she decided to switch)

Meg is her roommate, Madame Giry is one of her professors and is super strict

Met Raoul at a party that Meg dragged her to, she wasn’t really enjoying it and was about to leave when Raoul recognized her and they started talking (they were middle school friends)

Met Erik super late at night in a library when she was feeling really stressed/burnt out for an upcoming test. Erik noticed her struggling and found some books to help her, leaving them in obvious places for her to find. She eventually catches him hiding a book for her and thanks him for his help; it soon becomes a routine for them to meet up and study together in the library.

Has a part-time job at Starbucks to help pay for tuition, has Erik’s order memorized and ready for him by the time he walks in at the same time every day

Joins a bunch of clubs freshman year, had a hard time managing it all and got really burnt out, she learned her lesson and quit most of them the next semester

Erik:

Major: double major in music theory and history, working on PhD in architecture

Takes most of his classes virtually or watches the online posted lectures so he can stay home and not have anyone see him

Goes to the libraries/lecture halls really late at night to study (this is how he met Christine)

You know the threatening notes he sends to the managers? Those are what his emails to professors are like; he’ll find dirt on them and blackmail them into boosting his grade

For example he found out a science professor was having an affair with a student and threatened to tell administration; now he has his own private lab space in the basement of the science building

Cannot study without music, has the ultimate study playlists

His notes are messy and practically illegible, but he can somehow decipher them enough to study from them; you definitely want his study guides, they are so thorough

He can hack into the school’s records and access all of the test questions from previous years, uses it to help Christine study

Raoul:

Major: originally business (his family wanted him to take over the family business) but he hated it, was undeclared for a while before settling on law

Secretly loves the movie “Legally Blonde”, always talks about how realistically it portrays its court cases

He is 100% in a frat (but like a rich kid frat), has a lot of events involved with the fraternity that take up a lot of his time

Partied a lot in freshman year, scaled it back the next year when he failed a couple classes

Joins the intramural tennis team on campus, tries to get Christine into it too but it is just not right for her

Always wants to be in a group with Christine for group projects, mostly because he likes her but also because she is really smart and responsible; she motivates him to study

Almost started a fire in the dorms when he snuck in a contraband hotplate

Has a car and offers to drive Christine everywhere, but parking on campus is a nightmare and he can’t parallel park to save his life

Definitely ~experimented~ in college before becoming Christine’s boyfriend

His first official date with Christine was at a college football game; they left during halftime because they were bored and their team was losing anyway, got pizza and watched a movie instead.

Daroga:

He is a history professor working on his tenure

One of those “cool” professors who lets his class out early and super easy to talk to

Responds to essay-long emails with “Ok”

Wears suits to lecture; you will never see this man in jeans except at the grocery store

Erik shows up to his office one day to complain about a mistake he thinks Daroga made in class while lecturing, and Daroga brings up the fact that Erik doesn’t even attend class so he has no right to talk. They have a conversation about Erik’s insecurities and eventually make a deal where Erik can watch class online but has to make up his attendance grade for the class by completing an extra project by the end of the year.

From then on, Daroga is like a mentor to a begrudging Erik

Daroga even makes him be a TA for his class; Erik hates the idea at first but actually proves to be a pretty good teacher (but a harsh grader)

#poto #phantom of the opera #modern!au #christine daae #erik #raoul de chagny #daroga #nadir khan/daroga #christine x raoul #christine x erik #headcanons

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mischief-and-tea-by-the-sea · 26 days

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17 and 29 for the fanfic writer ask 💖

17. What’s something you’ve learned about while doing research for a fic?

Well, quite a few things actually. I research a lot of expensive booze because I have some wealthy fuckers I write quite a bit, but also in the process, I've learned how cognac is brewed and the difference between cognac and brandy (similar reason to champagne and sparkling wine), the differences between whiskey, scotch, and bourbon, and pairings of vodka with caviar (and the differences between types of caviar).

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.)

From the aforementioned "All American Barbecue" (where AvX meets the Wicker Man), and a little warning, it's a bit long:

Tony reached over into the stack of mail that Clint had brought in about an hour earlier and rummaged around until he found one in particular. “Speaking of the X-Men, this came addressed to you. Don’t know who sent it...just that it’s from Utopia.” He shook it as if he could hear something rattling, which he couldn’t, then he handed it up into Steve’s waiting hand.

“Doesn’t look official,” Steve commented, glad that he could focus on something other than his goofy singing that was still playing on the laptop and the big screen. He tore open the envelope and tugged out a letter that had been typed, and inside it was a picture of a redhead in her mid-to-late teens.

“It’s not even in e-mail. Who the hell sends letters like that anymore?” Tony groused, his nose wrinkled over his goatee, which he scratched three fingers through before flopping back against the couch. “Even Erik’s gotten with the technological age...and he’s in your geriatric group.”

Steve arched a perfect blond eyebrow at his teammate and responded to the jab with only a sneer. Then he dropped his eyes to the letter.

Captain Rogers,

Things are so different here on Utopia than they were in Westchester, and I’m not entirely sure where to begin in telling you about my concerns. The worst of which involves the young woman in the photo I’ve sent with this letter. You see, this girl, Hope, has gone missing. No one has seen her in weeks, and she’s not quite old enough to leave the island by herself, even though everyone knows she’s been receiving piloting lessons since she became of age. None of the island’s jets have left, however. All are accounted for. Everything is accounted for, actually, except the girl herself.

This is most distressing, Captain Rogers. Hope is a sweet girl and very responsible. She wouldn’t have just up and disappeared on her own, so I suspect that something has gone terribly wrong. I hope you can and are willing to come here to get to the bottom of this yourself. I hesitate to say that this is so extreme that it requires the whole of the Avengers, but you are a respected figure here, and at the very least, if you were to show up yourself, I have no doubt that this matter would be straightened out right away.

Sincerely,

A Concerned Citizen of Utopia

“So what do the good citizens of mutant-world want, Steve? Don’t tell me. Logan’s hosting a bake-sale and wants you to put in an appearance so he can jack up the prices of his beer-cakes,” Tony quipped. Already, he’d moved on from watching Steve humiliate himself in the elevator to searching the internet for a donut shop that would deliver.

Steve snorted. “No. Nothing so amusing this time. It seems as if the mutants are having trouble policing their...well, trouble. I didn’t think they could make things work on that island without problems. Then again, look at them. They’re hedonistic...so many of them always were, but since they’ve stopped pretending to live in normal society, they’ve just gotten worse.”

Tony looked up at Steve with a ‘what the fuck’ look stamped on his features. He squirmed on the couch until his ass was firmly in a ‘ready to listen to Steve go on a tirade’ position. He typed something on his laptop and just waited. And waited. And when he glanced up at Steve again, he could see the Boy Scout’s nostrils flaring as if he already pictured some grave injustice being done on that island across country. Other than the mutants who still made their home in the city or wherever they did, most of them were well-out of the way and not worth worrying about. Even Erik wasn’t causing problems anymore. Why was Steve so bothered?

Because he was Steve.

“So, I take it you’re going out there to check it out? Need back-up?” Tony asked. His tone said he didn’t want to go. “I mean, after all, you’re not exactly used to such rampant hedonism.” Tony rolled his eyes. He was more hedonistic than most of the mutants on Utopia combined – save one or two, but Steve had become so accustomed to his antics that he’d reduced his comments about Tony’s lifestyle down to dirty looks or grunts of annoyance.

“The person who wrote didn’t think it was a big enough deal yet to involve all of the Avengers, so I’ll probably go by myself,” Steve replied and scanned over the letter again before folding it up and returning it to the envelope.

Tony scoffed. “You? Alone on Utopia? Where all that...mutant debauchery goes on? I just can’t picture it.”

Steve rolled his eyes. Again. It made him more determined to prove to his teammate that taking a trip out to Utopia by himself wouldn’t be a problem. “Are you volunteering to go, Tony?”

“No. Not really. As much as I would love to see my old girlfriend...”

“Which one?” Steve snarked.

Tony just kept talking. “...I don’t think that would yield the results I’d want, especially since she’s ‘happily’ involved with Summers.” It was his turn to roll his eyes.

Steve walked around the back of the couch to go to his bedroom to change. “Alright then. I’m heading out in an hour, and I’ll see you when I get back.”

Watching Steve’s back become more distant in the hall, Tony called out, “What? Don’t I even get a kiss goodbye?”

Thanks for the asks!

Fanfic Ask Meme.

#Fanfic Writer Asks #sunnysideprincess #Thanks for the asks!

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more-profound-bond · 1 year

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Erik: I learned some very valuable lessons from this.

Charles: I’m guessing they are all horrible distortions on the lessons you actually should’ve taken away.

Erik: Death isn’t real, and I’m basically God.

#cherik incorrect quotes #yup yup #sums them up pretty well #i mean they're both dumbasess #kind off #i still love them #cherik #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #professor x #magneto #x men

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livebloggingmydescentintomadness · 1 year

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You’re probably not going to see this, but as a teen that started following you for ace/aro posts, your takes on purity culture and antis have been really important to me. To be honest I haven’t cared about proship/anti discourse in years and find the terms to be reductive and oversimplifying but I’m so sick of seeing call outs in my social circles that sum up to “this person that is open about the fact they like dark content likes dark content!” Like, I thought you didn’t WANT to interact with them, why are you mad that they’ve made their beliefs clear enough for you to block?

I’d never harass someone over fake people that don’t exist but I guess I have pretty “anti” tastes- pairings between a 16 year old and an 18 year old are enough to squick me out and my current fandom has a very popular incest subculture which is. A lot. But at the same time subjects like grooming and SA/CSA recovery are very fascinating to me, and your posts have helped me shake off the guilt I have about that and fear of being seen as an abuse apologist if I write fics about those topics.

I don’t really know where I’m going with this. Just, thank you, I guess. I hope you have a good day/night/whenever you read this :)

hello, dear, i'm so glad that my blog could be helpful to you <3

i agree with you that the anti/proship terminology does kind of feel like it trivializes really important issues, but please allow me to clarify one thing - being "proship" has nothing to do with WHAT you ship and everything to do with HOW you ship. it's not about taste, it's about philosophy.

i actually have pretty vanilla tastes myself; i typically avoid most dark fic, i'm not really into kink, i don't usually like "dead dove" type content, and most of my ships are not particularly controversial. the only incest ship that doesn't gross me out is thorki, because like, they're millennia-old alien space gods based on north mythology; incest is kinda the least weird thing going on there. i have a few ships that could be called abusive, like erik/christine from the phantom of the opera, but generally speaking, my tastes are tame and i just like a good fic with some tasty angst , a little sappy smut, and a happy ending.

however, i understand that other people ARE into all the stuff i'm not into, and it's none of my business what they enjoy, and, critically, my discomfort with those works does not matter, no more than it dictates what i choose to engage in and what i choose to avoid.

my discomfort with darkfic doesn't mean people who like darkfic are immoral, or that darkfic itself is immoral. it means that i don't read darkfic. i understand that my comfort and discomfort are not the moral code of the universe, and furthermore, that a quest for "moral purity" is not only impossible, but actively harmful. a lesson i learned quite well growing up in the baptist church.

using the title of 'proshipper' doesn't mean that i personally like "problematic" ships or whatever, it means that i find harassing people over their fictional tastes reprehensible. it means that i understand that there's a big, big difference between what you enjoy reading in fiction and what you approve of or endorse in real life, and that part of the purpose of fiction is to give us a safe place to explore dark, fucked up shit where it won't have real-world consequences. fiction is an outlet, not a mirror.

even if i personally find the content deeply disturbing, i understand that it is simply none of my fucking business what other people read and write about, provided that they tag the content properly. that's being proship.

anyway, i'm glad that i could help relieve you of your guilt. take care, dear.

#fiction #purity culture #fandom #csa tw #incest tw #anonymous #ask

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iwritenarrativesandstuff · 11 months

Text

Trimax Thoughts Vol. 1 Pt. 1

I'm late to this because I couldn't think of what to say other than my little joke posts. This is just more sporadic commentary as a result because I'm saving some of my thoughts for when I have more information later on.

One of my favourite panels so far fr. Please Mr. Nightow what dumb shenanigans did these two get into on the regular. Please tell me. Eriks and Lina are my new favourite comedy duo. (You know. Before bad things happen. As per usual.)

Ok so some thoughts on Vash awkwardly insisting that Lina overreacted - she didn't. Self-defense is valid and Lina was well-within her rights to kick that creep in the face, but Vash is now even more passive than he was in his attempts to mitigate violence and tragedy - he's not just throwing away his own pride and dignity, he's fumbling through expecting others to do the same, which he didn't used to do btw - which, unfortunately, makes sense. He's hidden himself away and is terrified of himself - he wants so badly to avoid being the cause of or seeing any more pain inflicted on people. But here's the thing - extreme passivity can also be harmful. There are some things you should get angry at and should respond defensively to. It reminds me a little of that part in Little Arcadia where Meryl is upset with herself for not responding with the same righteous anger towards Badwick pointing a gun at his parents the way Milly did. Unaffectedness can become uncaringness if one walls oneself off from becoming defensive of that which is important to them (tbh I think Meryl was being too harsh on herself in that scene - but it's important to note that she writes the letter to her parents after, and responds more openly and honestly in future chapters). Meryl also realizes in that arc that she can choose a path for herself that doesn't necessarily have to be in perfect keeping with her parents' - they will live through her regardless - but Vash here doubles down on his original philosophy and takes it to extremes instead. I'm finding it really intriguing that Meryl appears to be learning similar lessons to the ones Vash should be, but much earlier than he does (if he will, which I hope he will). I think that might be because they have similar ideals at their cores.

Also, lol at Wolfwood seeing the footprint she left on the guy's face and just being like "nice, kid".

I hate this. I hate this. Can he quit having his reputation be thrown back in his face for five minutes? How much must it hurt him that despite him only ever wanting to help, the image most everyone has of him is this caricature of a villain who is violent and cruel and belittling and demeaning, or else, the whispers of some calamitous being on a power scale incomprehensible to humanity, like some sort of bogeyman? And then to have him reveal all his scars in such an incredibly humiliating way - and to have that be the moment we, as the readers, have definite proof that this man is, in fact, Vash. This impostor went the extra mile to look exactly like the "humanoid typhoon" but it's those scars that are the genuine reveal of Vash's true character. He's just a guy. Yes, he's capable of being dangerous, yes, he's pretty much a living weapon of mass destruction, but he is also kind and self-sacrificing to a fault and chooses this kindness every day. He is literally just a guy. I need people to be fucking nice to him. Leave him alone.

Wolfwood already being defensive of Vash counter: 1

Grandma Sheryl really said "Get my gun." Whhfsdjhfvh

I'm realizing that when Wolfwood unclasps Punisher here, this is... the first time Vash has actually seen that it is. A giant gun. This is the first time the reader would have seen this. Hjhnsdjhvn???

The hair cutting scene hurts me so bad man. I've seen a couple people break down that scene so I won't do that here but hnnng. I love that Lina so clearly cares about him. That she wanted to keep him safe too. And even though she doesn't feel like she could do enough it meant the world to him. Augh. Aughhhh.

Meryl's birthday is in February!!! This is important information.

Ah yes, Trimax Chapter 3, or, as I like to call it, "Area Insurance Girls Destroy Workplace Asshole's Entire Career by Hitting Him With Proof that He Is a Hitman Committing Murder and Fraud, Then Hitting Him in the Back with a Projectile from a Stun Gun". (Meryl and Milly I love you and I love your teamwork. Girls <3. Again, someone broke down the whole part with Meryl here so I won't get into it.)

Wolfwood already being defensive of Vash counter: 2

Wolfwood already being defensive of Vash counter: 3 (also holy shit dude???)

(For clarity, this counter I'm keeping is because it makes me laugh - I have a sneaking suspicion I know why he's there from Tristamp - which makes the fact that he reacts like this after like. What? A few days of knowing him? - really, really funny to me. Also I'm writing up a little something I noticed about Wolfwood, and this is a bit relevant, so there's that too. But mostly it's just funny.)

Geez, Knives looks demonic in the flashbacks. It's very intriguing how he's mostly faceless. I would imagine it's some complex mix of not recognizing his brother after what he's done, not recognizing him as his brother after what he's done, and not wanting to see his twin's face (which looks like his face) staring back at him as some kind of monster. I also have to wonder if Vash is a little scared of Knives, especially after July and Fifth Moon. Also, the way Knives tries to help Vash up because they're "brothers", hence, the same, but when Vash angrily accuses Knives of not being human, Knives kicks him back down while shouting about that he wouldn't want to be like them ever. Really I think this kind of highlights the dynamic in a nutshell. Vash fears harming others more than he does about his loneliness. Knives fears being all alone, I think, and is willing to commit harmful acts to assure he won't be - Vash often winds up hurt by this. Knives doesn't. It also emphasizes how Knives' offer of sticking together is contingent on Vash being agreeable, which is. Yikes bud.

Hm. Wolfwood starts calling him "Needle-Noggin" here. He was calling him Vash before. Interesting.

Brad stfu challenge. Don't be mean to him I'll be sad :(

What is wrong with him. See, Vash is exaggerating his weirdness for the bit and also to hide intense internal turmoil. Wolfwood is clearly trying to get a better vantage to see what's happening here but, unfortunately, I also think he is just like that.

I find it very interesting that Wolfwood finds it so important to finish that particular conversation with Vash, that he even went to go find him earlier to do so. It seems he was under the impression that Vash's stance is one of passivity, but that's not true at all - Vash's whole thing is that he is actually incredibly, notoriously bad at "doing nothing". Isn't it Wolfwood who was the one who wanted to leave here? But he has a point that sometimes you have to make difficult choices. Hm...

Vash just went full chaos entity for this one, huh?

"Wow, it's great that the bullets didn't pierce through and that the equipment works!" he says as he coughs up blood from the force of being hit. :/

This is a very tricky situation, morally speaking, at the end. Vash actually seems to understand the father's reaction here. But if the man shoots his daughter's murderer then it's not just the murderer who loses his "blank ticket" - so does the father. The way the screams of the murderer look like they're encroaching and pressing in on Vash... agh. And then when he goes for the gun, the father thinks Vash is judging him but I really don't think that's it at all. I don't think Vash faults the father for his anger - he understands the cruel death of a family member and the anger that comes with it. He lets the father beat him up instead and release aggression that way, which is a very... Vash way of dealing with it. It worked this time but... that's only because the father turned out to be unable to kill him after all. Vash didn't seem like he really knew what to do here, or even what the right thing to do was. He reacted on instinct. I feel this was less bravery and self-sacrificial pacifism than it was an incredibly vulnerable moment and an apology, in a way. He can't allow himself to let people die when there's something he can do, or to have them throw their futures away. But he is also sorry in a way, not for the act of intervening, but because he knows the father is hurting badly. Idk.

This is interesting, because I think it's right, but not completely. It's less that they are all his family, and more that he has taken up what he kind of sees as the family mantle (Rem's) of saving all the people she saved during the Fall, which is, unfortunately, everyone. Poor Vash, honestly. It's hardly sustainable, and even if it was, it assures that he will always be wrapped up in torment.

I just know Vash intentionally calls Wolfwood out in a really annoying sing-songy voice every time he does something nice just to embarrass him. Hjhdfnvjh

Anyways, that's all for that; until the next volume -

WHAT THE FUCK?

#trigun #trimax #trigunbookclub #storyrambles #ahhh people have so many cool observations i haven't even been able to fully read through all of them! i'm having a lot of fun :)

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