#i might make a more poetic version of this post later who knows

[0junemeatcleaver0]

ℑ𝔫𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔡𝔲𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫

Muta Cupido; An examination of Roman sexual morality, what makes a man a vir, the practice of oratorical celibacy, and the appetites of both a mortal man and monster. 

Ages ago, I wrote a quick-n-dirty meta (which I will link to later in this post). At the time, I was quite proud of it. But after having done my last Marius deep dive, all of my previous metas now look lackluster to me. Consider this to be the updated version of the original meta. It is not necessary to have read the previous meta before this one, though those of you who have (and even those of you who haven’t) should be able to pick up what I’m putting down before I even link to the original. 

That being said, I would suggest that you do read this companion piece I wrote about what (in the mind of a Roman) made a man, a man. It’s a relatively short read, and will help add more context to the short discussion on the same topic later in this post. 

A quick note before anyone tries to jump up my ass (again): I view meta as serving the same purpose as fic, just via a different methodology. Where in fic you dream up scenarios to put the characters through to see how they might act in those situations, I feel meta is a way of taking what we know canonically about the character and attempting to recontextualize the facts with additional information. Just as there are nearly infinite equations one can use to reach a sum, so too are there different ways a single character might end up the person we read on the page. In short: This post is meant to be a thought experiment and you’d have to be some kind of fool to think its author is proclaiming herself some kind of authority on the subject.  

𝔖𝔢𝔵𝔲𝔞𝔩 ℌ𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔥 𝔦𝔫 𝔄𝔫𝔠𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔱 ℜ𝔬𝔪𝔢

The time of Pliny the Elder and the four humors; a time when medical theories that seem ignorant to the modern mind were rife. And while I could spend quite a long time dunking on the science of yesteryear, I’ll keep things brief by only focusing on ideas surrounding sexual health–especially where it pertains to the sexual health of men. 

As pictured above, one very important aspect of health for a male was the regulation of semen. Semen was a very important bodily fluid, as it was thought to be made via a mix of (the humor) blood and pneuma (“vital air”) and was believed to be the fuel on which internal organs ran. 

Blood and semen, in fact, were so inextricably linked in the Roman mind that the two would be even poetically coupled throughout different texts in oft times violent ways. Aya Betensky says in Lucretius and Love: 

“Let us begin with Lucretius’ Venus in De Rerum Natura 4. He introduces her as a physiologically as possible, moving from a discussion of dreams to wet dreams and then to the mechanics of ejaculation, which he shows mockingly to be the body’s enactment of the romantic expression ‘wound of love’. Semen is equated with blood spurting out of a wound. (4. 1049-1056)”. 

Greek physician Galen warns in his treatise On Semen that exorbitant sexual activity would result in a loss of pneuma and thus, vitality:

“It is not at all surprising that those who are less moderate sexually turn out  to be weaker, since the whole body loses the purest part of both substances, and there is besides an accession of pleasure, which by itself is enough to dissolve the vital tone, so that before now some persons have died from excess of pleasure.” 

As detailed further in this post’s companion piece, the rules for manhood were highly prescriptive to the Romans. Every man of good moral standing concerned with their own virtus would have also been weary of losing too much semen–whether through promiscuity or nocturnal emissions. 

As Catharine Edwards states in The Politics of Immorality in Ancient Rome:

“Morality and manliness [were considered] the distinguishing features of Rome.”

And while Rome’s mos maiorum were such a public affair (indeed, these customs and social norms functioned almost as some sort of morality play each citizen was expected to participate in while in public), these expectations leaked into even the most private sectors of citizen’s lives–including the bedroom. 

Robert Sharp speaking about how censores regulated the public in Incontinentia, Licentia et Libedo: The Juxtaposition of Morality and Sexuality during the Roman Republic. 

Indeed, a lack of control over the self (which included being able to appropriately manage one’s sex life) indicated that a man was incapable of governing others–a highly detrimental accusation in the heyday of the Paterfamilias. As per Catharine Edwards in Unspeakable Professions: Public Performance and Prostitution in Ancient Rome:

“The enjoyment of ‘low sensual pleasure’ threatened to erode the elite male’s identity as a cultured person”. 

Still yet, there were some men for whom this fear of loss of masculine potency loomed larger than most. 

Because a loss of pneuma was thought to cause a whole host of physical ailments–but most importantly to this discussion slow mindedness, an ‘effeminate’ voice, and general weakness of character–the men perhaps most concerned with keeping hold of their pneuma were orators. 

One such orator was C. Licinius Calvus (born 82 BCE, died possibly in 47 BCE). In Natural History, Pliny the Elder name checks Calvus during a discussion of medical uses for lead. Because Calvus took to putting lead plates on his kidneys to combat having wet dreams. John Dugan says in Preventing Ciceronianis: C. Licinius Calvus’ Regimens for Sexual and Oratorical Self-Mastery: 

“Pliny, moreover, connects this therapy with Calvus’ literary activity, stipulating that the orator’s treatment was designed to ‘preserve the strength of his body for the labor of his studies’.”

The oratorial obsession with preventing wet dreams isn’t where the scholarly preoccupation with keeping one’s seminal fluid to one’s self ended, either. As per the Encyclopedia Britannica: 

“As classical civilization developed, two ideals of masculine celibacy appeared, that of the ascetic philosopher and that of the priest of the mystery religions. [...] Pythagoras (c. 580 BC - c. 500) established a small community that emphasized study, vegetarianism, and sexual restraint or abstinence. Many later philosophers believed that celibacy is conducive to the detachment and equilibrium required by the philosopher’s calling. The Stoic philosopher Epictetus (AD 55- C. 135) for example, held that the ideal teacher would be unmarried and that his task would require freedom from the cares of family life.” 

𝔈𝔭𝔦𝔠𝔲𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔰𝔪, 𝔖𝔱𝔬𝔦𝔠𝔦𝔰𝔪, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔖𝔢𝔵𝔲𝔞𝔩 𝔐𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔶 𝔦𝔫 𝔄𝔫𝔠𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔱 ℜ𝔬𝔪𝔢

Now that we’ve gotten a taste of how physicians viewed sexual activity, we’ll move on to what the philosophers thought on the subject. 

There were two major schools of philosophy in Ancient Rome–Epicureanism and Stoicism. Epicureanism was a philosophy that taught that pleasure was the highest good and the thing through which you could attain tranquility and freedom from fear and physical pain. Stoicism was the philosophy that taught that life was best lived in harmony with reason, was based in knowledge, and showed a complete indifference to pain and pleasure. 

𝔈𝔭𝔦𝔠𝔲𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔫 𝔖𝔢𝔵𝔲𝔞𝔩 𝔐𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔶

Within Epicurean thought, pleasure was believed to be the highest good. According to the Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy:

“Epicurus’ ethics is a form of egoistic hedonism; i,e., he says that the only thing that is intrinsically valuable is one’s own pleasure; anything that has value is valuable merely as a means to securing pleasure for oneself.”

To Epicurus, pleasure simply meant satisfying one’s desires. He believed there to be two types of desire, “moving” and “static”. Moving desire happens when one is actively fulfilling the desire, such as eating when you feel hungry. Static desire occurs after fulfillment, i.e. feeling comfortably full after eating. He goes on to state he believes that static pleasure is the best form of pleasure. From IEoP:

“If pleasure results from getting what you want (desire-satisfaction) and pain from not getting what you want (desire-frustration), then there are two strategies you can pursue with respect to any given desire: you can either strive to fulfill the desire, or you can try to eliminate the desire. For the most part, Epicurus advocates the second strategy, that of paring your desires down to a minimum core, which are then easily satisfied.”

Epicurus divided desire into three categories:

Natural and necessary (food, drink, shelter, and personal safety)

Natural and unnecessary (things which will give you pleasure but lacking these things will not make your life impossible and/or unbearable)

Unnatural and unnecessary (desire for social standing, political power, fame, and glory)

He places sex in this second category. 

Later thinkers in this school of thought–namely Lucretius–would take harsher stances on sexual desire. Male desire, specifically, being viewed as pathological, frustrating, and violent (at least according to Robert D. Brown in Lucretius on Love and Sex [1987])–which is perhaps why Lucretius preached an ambivalent view of sex. 

Lucretius treated the sex drive as muta cupido, comparing the physiological response of ejaculation to blood spurting from a wound (again, via Brown in Lucretius on Love and Sex [1987]). 

𝔖𝔱𝔬𝔦𝔠 𝔖𝔢𝔵𝔲𝔞𝔩 𝔐𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔶

This school of thought emphasized sex within marriage as a way of fortifying an institution that helped to sustain social order. Such was this emphasis that by modern standards, we might consider these fathers of this philosophy to be homophobic (though that would be looking at things through a rather narrow and myopic lens)--Musonius disapproved of same-sex relations due to their lack of ability to create offspring. Seneca and Epictetus, meanwhile, merely favored male-female pairings over same sex couplings due to their ability to procreate. 

While these views surrounding same sex relations could be considered problematic by modern minds, the Stoics were more egalitarian in their thoughts surrounding highly gendered rules and how they opened people (mainly men) to hypocrisy–at least for the time. 

Indeed, both Musonius and Seneca believed if men wanted to exercise authority over women because they believed themselves to be in possession of greater self control, then those men ought to be able to manage their sex drives. 

This, of course, is not akin to the sex positivity movement of today, but rather a call for all good citizens–male and female–to control their baser urges so as not to embarrass the Republic. The (for lack of a better term) proto-feminism only went so far, as Seneca–staunchly against adultery–believed it was worse for a wife to cheat on her husband than for a husband to cheat on his wife. 

Kathy L. Gaca in her book The Making of Fornication: Eros, Ethics and Political Reform in Greek Philosophy and Early Christianity states that Seneca also believed that a wise man should make love to his wife by exercising good judgment (iudicium) and not emotion (affectus). Though this is a much stricter stance than taken by other Stoics, who largely saw sex as a means of promoting affection between married couples. 

But while Stoicism at least at first glance seems to take a more even keeled approach to the topic, it was not above fear mongering about the perils of the human sex drive. In her book, Gaca cites Ad Helviam (13:3), stating: 

“To Seneca, sexual desire for pleasure (libido) is a ‘destructive force (exitium) insidiously fixed in the innards’. Unregulated, it becomes cupiditas (lust).”

And here is where I risk losing those of you who didn’t put two and two together until this moment. AKA: I think Marius died a virgin and in this essay I will…

Or, more accurately, since this theory relies on a blending of canon and my research, let us make a melange of sorts.

ℑ𝔫𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔡𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔰 𝔏𝔦𝔰𝔱

For the purpose of keeping things contained to this post, here is a quick summary of the original post: 

Marius never mentions taking a shine to anyone while still a mortal

When speaking of his time as a mortal, he never alludes to being a part of any hedonistic activity, though he does admit to documenting the indiscretions of others

He’s only known to have been attracted to one person (Pandora) as a mortal, who he never got with romantically or sexually 

And before it gets brought up, I’ll address the passage in Prince Lestat where Teskhamen speaks to Marius and says: 

“[...] I saw your libraries, I saw and heard your quick-witted and curious companions, I saw the full blooming power of your experience, the life of a cultured Roman, the life that had made you what you were. I saw the beauty of Italy. I saw the beauty of fleshly love. I saw the beauty of ideas. I saw the beauty of the sea.[...]” 

This passage was pointed out to me on my original post. Before we continue, I want to make something clear: I don’t think anyone is wrong for reading this passage as meaning that Marius was party to that ‘fleshly love’. I think it’s ambiguous enough that it could go either way. 

My whole reasoning for personally not buying this as evidence against my current theory is a matter of language. Teskhamen front-loads this passage with language that focuses on Marius’ experience. It’s Marius’ library, Marius’s companions, Marius’ life as a cultured Roman. The second half of the passage removes possessive language from the equation entirely and instead focuses solely on the beauty of all he saw–Italy, pleasure, ideas, the sea. 

The remoteness of this language coming directly after the language that detailed Marius’ specific lived experience reads as a line of delineation to me. The things Marius did, and then the things Marius witnessed. 

This, of course, is in no way meant to be an argument about authorial intent. If I had to guess, Anne wasn’t focused on the preciseness of language here, but rather catching the flow of Teskhamen’s speech patterns. In short, it’s not that deep–it’s just a peculiarity of the writing that stuck out to me and I think lends itself to being read one of two ways. After all, Marius is not responsible for how beautiful the sea or Italy is, nor is he the sole thinker who had every beautiful idea and–it stands to reason, in my opinion, due to these things being grouped together–not necessarily the one participating in the fleshly love. 

Moving on. 

I’d like to continue my summation by detailing what it is we know (canonically) of Marius’ personality: 

Marius (whether he intends to or not) carries his Roman ideals about what makes a good man into the modern age, as called out by Pandora on page 57 of Blood Communion. 

Mortal Marius was noticeably odd and aloof. Pandora (again) calls this out on page 54 of Pandora, saying: 

“In the crowd, I saw Marius. He looked at me, then back to his book. So strange. I saw him standing against a tree trunk and writing. No one did this–stand against a tree, hold a book in one hand and write with the other. The slave stood beside him with a bottle of ink.” 

Showcasing yet again how Marius was still–at around thirty years of age–more invested in documenting fun instead of having any himself (this scene  was, after all, set during Saturnalia). 

I say ‘still’ because Marius himself says this on page 397 in The Vampire Lestat: 

“I’d come to Massilia after a long and studious journey that had taken me through all the great cities of the Empire. TO Alexandria, Pergamon, Athens I’d traveled, observing and writing about the people, and now I was making my way through the cities of Roman Gaul.” 

And again in TVL (page 397), the rowdiest he admits to getting is this: 

“By the age of twenty, I'd become the scholar and the chronicler, the one who raised his voice at drunken banquets to settle historical and military arguments.”

This identity as a chronicler–while cemented in his twentieth year–carried on into his fortieth year, as we see him still writing his own chronicles when approached by Mael in the tavern from which he was kidnapped (TVL, page 398).

This all, of course, is a rough sketch of Marius as a character and I am obviously relying on you to fill in any gaps with your own understanding of him as he appears on page. After all, it would take quite a while to transcribe every moment where Marius was particularly Roman, weird, scholarly, or restrained. Keep your own favorite instances in mind as we move on to the next bit: 

𝔏𝔢𝔱'𝔰 𝔐𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔞 𝔖𝔬𝔲𝔭

It is my belief that it makes a lot of sense that Marius (especially if you buy into the “Marius was never a senator” theory) being a man who values his identity as a Roman man and an intellectual, would buy fully into practicing celibacy as a way to protect his mental acuity. 

It was a common enough medical practice in his day, he obviously highly values his intellect, he was very serious about and dedicated to his scholarly undertakings, if ineligible for a political position he might want to win the respect of his fellow men of good standing by becoming something of a historian/philosopher, he’d only been very attracted to a woman he couldn’t marry anyway, and he was a bit of an off putting weirdo (affectionate) to boot. 

Marius has been shown to exhibit respect for the great thinkers of his time (name checking Xenophon, Herodotus and Poseidonius on page 399 of TVL alone) and it’s not much of a stretch (especially when paired with his habit of loudly and forcefully arguing at banquets) to assume he had a great deal of respect for orators and their craft. 

Whether Marius were ever a fan of Calvus is up to debate–Calvus died one to two decades before Marius was born (there is no record of Calvus’ exact year of death), he would have been recent history for Marius. Calvus’ poems would have still existed (in more than the fragments we have now), his speeches would have been spoken about, and was fairly well known in his time. My point is, orators were well respected as men and intellectuals and it wouldn’t shock me if Marius was a fan of any of them in specific or in general and that respect could have been the thing that kicked off any possible decision to remain celibate. 

In short, I believe there are many plausible  reasons why Marius may have died a virgin and I think all of these in combination would make a very fun space to play in, character-wise. 

ℜ𝔢𝔰𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔠𝔢𝔰

https://www.jstor.org/stable/4349696?read-now=1&seq=10#page_scan_tab_contents

https://www.jstor.org/stable/1215514?read-now=1&seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents

https://www.jstor.org/stable/4349198?read-now=1&seq=2#page_scan_tab_contents

https://www.jstor.org/stable/270440?read-now=1&seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents

#the vampire chronicles #vampire chronicles #marius de romanus #marius #my meta stuff

[thisaintascenereviews]

L.S. Dunes - Past Lives The idea of supergroups is kind of a strange one, at least at its core, because it jut means a group of talented musicians from other bands come together to make something that should work on paper, but it doesn’t always work in practice. They’re also really interesting if the sound of the supergroup in question sounds any different from the musicians’ original bands, because what’s the point of listening to the supergroup if they sound like something they’ve already done or continue to do? A few months ago, supergroup L.S. Dunes was announced, including Anthony Green of Saosin and Circa Survive fame, along with Frank Iero of My Chemical Romance, and members of Thursday and Coheed & Cambria, so in other words, that’s a who’s who of 00s post-hardcore. I mean, Thursday is a pioneer of the early to mid-00s post-hardcore scene, along with Saosin’s 2003 EP that Green was apart of (until he rejoined the band in 2018 0r 2019), and My Chemical Romance doesn’t need an introduction, unless you’ve been living under a rock, because they’re one of the biggest bands in the entire world, who ultimately ended up as the poster children for that 00s scene, thanks to 2004′s Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge, and 2006′s The Black Parade. There’s a lot of pedigree here, and a lot of people, myself included, were wondering what this band is going to sound like. I never listened to any of the singles, because I wanted to check out the album as a whole to keep myself surprised. I was also kind of apprehensive about L.S. Dunes, because I’ve never been that big of an Anthony Green fan, at least after 2010, anyway. I do like some of his stuff, as the debut EP with Saosin is great, and his early work with Circa Survive, or his 2008 debut solo album is really solid, but he has an issue of all of his vocals sounding very similar. He’s got a great voice, but he just isn’t good with hooks, although it could just be Circa Survive, as that’s where he’s spent most of his time recently, and they were never a hook-heavy band, either. I don’t know, I just haven’t been a fan of his vocals for the last handful of years, so I didn’t know what to expect with Past Lives. I’ve given this album a handful of listens in the last few days that the album’s been out (as of writing this, anyway), and I have plenty of thoughts on it, but here’s the short version -- if you like post-hardcore from the early to mid-00s, you’ll like this, because it sounds like it came right out of 2005, but that’s it. Okay, that’s kind of unfair, because there are a few more things to talk about on this album, but yeah, there’s not much to this thing at all, which is both a good and a bad thing, In some respects, it works to its favor, but it also hinders the album, too. Let’s talk about what works, first and foremost, and there are a lot of good things here. This album is overall quite good, and although my dated post-hardcore comment was slightly in jest, there is some truth to that that I’ll talk about later on, but I digress. Funnily enough, its sound is one thing I do really like. They have that old-school post-hardcore sound that sounds great, especially on the song “Permanent Rebellion,” which might be the best song here, because it really showcases everything they do, including Green’s screams and cleans, a heavier and lighter post-hardcore sound, and Green’s abstract and poetic lyricism that he’s known for. Songs like “2022,” “Antibodies,” “Grey Veins,” and a few more that have that sound, but they showcase how good Green’s vocals are. He is one of the best singers of this style, and it shows; his voice has aged like fine wine, and if you love his voice, you’ll love it here. As much as I like its sound, that’s also its biggest hinderance, because this is a generic post-hardcore album at its, well, core. There’s nothing unique, special, or new about this. It’s interesting, and it keeps my attention, but the more I listen to it, the more I wonder why I’m listening to it when the members’ original bands exist. I could listen just listen to Circa Survive instead, and their earlier work is better, anyway. Not to diminish the effort that these guys have put in, but this is kind of just a typical post-hardcore album, and that’s it. Green sounds great, but he sounds like he’s on autopilot, too, as he seems to be recycling vocals from Circa, and it just doesn’t hold up too well over multiple listens. This is one of those albums that loses its sheen the more you listen, because it sounds great on first impressions, but you’re just like, “Why would I listen to this when it reminds me of better stuff?” Everything just sounds like something I’ve heard before, for better or worse, and you might not get bothered by that if you really love it, but if you’re picky or you want something better, you might feel the same way I do. I’ve gotten a few listens out of it, but not as much as I thought. I’m not dying to go back to it, minus a couple of songs, because most of it doesn’t do anything for me after multiple listens. I don’t know, folks, this record is good, and everyone sounds great here, but at the same time, it sounds like everyone is on autopilot and this just sounds like every other 2005 post-hardcore band, so take that as you will. It seems to lean too hard into its nostalgia, and that can be a good or bad thing, depending on how you look at it. I’d recommend it, because it’s still very good, but your mileage will vary, depending on how you feel about post-hardcore as a whole. 

#l.s. dunes #anthony green #frank iero #my chemical romance #circa survive #saosin #coheed & cambria #post-hardcore #thursday #metalcore #alternative

[alwaysnervouswitchprince]

What would you think if Chloe and Audrey heard rumours about the way they were going to be portrayed in Astruc’s new movie, so they went back to Paris in an unsuccessful attempt to stop the movie from being completed? Then an evilized villain (maybe a wishmaker-like villain or maybe even a villain that's unrelated to the butterfly miraculous) caused Chloe and Zoe to switch bodies somehow, and nobody fully understands what's going on, so Zoe (in Chloe's body) is taken by Audrey back to New York, despite Zoe desperately trying to explain things. But Chloe enters a fugue state (heavily due to trauma caused by the neglect of her parents) and genuinely thinks she's Zoe, and is even able to recall many of the things Zoe did due to being in Zoe's body. The class thinks “Zoe's” change in behavior is due to the psychological effects of method acting, since “Zoe” is playing Chloe in Astruc's new movie, but they gradually convince “Zoe” to let them help her relearn how to be “herself” again. Meanwhile, in New York, Zoe is trying to get back to Paris, but when she gets there, “Zoe” thinks she’s there to try to hurt Marinette.

Eventually, after listening to “Chloe”, Marinette starts to suspect that “Chloe” might be telling the truth, so she decides that she must test “Chloe” and “Zoe”. She fakes being in danger to see how they react. “Zoe” reacts slightly faster than “Chloe”, so Marinette comes to the conclusion that “Chloe” is lying and that “Chloe” has an evil and manipulative plan. Marinette thinks that “Chloe” must have picked up a few tricks from Lila, because she thinks no version of Chloe could possibly react faster than Zoe when it comes to protecting her. So Audrey takes “Zoe” back to New York again to “correct” her after “Zoe” fails to convince anyone of the truth.

10 years later, “Zoe” gets seriously injured after fighting a villain when Ladybug isn’t around, which causes “Zoe” to not have long to live. Then Ladybug accidentally stumbles upon the truth about “Zoe” while trying to help “Zoe” using magical powers. Ladybug decides that the moral thing to do is to switch Chloe and Zoe back to their original bodies. Once Zoe gets her body back, she blames Chloe for her impending death and for leaving her with 10 years of loneliness, while Chloe got off scot-free. When Lila gets defeated, Zoe steals the Butterfly Miraculous to get her hands on Ladybug and Catnoir’s miraculouses, hoping to “make things right”. Zoe gets defeated by the heroes (including Chloe, who has gotten her memories back) and Ladybug manages to cure Zoe’s injuries.

Holly shit dude that's sick! I love AUs where things get mixed up and change. I love Chloe, she's my favourite and she really has potential as we saw until asstruc™ go on an ruined it but it really ended up more of a tragedy like someone else said in a post, by Marinette forcing Chloe out of her life where she plays a villain Chloe has to be the victim of her story and i think that's really poetic. I love when "villains" are only villains for other people while having their reasons and trauma etc. which the "main characters" can't see or understand.

This au can also be interpreted as Chloe when given a chance with people not treating her like devil incarnate can be better and i think that just shows how hypocritical everyone else is. It can also be a way for Zoe to understand why change is so hard for Chloe rather than her actually hating her sister. Even when she's being Zoe and being nice as long as people see Chloe's face they call her all kinds of things behind her back and to her face. I think she might start hating the "good people of Paris" rather than blaming Chloe because when she first came to Paris everyone was nice without even knowing anything about her, only hesitating when they heard her sister is Chloe, even then the immediate though they had was "she's actually secretly nice but Chloe is what's wrong" when it was Zoe acting how she did whenever she was around people before coming to Paris, sure that's an act but Chloe isn't the one who made her start doing that, it was Zoe herself who deals with her trauma caused by their mother and people around her just like how Chloe is determined to be like their mother so she loves her own daughter, it's literally the same trauma but she has no one who teach her what's wrong or right, only thing nice she knows is her dad drowning her with gifts not taking care of her, and only people who might've been helpful (hotel staff) she can't possibly listen to because she's conditioned to belittle and hate them since birth.

It'd be cool if Chloe and Zoe worked together against the people who would rather send Chloe to hell before they can even think about her not actually being a villain and more of a victim of abuse and not having a parent figure that isn't abusive or only spoils her to the point she doesn't know what being loved means other than having money and gifts.

They could even do the whole stealing miraculous thing but being more of a vigilante duo rather than villains but Ladybug still want to get the miraculous back and seeing the sisters more of a villain while the people of Paris slowly warms up to them since they're mostly helping people in a different more emotional way while researching a way to switch back to their own bodies.

I can see Marinette and at first Chat Noir alongside with Alya and most of Paris hating them seeing them as Hawk Moth 3.0 but slowly seeing that they're not evil (probably except Marinette at first until maybe they found out the truth or thinking this was a trap to gain trust so they can take over the world or something because she's also traumatized and have trust issues alongside paranoia)

Eventually as the sisters use miraculous to help people rather than villainy people start to trust them and they continue to try finding a way to turn back. They also try people to give Chloe (Zoe) a chance while Chloe as Zoe starts to get better and heal without all the drama and hypocrisy from Parisians especially her classmates since she has to go to Zoe's class for now and is away from people who hate her more than others.

#miraculous au #miraculous ladybug #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #miraculous lb #chloe bourgeois #zoe lee #chloe burgeois and zoe lee #chloe burgeois and zoe lee are sisters #ladybug and chat noir #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #chloe burgeois redemption #chloe bourgeois deserves better #zoe lee deserves better #body swap #body swap au #vigilante chloe burgeois and zoe lee #or #anti hero chloe burgeois and zoe lee #good chloe burgeois #good zoe lee #they're just trying to switch back to their bodies your honour #also they're traumatized™ #bad parenting #bad parent andre bourgeois #bad parent audrey bourgeois #bad parents andre bourgeois and audrey bourgeois #someone get all of them to therapy and give their therapists therapists #hurt chloe bourgeois #hurt zoe lee

[coll2mitts]

#58 Phantom of the Paradise (1974)

Happy Halloween!  Let's show these industry music phonies what a REAL artist looks and sounds like by murdering everyone that goes against our vision!

I will admit, I had absolutely no idea what I was getting into watching Phantom of the Paradise, and how intense its Phans are.  Its production is probably one of the most well documented out of all the movies I’ve written about on this list so far... so much so I had to cut off my research phase before the materials ran out because I never would have released this on time otherwise.  Conventions, and interviews, and painstakingly written breakdowns of every scene in the movie, oh my!

I’m going to have to release a redux version of this next year, aren’t I?

I thought this would be a weird 70s rock version of The Phantom of the Opera, which it is, but it is also Faust, A Picture of Dorian Gray, and like 3 decades worth of musical genres.  Phantom of the Paradise is directed by Brian De Palma, who is probably more well-known for his work on Carrie and Scarface.  I've never seen a single one of his movies, but that's OK, everything I need to know about him is succinctly outlined in this review of The Black Dahlia, and while you could prolly watch the entire movie in the time it takes you to watch Willie's recap of it, why would you want to?  

Apparently Mr. De Palma wrote Phantom of the Paradise after hearing a muzak version of The Beatles in an elevator and was so salty about it he had to make an entire movie about the music industry bastardizing creative genius and like, sure.  This isn't the first movie on this list to bitch about how exploitative the music and film industries can be, but this is the only one where the dude wears a metal bird helmet and murders people.

Phantom begins like any other Twilight Zone episode, with narration from Rod Serling warning us a monster may live in the opera house, but it might not appear as one in the beginning.  Then we're introduced to The Juicy Fruits, Death Records' latest retro musical act, put together by their President and first bird-related character name, Swan.  They sing a song about how some dude killed himself to sell more records, which isn't at all foreshadowing the events that happen later in the film.  After they're done recording, some Ben Folds motherfucker who was acting as their pianist starts playing exerts from his original cantata Faust.  

Swan likes what he hears and asks his lackey Arnold Philbin to get a few songs from the ironically named Winslow Leach so The Juicy Fruits can record them.  When the doo-wop band is mentioned, Winslow loses his absolute shit and insists "Faust" can only be sung by him and him alone.  Arnold is like, "Cool, dude, that's chill, just give me a few of the songs from your weirdly long 300 page sonata and Swan will think about producing your new album."  Winslow gives up the goods and Swan *surprisingly* never contacts him again.

About a month later, Winslow tries to approach Swan at Death Records, and immediately I'm reminded of greasy pop-punk kids wearing Atticus t-shirts roaming the halls of my high school.  In Phantom, this logo was awkwardly plastered over building signs, podiums, television sets, tape recorders, cameras, and whole mess of other things in post-production, and it uhhh, stood out.  

I thought perhaps this was to cut costs on props, but turns out these signs originally read "Swan Song Records", which is morbidly poetic.  Unfortunately for everyone involved, Led Zeppelin formed Swan Song Records in the time between the film finished shooting and the film being released.  To avoid a lawsuit, 20th Century Fox forced the team to edit out any references to Swan Song, and it is super noticeable and several years later people are still screaming about releasing the Swan Song cut.

Winslow gets booted from the building, and tracks Swan down at his home compound, Swanage.  TURNS OUT, Swan is holding auditions for his latest rock opera, Faust!  Winslow meets Phoenix while she's rehearsing his song while waiting and instantly falls in love.  He reveals he wrote the song, and she fawns over him in an attempt to get cast in the background chorus.  He takes her kindness as a sign of affection, and spends the rest of the movie obsessed with her.  

After Philbin tries to casting-couch Phoenix and she runs off, Winslow disguises himself as a hot chick in order to gain access to Swan.  He politely inquires what the fuck is up with Swan yanking Faust out from under him, and the confrontation goes about as well as expected.  Winslow gets physically removed, framed for possession of heroin, and lugged off to do time in the aptly named Sing Sing.

Swan, played by Paul Williams, is also the composer of this film.  He wrote songs for the Muppet-based movies that appear on this list, including "The Rainbow Connection", "Movin' Right Along", and "When Love is Gone", but also found success writing for pop acts like Daft Punk, David Bowie and The Carpenters.  While Phantom of the Paradise pretty much bombed upon release, the soundtrack went gold in Canada because 20k copies of it were sold in my motherland of Winnipeg, Manitoba.  For context, that's 40% of its total record sales.  The movie had a 18-week run in the city, and had a brief resurgence later that summer when Paul Williams played a concert there.  There have been a few retrospectives conducted to understand why exactly Winnipeg, of all places, clung to this story, including an entire feature-length documentary that I couldn't watch because you can't stream it anywhere.  There's been several Phantompaloozas hosted there for fuck’s sake.  But best I can tell, it really caught on with the kids in Winnipeg because it was marketed toward children on television.  The author of this article regaled a time where him and his other school-aged buddies would reenact scenes from it at recess, which is equal measures delightful as it is disturbing.

Winslow is having a terrible time in prison, as the Swan Foundation pulled all his teeth as part of what they called “Dental Health Research”.  6 months later, while Winslow is assembling board games as part of the government's legalized slavery program, he overhears his worse nightmare - The Juicy Fruits are going to be opening Swan's new venue, The Paradise, with Faust!  Winslow is so incensed by this, he hulks out of prison and attempts to destroy the recordings at Death Records.  He instead gets his head caught in a record press, becoming horribly disfigured with a copy of his bastardized work.  

When Winslow reappears, he is sporting a lovely metal beak and an appetite for revenge!  During rehearsals for the new 60s surf-rock branded Juicy Fruits, the Phantom starts the kill counter by blowing up a car on stage.

The fact there are not one, but two uncut shots on the screen at one time is bananas.

Swan seems generally unaffected by this, and tries to appease Winslow by offering him a job.  Swan invites Winslow to attend auditions so his vision for Faust can be realized properly.  Phoenix is there, and after agreeing to sell her voice to Swan, Winslow also agrees to rewrite the cantata with Phoenix’s performance in mind.  Winslow then signs a contract in blood without a lawyer present after Swan fucked him over once before, because it seems Winslow is incapable of learning anything from the story of Faust, even when he's currently living the plot.  

Swan begins to conduct his own secret auditions to replace Phoenix as a lead, seated at a desk that Ron Swanson would be disgusted by.

Swan settles on a showy glam-rock star named Meatloaf Beef, which presumably is the opposite of what Winslow wants.  Beef is from Transylvania, so of course they introduce him by having him emerge from a coffin growling.  On the day of the show’s opening, Swan drugs Winslow, grabs his latest version of the Cantata, and Cask of Amontillado's him into his recording studio.

Winslow hulks himself out of that, as well, and decides to threaten Beef's life in the shower, psycho-style.

For a second, Beef forgot about Winslow's whole thinly-veiled death threat thing, and he wondered how clean the plunger was.  

Beef tries to leave the production, but is convinced to stay when Arnold offers him drugs.  This was the wrong call, because moments later, after the newly 70s-updated Juicy Fruits build a Franken-Beef on stage, Winslow makes good on his threat and electrocutes him.

Then, out of the flames of Beef's corpse, Phoenix arises to sing a Karen Carpenter-esque ballad to calm the crowd down.

Winslow is comforted by Phoenix's performance, but so is Swan.  He goes into her dressing room and propositions her for sex, and she's so excited by her future career as a recording artist, she goes back to Swanage and fucks him.  Winslow watches this uncomfortably long love scene through a skylight and decides to stab himself out of grief.  The wound doesn't kill him, however, as Swan informs Winslow that because he signed a contract, he can't die until Swan does.  And also, just for funsies, Swan is immortal because he is under a mysterious contract as well.

Winslow discovers a tape in Swan's recording studio that reveals the secret of his success.  Swan, during a suicide attempt, makes a deal with the devil to stay young forever.  As long as the recording of the deal stays intact, Swan will never age, much like The Picture of Dorian Gray.  It's also revealed that all Swan learned from the Beef debacle is that crowds love murder, so he arranges to marry Phoenix on television at the end of Faust, and have her assassinated on stage shortly afterward to boost the ratings for sweeps week.  Winslow decides he needs to stop this immediately and destroys the videotape, damning himself and Swan to die.

While the records room burns, the Paradise is hoppin' in anticipation for Swan and Phoenix's wedding.  Winslow shoots the priest, which causes a mild frenzy, but not enough to keep people from partying.  He then stabs and kills Swan, which reopens his own stab wound, and The Phantom dies splayed out on the carpet with his one milky eyeball hanging out.  Phoenix can only look on in horror with the knowledge she'll need years and years of therapy to process the last 2 minutes of her life.

I saw this movie compared with Rocky Horror Picture Show several times while diving into this, and there are some parallels.  Both are rock horror musicals, both have a flashy frankenstein’s monster, and they were released within a year of each other.  Other than those surface level items, I don’t think it’s a fair comparison.  Watching Phantom of the Paradise is a weirdly unique experience, as the film acknowledges its campy nature, but still works hard to drive home the overlying message that creative industries care nothing for artistic endeavors and only want to make money.

I’m reminded of a statement former Disney CEO Michael Eisner used in a memo once, which yeah.. I know, hear me out.  He was the head of the company during the Disney Renaissance, and for all the questionable decisions he did make, those movies saved the company.  In an internal memo sent out during his time at Paramount, he riffed on a Don Simpson quote, “We have no obligation to make art. We have no obligation to make history. We have no obligation to make a statement. But to make money, it is often important to make history, to make art, or to make some significant statement… In order to make money, we must always make entertaining movies, and if we make entertaining movies, at times we will reliably make history, art, a statement, or all three. We may even win awards… We cannot expect numerous hits, but if every film has an original and imaginative concept, then we can be confident that something will break through.”

Now, this quote was taken from Disney War, and I couldn’t get a copy of the book to verify it, but I see it floating around in Disney forums constantly to justify why Eisner was the worst CEO ever because he said money was the primary goal of movie making.  But this statement is an insightful peek behind the curtain.  Disney is a business.  20th Century Fox is a business, and if they made a ton of movies that had artistic merit, but didn’t make them money, they’d have to stop making movies.  The goal of businesses is to make money so you can stay in business.

All this to say, yes, being exploited by a huge machine who has more power and money than God is absolutely wrong.  Swan isn’t justified in stealing Winslow’s work and murdering people to make The Paradise more successful.  But hearing a Muzak rendition of "A Day in the Life” isn’t quite the horror Brian De Palma made it out to be.  The Beatles have always been making that bag, so tone it down a bit.

#100 best musical movies of all time rotten tomatoes #unwarranted opinion

[astronomical-bagel]

the thing about desert duo/scarian for me is that every. single. time. Scar dies Grian screams out his name like Scar's the last person in the world. like he forgets that Scar's not on his last life anymore. like they're back in the sand again.

#like why does he do that hes killing me #/pos #someone should make a compilation of grian's horrified screams when scar dies methinks #desert duo #i might make a more poetic version of this post later who knows #scarian #hermitshipping #trafficshipping #grian #gtws #hermitcraft #trafficblr #third life #monopoly mountain #last life #grian last life #last life gtws #goodtimeswithscar #hermitcraft grian

[miekasa]

love talk

+ pairings: eren yeager + (fem) reader

+ genres and warnings: it’s not important that eren is a tattoo artist i just wanted to share bc i gave him tattoos here :’), fluff i think, smut/nsfw content, if you see a hint of eremin then no you don’t </2

+ word count: almost 2k, sickening innit luv

+ notes: yeah, still thinking about eren speaking german during sex bc he’s losing his mind hehe. i suppose this is the… softer version. might post another one later, who knows. and yes, i did almost name this pussy talk. 

Unbeknownst to him, Eren Jaeger speaks three languages.

The first two are obvious, but English is his preferred language; the one you’ll find him speaking most often. It only makes sense, seeing as it’s what the overwhelming majority of people, media, and signs spew at him.

The second is more reserved; something you might assume given his name, but not know for sure unless you asked, or stuck around long enough to catch him rambling excitedly to Armin in German, with broken slang phrases of English interspersed. It’s fascinating—cute, moreover—the way he stumbles back and forth between both tongues; and the difference in tone between them. You’re not sure if your own bias is peeking through, but you’re certain Eren and Armin both sound a little… meaner in German; more sarcastic, at the very least—and you wouldn’t be surprised to find out they were talking shit the whole time.

Though, there is a special, reserved intonation to his mother tongue that shows itself when Eren’s around you. It doesn’t seem to be by choice—gone beyond comprehension that he’s forced to revert to grunted expressions and curses in a language foreign to his surroundings. You assume them to be curses; you never can confirm, and Eren seems to not even be aware of his switching in the heat of the moment, can never quite recall what he was saying to you.

There are times when he’s reduced to mere sounds, no comprehensible words between the hundreds of thousands he knows—only guttural moans, and breathy sighs, and he seems to not even be able to understand himself. You have to admit, it’s a bit of an ego boost to be able to fuck your boyfriend stupid in two languages.

And at first glance, Eren doesn’t seem like the type of guy to know about anything outside of himself. He doesn’t seem like the full-sleeve, three ear piercing, tattoo artist kinda kid; but Eren Jaeger speaks the language of pictures, of symbols, of images, that he is able to decipher and give meaning to upon creation. He’s got a penchant for art, and a vision bigger than himself, so it’s only right that he takes his knowledge and applies it in its most permanent form. The tattoos are more than a hobby for him—they’re an extension of himself, his art, his language; and his body is the only canvas fit enough to capture them.

So, here, with Eren laying on his back, chest exposed, arms bent for his hands to rest against your waist, you get to see the culmination of all the words and all the pictures, from all the languages he’s deemed important enough to find a place on his skin.

“Do all of your tattoos have a meaning?” you question, reaching your hand up to trace over the delicate waves that ride along his right collarbone.

“No,” Eren winces when you move—just enough of him to feel an ounce of friction inside of you, but not enough to give him what he wants. He wiggles himself a bit, desperate for something, “Not at all.”

It makes you chuckle, with a sort of disbelief, at both his words and his actions, “You get things tattooed on your body that don’t mean anything to you?”

Eren lets out a shaky breath, followed with a boyish smile. He blinks at you slowly, lids fluttering and hands gripping tightly at your body, “Learned that not everything has to have a deep meaning to want to keep it around,” he tells you, right palm moving to venture over your tummy, and up your sides, “Somethings you just love.”

You don’t miss the lilt in his voice on the word ‘love,’ but you play it off, rolling your eyes at his deliberately sweet affections, and then, gently, your hips, “Pretty poetic for something with no meaning.”

“Yeah, well, Armin taught me that,” Eren grits, hands fastening themselves at your hips again.

“You talk about Armin a lot when we’re in bed you know,” you taunt him, moving your fingers to trace over more of the tattoos that litter his right shoulder, “Something I should know about?”

Eren shivers at the feeling—of your fingertips on his skin, and what he swears was an intentional clench around him, “You don’t seem to mind.”

You smile at him, enjoying the contortions of his face when you run your hands down his chest, palms pressed lightly against his pelvic bone. Eren bends a knee, but does he best to remain still, and you can’t help but to chuckle. He looks pretty when he’s trying his best.

“I’m greedy,” you tell him, raising your hips, and pausing in your words as you slowly lower yourself back on to him.

“Trust me,” Eren scoffs, a façade to cover up his reddening cheeks and shaky thighs, “I know.”

He tries to move his hips up, desperate for something more; for you to fucking move, but, you keep your hips perfectly still. Instead, you reach your arms behind you, and onto Eren’s thighs, cementing them to the bed. He groans, his hands sliding down to your own thighs, fingertips digging into your flesh.

“And you called me greedy,” you huff, amused, as Eren rolls his eyes beneath you. When you’re sure he’s not going to move, you bring your arms back around, palms splayed on his stomach, “Relax. This is what you asked for, isn’t it?”

“Honestly, in an ideal world, this would be happening when I was playing COD, not when I was already impossibly hard with morning wood. And with a lot less teasing on your part.”

You have to laugh—genuinely giggle—at Eren’s blunt honesty. He’s unintentionally charming; another linguistic skill he seems unaware that he’s proficient in. You can tell he doesn’t understand the source of your amusement, but the look in his eyes, the twinkle in his irises lets you know he’s too far gone to even care.

“Call it a lesson in self-control,” you say, moving your hands to his sides in time with a shallow grind of your hips, “Besides, I’m admiring you.”

Eren keeps his hands anchored on your thighs, shivering at sensitivity of his dick coupled with your hands stroking over his pecs, “Lesson fucking learning—babe, fuck, please—”

“Shh—not yet,” you coo, and reach to pull his arms off of you, leaving you with room to admire his sleeve. You take pity on him, holding his right wrist with both of your hands, before slowly beginning to bounce on him.

Eren squirms, his free hand reaching to grab at the flesh of your ass, eyes blinking open to watch his cock be buried inside of you. The relief is instant—for the both of you—immediate groans and shallow profanities slipping past your lips as you build a steady pace to ride him.

“Tell—tell me what this one means,” you question slowly, keeping your right hand around his wrist, but using your left to point to the tattoo; a stylized line art of crossed wings.

“Some shit about freedom,” Eren grunts, fingers twitching, “Fuck, babe—more, please, I’ll—”

Eren cuts himself off with a whine, and you hiss yourself, lifting your body all the way to the tip, before lowering yourself again at an agonizingly slow pace. At this rate, you can feel everything; every vein on his shaft, every twitch of his cock. You feel Eren deep inside of you, even see where the bulge outlines your tummy.

You still yourself for just a second, catching your breath, anchoring yourself on Eren. You’re pretty far gone yourself, but you want more; for yourself, and for him. You do your best to stay coherent, slowly grinding atop of him, questioning him about another tattoo on his arm, ignoring the way his palm grips at your bicep. It’s a small one, with detailed Japanese characters that you can’t understand, but appreciate anyway; it’s one of your favorites, and you ask Eren about its meaning, clenching yourself around him as punctuation to your question.  

Eren sucks air between his teeth, left hand pulling back to run his fingers through his hair, a grunted word in German falling from his lips. You smirk, but let him try to answer you.

“I don’t fucken’ know,” Eren grumbles, head thrashing from side to side, “It’s really fucken’ hard to remember anything—shit—like this. S’fucking torture.”

“Hm,” you hum, not satisfied; eager for more of Eren’s love language, “Tell me something in German, instead, then.”

But Eren can only babble beneath you; sounds incoherent in either language—reduced to desperate whines and grabby hands at your thighs, waist, boobs—anything. You lean forward, letting go of Eren’s tattooed wrist, and reaching to ghost your fingers over his lips.

“Come on, Eren, you’re usually so good at it when we do this,” you taunt him, words coated in sweetness that distract you from keeping up your pace, “Just want you to talk pretty to me. Tell me something, baby.”

Eren’s eyes travel from your fingertips, up your arm, neck, and to your face. When he meets your gaze something shifts; eyes heavy with want, and bitter with dissatisfaction.

So, he reaches for your extended hand, laces your fingers together, “Something like what?”

You wrap your fingers around his, then do the same with your left hand, “Anything.”

“Anything?”

“Yeah,” you affirm with a smile, finally satisfied.

Eren grunts, bending his right knee for leverage before he flips you over, hands still intertwined, but now pinned over your head, harshly pressed into the pillows below. He buries his head into the crook of your neck; licking a stripe along your collarbone, where you’d teased him minutes before. Then up, up, up, your neck to the shell of your ear, retreating downwards to suck on the skin just beneath your ear, nipping with pointed teeth.

Eren keeps his weight on you, the length of his cock sliding over your slick folds while he bites angry, red blotches into your skin—a kind of impermanent tattoo of his own making on your body. The friction is good, but not enough, and you wonder if Eren intends on teasing you as long as you’d done to him; but, he breathes heavy breaths up your neck again, before mumbling a series of foreign syllables into your ear.

He hovers over your face, satisfied by the daze in your eyes; the slight openness of your mouth. It’s you who looks dumbstruck now, a foreigner to his ministrations; and for once, he’s in control with his second tongue.

“What—what does that mean?” you finally ask, squeezing your eyes briefly when Eren teases the tip just past your entrance.

Eren chuckles, airy, gritty, and cocky all at once. He pushes his cock inside of you, balls deep, only to pull out almost all the way, before leaning forward just slightly, so that his bottom lip grazes over yours.

“It means I love you,” he whispers, hips bucking forward, “Try to remember that, ‘cause I swear I’m gonna fuck you stupid, baby.”

#aot x reader #snk x reader #eren x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren smut #eren jaeger x reader #levi x reader #aot smut #aot imagines #snk imagines #eren fluff

[impalementation]

spike, angel, buffy & romanticism: part 1

I said a long ways back that I thought the switch from Angel to Spike as Buffy’s primary love interest represented an interesting evolution in the show’s attitude towards—and interrogation of—romanticism, and I finally felt like expanding on what I meant by that. This is very long, very meandering, and not terribly academic or well-edited, but I hope there’s something of interest in it nonetheless. It is about 20,000 words in total, and will discuss, in more or less chronological order, the arc of the show’s attitude towards romanticism as it is embodied in Spike, Angel, Buffy and Buffy’s relationships with both of them. I was going to release it as one long post, but because it’s so long, I figured a series of posts might be more readable. Here’s the first one.

* 

“When you kiss me I want to die”: Angel and the high school seasons

Both Spike and Angel are at once capital-R Romantic figures, and lower-case romantic interests, and in both cases that Romantic/romantic duality is what makes them such effective avatars for ideas around romanticism. In the case of Angel, the show is aware from the beginning that he is very much a Romantic idea of something. In “Welcome to the Hellmouth” Buffy describes him as “dark” and “gorgeous”, evoking the “tall, dark and handsome” cliche. He’s mysterious. He gives her a necklace and his coat, gestures out of high school romance fiction.* In “Out of Mind, Out of Sight” Giles lampshades the romance of him: “A vampire in love with a Slayer. It’s rather poetic, in a maudlin sort of way.” Initially, Angel is basically designed to be a teenage girl fantasy, and it’s no coincidence that his successors like Edward Cullen or Stefan Salvatore conform to similar tropes.

*(Think of how five seasons later, a vampire will give Dawn his letterman jacket in “All the Way”. It’s hard not to read as a deliberate echo of Angel’s gift in season one. Once again, a vampire makes romantic gestures towards a high school version of “Buffy”, and later turns on her. But more on this much later in the series.)

The difference between Angel and those other, more typical Supernatural Romance love interests however, is that the show ultimately attempts to subvert the romance of him. As part of its commentary on Gothic themes, season two makes Angel more Romantic than ever (the Claddagh, the tormented past), and makes the romance between him and Buffy central to the story in a way it wasn’t in season one. And then, of course, the season tears it all apart. The first time we learn what Angel did to Drusilla it’s horrifying, but still somehow abstract. Something that seems more like it’s meant to contribute to Angel’s dangerous, Byronic image. As in, something to make him more Romantic. And then suddenly it becomes real. Suddenly, it’s something that Angel could do to Buffy, or the people Buffy cares about. It turns out that his darkly romantic aura was not just an aura, but genuinely dark all along.

In turn, Angel’s devastating transformation is a metaphor for broader disillusionment about romantic ideas. It’s less to me about a “guy going bad after sex”, and more about what it means and feels like to have the scales fall from one’s eyes in that sort of situation. As Buffy copes with the fallout of Angel’s transformation, and later is forced to kill him, I see it as being about the tragedy of having to see the world in ways that are less simple, easy, or pretty as one gets older. As Buffy and Giles say in “Lie To Me”:

BUFFY: Nothing's ever simple anymore. I'm constantly trying to work it out. Who to love or hate. Who to trust. It's just, like, the more I know, the more confused I get. 

GILES: I believe that's called growing up. 

For more on this, I recommend this livejournal post on “Lie To Me”, which goes into great depth on the way season two frames stories as pretty lies that one needs to look beneath, and how Buffy’s romanticization of Angel symbolizes that.

The whole arc of the season is Buffy’s failure to see the danger presented by Angel. In this opening scene that danger is foreshadowed. More to the point for this essay, Angel goes on to lie to Buffy about having encountered Drusilla. He doesn’t want Buffy to know about the nature of Angelus – which means that his first inclination is to mask the danger he presents to Buffy. This is one episode after Halloween, where Buffy’s romantic fantasies about what Angel wants (a damsel) nearly get her killed. Nor is she completely over those fantasies, as she notes that the mystery woman talking to Angel had a pretty old-fashioned dress. So against the backdrop of Buffy’s fantasies about her dark and mysterious boyfriend we have the truth about what he is, which is quite horrifying.

Season three then takes this to another level, by not just pointing out the darkness of the romance of Angel, but in fact puncturing his romantic image. Instead of emphasizing his dangerousness, as season two did, season three emphasizes his adulthood. It emphasizes the way that Angel is someone Buffy sees in secret, or away from her friends. He’s not integrated with her teenage, high school life, and doesn’t fit with the peppy, high school movie aesthetic that characterizes a lot of season three. By doing this, the writing indicates that at this point in their lives, Buffy and Angel are ultimately incompatible and holding each other back. Regardless of however much they might care for each other, Angel can’t fully appreciate her teenage longings like dances, and college, and having a boyfriend. And Buffy can’t fully appreciate his adult need to find himself on his own terms. By the end of season three, Angel is less of a shadowy, tragic figure, and more just an adult man who needs to finally grow up a bit.

Season three also starts making jokes where the punchline is that Angel isn’t living up to the romantic aesthetic he embodied in seasons one and two. In “Helpless”, for example, he and Buffy have an exchange where he waxes sincerely about wanting to “keep [her heart] safe, to warm it with [his own]” and although Buffy says the sentiment is beautiful, a second later she deadpans: “Or taken literally, incredibly gross.” To which Angel replies, “I was just thinking that, too.” Or in “Graduation Day, Part 1”, Angel trips on a doorway instead of making a silent entrance and Buffy again deadpans: “Stealthy.” Angel’s romance slips at moments when Buffy herself is feeling weak, either because she has lost her Slayer powers, or she’s investigating the scene of her sister Slayer’s crime. Her Romantic Slayer half is betraying her, and her romantic girlish half is feeling insecure. This is echoed by the reminder that Angel is no longer a straightforward fantasy man--or a terrifying, larger-than-life villain--but a guy who is sometimes both verbally and physically inelegant. 

(Notice how one of the few times season two makes similar jokes about Angel it’s in “Lie to Me”, the very same episode that begins to peel off the layers of deceptions and unknowns about him. Angel slumps around Willow’s bedroom and jokes about “honing [his] brooding skills”, he insists that the vampire wannabes know nothing about vampires right before a guy walks by wearing his exact outfit, and Xander runs color commentary, saying “you’re not wrong” after each of Ford’s observations. In “Lie to Me” one of Angel’s hidden faces is his dangerousness, yes. But another hidden face is simply his human awkwardness.)

There’s an interesting Slayage piece by Elizabeth Gilliland that discusses the idea of Angel as a Gothic double for Buffy, specifically connecting him to the story of Jekyll and Hyde. It argues that Angel’s split identities represent Buffy’s fears that her human and Slayer halves are irreconcilable, and she cannot fully control either half. In season three, the fact that Buffy and Angel must continuously resist a loss of control with each other, and are treated as romantically incompatible, reflects this fear. 

In Season Three, replete with various factors in Buffy’s life that threaten to put her role as Slayer and girl into imbalance once more [...] Angel once again returns [...]. The season culminates in an attempted attack on Buffy’s classmates during graduation, which essentially forces her to “out” herself to her community and combine her roles as Slayer and daughter, classmate, and friend for the first time publicly (“Graduation Day: Part 2” 3.22). The worst has happened: her secret has been revealed, the entire school knows about both of her personas, and she has not only survived, but emerged with a stronger sense of self [...] Buffy has conquered her first Gothic fear, and proven to herself that she can not only exercise control over both dualities of her persona, but allow them to peacefully co-exist. Thus, Angel’s continuing struggle with Angelus can no longer act as her shadow, and he literally and metaphorically leaves her to continue the rest of her journey.

It’s an interpretation I mostly agree with, and see a lot of evidence for. But in keeping with the focus of this series, I think you could also read Angel as embodying a duality between the romantic and the unromantic. In this view, Buffy’s struggle between her human and her Slayer halves is not just a struggle between personas, but a struggle to see the world correctly. In season one, it’s not Angel that revives Buffy in “Prophecy Girl”, because Angel is a vampire trope just like the Master. He cannot help her, because he is exactly the kind of traditional romantic concept--like a candle-lit cavern, an ancient Nosferatu-looking vampire, or a Chosen Hero duty--that Buffy is trying to escape. In season two, loss of control is specifically associated with passion, romance, and romanticism. Buffy’s human half longs for the romantic, but her Slayer half, and Angel’s vampire half, prove that sometimes the romantic is something dangerous and violent. The fact that Buffy’s Slayer identity and Angel’s Angelus identity both end up being outed by the end of the season (especially to Joyce, a figure of Buffy’s human home life), echoes Buffy’s loss of innocence. Season three then continues this suspicion of passion. Buffy fears that like Faith, enjoying the violence and power and desire of being a Slayer, means that she will go down a dark path. She also fears that indulging in her sexual and romantic desire for Angel will unleash Angelus. To some extent, these fears are even borne out, given that her love for Angel results in her attempted murder of Faith, and near death at Angel’s hands. But to some extent they also aren’t, given that she, Faith and Angel all live. 

To me, what really gets resolved at the end of season three is not quite the issue of Buffy’s human and Slayer halves, given that Buffy will continue to struggle with that duality until the end of the show. Rather, what gets resolved is the need for binaries. Binaries are romantic things. When Giles gives his speech to Buffy at the end of “Lie To Me”, it is the language of binaries that he uses:

GILES: Yes, it's terribly simple. The good guys are always stalwart and true, the bad guys are easily distinguished by their pointy horns or black hats, and, uh, we always defeat them and save the day. No one ever dies, and everybody lives happily ever after. 

BUFFY: Liar.

In season three, Buffy thinks she must resist both Faith and Angel. She thinks she can only be either a human girl or a Slayer leader. Many plots in season three have to do with the danger of binaries, whether that’s the witch-hunting parents in “Gingerbread”, Willow dealing with her vampire self in “Doppelgangland”, the various alter-egos in “Beauty and the Beasts”, or Cordy choosing a Buffy-less world in “The Wish”. And no character in the Buffyverse embodies the concept of binaries so starkly as Angel does. Thus by the end of season three, Buffy collapses the binaries within herself by merging the human and Slayer parts of her life, as Gilliland observes, and taking on Faith’s traits. She acknowledges her shadow by kissing her tenderly on the forehead, and bids farewell to the illusions and binaries that Angel embodies. Buffy is leaving that part of her life behind, and starting a new chapter where she can no longer split either the world, or herself, into any one thing or another.

part 2: “Love isn’t brains, children”: Enter Spike as the id

#romanticism series #buffy #angel #s1 #s2 #s3 #s6 #gen #spike #btvs

[crackinwise]

My pet AU is Kiyotaka and Mondo somehow out in the post-Tragedy Japan, surviving and saving people. Like either they didn't agree to stay locked in Hope's Peak for safety, or they survived the game and left with the others but didn't join Future Foundation. Major points up front, details divided into sections under the cut:

Mondo's objective would be to find his gang, and Taka's goal, besides finding his dad, would be repairing society while punishing those responsible for its destruction. But their direct task is keeping each other safe & helping victims along the way.

Mondo even stresses calling Taka "Ishimaru" instead of "bro" or his given name in front of others, so they might KNOW who's saving them. Taka caught on quick & is very grateful.

Taka would have kind of a breakdown reconciling who he is with what he has to do in a lawless world where every public moral is ignored. He keeps a small ledger of places they loot from, to compensate in the future.

At the start, Taka can only sleep burrowed against Mondo's chest or back, blocking out their damaged surroundings & pretending everything is as it was.

He cries in Mondo's arms one night after he couldn't avoid killing someone to save Mondo's life, and that's the tipping point. He thinks if he was better, stronger like his bro, he'd have noticed sooner & found a better option. Mondo is being so brave; he's Taka's rock and Taka wants to be as steady for him too. Their souls are already connected so obviously he just has to borrow more of Mondo's spirit, right?

That's how Ishida is created.

(In reality, Mondo just compartmentalizes and shoves down unhelpful feelings. You thought he needed therapy BEFORE all this, oh man-)

Ishida:

Taka ends up slipping into the Ishida facade for fight and flight; any time adrenaline kicks in and he feels he needs that boost. Sadly, that's most of their waking time. He guards Mondo and anyone they're saving like a fierce watchdog, and won't hesitate to bite.

He'll only come out of the role when he personally verifies it's safe and if Mondo can confirm it. Survivors are confused by the dual-sided Ishimaru switching right in front of them, but they're so grateful (and so much weird crap has happened) that it never phases them long.

Too many times, Ishida will go all day without a break. This means when their hideout for the night is absolutely safe, that it's okay to let go, Taka just collapses in exhaustion. But Mondo is there to catch him.

Mondo feels conflicted over the Ishida role because Taka is just a beast in it--it's very flattering and a little hot--but it also makes him worry more than before about Taka's health. He comforts Taka with a lot of praise and reassurances, and Taka sleeps lightly but otherwise fine.

Relationship: (slight mature warning)

When they touch, Taka swears he can feel the link between them flare to fuel them. Twin fires ignited. Mondo doesn't know about all that, but when their eyes meet it definitely makes him feel invincible, so, he can believe.

If they weren't already new boyfriends when The Tragedy hit, all this closeness makes sure of that soon after. Being together is their happiness and, for a while, their only link to pre-Tragedy lives. Vows not unlike marriage were exchanged one night. Where one goes, the other will follow. Anywhere. Always.

When they kiss, safe and alone, Mondo will ask what Taka wants; what he can handle that night. Sometimes it's just the kisses before passing out, sometimes it's more intimate touches to please them both after another hellish day.

Sometimes Taka will ask to be made love to, for obvious couple reasons, but also because Mondo inside him makes their tether feel stronger, more complete. Like going over the invisible line in bold marker. Taka believes any marks they can create with their mouths, any traces of themselves they can leave on or in each other, the easier they can find their bond and tap into it. (He had started a nervous habit of pressing in on lovebites to keep Ishida going when tired.)

Mondo tells him he doesn't need to find a poetic excuse for fetishes and Taka lovingly answers with a stomach punch.

Crazy Diamonds:

Mondo's gang members, the ones not dead or overcome with Despair, are slowly found and joined back up.

Any smaller and sturdier motorcycles are kept when found. If Mondo was able to keep his own in this version, it's a bit heavier than would be good for any off-roading--and much too loud for any stealth--but he refuses to part with it.

Every gang member respected Taka/Ishida the second they saw him fight beside their leader. Before Mondo says a word about him. They readily take orders from him in either form. The change in appearance was a surprise, but they're already used to some members wildly changing demeanor in or away from the gang, so it's easily accepted.

With the gang as backup to keep watch during downtime--after Ishida sized each one up and watched them for loyalty--the pair can feel a lot more relaxed. They joke about having a date in a blown-out restaurant they find, and they can finally enjoy a deep sleep.

When the group finds safehouses with more than one room, Mondo & Taka are given their privacy. Taka tries to insist everyone deserves a chance at privacy and they should rotate, but changing a gang's long-established hierarchy is a losing battle. And Mondo's not on his side because when they're alone he can be as sappy or touchy as he likes.

Legends:

Taka and Mondo save a lot of people over their journey and kinda become a legend that gets spread around and gives people Hope.

This area still needs work from me. Probably some research into Japanese myths and supernatural symbolism. A placeholder right now is something corny like "Two Men with burning eyes and thunderous voices will answer your cries for help. But if you're evil, the two will appear to you as One Demon and drag you down to the land of the dead."

There's also probably a need for costume changes since their color scheme is the same black & white of the Despair Remnants and monokumas killing people. Legend or not, it'd be easy for traumatized survivors to not know they're good guys at first.

Darker Moments: (blood, violence and vague attempted sexual assault)

After he killed a man to save Mondo, Taka luckily (he wouldn't use that word) doesn't have to again. Hurt? Yes. Beat unconscious? Yes. Maim? Yes, but some of the vile dregs of humanity are caught doing things that deserve worse--

--That deserve Mondo. Once when they were still traveling alone, a group of Remnants jumped them, managing to separate the two, and one knocked Taka out with a bad blow to the head. Mondo dispatched the others attacking him and got to Taka right as the Remnant was about to do something unforgivable.

Mondo snapped. He still doesn't remember what he did, he just remembers coming to in all the blood and dazedly picking Taka up to take him to a place he knew was safe.

Taka never finds out. He woke up a day later with a bandaged head and Mondo crying and kissing his hands. Mondo just told him he beat some and scared away the others.

Minor Details:

They try to always fight back-to-back and, to observers, seem to read each other's mind for where to move.

Taka/Ishida would use a sword or hand-to-hand. The pickaxe might just be a random pickaxe they find, if he uses it at all. Kinda hard to carry both a sword and a railroad pickaxe on your back, and I can't imagine it balances very well. (The size in official pics would be a 5lb head w/2-3lb handle.)

Mondo seems like he would use anything lying in debris to fight. Poles, pipes, chains. Aaaand maybe the knives he mentions in School Mode.

For any costume changes, Mondo would keep his jacket at least. A beacon for the Diamonds. Maybe a purple tank top, and different pants better for knife holsters. Unless the holster should wrap around his waist or hip instead?

Any changes to Taka's outfit would keep his armband. It's a reminder of his Talent and his goal to make Japan even better than before. Also wanna keep his boots or change to more rugged ones.

End Goal:

Obviously they'd end up in Towa, after the events of Ultra Despair Girls. They're reunited with Takaaki and Takemichi. Maybe they help set things right there a bit, or Makoto would get word to them about his plans vs Future Foundation's. Look at me, do I look like someone that knows how to end things?

There is no way you read all that. (I love you if you did.) But feel free to use all or any bits of it in your own works. Almost positive I'll never get to compose all this into a coherent fic format. I might update in short scenario posts under a 'Tragedy-survivor au' tag if I think of anything.

If you have a question or want something expanded upon, ask away.

#ishimondo #kiyotaka ishimaru #kiyondo ishida #mondo oowada #danganronpa #Tragedy-survivor au #i've only read like 2 fics that had this concept but it was ensemble so the boys weren't the focus which hurt me

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed, Episode 22 part one

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Stuff) (Previous Post)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Not Quite Like Old Times

We ended the previous episode in daylight, with Lan Wangji putting Wei Wuxian and swordpoint and declaring his undying love lecturing him about his lack of sword skills.

We start this episode in full night, with the two of them sitting on a roof together. Presumably they spent the missing scenes getting dinner in the mess hall, doing some laundry, and definitely not making out. Fic writers, do your thing.

Finally, FINALLY, Lan Wangji has chilled out enough to actually sit and listen to Wei Wuxian, instead of yelling at and/or physically attacking him. The Zoloft is really helping!

Wei Wuxian is indulging in romantic recollections of their first rooftop encounter. Lan Wangji, who has loved him since he first laid eyes on him and who wrote a whole song with an entire music video about their love, featuring that very same rooftop encounter, shuts him down so completely he might as well have whipped out Bichen again.

First he corrects his description of events by pointing out they were fighting, not talking, back then. Then when Wei Wuxian continues in his charming, smiley reminiscing vein, Lan Wangji says "things change, how could they stay the same" with a deep, sad, weariness.

He seems like an old man in this moment, and I feel for him, really, I do. But he's not the one who's carrying the actual essence of death around inside him. Wei Wuxian is being much more generous in this interaction than Lan Wangji is.

Wei Wuxian thanks him for not narkng to Jiang Yanli about the whole talisman/forced suicide/ghost hummer/ghost flaying thing he did back in Yiling. Like there is any way Lan Wangji would ever tell Jiang Yanli, of all people, something like that about Wei Wuxian.  He's lying to his own brother to cover for Wei Wuxian, and Wei Wuxian totally doesn't get it.

(more after the cut)

Unfortunately, there's no reason Wei Wuxian SHOULD get it, at this point; Lan Wangji has not communicated anything but disapproval to him since his return, and Wei Wuxian, despite their (apparently temporary) mental linkup in the Turtle cave, is not a mind reader.

Lan Wangji is so hurt here, and Wei Wuxian appears to ignore that, continuing to smile and laugh; he’s still sunny, still happy. Seriously, they are so tonally out of step with each other in this conversation, it's excruciating.

Lan Wangji: I’m feeling good about my tear-holding-back ability Wei Wuxian: do I look more fuckable sitting up? Or leaning back?  

But every one of these smiles is an absolute lie. This is Wei Wuxian appeasing an authority figure; baffling with bullshit and skating by on charm. This is not a young man confiding in his soulmate.

Even when the conversation shifts, and they talk seriously about what is going on with him, Wei Wuxian is barely confiding anything. He briefly acknowledges that he was in the Burial Mounds for three months, and shudders at the memory, but Lan Wangji doesn't respond to that other than to look away from his face.

This is almost the last thing Wei Wuxian will ever say to anyone about that experience.  He only alludes to it again when Jiang Cheng visits the settlement and talks smack about their corpse turnips. Lan Wangji says he wants to know why Wei Wuxian’s cultivation changed, but he really doesn’t; he just wants to convince him to change it back.

Wei Wuxian explains about using Lan clan techniques to protect his temperament, as well as the flute and talismans, to control the resentful energy. This is a good reminder that Wei Wuxian was never a bad student. He was an outstanding cultivator within the Jiang Clan, and he learned a hell of a lot during his time in Gusu, despite getting expelled for fighting.

His original golden core was stronger than Jiang Cheng's, even though he apparently started cultivating later. Yes, he fell asleep during meditation that one time in Episode 43, but that's not because he's bad at meditating, it's because he was tired from getting railed all night by his boyfriend stabbed in the gut by his nephew.

Lan Wangji eventually manages to ask him a question like an interested fellow human being sharing knowledge, instead of like an authoritarian dick calling him to account.  

Side note: I still am flopping around trying to find good-sounding English terms for Chinese philosophical concepts. I kind of like "ghost path" vs "sword path" for the two styles of cultivation - I don't know where I saw that, apologies to the translator. I like "necromancy" for the part where the dead are reanimated and controlled, because we definitely have that in English. But there are many layers of nuance in these conversations that English is not equipped to render in a natural-sounding way.

Lan Wangji tells him, again, that it's dangerous, but this time he does it in a gentler and more poetic way, saying it's like taking grain from a burning fire, and says he's in danger of becoming the novel version of Wei Wuxian a demonic cultivator.  Wei Wuxian, also gently and seriously, says he knows.

Then he immediately goes back to his lightest tone and promises, with his three-fingers gesture, that he will not fall into demonic cultivation. This gesture is basically the Wei Wuxian "I am totally fucking lying" salute.

He is totally fucking lying, and he MUST know it. He's baking the Yin tiger amulet every day during his meditation, getting ready to use it against Wen Ruohan, getting ready to take over his army of the dead.

He has the audacity to ask Lan Wangji, "do you believe me?" and Lan Wangji, also totally fucking lying, nods.  Their relationship is just as broken right now as it was before their courtyard sparring session.

You can tell it's broken, because after they've reached this apparent place of peace, Wei Wuxian just hops down off the roof and LEAVES Lan Wangji sitting by himself. When has Wei Wuxian ever been like "gotta go!" with Lan Wangji? The last time they were here, he spent the night sleeping on the roof tiles just so he could be near him.

As he leaves, Lan Wanji stands up and says "let me help you." Wei Wuxian is not a fan of that idea, at all, if his expression is any guide.

He agrees, though, and leaves smiling, apparently for real, but maybe just practicing for all the fake smiles in his future.

Hooray for War

In the morning, Nie Mingjue makes an angry speech to the 2 dozen cultivators who apparently make up the army. Extras are expensive, y'all.

The senior cultivators are standing to the right or left of him, with the Lan brothers bracketing the Yunmeng sibs. Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng are both staking their claim to Wei Wuxian, while Lan Xichen is standing in the spot closest to Nie Mingjue; Nie Huaisang is on the opposite side with the Jins.

All of the random cultivators yell a war chant in response to Nie Mingjue's speech, while the senior cultivators are like, we don't have to do that yelling stuff, thank goodness.

Nie Mingjue's war outfit includes metal (ish) epaulets on his shoulders and a totally not-kinky belt featuring multiple rings with nothing attached to them (yet) and an angry demon face right above his junk.

Nie Mingjue says we're going to storm into Nightless city and I'm going to chop off Wen Ruohan's head! By which he means, I'm going to get captured and get my ass beat, and then my murder-babie ex-boyfriend who had this belt specially made for me is going to stab Wen Ruohan in the back while he's distracted. They do say no plan survives contact with the enemy.

Side note: Baxia makes a loud metallic "shnk" noise when NMJ takes it off his back during this speech, even though Baxia does not have a scabbard. You do you, Baxia.

All the senior cultivators file out down the center while everyone else parts to let them pass. Then everybody does the Electric Slide.

Jiang Cheng tells Wei Wuxian they should go ahead of the main force to get some killing in early, but Wei Wuxian just pulls a face and looks down, staying with Lan Wangji. 

Jiang Cheng is disappointed, and no doubt takes this as a sign of WWX choosing LWJ over him. But actually, WWX can't fight side-by-side with Jiang Cheng without showing his weakness.

LWJ and WWX exchange one of their unspoken "let's go" eye touches and get ready to ride out together with the main force. 

Lan Wangji is still super, super sad. Wei Wuxian is still fake. But something is starting to knit together between them, and once they can hit a battlefield together, it will get a lot stronger.

On A Horse With No Name

Everyone rides out on horses, which will presumably get eaten somewhere along the way, because they appear to travel on foot after this. While Wei Wuxian practices his horseback-flute-twirling, Lan Wangji asks why Wei Wuxian didn't go with the forward force to fight.

Wei Wuxian says that he has a case of the don'wannas, and Lan Wangji snarkily points out that he used to like fighting. Wei Wuxian reacts, just as he did at the end of their sword fight, with embarrassment, and doesn't answer.

Lan Wangji, sweetie. You are really not helping. 

At this point, despite their ongoing fighting, Wangxian are clearly together again. Lan Wangji isn't riding with his brother; he's RIGHT next to Wei Wuxian, and will stay close to him through the rest of the campaign.

Nie Huaisang hollers "Wei-Xiong" from the top of the battlements and tells him to take care. Wei-Xiong lifts his flute in acknowledgement while Nie Huaisang looks worried. He doesn't tell Nie Mingjue or Lan Wangji to take care, just Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian is his particular friend, more than Lan Wangji is, but he may also be concerned because he can tell that Wei Wuxian isn't well.

Nie Huaisang hasn't yet developed the deep cynicism that he calls upon in his quest to avenge his brother, but he has always been a voracious collector of information, and he is keenly observant.

Side note: what the fuck is going on with this sculpture? Kudos to the artist. This has beautiful forms, and is weird and disturbing. The main head is wearing a horned skull on its forehead, small ungulates that I hesitate to call “deer” chilling on its horns, and...snakes? biting its ears? 

Boring Wen Interlude

Wen Ruohan is waving his hands around. Sigh. This is one of the more boring villain performances ever, and it's not the actor’s fault. They could have given him a sidekick to yell at or something, so we could get more than just hand waving. I’ve given up screen capping any of this; there are more interesting things to look at. 

Battle Moves

Jin Zixuan and Jiang Cheng and their forces have an extended fight scene with a bunch of puppet dudes and stuntmen in harnesses. 

It's pretty fun to watch. (Fanvid with more over here)

The gist of the fighting scenes is that Wen Ruohan is getting stronger, and Klingons are hard to beat.

Battle Planning

Finally we see a sidekick with Wen Ruohan, although he's blurry so it's hard to tell that he is totally Meng Yao.

The Sunshotters have set up a Battle Camp Playset. It's got chunks of gates and walls that don't connect to anything, like a Duplo set. It's just randomly open for most of the back area so that anyone can walk in. 

They've got a cage of hilarious definitely-not-zombies set up, and the rest of the wounded cultivators are lying on the ground. 

The main battle trio go chill in Nie Mingjue's incredibly fancy tent. They talk it over and say it's impossible to kill unkillable enemies, "even when we have millions of troops." And by “millions” they mean “dozens.”  

Nie Mingjue decides the way to handle it is to kill the leader and everyone else will collapse, because he has watched vampire movies and the last season of Game of Thrones and that's how it works. Watching the last season of Game of Thrones is why he is so angry all the time  He says he's going to sneak into Nightless City and assassinate Wen Ruohan.

Okay, first of all, Nie Mingjue can sneak? I don't believe it.  Second of all, if that was possible, why didn't he do it as soon as Wen Ruohan attacked his clan?

Nie Mingjue wants to take the biggest risk because he's the commander in chief, which is not how commanding is supposed to work, but okay.

He says if he dies, Zewu Jun will take over. Jiang Cheng starts to protest but Zewu Jun appears as if conjured, and shows them a map that will...dear GOD his hands are beautiful.

It's a helpful map, painted in multiple colors with careful writing on it, so if anyone were to show it to Nie Huaisang he would probably go "oh cool Meng Yao painted that" because anyone who could paint that well probably spent a fair amount of time at it on a regular basis. But, Nie Huaisang isn't here so, nope.

It’s always nice to see Jiang Cheng smile.

Wei Wuxian and Lan Waniji examine some of the puppets to see what's up. It's transmitted by touch, and Lan Wangji says that curing one dude takes three months of spiritual power. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

Writing Prompt: Missing scene! How did they get from the fight in the courtyard to the talk on the roof? 

Soundtrack: 1. Shine on You Crazy Diamond, by Pink Floyd 2. Electric Boogie, by Marcia Griffiths

#the untamed #the untamed gifs #wangxian #the untamed meta #canary3d-original #my gifs #wordcount 2379 #restless rewatch the untamed

[zehecatl]

rec post for @f-eef that got too long for its own good, and is now just. a general rec post i guess

(as of writing, today is the steam summer sale! writing this before that goes live, so no guarantee everything on here is on sale, but! most of these are older games, so it’s likely. keep them in mind~)

- Iconoclasts my absolute favourite game, ever (along with OFF, but shh), if you check out one game from this list, let it be this one. it’s a genuinely almost flawless package, with gorgeous pixel art, fun gameplay, a really good story, and a cast of characters i just. adore. it’s so so so good, and three years later, i’m still not over it

- The Binding of Isaac so there’s this genre called roguelikes, wherein the whole gimmick is that, when you die, you gotta start from the Very Beginning; and the ‘point’ is getting better and better at the game, until you win! it’s super easy to just, play a few runs (they generally don’t last that long!), and then go on with your day, so it’s a really fun game to just waste time in, if you just wanna chill with some game. and, in my personal opinion, Isaac is the best roguelike game, with so much stuff to unlock, a whole slew of items to play with, and so much content it’s kind of unreal. i definitely think the DLCs are worth picking up, but it’s mostly for more content than like. actually being necessary

- Terraria it’s minecraft, but 2D. unlike MC, it’s got a bit of guidance, which i personally prefer, with bosses to fight and such. an absolutely BLAST with other people too

- A Hat in Time a 3D platformer, ala Mario, that’s just. super charming. it’s also really fun to play. i haven’t actually played the DLC’s, since i played it way back, but i’ve heard good things about Nyakuza Metro, which does look super slick, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

- Slime Rancher you are a slime rancher. you ranch slimes. it’s honestly just wholesome as hell, and just exudes happy vibes. mostly for running around and collecting slimes, ngl

- The Messenger really funky retro game, wherein you play a ninja on a mission. it’s primary draw is definitely in its gameplay, but there’s a surprising amount of story for this kind of genre? i honestly really just like this one. it’s neat

- Underhero you play as a cute minion, who kind of like. managed to kill the hero. and whoops, guess you’re doing his job now? it’s got that undertale vibe, though i’d say it’s less polished than it. HOWEVER, it’s absolutely lovely and it’s climax is REALLY good

- Hatoful Boyfriend bird dating sim. trust me. the ‘secret’ finale route is just. *chef’s kiss* fantastic

- Night in the Woods if you don’t mind having a very poignant sad time, oh my god, i could not recommend NITW more. it perfectly captures that period when you’re done with school, and suddenly your whole life is stretching before you, and you feel so so fucking lost, and overwhelmed and pained with it. it’s just. so good. a sadness worth experiencing 

- Shovel Knight another retro game! this one is, pretty much, the king of the genre, and for very good reasons. the first one (shovel of hope) doesn’t have much story, but the latter ones really add on it. they’re honestly just, really solid games! with funky knight characters!!!

- Hyper Light Drifter man, it’s just a masterpiece. everything about it is perfect. it’s been like, five years, and it’s still one of the very best indie games

- Tell Me Why it’s currently free for june! and it’s a story game! plus, if you like the genre, the devs got the ‘Life Is Strange’ serie(s) to delve into!

- Cat Quest honestly, i just really like this little game. the gameplay is SO much fun, and everything else is just. really charming :’)

- Yoku’s Island Express metroidvania, where you play as a dung-beetle post officer, and the gimmick is that it’s pinball-y! it’s really fun, and very cute and just an all around good time :)

- Owlboy you play as an owl boy! named Otus! and you can fly around, and there’s GORGEOUS pixel graphics, and a neat story, and just. the BEST cast of characters. it’s delightful

- Yuppie Psycho + Count Lucanor just gonna bundle these two together, because they’re both REALLY GOOD. YP is the newer one, and is therefore probably ‘the better one’, but i like them both a ton! they’re 2D horror, but i wouldn’t say they’re that spooky? though that might just be because they’re pixel games! you explore spooky place, and weird stuff happens around you. just a really fun time :)

- Angels of Death my FAVOURITE rpgmaker game, it’s main draw is, a 100%, the main characters and the relationship that develops between them. i just love it a whole lot, and it’s got that lil’ tinge of horror that i, personally, fucking adore. there’s actually an anime based on this, but i haven’t seen it myself!

- Celeste curve ball! it’s a 2D platformer! it’s really good, got a ton of accessibility features, and has like. the tightest gameplay- and, on top of that, surprisingly emotional story! 

- Bastion putting Bastion here, because it’s actually the only one i’ve properly played, but you could probably buy any of the Supergiant Games, and come out satisfied. Bastion is the oldest of the bunch, and is definitely a bit less polished for it, but i personally adore it; the gameplay probably hasn’t aged that well, but i think the story and presentation more than makes up for it

- The Darkside Detective funny point and click adventure, with great wit, and a pair of characters i kind of simply adore. it’s main draw is definitely its humour

- Littlewood very wholesome and chill farming game, that feels more like an RPG than something like stardew valley- i’d not recommend it over SV, but if you want more of SV, Littlewood might scratch that itch!

- Pony Island + The Hex absolutely adore both of these, though if i had to rec only one, it’d probably be Pony Island? they’ve both got that undertale-off vibe, though Pony Island definitely leans harder into it. very interesting plays, both of them

- Oxenfree another horror-ish game! primarily story-focused, but oh boy, what a story! i’m a BIG fan of this game, and the sequel was recently announced too! definitely worth a look if you like ghost shenanigans

- Creature in the Well wasn’t a 100% sure if i should rec this, but beside the finale boss, i really enjoyed my time with this! it’s this weird pinball inspired hack and slash, with some amazing vibes

- Kindergarten 1 + 2 they’re just fun little games okay. the 2nd is much more fleshed out, but the 1st one is really fun too

- the Henry Stickmin collection I JUST... LIKE THESE GAMES A LOT... i think you can find the old versions somewhere on the internet, if you wanna check them out first? idk, they’re fun!

- LIMBO + INSIDE personally, i like INSIDE more, but both of these are classics, and also they’re made by a danish team, and i like them a WHOLE LOT

- The Final Station i could not tell you why i like this game as much as i do, but oh my god. i love this game? it’s got a dying world, neat pixel graphics, big zombie apocalypse vibes, and a weird little story

- Year Walk i love Year Walk :)

- Smile For Me if you liked undertale’s lovely cast of characters, oh boy, you’d likely LOVE this game! it’s really, really, fantastic, and the epilogue (not in the actual game lol) hit me right in the feels

- Pikuniku just a fun little game! there’s not really much there, in the grand scheme of things, but it’s a wonderful little play, one of those games that just sets out to give you a good time, and absolutely success. i like it a lot :’)

- A Short Hike wonderful game, where it’s more about exploring the island than actively finishing the game. it’s real wonderful

- ULTRAKILL ANOTHER CURVEBALL! no idea if you like FPS, but oh my god. ULTRAKILL is so fucking good. just an absolute blast to play. there’s a demo to check out, and i’d definitely recommend it, because if it’s a genre you might like, you’ll love this one (OH also it’s in early access, which means it’s not finished yet! personally, i don’t mind that, especially considering this is more gameplay focused, but ya’ know!)

- My Friend Pedro it’s honestly just really fun to play, and sometimes i still think about the implied lore, and go all !!!!

- Little Misfortune another point and click! this one is pretty short, and is set within the same universe as their other game, Fran Bow, which is much bigger, but idk. i like this one. it’s dark cute

- This Strange Realm of Mine i honestly dunno how to explain this one, because it’s kind of weird and a bit odd, but i really like it, in all its weird poetic glory. it’s neat!

- Donut County you’re a terrible racoon who’s ruined the whole city with holes. it’s great and i love it

- OneShot another ‘gives me undertale vibes’, though this one was in development before UT, if i recall correctly! it’s so good, and it’s got some fantastic meta bits, and i love Niko. i love Niko so much

- Inmost gorgeous vaguely spooky game with a neat story... my favourite genre

- Sayonara Wild Hearts i’d call this more of a spectacle than anything else, but oh my god. what a spectacle it is! the OST is amazing, everything about it just hits right, and even if you suck at the gameplay (which i did), it really doesn’t matter, in my opinion? it’s just great all around!

#ze.txt #the sale likely just went live so #steam sale #hope there's something here to your taste feef! #i honestly haven't been playing any 'real' games in. A WHILE? so all of these are older-ish #and there's a bunch of good new games out there! #but here's my little rec post of older games :') #that i have. actually played #i think inmost is the only one i never finished? plus TECHNICALLY oneshot since it got a BIG update after i played it but shhhh #also TECHNICALLY also ultrakill but that's in ea so it doesn't count okay #i just love ultrakill so much. i had to rec it. I HAD TO #also keep in mind some of these probably require a mouse!! i know ultrakill DEF does #but you might have one?? i usually play on my big pc so i. would not know #oh also DST does have a single player version which is very good also

[ofmythsandmadness]

pretty eyes.

you love diego hargreeves pretty eyes, sober and drunk off your rocker. only, when its the latter, it’s a little harder to hold back your eager compliments.

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WARNINGS & DETAILS: gender!neutral reader. mention of alcohol & drinking, some fighting later on in the chapter (it’ll make sense when it comes), idiots being idiots, mutual pining, a tad bit of angst. WORD COUNT: 6.5k NOTES: at the end (read please).

BUY ME A COFFEE HERE. | CHECK OUT MY OTHER WRITINGS HERE.

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“DO YOU KNOW WHY THE SKY’S BLUE?”

Diego didn’t look back, but from the sounds of tiny pants and dull clunks of shoes hitting the ground, he knew enough to paint a picture. You, struggling to rid yourself of the coat he forced you to put on, dropping the heels you claimed you hated so vehemently, all the while probably grinning from ear to ear like he imagined little kids looked on Christmas Day. He knew you’d be waiting for his answer, just as you always did, expecting something greater than he could give you in his own flustered state.

Sometimes you were predictable. But he liked that about you.

“I don’t know. Why?”

“No, silly! I’m asking you!”

“Oh.” His tongue danced across his bottom lip, wetting the chapped skin before responding. “I dunno. Sorry.”

Only a sparkling laugh and a thump answered him. He whirled around to see you flat on your butt on the ground, staring up at him with drooping doe eyes. It would be an irresistibly pretty sight, if he knew it wasn’t from extreme inebriation and you were completely off your rocker at the moment.

Still, pretty.

“Help me up?” You laughed, waving your hands aimlessly towards him. “Puh-lease?”

Diego grimaced slightly but moved anyways. He grabbed at your hands (clammy, another symptom of your heavy drinking choices)  and yanked you towards him. Only he overestimated you and greatly underestimated his own strength it seemed -- instead of lifting to your feet like any normal person, you practically flew towards him, landing just under his chin and flopping against his chest.

And Diego froze.

Normally he would have pulled away and shrugged it off as a mistake. Neither of you would mention it again and would move on with your lives, forgetting how close your bodies had been and the way your gaze was intoxicating upon itself. He had rules for those things; never getting too close to a friend who made his heart beat in a rather unfriendly way was one of them.

But as you looked up at him, still smiling dopily and eyes almost crossed, he couldn’t remember a single thing about rules or precautions or anything of the sort. All that was on Diego’s mind, was you.

Your smile softened a tad, painted lips closing over your teeth and only hinting at the dimples he had stared at many-a-time before. Up close, he could see flecks of black under your eyes, staining flushed skin with ebony freckles that no one could believe was natural. He didn’t know the word for it, but guessed it was from you rubbing at your eyes and forgetting you had painted them hours before. Despite it, you still looked absolutely radiant.

“You have really pretty eyes.”

Diego blinked, startled by your giggled statement. “W-what?”

“Sooo pretty,” you gushed. One of your hands left his chest -- he hadn’t even realised they had been pressed there, but he suddenly missed the warm sensation -- and caressed his cheek. He shuddered at the touch. “Maybe the pre...prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen!”

If merely standing near you was heart-attack inducing, Diego was certain that all this was going to explode the vessel. Any second at that point, it would just burst and coat your grinning face with its guts--

-- he shook his head, ridding himself of both that image and the foolish thoughts flooding around it. You were drunk. Everyone said and did stupid stuff when they were drunk. Right? Like the time he lost a fight with a lamp post -- he wouldn’t do that sober, but alcohol made everyone a fool. You just chose compliments over actions, maybe.

The saying ‘drunk words, sober thoughts’ lingered in his mind for half a second, but he pushed it away. That only worked in late night television or shitty rom-coms, not reality. Not with them.

“You should get to bed,” Diego said gruffly, pulling away from your fingers. He didn’t miss the flash of disappointment on your face, but tried to push it away for his own emotions’ sake. “You’re gonna want to, ‘fore all this hits.”

“You should smile more.”

Diego froze. He didn’t turn back to her that time, knowing it would only hurt him more, but he couldn’t bring himself to move another inch.

“Your eyes are fu...cking beautiful, but your smile?” Clapping echoed paces behind him; his jaw clenched with every smack. “Diego, you’re so pretty!”

He reached behind him blindly, scrambling and feeling stupid before finally launching onto you. Still avoiding your charming smile, he pulled you along, leading you out and into your bedroom. “I’ll be back to get you some Advil. Sit down.”

“I wish you’d smile more,” you said, completely ignoring every word he said. You fell down to your bed with a plop. “It lights up those pretty pretty, pretty eyes so much...so fucking pretty, Diego! I can’t even think of any other words, that’s how be-yew-tiful you are.”

“Okay, I--”

“-- and you always look so grumpy. It’s so funny!”

Diego should have been long gone, at that point. For his own sake and for yours, because you would hate that you rambled on so much, and he was going to pay for the emotional turmoil you were putting him through. But he couldn’t. He simply stood, still and awkward in your bedroom doorway, watching as you tried to twist your face to look like his own.

It didn’t work at all. Your lips fought angrily to smile again, and your eyelids just drooped, so far you looked stoned, or maybe like a zombie ready to bite. But even if you looked beyond ridiculous, his mind still screamed at how adorable it was, and despite himself, Diego smiled.

“See! See, there - there it is!” You pointed frantically at his own face, like he didn’t know it was there. “God, I wish I had a mirror to show you how pretty you are! Lil...lil sunshine boy!”

Okay, ‘sunshine boy’ was new. It took a little bit of the piss out of everything, and he was able to grumble and walk away finally from your singing self. Calls of his name paired with nonsensical titles followed. Diego tried his best to ignore them, but he knew the coos would haunt him later. Even as he searched for a glass, the sounds bounced through his head like injured bats in a cave; no way out and too blind to escape, forced to flit around endlessly until someone ended their suffering.

But Diego, unfortunately, did not know how to do that. So he simply bore the weight of your compliments knowing that they were nothing but sounds and syllables made up by a confused mind, trying to push through the night with as little baggage as possible.

As he walked back to your room, he sighed. This wasn’t how he planned things to go. It had been a good night -- sure, he might not have had as much fun as you looked like you were having, dancing and drinking and laughing, but at least he was with you. And he liked that, and the lax nature you took on when you drank, making him feel less pressure about constantly being the best version of himself. He hadn’t felt like he needed to put on a show, he was just Diego, for better or for worse. And somehow, you didn’t mind that.

He only wished that he could have more than that and all the time.

“Okay,” he said, clearing his throat after the word came out garbled. “Uh - got you this, you’re gonna want to drink it and take these now. Okay? And I’m putting these here for tomorrow morning, so you can take that as soon as you’re up. You got that?”

Your head bobbed up and down excitedly, but he knew you didn’t take in a word he said. So as you swallowed the tablets and gulped down the water, he scribbled out a note to remind you of what definitely went right over your head.

Diego paused, pen slightly trembling in his hand, before jotting down two more sentences. Thanks for last night. Had a good time being with you, as always. He hesitated, hovering over the slip of paper before cursing and scribbling out the lines with added violence. He tried again, being a little bit more poetic (which wasn’t much, but words really were not his thing) only to be disappointed again, pushing down on the pen so hard he was sure it would burst. Once he was sure nothing but scribbles could be made of the mess, he put the note under the Advil bottle and stepped away.

“You wanna change out of that?” He asked, gesturing to your clothes. “Doubt that’s comfortable.”

“Nah,” you drawled. You smiled up at him and even dared to wink (it was more of a sloppy, half-assed blink, but it still made his head swim). “I’m just comfortable. Do...you…’re you comfortable?”

Diego chose not to answer that. He pushed you back gently, deciding not to fight with you on changing and instead just going with sleep. You didn’t fight him much. If anything you leaned into it, holding onto his hands for seconds longer than you should and mumbling sweet nonsense up at him.

“You know,” you sang, “you know what, Di...Diego?”

He didn’t pause. “What?”

“I would do anything...and everything...in order to make you smile forever. You know? Anything.”

Those were the words that weighed heaviest on Diego’s conscience as he drove back to his place. It was as though they had erased everything else, anything that had happened that day or any time before and just left that in its place. He didn’t know why, but they stuck, and as he wove through the dimly lit streets, your voice floated about like a bodiless apparition, set to destroy his mind and drive him mad.

Diego had had his heart broken several times before. It happened almost easily in his childhood, normally by the hands of his vindictive father. He had learned how to patch it up, sew up the cracks and try to make it so it wouldn’t happen again, and eventually he got better at that. But it shattered again when Ben died, and he realised that they were just kids, forced to play heroes in a horrifically gruesome world they didn’t belong in. That took a while to mend, but he did, until he screwed up at the police academy and Patch left him too. After that he had let the fragments just sit in piles in his chest, digging at his ribs and leaving him winded after long nights in the cold darkness. He hadn’t cared; he thought that was what was expected of him. Nothing but a broken heart to hold him when the nightmares got too bad.

But when you came along, he didn’t have to stitch himself back together. You did it for him. Somehow without him noticing you had snuck into his chest and unravelled the poor stitchwork and blotted out the stains left that he hadn’t bothered to clean up. Over time, you had managed to make it almost brand new again, and it was a whole new experience of smiling and watching as you failed to finish your joke again, only because you were already laughing too hard. Of getting wasted on Wednesday’s when your job sucked more and dancing down the streets up to your apartment, uncaring of those who watched. Of you chiding him for the cuts and bruises collected from his vigilante expeditions, but always being there to wash them out and make a fresh pot of tea. Of you, merely existing, and allowing him to bask in your sunshine a while longer.

But hearing those soft words leave your drunken lips, spilling out like tar from someone so angelic, hurt. Diego didn’t think that was possible with you.

He sighed, turning down the street towards the gym. It would be a sleepless night again.

YOU WOKE UP THE NEXT MORNING CONFUSED AND ACHING.

Not as much as you normally would be, which was a nice change of pace -- you assumed you had enough common sense to take premature headache meds, knowing how bad the hangover got for them. But your drunken self did not have the thought of changing out of your stiff, uncomfortable going-out clothes, instead draping yourself across the mattress smelling like the shitty bar you had careened in and leaving every part of your body pissed off. Sweaty fabric clung to your skin, leaving you feeling soggy and misworn and eagerly wishing you could have made better choices earlier.

You groaned and slipped out of the comforter, already missing its heavy warmth. Slowly you staggered over to your desk where you must have left the Advil for that morning. “Thank you, past me,” you sighed, twisting open the cap with a grimace.

A paper caught your eye, small amongst the stacks of work files you had yet to comb through. Downing one pill, you grabbed it, taking in the scribbled letters through tired, squinting eyes.

Leaving this for you because you’re too drunk to remember what I said. Take these and drink water before you die of a hangover. I’d hate to find your body that way. Also left your things on your kitchen counter, they’re not stolen. Also left your burrito in your microwave -- you insisted on buying one last night, so don’t forget about it. Take care.

Underneath were two lines of thick black scribbles, covering up whatever was written under that and leaving only a scrawled ‘Diego’ as your final clue. But, despite whatever mystery the pen covered up, you smiled and pinned the note to your bulletin board.

“Thanks, bud,” you grinned, speaking like he was there to hear. “Hope I wasn’t too annoying last night.”

You went about your morning with a smile despite the pounding pulverising your muscles, and enjoying the lazy Sunday hours spent cleaning up. You even spoiled yourself with a long shower, eating up your hot water minutes with joy, knowing you’d hate yourself for it two weeks later. After an hour of cleaning up, washing your face free of the makeup smudged across your cheeks and devouring that burrito left for you, you finally felt refreshed and better about things.

You glanced up at the time. Diego would be up, probably manning the desk for Al as he did most Sunday’s (the facet of his job he hated most). But, at least that meant he would be available to take your call. You missed him, even after seeing him just the night before, and selfishly craved the distraction of his low rasp. Maybe you could even make him laugh, cheer him up during his boring shift.

But five minutes later, you were left disappointed when none of the three calls went through. You tried not to think too hard on it -- he was a busy guy, and was either working or doing his other line of work, and ignoring your call meant nothing. Course, it probably didn’t look good for a boxing gym, but...you’d settle.

You would just call back later. He would definitely be available to talk then.

IT HAD BEEN A WEEK SINCE YOU LAST TALKED TO DIEGO, which was the longest either of you had gone without even speaking to one another in the history of your friendship.

On its own, the fact wasn’t so troubling. You were both working adults who had their own lives to sort through, jobs and bills and other friends that you didn’t like half as much as each other, grocery shopping and patrolling the streets alike, filling up both schedules easily. But the two of you were closer than that, and definitely more than just friends that saw each other every other week. You didn’t care about those friends like you cared about Diego.

And it hurt, that he was going to such lengths to avoid you.

Every time you stopped by his gym, Diego was gone. Al simply shrugged off your questions with a non-committal ‘I don’t keep track of the shithead’ and even when you went to knock on his door to check if he was lying, you got nothing. No regulars knew either, which was strange; he always liked to spend his afternoons training with a couple people, sometimes you if you showed up at the right time. You considered doing just that and waiting for him to show -- but even after hours of sparring, the man was nowhere to be seen.

You had tried everything, to the point where Al was annoyed and you felt like you were losing your mind. Surely Diego hadn’t just disappeared off the face of the earth. That didn’t seem right or possible and you knew you hadn’t made him up, because you had the pictures and notes to prove it. You could see his face, disgruntled and sometimes smiling in the photos you had snapped of him -- so why couldn’t you find it anywhere else?

With all options exhausted, you gave up for a few days, allowing yourself the chance to catch your breath. However, with that came the exhaustive process of trying to figure out why on earth Diego was avoiding you. And unfortunately, all that linked back to your last night spent together, and the bitter realisation that you must have fucked up the night somehow and left him not wanting to see you again.

And that thought broke you.

Thursday night was spent crying alone on your couch, trying to push past the depressing thoughts and failing miserably. You couldn’t remember half of what you did that night, but you knew he hadn’t been drinking as much as you, and alcohol always rendered you a ranting, rambling fool that he must have had to deal with. He had got you home, but for what? And what if it was all in that stupid note he had left you, scribbling out the real reason he was leaving you high and dry?

You threw the note out that night, staring down at it in the trash with tears pooling in your eyes. If only you could know why.

The issue was, Diego was more than just a friend to you. Sure your relationship had been built on totally platonic foundations, but it soon blossomed into so much more. He was a companion, your partner, the man who made you feel comfortable enough to wheeze into laughter-induced tears with, or just sob against his shoulder without feeling judged. He was the guy who brought you fast food when you forgot about dinner when work ran late, and the one who let you sleep over when you didn’t want to be alone. He made you smile by just being there -- like, you would open your door (or window, usually) and just grin like an idiot at the mere sight of his face. He was just Diego, but that meant more to you than you had ever been able to say.

Maybe, hell, you loved him. Was that so bad? It hadn’t been intentional to fall -- one day you had just been eating pizza on your countertop way too late in the night, and you looked over and realised your heart had only ever fluttered so violently for him. That he was the guy you could imagine spending the rest of your days with and never getting bored. Of course, you didn’t act on it, knowing that it was a platonic relationship and admitting such would destroy it completely -- but that didn’t mean your official break-up didn’t hurt any less.

You skipped work Friday, something you never did.

When your coworkers called, you wrote it off as illness related, while still drowning in the sorrow of being left high and dry.

Friends hit you up to make some ‘end of the week’ plans, but you ignored them.

You fell asleep at nine that night -- the earliest you had in aeons.

You stayed in bed for most of Saturday, staring at the ceiling or the photos pinned to your walls of the two of you, wondering if this was all just a weird dream you were going to wake up from.

Six hours later, you hadn’t woken up from your dream, but you had made up your mind.

One hour after that, at almost ten o’clock at night, you were rolling up to that same boxing gym you had haunted for that week, dressed in dark activewear and parked a ways away from the actual space. Steely-eyed and with your jaw clenched, you marched out the vehicle and into the building, knowing full well what you were going to find. You had a plan, and whatever it took, you were going to put it into motion.

Maybe it wasn’t the greatest plan, and maybe you had only just come up with it, with barely any time to consider it’s workability and whether or not you were just throwing words together, but nevertheless, you persisted.

You were going to get Diego back.

“DIEGO FUCKING HARGREEVES,”

The man, back turned away, stiffened and immediately went to move,

“run and I will end you, boy,” you growled, stomping towards him with force; he could practically feel each stomp echoing in his chest, cracking him down to the size of a pea. Somehow, he couldn’t move, frozen in place by your command. “Okay?!”

“H-hey, I--”

“--why the hell have you been avoiding me?!”

His eyes were wide and panicked and frantically, he searched all around for a way out. Unfortunately, your body in front of him blocked his only exit, leaving him stammering for answers you knew he didn’t easily have. “Look, I--”

“--I have been worried and scared and sad and out of my mind this entire week,” you snapped, jabbing a finger into his tank top, pushing him back in his steps. Your anger dug deep into him, thorns grabbing onto every bit of vulnerable flesh -- and the worst part was, you were absolutely right.  “You know that? I have called everywhere I could -- I even called the police, wondering if you were in custody and I just missed that news drop. But no, you were just gone, avoiding me for who knows what reason!”

“I didn’t--”

“--what did I do, Diego? What happened, what did I do wrong?”

“Nothing! You’ve done nothing.”

“Then why won’t you even look me in the eyes?” you hissed back, staring up at him in hopes he would catch your gaze. But he didn’t; his eyes still looked far away from yours, searching for something to give him a way out with. “You won’t even look at me, that’s how pissed off you are at me.”

“That’s not true.”

“I get if I did something wrong, but you can’t just pull away from me like that -- this friendship isn’t built on shit like that. I can’t cope with this void left by you deciding you don’t like me anymore!”

“That’s not what happened,” he insisted, his own voice raising in volume. “I swear!”

“Then what, Diego? What possible reason could you have that isn’t related to me doing something wrong? Because that’s all the evidence I got out of this and unlike you, I have zero detective skills so I’m working on one freakin’ theory here!”

His eyes averted to the ground, staring down at the both of your feet, one pair tapping angrily and the other shuffling in hopes of escape. He felt himself folding in, a habit he had broken a long time ago with you, one he thought he had killed off forever. But apparently it hadn’t. 

“You can’t even answer me,” you shuddered. Your sneakers squeaked against the shiny linoleum, leading you back a step. “You - I don’t understand this. At all. And you can’t even give me an answer why? D-don’t I deserve a reason for why I hurt you, Diego?”

“No, c’mon. I…” he hesitated once more as expected. Whatever he was planning on saying died in his mouth and thickened his tongue, leaving him once again stumbling for an excuse. He felt your eyes on him as well as his father, reproachfully clicking his tongue at once again, his stuttering, bumbling fool of a son. “I did...I didn’t…”

“Forget it. Screw this.”

“W-wait, don’t leave--”

“--I’m not leaving!”

He froze, holding onto your bicep in an attempt to stop you. Slowly, his hand fell away, “w-what?”

“I’m not leaving,” you repeated, and slowly he watched as a devilish smile stained your cheeks, pulling away the angry lines of before. “I didn’t come here to leave, I came here for answers. And I guess I just have to fight you for ‘em.”

At that point, Diego’s head had been through the wringer so much, he felt like it could just pop off if he wasn’t careful. And yet still, his eyes bugged out and he stared at you in complete shock, unsure just how he was supposed to process that last sentence.

“I’m sorry, what?!”

You shrugged like it was nothing at all, “c’mon. I know you’re better with the physical stuff and I wanna catch you off guard, finally get an answer out of you. I’m gonna, like, fight you for the truth.”

He watched as you toed off your shoes and shrugged off your thin jacket, letting it fall to the floor behind you with little care. You seemed ready, like you had planned this all along -- and had you? What was the reason behind all this? Was there something that he just wasn’t getting, in his state of emotional disarray? Or were you just losing your mind because of him?

“L-look, I’m s-sorry, but I,” he paused, trying to form the syllables in his mouth so they weren’t so thick and jumbled. “I can’t just fight you.”

“Sure you can. We spar all the time.”

“But w-w-why?”

Once more, your shoulders lifted and fell; ever the nonchalant dramatic. “Call it a bet. I win, you tell me why you avoided me for so long. And if you win, which you probably won’t but if you do…” you grimaced. “I’ll leave and you never have to see me again.”

Diego baulked. “I don’t want that.”

“Clearly you do,” you jabbed back. “Right?”

“No. I don’t. I don’t want to lose you.”

You huffed; clearly you didn’t believe him, but you also seemed set on the idea that you were definitely going to win, so he wasn’t sure where he stood in that. “Fine, pick your prize and keep it to yourself. I don’t care.”

Diego still hesitated, hovering to the side as you wrapped your hands. There seemed no way out of the situation, but surely there had to be - surely you weren’t just going to hop into the ring for an explanation.

Was this some ill-fated revenge?

You must have noticed his expression, because he heard you laughing from a whiles away. “I’m not looking to hurt you, Diego. Trust me, no matter what you do, I’d never want to do that.”

His heart fluttered.

“It’s just,” you cocked your head, thinking over your words before smiling again, “like you said when you first started training me. Freestyle, baby.”

You had deepened your voice tremendously to mock his own -- and while it was a horrible impression, it did call back to the one you did before of him. Not that you seemed to remember that, you had been piss drunk, but the thought still made him cringe.

All this, because of him. He screwed it all up and for what?

“Rules are the same as always. First person to pin the other down for more than five beats wins. No serious hits, so like, don’t break my nose or anything.”

“I can’t do this,” he mumbled, even as he stepped into the ring. “We don’t need to do this. We can just talk.”

You sighed and looked back at him. There was a fierceness in your eyes, a determination for something he wasn’t quite sure of -- like there was a plan in motion, only he couldn’t figure out where the steps lead. “I didn’t come here to walk away, Diego. I’m here to win a bet and get my friend back, and also kick his ass if I have to because I’m desperate. You can’t convince me to leave, so wrap your hands and let’s get this going!”

“But-”

“-it’s either this or I just stare at you until you crack,” you said, no longer smiling. “And I doubt you want that typ’a torture, do you?”

He stared at you askance. “Really?”

You didn’t answer him with words that time.

The fight was fast, and almost evenly matched -- you had a slight advantage with your eye on your prize, and he was faltering with every other blow knowing he couldn’t bear to hurt you. But the pace picked up and soon it was like you were one fluid being, predators locked on and desperate to claw the other away from them while simultaneously, drawing them back in. Fists flew and every so often he saw the sparks fly from the fire in your eyes, catching on everything he turned from and leaving him surrounded by the flames you spilled.

For a moment, Diego thought he had it. He had managed to pivot away from your last onslaught and pulled you away from the centre, edging into the corner where he could finally pin you down. His arms outstretched and for a moment he was actually smiling because it felt like the good old days -- sparring way too late into the night when he should have been working with the girl he secretly loved and the stars watching from way above, admiring the gruesomely pretty sight.

But in a flash, everything switched.

He lunged, you slid.

When he fumbled, your legs wrapped around his own, pulling him back and flipping over one another like beetles rolling in the hot sun.

You were everywhere, smothering his smoke with your body, forcing him down before he even realised what was happening.

Diego blinked, and suddenly you were on top of him, legs on either side of his waist and your hands holding his own up above his head. Your expression edged on feral as you grinned down at him, straddling him and fighting everything he pushed back with.

But he couldn’t fight back. Not when you were on him and everywhere and he could smell your shampoo as your hand dangled around him, dripping your scent around him like he was in that poppy field from Wizard of Oz, ready to give into the toxin and be one with the flowers. Your hands held his own and he wished he could slide his fingers into the clasp, holding them to him and kiss each bruised knuckle with tenderness he didn’t know he possessed. Your hips, legs, chest pressed against his own, both heaving and waiting for the other to move and interrupt the tension rising with every passing second.

“One,” you began, voice low and teasing. Did you know what you did to him? “Two…”

Diego writhed in your hold, but it was no use. You had him. He was yours and he would be satisfied to be so for the rest of your days, if only you never let him go. His gaze flitted across your face, tracing the way your eyebrows furrowed and relaxed with the numbers, eyes still wide and filled with emotions he didn’t quite know how to read. Sweat beaded on your brow and stained your cheeks and yet still, he thought you were as perfect as you could be, mere inches from his own darting eyes.

“Four...four and a half…” your smile grew and you got a little closer, almost touching his face with your own. “Five…”

He didn’t dare to breathe.

“I win, Hargreeves.”

But despite the hushed declaration, you did not move. Your body stayed over his, hands pushing his own down with gentle force but keeping him locked under you. Your eyes remained on his own, locking them in place as your face grew nearer. Soon enough your nose was just touching his own, nudging softly and turning so it fit better against his lips, which were parted and so close to pressing against your own-

-but you pulled away.

Just as Diego’s eyes had shut, your weight left his and he was left to sit up confused and watch you stomp away. You slipped out of the ring and down to the ground with a soft thump. He watched you unwrap your knuckles and to his surprise, he saw your hands shake with the movement. 

“This was a mistake,” you mumbled to yourself. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hear. “This was stupid, I have to-”

“-don’t go,” he mumbled. In one swift movement Diego had jumped back to his feet and pulled after you. You stumbled back a few paces; he raced after, hurrying to your side with an aggression he didn’t know he possessed. “Don’t go.”

“Diego, I-”

“-I pushed you away because I screwed up,” he said, all in one breath and so fast he wasn’t sure if you could understand him. “I messed this up. We’re only supposed to be friends, I know that, but I-I can’t not be in love with you, not when you’re that perfect and so beautiful and you make me smile e-even when I feel like the shittiest sh-sh-shit and-”

“-kiss me.”

“What?”

You stepped forward, angling yourself just under his chin. Your chest heaved. “Kiss me, asshole.”

And slowly his hands moved on their own accord, cupping your cheeks and holding you to him. His eyes darted down once, staring at the pink lips before reaching your own again for a silent affirmation. When you nodded in his hands he acted, pulling you to him quickly and pressing his lips against his own, finally.

It was fast and passionate, both beings pulling at the other, urging the other closer than the skin they already pressed against. His one hand left your jaw to hold your neck, angling your face so he could better caress it, smudging himself across your lips with little care. He felt your own touch against his back, sliding down to his hips and pulling -- without even thinking, he moaned, feeling your lower body roll up against him and leave his mind in overdrive.

You pulled away for air finally, gasping only to be pulled in again for a softer, gentler kiss. He pecked the corners of your mouth before finally taking your lower in between his teeth, biting softly before sucking on the tender swollen skin. He pulled away then, dropping his forehead to your own as you both took another breath.

“If…” you paused to inhale, grinning through the gasp of oxygen, “if I knew you were holding all that back, Diego, I would have kissed your ass a lot sooner.”

“I’m...I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry,” you murmured. He felt your hands leave his waist, pulling up to the one he still had cradled against your cheek. Your head leaned into the gentle touch. Even as your fingers held his. “I just...is this why you stopped talking to me?”

Diego shook his head softly against your own. Once more his heart faltered and threatened to burst, but he ignored it. “No, I just...I realised that I was-”

“-sorry, I don’t - you have an eyelash.” He froze as your fingers stroked his cheek, pulling away the evidence that had caught your attention. Your eyes darted up to his for a moment, and he watched as they widened and brightened under his perplexed gaze. “Your eyes really are pretty.”

His heart stopped for a beat.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“That’s why I stopped!” he exclaimed. He pulled away from you then, gesticulating wildly around like the air was going to supply you with answers. “That’s why!”

You frowned, cocking your head like a lost puppy. “You...because of your pretty eyes?!”

“What? Wait, no, that’s not why.”

“I’m so confused right now, bud, and I just--”

“--last week,” he rushed, cutting you off before he could lose momentum again. “I took you home. You were wasted, and you kept talking and - and you told me I had pretty eyes.”

Still, you looked bewildered.

“I-I have been obsessed with you since the day I met you,” he said, soft and unsure if any of the words would come out right. Or if they themselves were the right ones to say. “I couldn’t help it. And I didn’t let myself act on it because I knew that it wouldn’t wo-wo-work out, you’d get mad and I’d lose you. I rathered having you as a friend, then losing you cause I was in love with you.”

“Love?” you questioned, barely a breath of a sound lingering between them.

“But that night, you went on and on and I realised then that I was too gone to keep it in. And I realised that you wouldn’t feel the same...and I didn’t want to hurt you, so I left. And…”

“Diego Hargreeves, that is the stupidest thing I have ever heard.”

His brow furrowed low, anger mingling with befuddlement on his flushed skin. “Hey, I-”

“-first of all, you really think I would just hate you because you thought of me as more than a friend?! Even if I didn’t like you - which I do, by the way - I wouldn’t do that, I value you too much. But second of all, you’re telling me that you never noticed how much I liked you back?!”

“I-”

“-I have felt like an idiot for the past year, holding in my feelings for you and wishing you could feel the same way. And when you left, I thought - I thought that was it, and that I screwed things up when I was drunk, which I guess I did but-”

“-you didn’t screw anything up, I did!”

“No you didn’t, I did! I’m the drunken initiator!”

“I shouldn’t have just left!”

“Okay, so we both screwed up!” you shouted, throwing your hands up in the air in exasperation. “But dammit, Diego, I have loved you for ages, and you - we - this is what it came to?!”

“Well, I-”

“-I can’t believe this!” you chortled. “All this time?!”

“I guess so,” he said, voice catching on the ‘so’. “I guess, yeah.”

“Holy crap.”

“Ha. Yeah.”

“I love you,” you giggled, breathless and still flushed, messy and beautiful in the shitty gym lighting. “I love you, Diego Hargreeves.”

His heart didn’t break. It didn’t even crack. Diego instead felt the slight twinge as the organ settled in his chest, content and buzzing with the panted cry. The breaklines of before didn’t feel so harsh, mended by your shiny eyes and swollen lips that he wanted to stare at until the end of his days. For once, his heart actually felt whole.

“I love you too,” Diego mumbled, smiling like a little kid. The muscles in his face, rusted over with age and disuse, groaned at the extreme grin but he kept it on anyways, smiling down at you with the strangest feeling of happiness coursing through his body. “A lot.”

And you beamed. “Have I ever told you, your eyes look like, a thousand times prettier when you smile?”

A/N: WHY DO I KEEP WRITING ALCOHOL BASED IDIOTS TO LOVERS FICS?? Have I any other creative thoughts?? Does this make me seem like that’s all I think about?? These are the thoughts that now run through my mind as I rush to post this...and truthfully, I don’t have an answer. I swear I’m a little more creative! I just...have a hankering for these things. Oops.

I wrote this weirdly super super fast and it’s super nonsensical, especially the middle bits? But I weirdly like it. I’m not sure. The plot is a ~little~ wonky but I’m rolling with it!

I’m open to make more stuff on here, I’ve gotten quite bad at it but I like writing these things as practice pieces. So, if you want to read more, requests are open and you can find a list of prompts (if you want them) in my masterlist. I’m putting out an updated list later on in the month, but I also am just open to have any sorts of requests. xx

(also as always - if you enjoyed and you want more, follow, reblog, and consider buying me a kofi! linked in my bio bc tumblr doesn’t like direct links on posts, please check it out if you’re feeling generous because I’m recently unemployed and any bit helps. but sharing this post and showing others the work is appreciated a great deal and i love you if you do!)

#diego hargreeves x reader #mine #diego hargreeves oneshot #diego hargreeves imagine #tua x reader #umbrella academy x reader #hargreeves x reader #gender neutral reader

[chanandlersstuff]

Sunrise // P.09

Author’s note: Because I woke up in a very good mood im going to post this too and maybe the next chapter, who knows. Some fluff shit, hope you like it.

Series Masterlist

Daniel and Tes were having fun. She was grabbing her stomach from how hard she was laughing at Daniel’s goofiness. He was part dancing, terribly, and part playing bowling. It was Tes idea of showing him that she could beat him in something, thing that currently isn't happening.

-Okay, I know what I want when I win.- She looked at him with her brow raised.

-If you win.- It was her turn to play, so she was looking at the different balls thinking about a strategy.

-Okay. I know what I want if I win.- She nodded satisfied. -I want you to tell me the reason behind “Rose” because I still couldn't figure it out.

Tes stopped and slowly turned around looking at him. Her eyes half-closed and he was smiling with his head tilted to the side, as if it were a child asking for something. -Okay, I will tell you that if you win and only if you win.

Daniel moved his arms in a winning manner making Tes laugh. -What about you?

-Let me think while I score these points.- Tes said with the heavy ball in her left hand and a smile on her face.

With the attentive look of Daniel over her shoulder, both of them see how the ball left his course and didn't hit any bowling pins. Tes clenched her jaw and Daniel smiled satisfied. -It seems that you don't have to think much about what you want when you win, because at this point you aren't going to do it.- He said in her ear. His mouth was so close to her neck that gave her goosebumps.

Forty-five minutes later they were sitting in front of the other eating a cheeseburger with fries and water, to balance the food according to Daniel. -This doesn't go with your high performance athlete lifestyle, Mr Ricciardo.

Daniel laughed. -No, it doesn't. But don't tell that to Michael and we still can be friends.- Tes laugh too.

-Your secret's safe with me, pinky promise.- Just like the second time they met, they kissed their pinky fingers and interviewed them.

-Now, Miss White Rose, it's your time to pay. I won, now I want my prize.- He moves his eyebrows up and down.

-Fine.- She cleaned her hands and took a deep breath. -It’s not like I'm revealing a national secret, but okay. The first part you got it, Tes as a short version of Tesla, White for the hair and Rose- He put his hands up in a waiting signal and she shut up. Daniel tapped his fingers on the table like a drum roll and she rolled her eyes. -Because the first time Hope and I met she told me I looked just as beautiful as a rose in the spring but that I have just as many thorns as it. That when you approach me with full confidence I “stab you" with the thorns.

-That's poetic, I think.- Daniel's voice was unsure.

-Kinds of, yeah. At the time I was like that, really bitter and mean, hating everything and everyone. I don't really know how they standed me but with time and help I turned into this.- She gestures to herself with her hands. -I don't see much change, but I don't know. So, now that the mystery is solved and that you don't deprive yourself of your beauty sleep - Daniel laughs. -Can we continue eating?

-Yes, we can.- She smiles happily. -But some other day we have to make something to lose all these calories, otherwise Michael is going to kill me.

Tes groans in defeat. -Yeah, sure whatever. Now shut up and eat.- She put some chips in her mouth and did a little happy dance in her seat.

Daniel handed the little box with the bow on top of it to Tes, who was looking at him unsere. -What's this?

-A present.- He said matter of factly.

-No shit Sherlock.- He laugh. -I mean for what?- She didn't look at the present in her hands because she was lost in his eyes.

-Because I think that it might help you with something.- Tes narrowed her eyes.

-More vague you don't want to be, don't you?- Daniel Laughs. In the little time Tes knew him, 80% of the time he was smiling or laughing.

-Open it and you will see what I mean.- Tes took her time unwrapping the box.

Daniel looked at every move she made. The first thing she took off was the bow and tape it to his jacket and Daniel smiled when her hands touched his chest, even though it was on top of the clothes. The way her fingers took the scochtap trying not to harm the paper like if the paper was more important than the present. How she had her tongue between her lips because she was concentrating. Tes tilted her head to the side and frowned her brows when she saw the present.

-Its a journal. I have the habit of writing everything down when I'm traveling, before or after a race, my worries, doubts and expectations, everything. I have plenty of those, all of them have my initials on them and this one- Daniel extends his hand and taps the corner of the journal making Tes look there. -Have yours- Tes smiled fondly. -I thought that you could write all the things that don't let you sleep. All the worries and everything because maybe you could write something out of it. But promise me something.

-What?- They were so close that the only thing that separated them was the journal.

-That you will keep texting me those random questions, even if it's three in the morning or if I'm on the other side of the world.- Those little details that he was having made all the difference. Made her smile and jump like a little girl, made her feel loved and cherished.

-I promise. Thank you so much Dan, I don't have words to describe what this means to me.- He shakes his head.

-When you figure it out, write them here and I will be happy.- They didn't know it yet, but there in that spot where the sun was coming down and kissing their skins, where they were lost in each other's smiles and if the word exploded in that minute they wouldn't notice, there was the start of something beautiful. But not everything was a fairytale and unicorns.

#daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo drabble #daniel ricciardo fanfiction #daniel ricciardo f1 #daniel ricciardo fan fiction #daniel ricciardo fanfic #daniel ricciardo one shot #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo x reader #formula one fanfic #formula one imagine #formula one fanfiction #formula one one shot #formula one x reader #daniel ricciardo x you #formula 1 x you #f1 x you #daniel ricciardo x oc

[megashadowdragon]

comments 

Commentary:

Roland’s reckless use of centaurs is based on one of the most infamous episodes of his insane, naked trek across continents where he once rode a horse – Angelica’s, which she left behind when she and Medoro just barely escaped Roland’s now heavily sunburnt and gaunt self - for days and nights until it dislocated one of its shoulders. He then decided to carry it on his back where the maimed horse eventually died of hunger and thirst. Still unwilling to just let it go, Roland proceeded to drag the mare’s carcass behind him, using its dead body an improvised weapon against anything in his way.

Deciding he wanted a new horse, the frenzied Roland attempted to trade his very, very dead and torn up horse for a random shepherd’s still alive and not horrible horse. The shepherd - perhaps too stupid, scared, or proud to agree to the demands of a naked, bloody (not his blood, mind) maniac who was strong enough to carry a whole horse – refused. Roland took this about as well as you’d expect and once again rode his newly ownerless horse until it also died of hunger and exhaustion.

With a fresh stallion cudgel at his disposal, Roland stumbled across the Spanish province of Málaga and destroyed much of it as he passed through.

Meanwhile, Angelica and Medoro make it back to India where they marry and live happily ever after.

Roland was initially going to mention Bicorns (which would’ve been more appropriate), but Centaurs just seemed funnier to me.

Yes, Roland is a Count. The Count of Brittany to be exact, a robust but fragile vassal kingdom associated with the Frankish Empire that had only three kings of its own (in very rapid succession) before it fell to Viking control for 30 years. Following its liberation by Alan Wrybeard/Twistedbeard/Varvek, the grandson of Brittany’s last king, it became a duchy (read: feudal state) until it was folded into France six centuries later.

You’ve gotta love how instead of being primarily known as “Sir This” or “Lady That” like more typical knights, Charlemagne’s top thugs went by far more administrative titles: Duke Astolfo of England, Governor Bradamante (yes, really) of Marseilles, Count Roland of Brittany, and EMPEROR Charlemagne/Karl of pretty much everything. Nowadays, folks give these sobriquets to the baddies. And, well, they gave them to baddies back then as well, but more on that in the Valentine’s Day Special.

The Monte Cristo sandwich is a heavily Americanized version of the Croque Monsieur aka “Mister Crunch/Crunchy.” I know. It doesn’t sound quite as fancy in English.

The origins of this alteration are unknown, but a popular theory is that American soldiers or tourists tried a Croque or two while they were overseas during or post War 1 and came home with a basic inkling of how to create the French snack.

The inkling blossomed once planted. Mostly intact apart from three key differences: A lack of cheese on top of the sandwich, the boiling of the ham being optional, and (with Monte Cristos being blitzed with powered sugar and the dipping of them in jam encouraged) it was not a savory dish like the salt-and-peppered Croque Monsieur was.

Originally listed as French Sandwich, Toasted Ham Sandwich, and French Toasted Cheese Sandwich in various cookbooks for decades, it came to be popularly known as a Monte Cristo Sandwich in the 1950s.

Why it was called such might have less to do with the wrathful, cash-fueled rampage of Edmond Dantés and more with how this gluttonously golden assemblage brought to mind the prospecting hubs of old, specifically the snappily named town of Monte Cristo…Washington.

Disney helped popularize the dish’s new name by adding it to the menu of their California Disneyland’s Blue Bayou and Tahitian Terrace restaurants during the 60s.

I’d like to think these two would get along. While Roland is lousy with folly and sin, he is overall a penitent and righteous fellow who was duly and poetically punished for his excesses. Dantés, given his origins, is probably familiar with the beautiful bedlam of Charlemagne myths; a man that theatrical has likely read one too many books. The fact they’re both “Counts” would be the ice breaker.

And look! They both have fancy neckties! Isn't that precious?

These two aren’t ragging on Emiya’s food, God forbid, just the awful wordplay.

What, you think Emiya wouldn’t say something like that? If he were eloquent, he would have convinced his younger self to give up heroism.

#fgo #fate grand order #fate/grand order #emiya archer #archer emiya #edmond dantes #fgo edmond dantes #fgo comics #fgo fancomic #fgo comic #fate grand order comic #fate/grand order comic

[agrlsname]

Fic Masterpost

I’ve signed up for Fandom Trumps Hate for the first time, and thought it an excellent moment to share a guide to my 32 fics.

If you want me to write a fic for you, you can bid on me here!

If you want to check out my works first, I’ve written some lists that can help you find something to your tastes. The most popular fics, my own faves, and those with the main themes I keep coming back to, I’ve written about in more detail. Below the cut you can find the fics sorted by more standard genres. I hope this helps you navigate my AO3!

FIVE FAVES of the fandom My most popular fics - the ones that made my name.

1. What Friends Do 23k, E A story about the blurry limits between friendship and romance. A long, fluffy first chapter, an angsty second chapter, a third chapter with smut, topped off with a super fluffy epilogue. Apparently that’s the recipe for success – this fic is twice as popular as my second most well-loved fic!

2. Who I Really Am 13k, T John’s journey of self-discovery and acceptance. With the help of Harry, he slowly comes to terms with his bisexuality. One of the rare fics I’ve written which takes place post-s4, but the only things I’ve really cared about from it are the existence of Rosie and the Hug. Podfic from Podfixx available.

3. The General Idea 3k, T A short story about how their relationship shifts when Sherlock asks John to retire with him. Podfic from Podfixx available, and there’s a sequel too now (A Home for Bees and Beekeepers).

4. Coldness/Heat 3k, E My first PWP, featuring my fave trope of all time: Bedsharing! This turned into a series of fluffy and/or smutty fics posted annually on New Year’s Eve (New Year’s Kiss).

5. Tomorrow’s Song 24k, E When John confesses his love for Sherlock, Sherlock isn’t ready to hear it. Heavy angst ensues when they both try to deal with Sherlock’s return from the dead, and Sherlock battles with his demons. Writing this fic is what made me Understand Sherlock and I’ve loved him fiercely ever since.

FIVE FAVES of agirlsname The fics that I’m the most proud of – the ones I still love years after posting them.

1. Who I Really Am 13k, T I’ll mention it again, because it’s the most important thing I’ve ever written. I wrote it while I went through this journey myself, and many readers have messaged me over the years saying it helped them realise/come to terms with/come out as bisexual.

2. The Sky is Full of Fiddles 25k, T A teenlock AU set in rural Sweden in the 1890s. Sherlock is a folk music fiddler, John is a fiddle-maker-to-be, and they’re both skilled folk dancers. This is where I finally took the boys home to me and put them in the culture that I truly know, and gifted them with the music and dance I love most in the world. Magical, nearly mystical atmosphere, young summer love, the pull of music and dancing… the story turned out almost like a fairy-tale.

3. This Is Your Song 80k, E I’ve always loved the Moulin Rouge movie, and I had such a blast putting Sherlock in the role of a fiercely talented actor forced to work as a prostitute, and John as the writer who falls in love with him… Many people skip this one because of the MCD, but with its poetic language, heartbreaking versions of the characters and familiar story, to me this might be my best piece of writing ever.

4. Your Daughter 9k, G The story of Sherlock’s relationship with John’s newborn baby – the way he feels about a baby that isn’t his, but that he becomes a second parent to. There’s none of the things I hated with the later seasons (Sherlock and John’s frayed relationship, Mary, or any of the fuckery that was s4) – the only thing I kept was John having a baby (not called Rosie unless you HC it). Another story I lived while I was writing it.

5. 52 Years 4k, M A string of headcanons from every year Sherlock and John spend knowing each other. I like the way I wrote this one – a little odd, pretty poetic, sometimes angsty, mostly sweet. Underappreciated because it ends in death (of old age), but it isn’t there for the sake of angst but is meant to be beautiful.

Main theme #1: BISEXUALITY These stories deal with John coming to terms with his bisexuality, under angsty or fluffy conditions. Or both.

Who I Really Am 13k, T Every internal argument, every attempt to escape, every fear, and all the joy of coming to terms with bisexuality. Sprinkled with Johnlock angst that obviously ends in Johnlock happiness.

A Singular Friendship 28k, E John struggles with the implications of having a close physical relationship with his male friend. He takes several missteps and dates a woman for a while to prove his heterosexuality, but he deals with his crap in the end.

I’m the Rainbow in Your Jail Cell 2k, G A short, weird ficlet about taking the leap while you still have the chance.

What I Really Want 1k, M A short unilock fic where John has known Sherlock since he was a kid. The first time he has an almost feverish sex fantasy about his best friend.

Main theme #2: POST-REICHENBACH I have worked through my Reichenbach feels over and over. Let me break your heart and then put it back together!

Tomorrow’s Song 24k, E While Sherlock was gone, John realised he had feelings for him. When Sherlock comes back he isn’t ready for John’s love confession and turns him down. They drift apart, John proposes to Mary, everyone is miserable until Sherlock gets his shit together.

gravity 1k, T When Sherlock comes back, they can’t stop touching each other. No anger or hate, only sweet hurt and comfort.

The Secret Blog of Dr. John H. Watson (series, 3 works) 43k, E Sherlock and John get together before Sherlock falls. Here’s how that plays out when he comes back…

We could. 10k, M Sherlock casually jokes about suicide, which triggers John’s trauma from watching him fall. They finally talk it out. Established relationship.

My Messy Miracle 16k, M Sherlock calls John twenty days after the fall to reveal he’s alive. John has to let him go on his mission alone, but after a while he goes after him to save him.

52 Years 4k, M After the many years they spend together, John reflects on the fact that all the happy years more than make up for those difficult years at the beginning.

The Zebra Sheets 13k, M Sherlock isn’t “dead” as long as in canon, and John hasn’t met Mary. Sherlock is traumatised by the torture in Serbia, and John is exhausted from the grief he’s gone through. They go on a vacation to a cottage and grow closer to each other.

Here are suggestions on what to read if you want…

… to focus on Sherlock’s background, emotions and growth: What Friends Do 23k, E Tomorrow’s Song 24k, E Your Daughter 9k, G A Study in Kissing (series, 2 works) 11k, E The Zebra Sheets 13k, M

… a John who’s already 100% fine with his bisexuality (or doesn’t make a fuss when he realises): The Secret Blog of Dr. John H. Watson (series, 3 works) 43k, E New Year’s Kiss (series, 4 works) 11k, E This Is Your Song 80k, E The Sky is Full of Fiddles 25k, T My Messy Miracle 16k, M

… angst and ache in your heart (but almost always with a happy ending): Friends (series, 2 works) 51k, E Who I Really Am 13k, T Tomorrow’s Song 24k, E The Secret Blog of Dr. John H. Watson (series, 3 works) 43k, E This Is Your Song 80k, E We could. 10k, M Not Actually a Girl’s Name 5k, G 52 Years 4k, M Hurry to Love 1k, G

… fluffy, romantic, sweet stories: About the Beekeeping Years (series, 2 works) 6k, T New Year’s Kiss (series, 4 works) 11k, E Undersea-Rainbows 11k, E Your Daughter 9k, G The Sky is Full of Fiddles 25k, T A Study in Kissing (series, 2 works) 11k, E All Hearts’ Day 400 words, G The Zebra Sheets 13k, M

… sexy, short stories without much of a plot: Coldness/Heat 3k, E Iron Sparks 2k, E Sex Holiday Manners 2k, E The Adventure of the Ugly Jumper 4k, E The Largest Sex Organ 200 words, E What I Really Want 1k, M

… an AU: This Is Your Song 80k, E The Sky is Full of Fiddles 25k, T What I Really Want 1k, M

… to laugh: Solution of the Final Problem 6k, G The Lost Kiss 3k, M Iron Sparks 2k, E Socks! or A Delicate and Unpredictable Operation 2k, G

… a bite-sized fic on the go: gravity 1k, T I’m the Rainbow in Your Jail Cell 2k, G What I Really Want 1k, M All Hearts’ Day 400 words, G The Largest Sex Organ 200 words, E Hurry to Love 1k, G

#fandom trumps hate #Johnlock fanfic

[spade-riddles]

"Adjusting Expectations" Post

This submission received a lot of responses and 120 notes, so I thought I would compile the comments here.

Anonymous said:

Adjusting expectations anon was so good. If their timetables are right and we do just need to be patient a little longer, can Kaylor please send us a sign? I guess it would be too loud to slip "adjusting expectations" into social media posts, but maybe they could both do something with playing cards? To show they are card sharks right now but they'll find their way home eventually? That would reassure people. And it would fly under the radar.

casuallycruel131313 said:

I agree with a lot of this but I think the main issue right now is that moral and ethical lines have been crossed and there's no coming back from that. In these post-Trumpian insurrectionist times it's unfathomable that they could continue the Kushner narrative I no longer care if or when they come out, I enjoy the music and I'm happy to observe from a distance because I'm interested from a PR/marketing point of view but my opinion of T &K as people has changed irrevocably and I don't see how they can clean the tarnish off.

@theprologues said:

Agree with most of not all if this but I would like to say as a Kaylor the toe Grammy stunt didn’t phase me. I was not crushed by that by any means. I just shrugged and honestly expected it. It was the attributing Betty and exile to him during the LPSS in November that bummed me out and really made me go...really?

rockcrow20 said:

Have to say I also agree with most of this.

I no longer have any expectations on anything changing any time soon and have not been surprised by the recent events its to be expected after everything over the years really

Nothing has really changed (bearding narrative wise) since I fell down the rabbit hole in 2017 (except that great night in nashville 2018 rep)

Honestly I can't say I am as invested anymore about them ever coming out as I was.

I think the wb/Joe thing was the last moment for me and the continual kushner connection just troubles me like many others.

I mean my kaylor motto for awhile now has been hope for the best but expect disappointment.

Low expectations = limited feelings of disappointment.

original-cypher said:

@rockcrow20 the WB was a breaking point for so many. You are absolutely right. There are just so ma'y contradictions that feel like absolute whiplash. (I know I seem to have been the only one experiencing that with Gorgeous but... that was a big one for me, too) But like. You go on a whole PR campaign about speaking up and standing up for yourself. You say you're capable and tired of men trying to take ownership of your success and profit off of your name. And you credit you literal damn work to a bloke? Bitch, 'consistency'? Look it up. It grossed me out. It would have felt iffy if I believed they were real. But since I wasn't born yesterday it just sent me the message "this is how far I'm willing to sacrifice my principles to not be queer".

rockcrow20 said:

@original-cypher exactly why it bothered me and I know alot us so much. Such mixed messaging of being a strong fighting for your rights female and then oh hey let me attribute some of my best work to my pr boyfriend and the pr pics where she is walking behind all the time like 🙄 The Betty thing that was big one for me too!

rainbowdaisy13 said:

This write up and the comments are spot on. I don’t have much to add other than like @original-cypher said, Miss Americana is tainted for me now and seems like at the very least, it was released too soon in the plan. I get we think they have had to pivot but man, that doc, and including her literally saying “gay rights make me me” at the end was such a false flag. To see her wax poetic about not taking shit from men anymore and then see her do the same old hetero weak woman song and dance routine with the WB shit for albums that are of her genius mind has been so disappointing. I still believe Kaylor is real and I hope they get a chance to show the world that. Karlie posting that cardigan pic in the woods before the folklore release cemented for me they are still together. Adding a baby makes me feel all kind of weird ethical things but I hope I live long enough to see it play out and wear my I Told You So shirt 😁

@kellykaylor said:

agree with your post... I dont care about toe stunts but what really pissed me of was hetwashing betty 🤮! beautiful post tho anon!!

roameroo said:

Totally agree with these all comments especially the strong messaging of MA only to turn around & pull that WB = my "bf" crap. I was disheartened by her mentioning him at the Grammy's only bc he's getting credit for sh*t he doesn't/didn't do. That is what irks me the most about this, giving him credit for her life's work.

always-the-last-word said:

Can I throw my pennies in the pool ?? Taylor will put out the big three first Fearless, RED then 1989 that should bring us to about August. This is where the excitement should begin. If Taylor preps and waits for National Coming Out day it's a no lose for her. Lover her money making machine will go through the roof !! If things go bad or good in the public eye she'll have REPUTATION Taylor's Version ready to release. It will be epic and she'll own it and be FREE.

@karlie-what-you-want said:

always-the-last-word I like this take a lot! I try not to be too optimistic but if she wanted to come out sooner rather than later, I think this plan would satisfy both business and PR needs (at least on Taylor’s end). Remains to be seen how Tay will help Karlie dig her way out of the mess they made together regarding the K*shners.

always-the-last-word said:

Always remember that Taylor has a PLAN. Some of her plans are year's old (easter eggs). Taylor's one and only LOVE is her music, everything else comes second. If KK wants to change and be with her full time she'll make moves around the same time frame. That's if she chooses to. In any event Tay will be open and own all her music. I've seen this film before and WE might not like the ending.

chosetherose said:

I’ve been going back and forth for a day trying to figure out what I wanted to say when I reblogged this post. I’m tired. I’m frustrated. I understand I’m owed nothing by Taylor or Karlie. I understand that circumstances out of their control have caused the girls to pivot over and over again.

But, the root of my frustration in the past months stems not from me battling with the trivial (e.g. pap walks, etc.) but with my personal principles. I fiercely believe credit should be given where it is earned and I uphold this in my career regularly. To see Taylor crediting Toe with her art was deeply disappointing. Watch the 1989 and folklore acceptance speeches back to back and tell me it doesn’t upset you. I believe the K******s have blood on their hands and that their actions during the pandemic have killed people. To see Karlie still associating with one of them disgusts me.

I can’t help but think back in frustration - Would you really fall from grace to touch her face? (And in the brilliant words of @9w1ft) But would you die for her in public? I go back and forth feeling like questions like this aren’t fair at all and thinking they are sort of valid. At this point, it sort of feels like Taylor would only fall from grace for her lover if all the stars and facets of her life aligned perfectly. But perfection like this does not happen. Such is life. So why am I here?

I do question why Spade left certain messages in their final days. I am still holding hope a fervent revolution exonerates everyone. I so desperately want Taylor to regain control of her masters or re-records. Maybe this is the plan they thought was best with multiple goals in mind (re-records, having a family, coming out of the closet one day etc). I’m trying to remain patient because Spade told us to trust her endless yearning. But WOW it is asking a lot of us at this point.

Anonymous said:

Despite being a pragmatist kaylor and oftentimes getting into arguments with fellow optimistic kaylors (owner of this blog included) I think it's quite unfair -at this point- to say to the optimists who have patiently sat through the worst kind of stunts with the most terrible kind of people (yes I'm talking about the Kushner's friend group too) that they should have seen it coming. Besides, if it weren't for the optimists we the cynicals would have burned this fandom down by now.

Anonymous said:

Even if we ignore that an insurrection happened partially because of the family karlie's still working for and getting paid from, she literally said before the pregnancy debacle unfolded that j*sh was her last client while talking about cutting hair and doing a cutting gesture. How should we have interpreted that? 😤That a year later she would be more stuck with the Kushners than ever? We don't wake up on day and decide to have unrealistic expectations. She feeds into them. 😠

Anonymous said:

I have no expectation of Taylor coming out anymore. Zero. None. I have no expectation of her dropping Toe or even of Kaylor publicly reuniting. It doesn't even matter that much anymore. But I - do - expect 1 thing. Karlie to drop and completely dissociate herself from the Kushners and this has nothing to do with kaylor. It was everything to do with me being unable to support a person who willfully assists (now using her baby too) and receives money from a family that has made so many suffer.

Anonymous said:

A quick word from an ex-kaylor (who will never become an anti). A year ago, when the Trumps were still in power and untouchable and there was no baby, I was excusing and turning a blind eye to many things Karlie did for the K*shners. Even that dinner in September. I had also made peace with the truth never being revealed. But a year later the Trumps are gone, Karlie is still on full stunting mode now with a baby in the mix, a baby that is already being used by the Kushners, and I've really run out of excuses. Now the only thing that could possibly keep me on board is if I knew there was a good chance that the full truth would come out, so that Karlie's inexplicable and honestly borderline immoral actions could eventually make sense. But as your sub said, this is an unrealistic expectation, thus I became an ex-kaylor and I'm not planning to come back even when they reunite. 😕

Anonymous said:

What baffles me is that Taylor has explicitly expressed her regret about not giving her lover the credit she deserves and her doubt whether fame is worth hiding her true love: "when I walked up to the podium, I think I forgot to say your name", "what's a lifetime of achievement, if I pushed you to the edge". But yet again she didn't do anything to change this. I didn't expect her to acknowledge Karlie, but a nod or at least not falsely crediting her beard would be a good start.

Anonymous said:

1🙁 Let me chime in re: "expectations". I'm one of the kaylors who ever since the pregnancy reveal was trying to tell everyone there's NO way she was gonna dump him soon after birth let alone before that. It would bring too much unnecessary attention and Jerk would have never agreed to something that would make him look like a bad guy/husband. For the exact same reasons, I was also saying there's no way he wasn't going to post about the baby. All the above against the popular opinion back then.

2🙁 So I agree that the day of the birth post was known to T, not the timing though. Simply bc Kushner-leaning outlets made sure to note that detail. If they wanted it to go unnoticed, why draw attention to it? That being said, kaylors would have been more patient with this mess, if Karlie hadn't gone overboard with her freedom "smoke signals" last summer and Tay's "insiders" hadn't been insinuating that the end is VERY near. Both of them SHOULD have known by then how we would react to these.

3🙁 So it's natural that everyone feels played and has no patience for any more bullshit. Another sore point is how Jerk AND the Kushner-Trump klan monopolize the baby news. This isn't just to make it realistic, it's an abuse of Kaylor's baby's name to garner good pr for the worst family in America, with Karlie's blessing. In order for her marriage and split to appear realistic she's putting a LIFETIME burden on her child's back. Unless you believe she's eventually gonna say Jerk isn't the dad.

4🙁 So "we’re in a position we should realistically have been able to see coming". But we did see it coming, that why some made these extreme scenarios, bc this is the worst possible outcome. "Good people try to make it work, even in bad relationships." Ultimately this isn't just a "bad rs". It's a horrific association that should have been resolved ages ago, not one to bring your child into, doom it to suffer a similar fate, and expect people to sit idly and watch. That's what frustrates most.

[ranger-kellyn]

Do you ever think about how in BOTW Robbie says in his diary he never got to say goodbye to Purah? Like- I can't. I JUST CAN'T! 😭

WHEN I TELL U I THINK ABOUT THAT NEARLY EVERY DAY I AM ONLY BARELY EXAGGERATING

i reFUSE to accept it. i think he lied in his notebook. they all write their journals like they're EXPECTING them to be read. they all LIED and i rEFUSE-

-----

have the extended wip from my very first wip wednesday based on this VERY THING

-----

Slapping her hands over her mouth was all Purah could do to smother her own laughter, watching as Robbie smacked Link in his lower back with his rolled-up notebook.

“I’m starting to think I liked it better when you kept your nose outta things!” Robbie said, huffing and puffing his entire way back to his chair.

“I’m sorry!” Link said, keeping his distance out of swatting range.

Robbie swatted at the air, grumbling again.

Looking over at Link, all Purah could do was grin. “What’cha get into this time, Linky?” she asked.

He crossed his arms, face flushed with embarrassment.

“Journals I never said he could read!” Robbie answered, getting another laugh from Purah.

“How was I supposed to distinguish that from all your other mess of papers that you said I could?” Link asked.

The look Robbie shot her was that of, ‘Can you believe this guy?’

She shook her head. “Now he’s done it to both of us…”

Robbie continued to fuss at Link, all the way until Jerren and Zelda came to his rescue, dragging him along on their trip to Skull Lake to further investigate the shrine that was there.

Given it had been over 100 years since they last saw one another, Purah opted to stay behind with Robbie to continue catching up.

For the both of them, seeing one another after so long was...odd, at best; but in the same breath, odd always accompanied their relationship in some way, pre-calamity and post-calamity, so it wasn’t too hard to find a rhythm with one another again.

On Purah’s end, it was odd seeing Robbie as he was now. As a little old man, with a wife and a kid. (Never mind the part where his wife had been her assistant at one time)

For Robbie, even though he was fully aware of her experiment that had led to her physically reverting to a child, nothing could have prepared him to see her looking almost exactly as she did the day they last saw one another, the only key difference being a lack of dye in her hair and on her nails.

“What was he even getting into, anyway?” Purah asked, setting her cup of tea on the table separating them.

Unrolling the notebook, he leaned forward to place them down, angled to where she could read the first page -an invitation to continue reading if she wanted. “Just an old journal detailing coming out here and whatnot. My fault for having it out, I guess.”

Waiting for him to lean back, she looked down at it. “Can I?” she asked.

He nodded. “Go ahead. Nothing good in there, anyways. Just a lot of guilt,” he said, tugging at her heart.

She knew the feeling all too well. Far too many of her early journals were just detailed rants about the guilt she felt about not having done enough to stop the calamity.

As she began to read the first few pages, a smile tugged at her lips. His writing always tended to be more...poetic. Writing tended to be the only place he ever properly gathered his thoughts, whereas when speaking he could easily get off on one tangent, only to go down six other tangents before finally getting to the point.

It was one of many things that helped them get along, seeing as she was no better in the manner.

“Pushy? Me a pushy woman?” She asked, her grin evident in her tone.

He crossed his arms, returning the grin. “Don’t even pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” he said.

She rolled her eyes in a playful manner. “I have never been pushy a day in my life. Especially not when it came to you,” she teased.

He chuckled. “Pushiest damn woman I’ve ever worked with,” he said.

When she looked up at him over the notebook, it occurred to him that, a lifetime ago, the look would have been more than enough to drive him mad in only the best kind of way. In only the way Purah ever did.

“Oh, please, you liked it. You wouldn’t have rolled over so easily if you didn’t. Mister Rebel Without A Cause only ever let me push him around,” she added.

“You and now my wife, apparently,” he said, thinking nothing of the comment.

Purah hesitated, re-reading the same line she had been on again. “That’s because I trained her first,” she said.

She re-read the line again, still not absorbing any of the words, too suddenly consumed with the thought of her oldest partner marrying and having a child with her old assistant. An assistant who was fifty years younger than the both of them.

If there was one major drawback of suddenly being so much younger, physically, it was that her emotions had distinctly become harder to control again. All the experience from her lifetime wasn’t enough when faced with a frontal lobe that wasn’t fully developed again.

A frontal lobe that only wanted to scream about how wrong all of it was. A frontal lobe that was competing with the knowledge that the calamity had forced people into odd situations, good, bad, and indifferent.

Robbie and Jerren were merely a product of the calamity; two people making the best of a bad situation neither had any control over and--

She re-read the line for a third time, finally registering a few words.

Though, it was thanks to her third re-read that she realized something: this wasn’t Robbie’s writing.

At least, it wasn’t his writing from when it would have been written.

Despite his hasty nature, his handwriting had always been immaculate. Neat, flowing letters, always in a perfect line even without some sort of paper line to guide him.

This handwriting was...scratchier. Some things didn’t connect the way they would have in the past. It wasn’t like his current handwriting, but it was better…

As she turned the page to continue reading, she hesitated.

Up to that point, she knew his account wasn’t entirely accurate, but had chalked it up to emotions getting in the way.

The way he described their parting, however, was an outright lie.

“Lost in my thoughts, I didn't notice that Dr. Purah had slipped away. I knew Hateno Village wasn't much farther along the road, and that the Calamity had barely touched that area... So I felt safe letting her continue on her own. We parted ways without even saying good-bye, I suppose. Stirring myself back to action, I set out on my own journey back to Kakariko Village.”

Closing the notebook over her finger, she looked up at Robbie. “You and I both know that’s not how we parted,” she said, keeping her voice down, as though there was even anybody to overhear.

He looked away, unable to come up with a response.

“I might have skipped over some details, but I at least implied what happened,” she continued, feeling a distinct ache in her chest, cursing her young body. She had sworn a long time ago she had put all those feelings to rest.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he carefully looked back up at her. “You know I very well couldn't have written out every little detail like some trashy novel-”

“Like I said, I at least implied…” she defended.

Though, there had been a journal, long ago, right after she set up in Hateno, where she detailed everything. From everything the two of them had done, to every emotion she had forced herself to hold back from saying.

The guilt she felt from burning it in the ancient furnace nagged at her now and then.

“Don’t know why I’m trying to keep secrets after 100 years.” He adjusted himself to be more comfortable in his chair. “That’s an amended version, Cherry.”

From the other room, she just barely heard the Ancient Oven stir to life, a low grinding sound as it moved around.

Despite herself, she felt a shiver run up her spine. It had been a long time since she last heard that nickname. A nickname he had given her after she first put the red streak in her hair. A nickname she only allowed him to use.

A nickname she realized he had omitted from the journal -something he would have never done in the past.

She leaned forward again to put the notebook back in its place, her desire to read any more thoroughly quashed. “You never told Jerren about us, did you?” she asked.

“No, but in my defense, you never did, either,” he said.

“No, but I didn’t knock her up and marry her, did I?” she asked, not holding back any of the bite.

He seemed to flinch at her words.

Over 100 years later, and she could still get a rise out of him; always knowing just how to get under his skin.

And like 100 years ago, no matter how much he wanted to fight back, he rolled over.

“Jerren wasn’t even born by the time you and I had to part ways. There wasn’t a point in bringing it up,” he said.

She’d rather he just punch her in the gut.

She wanted to fight back. To yell. To lay into him for making her think that what they had never actually meant anything.

For the life of her, she couldn’t. No words would come out.

Robbie breathed a laugh. “I know that look, Cherry.” She wanted to tell him to drop the nickname. “Whatever you’re overthinking, don’t overthink it.”

She rolled her eyes, pushing herself back into her chair. “Easy for you to say. You’ve got an old man's brain! I’m over here stuck with my dumb twenty-something brain that is determined to bring up every dumb emotion I swore up and down I had buried!”

He was silent for an uncomfortably long time.

Staring at the fire crackling away in the fireplace, she nearly jumped when he said her name.

“Humor me. Come with me a minute,” he said, sliding off his chair.

She said nothing, but stood to follow him.

He led them back into the main room, where the Ancient Oven turned to greet them, their weird voice tone still grating to Purah’s ears.

“Greetings, Dr. Robbie and FamiliarNameMissing,” they said.

Robbie chuckled, regarding the machine with a look that was probably uncomfortably soft for just about anyone else. Purah, however, remembered the look well. He had always been attached to the guardians they had drug into the Royal Research Lab, giving each of them individual names.

At the time, she pretended to think it was stupid, but, secretly, she had known all the names he had given them.

“My pride and joy, the Ancient Oven. Few things I love more in life,” he said.

She breathed a laugh, uncrossing her arms.

“Jerren, though...hates it,” he continued, getting another laugh from Purah.

“Kinda figured that. The way the poor thing sprung to life after Link finally replaced the blue flame told me it hadn’t been on for a while,” she said.

It had been rather sweet; Link not even needing to be asked to do it. The second they arrived, he saw that the outside furnace wasn’t lit, and headed off without prompt. The personality adjustment was still new to everyone, but he still had his core, endearing qualities.

“Ancient Oven wasn’t her original name,” Robbie continued. “And well...I suppose you deserve the truth.”

The machine looked between the both of them, Purah now regarding her...differently.

“Ancient Oven, what’s your name?” he asked.

She focused on him. “My name is simply Ancient Oven,” she responded in her odd cadence.

He shook his head. “What’s your real name? The name I gave you?” he clarified.

She hummed for a second, a slow grind of her gears. “My name is Cherry.”

There had been considerable heat emitted from the machine before, but Purah was positive the heat she was now feeling was from her own flush.

“Why are you named that?” Robbie asked.

“I am named after the first woman you ever loved...” The machine almost seemed to hesitate.

Maybe it was a part of her programing to acknowledge everyone within her vicinity while talking.

Maybe it was pure happenstance.

Maybe the machine somehow knew.

“Cherry,” she concluded, looking straight at Purah.

If she was flushed before, she was having a full-on hot flash now.

“Don’t misunderstand me. I love Jerren dearly. I love the son she gave me more than life itself...but there will always be a part of me that belongs to you.”

Run.

She wanted to run.

She wasn’t sure what was making it so hard to breathe. The heat from Cherry, her own flush, or the knowledge that she could say the very same to him.

She wanted to cry.

“I’m sorry-- I shouldn't be here,” she said, turning on her heel to leave.

“Purah-”

“No, no- I shouldn't be here. This was stupid- I’m so fucking stupid-- I knew coming here would do this! I knew seeing you would do this,” she said, ranting her way to the door. She didn’t even bother going back for her coat, or anything else she didn’t have on her person. Zelda and Link could grab it for all she cared. She needed to get out.

“Purah, please,” he pleaded, following her to the door.

The midday air outside was far cooler thanks to the constant breeze coming off the ocean.

She looked around, searching for Mule among the horses in the nearby holding pen.

“Maybe I should have left without saying goodbye! I knew it then-- I should have made you hate me! Getting you to hate me- I should have. I should have done it.” She nearly tripped down the stairs, barely catching herself in time.

“You know damn well I could never hate you. I only ever lo-”

She instantly reared on him, talking over him so she didn’t have to hear that word. “Don’t! Don’t say it! Don’t you fucking say it!” she yelled.

Words that were all too familiar.

Words she said before.

Her eyes began to sting as she fought back tears. “I don’t care if you don’t feel it now, but don’t you dare tell me you felt it then!”

He waved his hands in exasperation. “Why? What is so damn bad about hearing me tell you how I felt?” he asked.

“Because you just don’t get it! You don’t get how pathetic I feel because I never got over you! I never moved on! I promised you I wouldn’t let you hold me back, but I lied to both of us! For over 100 years, I never moved on! I’m pathetic!” she yelled.

Only the wind dared to break the silence that followed. A soft rustle of the spring leaves. A sound far softer than her confession.

It took everything in her to not crumble in on herself. “You just don’t get it, Robbie. Maybe it was easier for you to move on, but I just...I never could.”

He grabbed a hold of the railing, but made no motion towards her. He only looked pained. “I don’t know what to say here, Purah. Nothing I can think of will make you feel better.”

#loz #tloz #hwaoc #botw #purobbie #fanfics #my fics #wip #can u believe there's gonna be MORE AFTER THIS #AND ALTERNATE ENDINGS???? #it's wednesday somewhere #wip wednesday #i'll post another wip tomorrow PROPERLY but i just CANT resist sharing this