#i would be delighted to remove them from the timeline at any age

[mrs-luigi-vargas]

Um. Hi. So I was reading @theangelofangst's newest work and it gave me Blorbo Thoughts. Unfortunately my blorbo is Kamek, so uhh…yeah.

Anyway, I wrote a thing based on it! Sorry if the lore/timeline (or the cipher) is wrong; I started writing this after Chapter 3 came out and then Chapter 4 came out as I entered the editing phase, lmao.

Also if you haven't read Speechless Symphony yet, you really really should! It's a delight of a story and the ending is very good :D

~~~

Sivsocavoup & Sitvusevoup

[AO3 Link]

Sitting in a cage in a pitiful excuse for a dungeon really gives you a lot of time to think.

A lot of time for your mind to wander, bored with staring at golden bars, white walls, the glint of metal spears meant to poke you if you’re out of line, the closed door denying you freedom. Nothing to stop thoughts and memories from surfacing, and of course those thoughts and memories can't do you the decency of being any semblance of pleasant.

No, the memories that float beneath your eyelids and repeat ad nauseam are those having to do with how you had ended up here to begin with. That plan, that infiltration, that confrontation. That oh-so-satisfying spray of blood, those delectable cries of fear. That green human’s face flipping to pure rage at a speed that could have put even King Bowser to shame.

That lucky throw.

That throw that shouldn't have been of any note, as the object flung through the air had been just a small stone. But it hadn’t been until the flames King Bowser had been gathering abruptly died out and he'd begun clawing at his own throat that you’d realized something was wrong. But you had barely been able to raise your wand to do anything about the way his face had twisted in pain before the green one struck, with a blow to the head that cast your world dark.

And then you had woken up here.

You spend the first hours after reorienting yourself fuming about the indignity of it all. Swearing vengeance for being treated like this, cursing those blasted humans who had landed you here, vowing to break out with King Bowser and —

The panic that had been blooming in your King’s eyes flashes in your mind, then. If you were an optimist, then you would next hope that whatever had been wrong with him had somehow resolved itself, and that he was waiting somewhere in the wings with a grand plan to break you, his esteemed second-in-command, out of this dreadful place. But you know exactly what had been wrong with King Bowser, and you haven't gotten this far in life with anything as worthless as optimism.

So you flick your wrist when the guards aren't looking, pulling up that monitoring charm you’d attached to your King back when he’d been a trouble-making prince, one you’d never bothered to remove as he’d aged. It stares back at you, fuzzy and buzzing with static as if it had never been anchored to him at all. You allow yourself one tremulous breath, paired with a single overlong blink. You’re behind enemy lines, after all.

...

...He’d been a great king.

For the next few days, you comfort yourself with the fact that the Mushroom Kingdom’s hero, at least, had been injured enough that he likely hadn’t survived that encounter, either. But even that solace is denied to you, as you overhear the guards standing near your cage chatter about Mario. About Mario’s recovery —

You struggle to keep your magic under control. They'd taken your wand away when they’d locked you up, in the assumption you were powerless without it; there’s no need for them to have evidence to the contrary. Still, you seethe over the meager, tasteless prison food they’d given you. You should have known the lack of funeral bells was a sign something wasn't right. Not only does that green hero get to walk away a murderer, he gets to have his brother with him, safe and sound. A duo of goody-two-shoes, prancing about as if they hadn't destabilized an entire kingdom in one fell swoop. As if they hadn't —

Again, you wrestle your magic down. It still simmers beneath your skin, eager for an outlet. And you're eager to give it one, one that ended in those brothers suffering a thousand times the amount King Bowser had, as he’d burned from the inside out. Yes, they would rue the day they crawled out of whatever wretched hole they’d surfaced from, so long as you still lived.

---

For a while, you entertain more...outlandish forms of revenge. A curse to cause unending nightmares as it puts them to sleep for good; an “accident” that leaves them both blind and deaf and crippled for life; the red hero held down, helpless to watch as you break every one of his brother’s bones one by one by one.

But those ideas, while satisfying, still aren't enough. You haven’t gotten this far in life without a reliable and fine-tuned cruel streak, and in that fine-tuning you’ve learned cruelty is a dish best served cold. So you let those short-sighted scenarios pass you by, sorting through the chaff for the perfect one.

You also know cruelty is a dish best made to the servee’s tastes, and for that, you need intel. You haven't needed a wand to cast simple spells since you’d learned to walk, so it’s trivial to attach little eavesdropping charms to the food trays and cutlery those fungal peons bring to you at mealtimes. Emphasis on little, because while you have been doing magic longer than any of these imbeciles had been alive, you know the Princess, at least, isn't as much of an idiot as the rest of them regarding magical matters, and you haven't gotten this far in life without a healthy dose of caution.

So you do what you do best — you listen, and you learn. Those brothers visit the castle often, and thus you find the red one hadn't actually escaped King Bowser’s final attack unscathed; apparently, his voice box is forfeit. The world forever spared of that idiot’s worthless blathering...for the first time since waking up imprisoned, a ghost of a smile curls up on your face. Even in death, your King’s vicious nature still prevails. You’d taught him well.

And, in a lucky break, you manage to eavesdrop on your King’s murderer well enough to catch the guilt in his voice when talking about the state of his brother. You take a risk and upgrade the charm to give you visuals, and you see with your own eyes the self-condemnation lining his shoulders. The sight is enough for the second grin of your prison stay. But it isn’t enough to satisfy you completely; you need it to hurt more. Nonetheless, you could still use this; the only reason King Bowser’s blow had landed — besides his unrivaled combat prowess — was because his initial target had been too busy cowering in fear to see the strike coming.

Without access to your spellbooks, it takes a while for the perfect idea to manifest. But that’s fine; you haven’t gotten this far in life without a wealth of patience. You mentally flip through them, one by one, for the perfect spell to make those humans pay, as you bide your time for an opportunity to escape.

And the perfect inspiration comes months later; after months of awful prison food and taunting from the guards and absolutely no privacy, you sit next to the light of the moon, thinking about your late King. Not in a moment of weakness, as someone soft-hearted would assume, but of the power vacuum he’d left in his wake. To be filled by whatever schmuck made a big enough power play, by the circumstances. You frown imagining it, a headache half-budding in your temples. If you were a lesser man, this would be when you would wish to do anything to have King Bowser back to take his rightful place once again. But you are greater, so you merely cast that thought aside; when you return to the Darklands you’ll find some poor saps to use as fodder for whatever revival ritual you’ll perform to get King Bowser back to his glorious, living self.

But...you do know someone lesser. Many people, in fact. One person in particular, however, would be perfect to cast in a certain role. And there’s another who would be an excellent fit for the tragic hero of this upcoming tale. And you won't even have to hatch another escape plan to direct it!

Originally, the spell you’re thinking of was something to cast on oneself in a saccharine moment of self-sacrifice for a loved one, but you know better. So you spend the next week or so keeping to yourself, those pathetic excuses for guards long since bored of you, recalling the exact shape of the incantation you need, building your magic reserves as much as you can to cast the spell itself the way you want to, knowing your slight magical atrophy and the lack of magical focus would make things marginally difficult. Or rather, it would have made things marginally difficult, if you weren't the greatest wizard alive.

As such, soon enough, with the moon sitting high yet hidden in the night sky and almost a year to the day since King Bowser was killed, you deem yourself ready.

In the darkness, you kneel on the metal floor of your cage. With a deep breath, you close your eyes and focus your attention inward. You think of your King, that look on his face, the last look you had seen on him while he was still alive. The look he probably died wearing. Surprised. Agonized. Frightened.

The vowels and consonants of your native language fall from your lips easily; low, whispered, with the barest of shaking as you concentrate. You feel the spell reach out to you, wanting you to pay your price. You feel it reach out beyond you, toward the Darklands, wanting to restore what was lost in exchange.

But you aren't a lesser man, so you don't give it the chance. You gather your magic and push it away, away out of the room, towards the magical signature you want it to latch on to instead. While the act of doing so is simple, it still costs a fair bit of energy, and without your wand you’re left panting from the effort of avoiding becoming ensnared by the spell yourself. You’d chosen it for a reason, a reason that was rather deadly. It wouldn't do to fail now.

The moon sits high in the sky and the rest of the world is asleep, so you shift to a better sitting position and lean back against the bars of your cage. You feel the traces of magic stretch out toward where you sent the spell, winding down pathways and weaving between buildings, to a little house in a town, to a certain murderer’s sleeping form. They’ll figure out what you’ve done sooner rather than later, you know. And with the spell you’ve cast banned in every country and scrubbed from every text published in the last century, they will have to come to you to learn how to break it. Not that you’ll tell them, of course.

So now, all there’s left to do is wait. Wait for them to come with their distress and their anger and their paltry threats. Wait for their tears, their denial, their attempts to bargain with you. And as the only one with answers, you’ll be free to give the ones that would only send them further into despair.

As your magical exhaustion ushers you to sleep, a cold smile dances on your face. You haven't gotten this far in life without patience and cruelty, after all. And it looks like both are about to pay off.

You can hardly wait for it.

#again sorry not sorry i have the wrong blorbo lmao #y'all keep giving kamek the most awesome plans only to have them fail at the last second #it's very sad :( #(i jest) #(keep being awesome y'all <3) #mlv.fic #smb #kamek

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

Hey Gaud which 5 history figures would you like to hunt down?

THANK you. 

christopher colombus, mao zedong, stalin, hitler, leopold ii, hideki tojo, hirohito, kim il sung, ronald reagan, nixon, both george bushes, andrew jackson, obviously trump, and preferably i would assassinate them as young adults but i’m genuinely not picky 

#hitler tw #politics tw #murder tw #ask to tag #i would totally murder baby hitler #it's not IDEAL but i would do it #i would be delighted to remove them from the timeline at any age #although if they were babies i would probably just kidnap them and put them in a responsible foster home situation #anyway i accidentally allowed my mind to wander down this tangent for 30 seconds #and what my goddamn brain came up with was basically a version of foster's home imaginary friends #but it's an orphanage for history's monsters who were removed from the timestream as babies in order to be rehabilitated #like an even more messed up version of clone high i guess #an orphanage for history's dictators with me as a caring foster parent i hate my fucking brain #oh!!! also basically every member of 15th/16th century european royalty #and then all the heads of the noble families just to be safe #destroy feudalism from the top up. cut off colonialism before it manifests #i would hunt them with a crossbow #make a long weekend of it. bring some friends for a picnic and hunting party. we'd have a pack of wild dogs

[tiptapricot]

bestie help... i can't sleep because i'm being plagued with visions of old gay people (bnt)... ik you've mentioned a few things about them in middle age in another hc post but i would bw delighted to hear any more thoughts if you had some 💖

Ohhh I can try!! I’m placing middle aged BnT post FtM since that’s an area I haven’t explored as much

Life after saving all of time and space is… strange. In a lot of ways it’s not that different, and in others it reaaaally is

One one hand, Bill and Ted still live in the same houses, they still go over to jam with each other every day, they still have their kids and their wives, but on the other, there’s stories of them and their family all over news sites and social media, Wyld Stallyns has rocketed back to worldwide success, and they both have this creeping feeling that maybe their marriage issues weren’t meant to be fixed at all….

Being in the cosmic nexus of a destiny-achieving, existence-saving event with your best friend kind of changes your perspective on a lot of stuff

The paparazzi mellow out after a year or so, but they still have people coming up to ask for autographs and to give thank yous, and news stories are still running mundane updates on them at the end of reports, and all the stores they’re regulars at give them discounted drinks, and it’s strange

The world as a whole has had a shift, too, a good one

Reports after the fact described the event as time and space being twisted and punctured and stretched like putty or rubber, and though most things ended up back to normal, there were still after effects, fingerprints and bumps left in the wake of a near disaster

For a few weeks after The Song That United The World was played, the whole planet was thrumming with leftover energy. It was the most creative humanity had ever been. Artists, singers, painters, writers, sculptors, architects, actors, mathematicians, everyone was spurred on by a bone deep inspiration, and the world created

People became kinder to each other too, gentler and more open and caring, sensors found that the global temperature had miraculously dropped to safe levels, nature started growing back at a faster more vivacious rate, and a scientist discovered that Wyld Stallyns’ music contained an inherent connection to the cosmic vortex, and as a result, made a perfect and sustainable source of green energy when played

So much happened, and yet Bill and Ted… stayed Bill and Ted

They don’t have the same weight and hopelessness as before, they have a stable music career and their kids have been helping produce all the songs they came up with in the Great Creativity Boom, and they don’t feel any different, but that’s the thing

The story that they would unite the world always seemed so distant, and then it became reality in the course of a few days. Even a year after the fact, it’s still a lot to take in

That and… the fact that Bill and Ted can’t stop looking at each other differently

They keep having moments, while hanging out in the garage, where they’ll just find themselves staring at each other, hip to hip on the couch, and there’s something different there than there was before. Or maybe they just didn’t notice it until now

Bill talks to Jo about it, and Ted does the same with Liz. They’re hesitant, because after working to hard to stay together, wouldn’t it make that pointless if they ended things now?

It’s a lot of late night talks, a lot of hugs and snuggling

Jo and Bill have talked about similar stuff before, about Bill’s long standing feelings for Ted, and about Jo’s attraction to women, but they still thought staying in a relationship would be best. But now that Bill’s been seeing how Ted looks at him, he realizes maybe it’s not after all

It’s all new for Ted though, and it’s kind of difficult for him to wrap his head around. Liz sits on the back porch with him and they share drinks and watch the stars and just… talk. Realizing you’re in love is a big thing after all

The divorces are easier than any of them expect, and it’s like a weight is removed from their shoulders afterwards, a new sense of freedom

They decide to have Jo move in with Liz and Ted with Bill, a similar set up to what they did in their early 20s, and start moving their things over

In a lot of ways it does feel the same as moving out after graduation, only this time, when Ted brings his last box of stuff in, when it’s just him and Bill standing in the entryway sweaty and smiling, he takes a step forward, and takes Bill’s face in his hands, and traces a thumb over his cheek as Bill smiles and closes his eyes, and leans in to kiss him

It’s not a movie moment, nothing dramatic and huge, and yet it is the sweetest kiss Ted “Theodore” Logan has ever had

It’s easy to go back to living with each other again, they work together just as well as they always have, only now there’s a new kind of domesticity seeping into the cracks of their life

Casual touches, slow dances in the kitchen and living room, the sleepy weight of the other person’s body against theirs in bed

Bill asks about marriage one night, when it’s just them, when only Ted will feel his breath and the way he shifts to be closer to his chest, and Ted says, “Yeah… I’d like that.”

They don’t invite too many people. They keep it close family and friends. Missy takes Bill suit shopping and Liz helps Ted pick out a dress, and Billie and Thea perform a fantastic song at the reception

The next day they wake up to the news that three thought to be extinct species have been rediscovered

Bill likes to kiss Ted’s wedding ring, and Ted uses the word husband like he’ll never get another chance, and they are so damn happy

Sometimes it can still be rough. They still have sleepless nights where their heads are full of thoughts of other timelines and flashing visions of distant galaxies and the infinite tangle of time, but they have each other when that happens

They can talk about what they see, about the changes. Bill can squeeze Ted’s hand and snuggle into his neck, and they don’t have to think about prison yards or their own cosmic importance

Through it all, with each other they are allowed to be Bill and Ted, nothing else, and that’s the greatest destiny either of them could ask for

Headcanons masterpost

#this was another long one but I had a lot of fun thinking about post ftm stuff #hope this works for u!! #the fruit is headcanoning again #the fruit is talking again #the fruit is answering again #bnt #bill and ted #bill and ted face the music

[world-of-puppets]

Puppetry Lost Media

In honour of reaching 50 followers last week (now 55 followers, as of writing this) I decided to cover two subjects of great interest to me: puppetry (of course) and lost media.

Everybody online loves a good old bit of lost media. Whether it be being a part of the many searches for the media in question, or watching documentaries about them on sites like YouTube. I’ve been mildly addicted to the latter kind of content for a while. From what I’ve seen, though, there aren’t many videos or articles out there specifically covering lost puppetry. So, in no particular order, here are a couple of pieces of lost puppetry I found while scrolling through the lost media wiki.

銀河少年隊 - Ginga shounen-tai AKA Galaxy Boy Troop (1963 - 1965)

Osamu Tezuka is one of the most pioneering figures in Japanese art and animation. Starting as a manga artist in the 1940s inspired by the animated works of American studios such as Walt Disney and the Fliecer Brothers, he adapted and simplified many of the stylistic techniques of both artists to create his own signature style of big shiny eyes, physics defying hair and limited animation. A style that would go on to heavily influence the world of anime and manga as a whole.

But animation and graphic art were not the only mediums Tezuka would dabble in. Ginga Shounen-Tai, or Galaxy Boy Troop in english, was a television series that aired on the public broadcast channel NHK from April 7th, 1963 to April 1st, 1965. Running for 2 seasons with a total of 92 episodes.

The series was a mixture of marionette characters that utilised the Supermarionation marionette technique, popularised by Jerry Anderson’s Thunderbirds, and limited traditional animation. The story revolves around a child genius named Roy who leads a rag-tag group of heros around the galaxy in a rocket ship in order to revive the earth’s sun and later protect it from alien invaders.

Out of the 92 episodes that aired, only episode 67 still exists in its entirety with French subtitles, and the full episode can be found on YouTube with English subtitles uploaded by user Rare TezukaVids. According to user F-Man on the Tezuka in English forums, footage of episode 28 exists but with no audio, and episode 87’s animated segments exist without the marionette segments. F-Man also claims the reason for Galaxy Boy Troop’s disappearance is due to Tezuka not being proud of the series and having all episodes of it destroyed.

Personally, I think it’s a shame that pretty much all of this series is gone. From what I’ve seen in episode 67, it looks really charming. Tezuka’s signature character design style was adapted suprisingly well to marionettes, and the puppetry itself isn’t that bad either. I love the little face mechanisms like the blinking eyes, flapping mouths and others. It gives the puppets a lot of personality and charm. Like, just look at this old mans eyebrow mechanism and tell me you wouldn’t want to watch 92 episodes of this show;

Tinseltown (2007)

Tinseltown was a 15 minute sitcom pilot created by the Jim Henson company under thier Henson Alternative banner. The pilot was commissioned by the Logo Network and aired as part of the Alien Boot Camp programming block in 2007.

The pilot (and likely the series, had it been picked up by the logo network) features a cast of both puppets and live actors as characters. The premise revolves around Samson Kight, an anthropomorphic bull preformed by Brian Henson and drew Massey, and his partner Bobby Vegan, an anthropomorphic pig prefomed by Bill Barretta and Michelan Sisti, as they attempt to balance thier lives working in Hollywood with life as parents to thier sullen 12-year-old foster son, Foster, played by Paul Butcher. Other human characters included Mia Sara as Samson’s ex-wife Lena and Francesco Quinn as the family’s manservant Arturo.

The Tinseltown pilot used to be available on the Logo Network’s YouTube channel, but was later removed for unknown reason. Since then, the pilot has not been made available online. However the characters Samson and Bobby have made appearances in other Henson related works, such as the improv stage show Stuffed and Unstrung, where they played the role as the shows producers, and in a 2011 video on the Jim Henson Company YouTube channel celebrating Jim Hensons 75th birthday.

I find Tinseltown pretty interesting as I feel like it should be more noateable or known, considering that this is (as far as my knowledge goes) the first Jim Henson Company project featureing openly lgbtq characters as its leads, and would have been the first Henson show to do so had it been picked up. As someone who’s interested in lgbtq+ representation in creative media such as animation, I realised that there’s not many examples of canon lgbt characters in puppetry. The only ones aside from Samson and Bobby I could think off the top of my head would be Deet’s Dads from The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance and Rod from Avenue Q. Though, obviously, there could be more I’m not currently aware of. I don’t think the Tinseltown pilot was a masterpiece or anything. After all, there’s probably a couple of good reasons Logo didn’t pick it up for a full series. But I think it be cool if either Henson co. or Logo made this available online again, if just so we could appericate it as an interesting little footnote in the history of lgbtq rep in puppetry.

With that said, considering the pilot’s obscurity and the fact that it’s main couple haven’t been used in any Henson Related projects in almost ten years, as well as the possibility that there may be legalities preventing the Henson company from releasing it such as Logo still owning the rights, it’s unlikely we’ll see the Tinseltown pilot anytime soon.

Sonic Live in Sydney (1997 - 2000)

Sonic the Hedgehog is a fictional character no stranger to multiple interpretations of him and his universe across a diverse range of media. From the more light-hearted and comedic stylings of The Adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog and Cartoon Networks Sonic Boom cartoon series, to more serious faire such as the Sonic SatAM cartoon and the Sonic Adventure videogame duology. One of the more obscure and stranger adaptations of the character came in the form of Sonic Live in Sydney, a one an a half hour live show hosted at the former Sega World Sydney amusement park in Darling Harbor, Sydney, Australia. Originally beginning as a live show with actors in meet-and-greet style costumes, the show eventually was replaced with a puppet show during its last two years.

The shows plot was set in an alternate timeline whos continuity was a mix of the SatAM cartoon and Sonic the Hedgehog 3, where Doctor Robotnik’s Death Egg crash lands in Sydney, Australia instead of Angel Island and attempts to take over before being foiled by sonic and friends. According to Phillip Einfeld of Phillip Einfeld Puppetoons, the company that made the puppets, Sega felt the costumed actor version of the show wasn’t dynamic enough, and wished to replace it with a version featuring live puppets with animatronics. Both versions of the shows plot are identical.

While Sonic Live in Sydney’s soundtrack is available on YouTube, and some photos of the show are available on the Lost Media Wiki, no footage of either the costumed actors version or the puppet show version have resurfaced. The show was closed down in 1999, possibly due to cost, shortly before the Sega World park as a whole in 2000. So unless there is someone out there who viseted the show between 1998 or 1999 who recorded the show via a handheld camera, footage of both incarnations of the show are likely forever lost to time.

On a personal note, I don’t have much to say on this one other than how gloriously peek gaudy 90s Sonic the set/puppet design is. I have no doubt finding footage of these puppets in action would truly be a silly delight to behold...

Legend of Mary (year unknown)

This one is a little different from the other entries on this list as while the film itself in its entiraty is available on YouTube for anyone to view, the information surrounding Legend of Mary, specifically its year of release, remains a mystery as of writing this.

I have mentioned the film before on this blog so I’ll keep it brief here: in summary, Legend of Mary is a short film retelling of the Nativity featuring the Rod puppets of Austrian puppeteer Richard Teschner. the video was uploaded to YouTube by user canada 150 archive. I looked up the people credited in the film and was able to find most of them, but didn’t find Legend of Mary listed in thier credits, and was unable to find the film on sites like IMDB, tMDB or Letterboxd. I reached out to Canada 150 archive asking if they had any info regarding the Legend of Mary’s release date, and after a coupe of months, they replied saying they didn’t know.

And that’s as far as I got on my search for answers, if anyone of you guys has any information regarding Legend of Mary, then it be of huge help in finding the release date.

Sam and friends (1955 - 1961)

Sam and friends was the very first puppetry television series created by Jim Henson alongside his colabarator and future wife Jane Nebel. filmed in Washington, D.C. and airing twice daily on WRC-TV and the NBC affiliate in Washington, D.C. from May 9, 1955, to December 15, Sam and Friends would mark the first apperence of Kermit (though not yet as a frog) and paved the way for Henson’s iconic and revered legacy in the realm of puppetry on film and television.

With the impact this show had in mind, it may come as a shock to some that almost half of Sam and Friends, specifically, 42 of the 86 episodes, are considered lost. With 16 existing, 8 documented, 9 known from memory, plus 8 existing Esskay commercials and 1 memory-known Esskay commercial. Some taped episodes have been shown at venues such as the museum of the moving image while others have been erased. It’s unknown if copies of these erased episodes still exist.

This post would become far to long if I were too list every episode missing from Sam and Freinds, but if your curious, the lost media wiki article has a comprehensive list of all lost episodes.

Annnd that about it for this post. This type of content is pretty different from the stuff I usually post. So I’m egar to see what you guys think about it. If you enjoyed this article, want to see more like it or have ideas for what puppetry-related topics I should cover in the future. And again, thank you all so much for helping me reach 55 followers. Your support really does mean a lot to me, and I hope you enjoyed this as a follower milestone gift.

Anyways, hope you enjoyed this dip into lost puppetry, and have a happy holiday season!

#jim henson #sonic the hedgehog #osamu tezuka #lost media #lgbt #puppets #puppetry #richard teschner #lost tv series #failed pilots #failed pilot #lost puppetry #live show #theme parks #amusement parks #puppet show #performance #tv #television #film #short film #1950s #1960s #1990s #2000s

[vegalocity]

The cliffside duel

More of The Princess Bride AU, This part has a bit more of the casting down because it took me FOR FUCKING EVER to decide on who i was okay with being Vizzini

I settled on the Spider Queen

--

“If the Monkey King were at full power right now, he wouldn't be clinging to the cliffside and attempting to climb.” Her boss chuckled, the gentle click-clack of her spider legs against the stone grated on Xiaojiao's ears. “Stay back here, Ms. Long. If the Great Sage has fallen so low he cannot even summon his cloud nor bound to the top of the cliffside without fear of falling he may be weak enough to be killed.”

Xiaojiao held back a shudder as her boss patted her shoulder and approached the bound prince. “And as for you, highness, try to run and it seems like the only one who will come after you is that simian fool clinging to the stone below.”

“Let him come!” The prince growled, “I have unfinished business with that monkey! Remove these bindings and I'll take care of that bastard FOR you lot-” He seemed to try and summon his flames, but the cuffs on either wrist that restrained him flashed gold and the prince yelped in pain as his own fire magic was blown back onto him.

“Now If I did that you'd certainly run away little calf.” her arachnid boss pet at the prince's head. “And it was such a pain to get you in our custody in the first place, I'm half tempted to demand a raise in pay from your 'betrothed' when we're done dumping your body in a river in his enemy's territory.

Xiaojiao rolled her eyes, and she felt Sandy at her side's exasperation in his tired sounding sigh. The things you do when no one else will hire you...

“Ms. Long? I expect you to not keep us waiting for too long.” The Spider Queen finally huffed before making a vague 'follow me' gesture. “Come along boys, we have quite some ground to cover without that monkey on our backs.”

Sandy looked back at her as he slowly headed for the prince. “Good luck.” he muttered quietly, and Xiaojiao smiled at him with all the confidence she could muster.

“Thanks.” It was just the Monkey King after all, just the trickster stone monkey who caused havoc in heaven and turned the whole court upside down. Just the Great Sage Equal to Heaven. No big deal no big deal.

Sandy hefted the immobile prince over his shoulder as he followed behind the Spider Queen, and Xiaojiao was alone with him.

There was some time of quiet, interrupted only when Xiaojiao herself grew bored and took out the Jade Sword to get a little practice in.

But eventually that grew boring as well and she peered over the side of the cliff again.

The Monkey King had barely moved from where he'd narrowly escaped falling into the water below.

“You doing okay, Monkey King?” it would be so disappointing if such an impressive figure were to die by something so simple as falling from the cliffside and drowning...

“I'm fine.”

“I only ask because when you get to the top I have to try and kill you!” And honestly the idea was becoming less and less appealing the further away her supposed boss was getting.

“That does spoil things a bit...” The Monkey King fired back, shaking his covered head, dark furred tail curling around his own leg.

Wait... Didn't the Monkey King have golden fur? Eh whatever, people probably just made that up so he'd sound more impressive in the stories.

“I can throw the rest of the rope down and help you up!” Honestly at this point she'd just rather get on with it.

“I can't exactly trust you wouldn't just drop me the second I put any weight on the rope.”

“I promise I will NOT try to kill you until you reach the top~” She singsonged, the Monkey King looked up and made a face at her.

“Very comforting. Sorry guess you'll just have to wait.” He shifted his position a bit before crawling a magnificent inch higher than he was a moment ago.

It would be HOURS before he was done. By then The Spider Queen would already have the prince in position and she'd make SANDY kill him. And that wouldn't be good at all. Sandy would cry and that was not allowed to happen.

“I can't afford to wait...I can give you my word as a dragon?”

“I beat up... like all the dragon lords in my prime, can't trust that.” Damn...

“Is there ANYTHING I can promise by to make you trust I'm being sincere?” She HAD to catch up with them. Now that that idea was in her head it wasn't getting out, and her protective friend instincts were overriding what little patience Xiaojiao had left.

“Don't think so, no.” The Monkey King answered unhelpfully. Then an idea hit her.

“On the soul of my father, Patriarch Long, you will make it to the top of this cliff alive.”

The Monkey King closed his eyes and sighed, his forehead hitting the rock. “Throw me the rope.” Xiaojiao chirped in delight as she quickly unspooled enough of the rope to lower down while still leaving enough anchored by the rock to keep the Monkey King from falling to his watery grave.

She even gave the rope a few extra pulls as the Monkey King began to ascend, to give him that extra push, and soon enough her future opponent was on even ground beside her.

He huffed and puffed with an exertion she wouldn't have expected of someone with such a fine and long track record of... physical activities involving hacking and slashing and jabbing and crushing and-

The monkey sneezed and a cloud of dust came off of him before he muttered a small 'thank you' and began to take his staff from off of his back-wait didn't he hide it in his ear or something?

“Wait, hold on. You're out of breath and exhausted, that's not a fair fight. Catch your breath THEN we can fight.”

“...Well, thank you again.” The Monkey King sat a few paces away from her on a large boulder and began to take off one of his shoes to clean it of sand and stone, and Xiaojiao was able to take in his appearance a little better.

Unlike the stories the Great Sage Equal to Heaven wasn't wearing armor or warpaint, or carrying around flags with his title emblazoned onto them. He was wearing a simple lithe outfit, made for speed and stealth, had a black headscarf and equally black mask obscuring most of his face.

She could see he only had the one set of ears, and the timeline wouldn't have matched up anyway... still, She wondered-

“Do you happen to know any macaques with an... unusual amount of ears?”

The Monkey King's expression flattened as he looked up at her. “Do you always start your death matches like this?”

“Sorry to pry just...” If it got any information... “My father was killed by a six eared macaque.” She'd been so barren of any leads for years now, she'd been on the verge of despair when the Spider Queen had offered her work, if the Monkey King knew who she was talking about-

“I'm... sorry to hear that. I remember talk of a six eared macaque but I don't remember ever meeting them.” Damn...

“Oh...” Well now the Monkey King was looking at her in pity and that wasn't allowed whatsoever. “It's fine. I promised justice for my father, and I can't leave any stone un-turned.”

“You're a loyal daughter, Miss....?”

“Long Xiaojiao. And you're the Monkey King, yes?”

“My reputation proceeds me.” the Monkey King confirmed with a small shrug. “Tell me about this macaque, when you lose I'll keep an eye out for him.” There was a teasing lit in his voice, it... made him sound younger than such an immortal being should. He sounded close to her age when he spoke like that.

“Well when you lose I'll appreciate being allowed to tell someone about it I suppose.” She teased back. The Monkey King grinned crookedly at her.

“I was just a girl at the time, I had only barely begun to brush with adolescence when the Six Eared Macaque came to our family's door. He seemed so humble, he spoke only with the greatest respect. He told us that he was a former criminal, but his life was spared by a Bodhisattva on the condition that he convert and learn from all manner of creatures. That he'd already studied under the fish and the foxes and he'd like to learn the ways of the dragons next.

“My father had trusted him and he'd taken him on as an apprentice... But he was a liar. Once he'd learned enough from us he'd stolen my father's power over the river we resided in right from under him and slaughtered him to assert his newfound ability. I'd tried to avenge my father right then.” She took out the jade sword. “The sword has been in our family for generations, but when I first wielded it that day I was only barely able to lift the point off the ground. The macaque just laughed at me.” The Monkey King was listening with rapt attention, and though this part was a little embarrassing to recount, she felt like the story would be incomplete without it.

“Gave me this to remember him by and banished me from my own river.” she pulled down the collar of her shirt a bit to reveal a scar on her left shoulder. “By the time I was trained and ready to face the macaque he'd grown bored of my home and had long left, so I plan on finding him. And when I do... Oh do I have everything planned.”

She looked at the Monkey King and this time held his gaze, her chest puffed up and her shoulders squared. “I will say to him: 'Hello, my name is Long Xiaojiao. You killed my father. Prepare to die.'”

The Monkey King looked suitably impressed now. Not a trace of the pity left in what little she could see of his face. “You know my old master would say something about how revenge doesn't help anything and brings naught but misery or something, but I left that useless bag of sutras behind ages ago, so good on you Miss Long. Should I decide to spare your life by the end of this I believe you will get your revenge.”

She smiled back at him. “You seem a decent fellow, I'd hate to kill you.”

“You seem a decent fellow, I'd hate to die.” But then they were out of things to talk about. Xiaojiao lifted her sword up again, and the Monkey King drew his staff.

#Qi Xiaotian #Long Xiaojiao #Monkie Kid #LMK #Lego monkie kid #vega writes stories too #The Spider Queen #MK Sandy #MK Red Son #Red Groom AU

[puttingfingerstokeys]

and we danced

I’ve had this one sitting around for a bazillion years. Sequel to Faraday Cage, though I think I started this one first. Oh well, that’s been happening a lot.

Faraday Cage

prevented timeline 

Sunset in Beverly Hills was a time of peaceful winding down for some—very few, of course, but some—and for Johnny Cage in particular, it was a time to sit on his patio, crack a beer, and play with the new turntable Cassie had gotten him to replace the one that had been lost in the move. A few boxes of records stood about like milling party guests and he was going through them, deciding what to listen to first. There were albums of many genres, and not all of them were his. He held a Doors album that had belonged to his late ex-wife, Sonya Blade, and gripped his beer a little harder than was perhaps necessary.

 The sun sank lower, casting red-orange hues over the expanse of his home and yard, staining everything a rust color while the sky ran through shades of pink, lavender and, to the east, blue, Stygian and star-dotted, though only for the moment. As night’s blanket fell, the lights of the city—the brazen neon refusing to relinquish its hold upon the evening—would drown out those points of light, irreverently casting them aside as if they were shards of glass, rather than precious diamonds. A lot of life’s like that, Johnny considered, choosing a record and placing it gently upon the turntable, lowering the needle with relish.

 An almost muffled crack of thunder—how a lightning bolt could be muffled would forever remain a mystery to the aging actor—resounded across the yard just as night took hold and his hanging “fairy” lights came on, activated by the lack of ambient illumination. He looked up to see the protector of Earthrealm, Raiden, striding across the expanse of grass which marked his yard. He was glad his fences were high and his neighbors were, in all likelihood, out on the town.

 “Whoa Raiden—somethin’ wrong?” He was immediately alarmed and set his beer aside to stand and face the deity. In his defense, Raiden walked everywhere with purpose, as if something urgent was happening someplace and it required his attention. Johnny chalked it up to being a god, though perhaps it was simply Raiden’s personality. Some people had a hard time differentiating between Raiden’s duty and personality; they so often coincided that even the god himself seemed helpless in the face of that gap—if indeed gap there was. But Johnny knew better. The gulf was spanned with firm ties, but there was a divide. 

 “No, Johnny Cage,” said the god of thunder with relief in his voice. “I am sorry to have alarmed you.”

 “I wasn’t alarmed—just… y’know…” Johnny sat back down before realizing he should offer a chair. He stood once more and gestured to his.

 “You were,” the god corrected, “because you rarely refer to me in that way unless you are alarmed.”

 Johnny felt himself go red to the ears as Raiden took the offered seat and he retrieved another from the garden shed which was positioned off to one side of the patio. A push mower and a few lawn grooming implements were also placed therein, but for the time being, he was only interested in a chair. Grasping it with one hand, he lifted it and closed the doors behind himself, returning to the record player, the records, and the literal deity who had settled in his seat.

 “Should’ve known,” Johnny amended, setting his own on the other side of the player so he could still manipulate it. “I mean you’re… not in armor, so I guess shit can’t be that bad.”

 “An astute observation,” responded Raiden, regarding the machine, speakers, and vinyl disks. He touched none of these, knowing that even his presence could upset electronics, but wondering after their purpose. He was certain that the machine itself would be adversely affected by his lightning, even if the discs were not. Raiden was not ignorant of mortal machines or customs, just too busy to become intimately acquainted therewith. No one seemed to hold it against him.

 Rather, they found it endearing. This, for some reason, did not upset him. It delighted the god of thunder to know people found him… approachable. Long ago, he had relinquished the cloak of aloofness, finding mortals and their lives to be far too fascinating and precious to loftily hold himself above them. The irony is in my tardiness; Fujin understood eons ago what it has taken me much longer to learn. I am a fool.

 “So why are you here?” Johnny’s words fled his tongue before he could restrain them and he blushed once more as he reached for the beer he had discarded. “Sorry—not what I meant. What’s… uh… Up?”

 “A desire to commune with a friend,” said Raiden simply but in his usual elaborate fashion that made Johnny wonder if he should also be speaking that way—it was like feeling underdressed at a gala or five-star restaurant, but with words. “I would have called,” Raiden added after a moment, “but…” His hands rose, palms skyward to indicate that he had no means by which to contact Johnny—e.g. no cellphone. Magic amulets, of course, were plentiful if one knew where to look, but there was no need to saddle Johnny Cage with such an implement when he could simply touch down in the man’s back yard and speak with him personally.

 For Johnny’s part, the thought of Raiden texting sent a hysterical thrill through his body and he restrained the urge to laugh aloud. He made a mental note to say something to Cassie later, but for now, it was more important to focus on the fact that Raiden had come back after that weird afternoon a few weeks ago—or had it been months—when he had kissed him! 

 Johnny had been sure that would be the last he would see of the god of thunder, though he had hoped this would not be the case, and he had resigned himself to only hearing peripherally from the guy when Earthrealm was in peril. He had even gone through the “is he avoiding me” phase before the resignation had set in. It was almost thrilling to feel so young and stupid again. Next to him, I guess I am young and stupid.

 “Well, I’m havin’ a beer and listening to old records—and I’m all outta beer. Lemme put this sucker on.” He did just that, gently laying a record on the turntable and placing the needle, standing with what he felt was a thunderous crack of his knees and then straightened. “You want one?”

 “My body is a temple, Johnny Cage; I do not imbibe.”

 “Could be an amusement park, Sparky,” came the reply, but as he had never forced his alcoholic preferences on Liu Kang or any of his other White Lotus or Wu-Shi friends, he did not press and headed inside to grab a second beer and maybe breathe a little. In the background of his retreat, Jim Morrison’s voice filtered through the air and filled his back yard.

 Johnny’s fingers closed on the handle of his refrigerator door and he pulled it open, feeling nothing other than casual affection toward the strange being on his porch. As he reached toward the next beer, however, his mind began racing along, out of control. It felt as if casual affection was morphing. He needed the alcohol and the comfortable haze it promised. 

 His hand closed about the chilly bottle and he stood, regarding the singular illumination provided by his refrigerator and realized that he’d forgotten to turn any lights on. Sunset had come and gone and here he was, standing in his dark kitchen with the god of thunder relaxing on his patio and listening to the Doors. His heart began to pound and he fumbled with the bottle opener magnet. Casual affection was, indeed, quickly giving way to something which scared him.

 When he finally managed to free his bottle of its troublesome top and return to the door, intent on gaining the patio without fumbling anything, Raiden had once more removed his hat and cap and was running his fingers through his hair. Johnny wasn’t sure the guy knew he was standing there, hand poised just above the handle of his slider, watching that silvery-white stuff flow and wave, catching the warm illumination of his yard lights. Once more, he was assailed by the desire to see it spread out upon a pillow beneath him. 

 Johnny shook his head to clear that thought, swallowed hard and tugged the door open. Raiden straightened and shifted, softly glowing eyes turning toward his host. In the back of his mind, the actor wondered if Raiden could read minds. He had never asked, but he certainly hoped this was not the case. 

 “I apologize for arriving unannounced,” Raiden said, inclining his head. His hands had dropped from his hair and were poised almost demurely in his lap. Johnny shrugged and remembered that he was supposed to walk out and join Raiden on the patio, rather than standing in the doorway, frozen by the man’s divine beauty. 

 Fortunately, the possessor of the divine beauty in question did not seem to notice and as Johnny uprooted himself, he turned, politely, and resumed his relaxed position on the seat. Johnny could not help noticing, with offhanded curiosity, that the seat didn’t sink much with the god’s weight as it did with his own. Weird.

 “It’s fine,” Johnny assured him, raising a hand. “Really. It was just gunna be me and this record player.” He reached over and turned the volume dial down so they could converse without difficulty. Raiden’s voice, he had noticed, was firm, but gentle—except when he was pissed. The commanding tone doubled his voice, amplifying it to the point where it seemed to come from everywhere and rattled in Johnny’s ribcage and skull. He was glad this was not the voice he was hearing. “I’m glad you’re here, actually.”

 Once more, Johnny’s words were getting ahead of his brain and, as usual, he could not retract what had been said. It wasn’t a lie, of course, or an exaggeration, but some things were best left unsaid. He lifted the beer to his lips defensively, but the statement was already out there, hovering in the air between them.

 Raiden watched him with a Mona Lisa expression, almost half of a smile, certainly relaxed, and knowing, as ever. Johnny prayed he would not ask why the mortal was glad to see him. He did not have the energy for that explanation, short though it should have been. Just tell him you wanted to see him again because you’ve got a thing for him, simple as that. Liu was right. Better to get it out in one go and see what happens. Worst he can do is vaporize me.

 Johnny decided that was an unkind thought and busied himself digging through his records; better to do that than prolonging the awkwardness of the utter lack of conversation. Fortunately, Johnny was the only one feeling awkward, as Raiden seemed content with the musical quietude and had settled back in the provided chair, inscrutable eyes focused on nothing in particular, and then falling on Johnny’s back as he crouched near a box, having himself a trip through memory lane. A warm wind began to pick up, coming off the ocean and bringing with it the smell of salt.

 “That you, big guy?” Johnny, as usual, broke the silence. Raiden shook his head.

 “No,” he responded. “I am the god of thunder, Johnny Cage, not wind.”

 There was humor in his tone and a levity that Johnny had come to appreciate, even to crave. It was so rare, even now, when everything seemed to be at peace. Shifting from his crouched position to one of kneeling, Johnny clutched a record in one hand and reached for the turntable with the other. Raiden could not see what was on the cover, but even if he could, it would be insignificant. In all his time and travels, he had rarely taken the opportunity to sit and absorb the music of Earthrealm—or any other realm, for that matter.

 “Raiden I—”

 “Johnny Cage—”

 Both men paused as they began simultaneously and then that strange, utterly human embarrassment settled over them like the blanket of night which had tucked itself in for the evening. Johnny turned to face Raiden, still half-crouched. The god of thunder was sitting forward, elbows on his knees, glowing eyes meeting Johnny’s without reservation. There was something in those eyes; right then they were not as inscrutable as they had been in the past. Or maybe I’m just getting better at reading him, Johnny thought, unsure if he was comfortable with this.

 “Please,” ushered Raiden finally, extending a hand toward his mortal companion. Johnny shook his head.

 “Age before beauty,” he insisted, attempting to introduce humor to a situation in which it may not have been appropriate, a very on-brand move for him. His heart was seizing and then hammering and then fluttering, as if there was some kind of small bird within, fighting desperately to escape. Johnny was not even clear within himself just what it was he wanted Raiden to say, or what he himself was attempting to express. He had been content simply allowing his mouth to run away with him, to see where it would take this situation. Now, faced with the reality of what a runaway tongue might cause, he was terrified. To busy his hands, he gingerly switched records as Raiden conceded. 

 “Very well, although I have heard on the breeze that some mortals find me to be… exquisite.” This, too, seemed to be an introduction of humor, so Johnny didn’t feel as silly as he might have done otherwise. Raiden sat back, looking almost impish, and certainly amused.

 “Fujin promised he wouldn’t tell!” Johnny’s tone was jesting, but his heart continued its staccato tattoo. He had not, in fact, spoken with Fujin in quite some time—like Raiden, the man was busy. If he had, it certainly wouldn’t be to confess some kind of high school crush on a celestial being’s equally divine brother. Twins, he reminded himself, they’re twins—Thunder Cat told Cassie and me recently. Weird. 

 They were night and day, Fujin and Raiden, but Johnny assumed that twins among gods did not operate the same as mortal twins. Or perhaps they did and he simply had no firsthand knowledge. The only twins he had ever encountered were a pair of actresses in one of his films—notably not the Ninja Mime franchise. The music began, but it was secondary to the melody of Raiden’s voice as he spoke.

 “He did not have to,” said Raiden, his tone warm, almost inviting—or maybe that invitation was a misinterpretation of Johnny’s fevered mind as he tried to lose himself in a swig of beer and an ‘80s power ballad whose title was lost in the cyan pools of Raiden’s eyes. “I know it is not an appropriate custom,” he continued, “to leave someone for long periods of time with no contact, but the nature of my—of what I am—dictates that I must. Forgive me for that, if you can.”

 “Anything,” Johnny breathed. He realized that he had not yet been able to return to his seat, so enraptured was he in Raiden’s gaze. The soft, warm illumination of his backyard lighting fell upon Raiden’s statuesque face and, rather than making him look ghoulish as it might do to just about anyone else, he became an older Adonis, still painfully handsome—beautiful, even—but no longer pretty in that fleeing way of youth. His face lacked the innocence of a younger man and Johnny realized he had come to appreciate this, craved it too, along with much else.

 “Your kindness does you great credit, Johnny Cage,” Raiden said.

 It ain’t kindness. This is so far beyond that, Johnny thought, his mind losing itself in that strange warm haze of beer, good music, and good company. Without thinking, Johnny shifted once more, moving closer to the god of thunder and reaching out toward him, laying a hand upon his knee. There was a low buzz when he did that, not a sound, but a feeling under his palm and fingers, dancing up his arm. He squeezed, feeling his heart clambering in his throat and wondering if Raiden’s was doing the same—or if he even had a heart. What operated within the body of a being like him? 

 Was it all clockwork, or maybe ethereal light? He had seen Raiden bleed and the blood was red, but when it caught the light, it was clearly shot through with veins of gold, unless his eyes deceived him all those years ago. When it hit the ground, it clattered as if solid. He did not understand this, but all the times he witnessed this, Johnny had been more than a little preoccupied. Gods were not supposed to bleed; it was anathema to their nature. Yet Raiden and Fujin could bleed and, more than that, they chose to bleed for the peace and safety of Earthrealm.

 “You don’t have to say anything,” Johnny advised, speaking low, loud enough to be heard, but not to drown out the music. He was responding to a look on Raiden’s face that suggested he was searching for words. His smile was more tentative now, leaning in the direction of the Mona Lisa, inscrutable and ethereal. He clearly wanted to relax, to allow whatever was happening within him simply to happen. The mortal could almost see the fight in his eyes. It broke Johnny’s heart and he wanted, all of a sudden and more than anything in every realm, to help Raiden move past whatever was slowing him down, whatever strange barrier stood between the god of thunder and his happiness, his own desires. 

 The deity had no trouble being decisive, even vicious, and dropping one whopper of a hammer when the need arose, but that need was never his own; always, it was someone else’s burden, though he would remind Johnny Cage that it was a responsibility he had chosen and for which he would fight to the death—maybe beyond. This scared the actor, sometimes. He didn’t know if he had ever, or COULD ever, dedicate himself to something with such vehemence. Had he expressed this aloud, Raiden might simply have pointed out his daughter, Cassandra Cage. 

 “I do,” rumbled the god of thunder. “My silence has done damage in the past.”

 “Everyone’s has,” Johnny reminded him, moving so he was crouching before Raiden, both hands comfortably on the man’s knees. His connection with the ground seemed to be strong enough that the current was running harmlessly through him. Raiden’s corona of electricity was not arcing or dancing about, seeking to harm him. It simply flowed, rather like water, from the eternal battery that was the thunder god, into Johnny Cage, and down through the earth. Whence beyond that was anyone’s guess. “But this isn’t silence, is it?”

 Raiden reflected that it was not, in fact, silent in that yard. There was music, and there was the two of them, and they were capable of conversation, of healthy discussion, and of much else. He moved with a deliberate purpose that froze Johnny momentarily, both hands finding either side of the actor’s head, a motion he had seen turn healthy muscle, bone, and gray matter into so much electrified pulp. 

 Rather than lightning from Raiden’s fingers, however, he felt the soft press of lips on his own, not urgent, but hardly tentative. This, he realized, was a version of Raiden who knew what he wanted, even if part of him was still unsure he should want it. Johnny would like to flatter himself—it really would be hubris at that point—and think that Raiden had spent all that time away thinking about him, about how to do this. If no one disabused him of that little flight of fancy, he would gladly go on pretending it to be the case. 

 To that end, Johnny returned the gesture, pressing into it and forcing Raiden back into the comfortable seat. The beer spilled somewhere in the grass and its memory was lost in the haze of heat the actor had found between the two unlikely beings—and between Raiden’s thighs. 

 Johnny’s hands were now gripping these, firm and powerful, through the strange material of his pants. He had in the past made a mental note to ask Raiden of what his clothing was made, if it could be manufactured for himself and the SF “kids” (when you were old, everyone was a kid). Right now, that thought was not even in the same galaxy as the rest of his mind. Right now, he only felt that heat; he was a being of pure sensation and would be more than happy to drown in it.

 Slowly, gently, his hands slid upward. His thumbs soon found Raiden's hips through the fabric of what Johnny considered his "habit". His grip tightened briefly, testing the waters. The music hummed on, but Johnny heard nothing. His focus was solely on Raiden, whose grip had shifted to the front of his shirt, grasping the lapels of Johnny's button-down. He seemed content to keep the Hollywood superstar as close as he possibly could. Johnny's hands traced the curve of Raiden's waistline which, though offset by leather and cloth, was pleasantly molded, almost perfectly to Johnny’s grip, like the narrow portion of an hourglass. 

 He heard himself moaning quietly into the kiss while the epiphany of his attraction to the thunder god’s shape washed over him like an ocean wave. His heart's rhythm had regulated itself and was thudding along steadily, if a bit strongly. Blood was rushing to all parts of him and he felt himself break out in a sudden sweat. Maybe he's frying me and doesn't realize it; isn't this what radiation poisoning feels like? He had to remind himself that Raiden was not, in fact, radioactive. 

 “Dance with me,” Johnny heard himself say suddenly, breaking the kiss with plenty of surprise, but no reluctance at all, eager to share this next, utterly unforeseen desire. Raiden, too, seemed more than a little astonished, glowing eyes widening momentarily, before softening. In fact, his entire countenance softened, assuming the look of something more accessible than merely a benevolent deity which, Johnny reflected, he was. He’s seen some rough shit, thought the actor as he stood, hearing his knees crack once more as he did so, pulling Raiden with him. So have I. Now I want some peace and quiet.

 Raiden stood willingly, unsure of what was next. It was a refreshing feeling. In all the eons of his life, he had rarely felt unsure of something and also been very comfortable with it. Lack of information had often led him to make poor decisions. This was not one of those situations, however. He was not really making any decisions, save to follow Johnny’s steps as the mortal pulled him close, wrapping one arm about his waist and taking his other hand.

 Johnny was surprised, as he had been when noticing the lack of weight upon the chair, at how easy it was to heft the god of thunder, so to speak. He was not picking the man up, yet, but even the act of moving him from a seated to a standing position was utterly without strain. It felt natural to draw Raiden to himself, pressing their bodies tightly together, all potential awkwardness draining away in the notes of the song coming from the speakers attached to the turntable. 

 When he held out his hand to receive Raiden’s, the god of thunder offered it with no hesitation or complaint. When Johnny pulled him close, he did not protest. When they began to move to the ebb and flow of the music, it was very much as if they were made for this. When the mortal manipulated the deity’s movements and body into a deep dip, he felt Raiden bend and ride along with the motion. 

 When he kissed the god of thunder, both men held tightly to the lifeline the other had become.

#mortal kombat #raiden #johnny cage #faraday cage

[yinses]

fav positions for ur fav ikevamp boys bc they're my favs too? 😂

more so just nsfw scenarios  ?? but i guess technically favorite positions are implied?? also i realized late i forgot napoleon so i had to remedy that real quick

leonardo da vinci

— he’s always such a sleepy boy. forever slumbering where he shouldn’t and often getting in the way of others. more frequently though, you’ve noticed that he’s taken more care to fall asleep in the comfort of solitude. sometimes his study but more often, to both of your greatest pleasure, its the bedroom. lounging lazily is where you find him, shortly after noon, in soft linen and trousers. he wakes to the slow dance of your fingers across his chest, a smile of consent nudging your forward as that same touch moves to unfasten his pants. 

— no one bothered to ask how you’d convinced the italian to choose his preferred sleeping locations more wisely. and it was probably for the best as it was wholly motivated by your occasional desire to rouse him pleasuring his cock. after the first few times, you nonchalantly mentioned you wouldn’t mind doing it more often within privacy. and well, that how you helped break an outfit ages old. 

— you can’t but roll your eyes and laugh as he slides an arm behind his head in an attempt to get more comfortable. he looks like he might fall asleep at any moment even now, as you stroke him evenly. its almost second nature to undulate your thumb along the underside to tease the prominent vein hidden there before flicking your tongue across the tip. he’s likely only expecting a blow job, but you have more in mind as you take his half hard state into you mouth. caressing him his balls for extra stimulation just to speed along the process. he never leaves you hanging either, his cries careless to the offered timeline as he moans openly. 

— his brow raises in tandem with your hips as you position yourself over him, the both of you sighing in pleasure as you take him to the hilt. his hands brace your hips as he arches his back to thrust into you. he grinds against you feverently, gradually waking with each drive. 

arthur conan doyle

—  he has the experience and loves to show it off. predominantly prefers to take control but doesn’t mind handing over the reigns from time to time. everything starts off from a tease, from the moment you approach the bed where he’s settled at the edge, legs wide in invitation. he’ll beckon you close with that smug smile, arms snug around your waist as he guides you into his lap with your arms linked around his neck. after you’ve been with him long enough, you’ll know to roll your hips into a slow grind. each undulation bringing him closer and closer to a hardened state.

— he’ll spend hours if he could, nuzzling dirty promises into your ear until you’re slipping and sliding against his thigh to the wetness dripping from your core. he’ll want you to whimper, the one time he’ll break character to beg for your wanton moans. arthur isn’t here to break you, but he wouldn’t mind cracking the surface just a little to fill the fractures. 

— as a writer, he has an explicit eye for detail. always cognitive of surroundings and subtle gestures with a critical eye. not only does it benefit his readers but it also stimulates you. he almost always has his eyes on you, a brief relief only coming when he succumbs to his own pleasure. but the majority of the time,  his undying focus spreads through you like raw heat. 

— he’ll still your hips long enough to reach between your bodies to free the heavy weight of his cock. to distract your eagerness, he kisses the heat right off your tongue and coaxes your mouth open wider with his own. the moment you feel his lips curve into a smile is matched by your forming a silent ‘o’ as he slides effortlessly into your depths. 

le comte de saint-germain

— if time allows, he prefers to start with his head between your thighs. mouthing at your apex and licking into you with slow deliberation. his smile is sinfully sweet when he flicks his tongue against your clit and nudges his nose against the hood just to catch the hitch of your breath. he does this to make sure you’re ready for the long run, not pleased until your glistening wetness is smeared across your skin. slick running down those same legs that hang precariously from the knee over the curve of his desk.  

—you’re lucky to catch his trousers around his ankles this time, more often than not he’s hard pressed to remove more than his long coat in moments like these. it a different kind of satisfaction for you to see the glossy sheen of sweat trailing down the line of his stomach where the shirt remains on his shoulders but parted enough to entice the view. your lips curve into an impish grin when you reach out to explore the unearthed territory. he leans into the touch eagerly, or perhaps out of necessity as he gathers you by the backs of your knees and rolls his hips forward. the edge of the desk was suprisingly forgiving enough to allow you to focus on the glide of his cock edging against the channel of your sex. 

— when its like this, this part tends to be more hasty to make up for the time wasted lapping at your cunt. his hips snap cordially, driving deeper in search of purchase. he knows how to angle himself, lips twitching as you clench through tremors and undulate your hips in response. comte tangles his fingers through your hair, guiding your head up to cover his mouth with your own. 

theodorus van gogh

— he’s so determined to have you in this moment, willing to toss aside propriety of it means he can immerse himself in your sopping cunt for just a second longer. his brother requested him ages ago and is likely sin pursuit of his location now. you gasp as much, your sharp cries of warning echoing down the halls as your body quakes against the wall. theo has started off with a brutal rhythm, his own uninhibited desire coaxing more wetness for fluid friction. with his forearm braces against the back of your nape, free arm curving your hips back into his own, he’s already threatening overstimulation and the dam hadn’t even broken yet. 

— he wants nothing more than to hear your cries as you bounce against his cock, but it’s not a risk he’s willing to take against his libido. with a hiss, his palm covers your mouth as his fangs nimble at your ear. “you’re too dirty for this. whimpering like that, you obviously want to get caught.” his eyes widen as you retaliate with action, taking two of his offered fingers into your aperture. he greedily soaks in the way you suckle on his digits, your own swimming with mischief and challenge. 

— “oh, you want to play like that, huh?” his hand wriggles under your shirt then sliding between your breast and appearing over the collar to curl his fingers around your offered throat. you bite down on his fingers as his forces his cock through the threshold of your desire, uncaring as your lips part enough to let sounds escape. 

napoleon bonaparte

— you feel as though your prone, spread out and compliant as he holds himself above you. he has his body caging you against the mattress, eyes roving his territory like the conquerer he is. your hand aches at your side with the urge to stoke at your mound just above your joined bodies. but pierced by that look alone, you know it would only encourage him to use more physical restraints if he found them necessary. frankly you don’t care if he uses his own hands to shackle your wrists as long as he would just fucking move. 

— your face must be vocalizing your words because he’s laughing. that beautiful harmony as his eyes sparkle in delight. “you’re too pretty to cry, mon chou. though it does ignite something in me to see how moved you are by this,” he rumbles, his delight punctuated by a firm roll of his hips. when he lowers his chest to yours, you don’t miss the opportunity to wrap your arms around his shoulders. his lips nibble at your throat, mindful of his teeth as he finds a rhythm. 

—he runs the flat of his tongue against your jugular. “you taste divine as usual.” the moment his nose knocks against your chin, you’re tipping your head to capture his lips, sighing into his mouth as your fingers curl into his blades. he still tries talking, a futile attempt out of humor as the slur of speech gets lost to your insistent kisses. his movements never edge toward inconsistency, even as he quivers toward the edge. he’d made a lot of things his  home in his lifetime, but nothing was more permanent than what he’d created with you. 

#leonardo ikevamp #ikevamp x reader #ikemen vampire #ikemen arthur #ikemen theo #napoleon bonaparte ikemen #ikevam le comte

[crossdressingdeath]

(1/3) It always amuses me how stans try to justify JC actions by his abusive upbringing while there were 3 children in that family and both others turned very kind and/or very moral and not at all like JC (and frankly, he didn't even have the hardest position in the dysfunctional dynamic). Or LXC and LWJ whose upbringing was even more screwed up with a LQ who was certainly playing favorites and wanting perfection, and yet this never draw a wedge between them or created any jealousy.

(2/3)LXC loves for LWJ to excel! Same with "but JC had it so hard rebuilding Lotus Pier, WWX was goofing off with the Wens"...JC was paying people to do that for him, yes, while WWX was trying to start from scratch a settlement over a mountain of corpses with a bunch of weak or old people and not to die of hunger comes winter. While separated from all his friends and hated as a monster by the cultivation world. "But JC was so lonely during the 13/16y, so that justifies him lashing out" And WWX

(3/3) was dead, killed by his brother and thinking that there was not a person left on his side in the end, and yet, that didn't make him act like a dick? Or athg else really, because everything that JC went through in the past, WWX did also, but in a worse way because he lost his parents young, lived in the streets, didn't have JC societal privilege or money and has to harness an unstable necromancy practice on top of that. And yet no one uses it as arguments to explain his actions, only for JC 

Honestly? While none of the Jiang kids were in a good position, out of the three of them... JC did have it the easiest. It was still awful for him, don’t get me wrong, I’m not suggesting his childhood didn’t suck, but given it was made very clear to JYL that her only purpose was to be married off to JZX so her mother could tie her bloodline to her best friend’s and WWX was treated like a servant at best... Yeah. If I had to pick, I’d choose having a distant father and dealing with a mother who’s constantly emotionally abusive over having a distant father and dealing with a mother who’s constantly emotionally abusive and being treated like a bargaining chip/treated like a servant and/or bastard and being whipped for actions that would get the rest of the clan a lecture at worst. Again, I’m not saying JC didn’t have it bad, but his siblings having it worse is... interesting, given neither of them decided to be dicks to Literally Everyone over it.

I do have to say, even though this is about JC, there’s nothing suggesting LQR was playing favourites with LXC and LWJ. He was strict, yes, probably stricter than he should’ve been, and LXC probably did get more one-on-one interaction with him, but given LXC was going to be sect leader/became sect leader at a young age that makes sense. This is not super important to the point of this post, but I do find it odd how often people make LQR out to be this horrible person who’s always awful to his nephews because he’s Strict when we... don’t actually know anything about how he raised them. I don’t like him all that much, and he probably didn’t do a fantastic job of raising them, but the man did try, and he clearly wants his nephews to be safe and happy (even though he has inaccurate views of what that entails...), and given how the parents/parental figures of the cast generally act he deserves some credit for that. Also the Twin Jades ended up considerably better-adjusted than most of their age group, which... isn’t saying much all things considered but it does say something. If nothing else neither of them seem to feel actively unsafe around him, so he’s definitely not the worst parental figure in this novel.

...I had a surprising number of thoughts on LQR there. Whoops, sorry about the tangent. Maybe I’ll make a post about him at some point. Anyway, yeah, LXC and LWJ clearly adore each other! LXC would be delighted if LWJ surpassed him at something! Same with Nie bros; they argue a lot, but there’s no denying that they love each other. That’s what insults and threats out of love look like; NMJ threatens NHS all the time, but NHS clearly isn’t all that bothered by it until JGY starts fucking with NMJ’s mind and the threats become more serious, which really isn’t NMJ’s fault. It’s because in the other sibling relationships both parties are invested in staying close. They love each other and want to be close for the rest of their lives! Meanwhile JC is obsessed with WWX outperforming him at Literally Everything, and WWX genuinely believes that JC is allowed to treat him the way he does and it’s fine and healthy.

And yeah, JC wasn’t exactly rebuilding Lotus Pier all by his lonesome with his own two hands. In fact, going by what we see all the rebuilding was done well before WWX left! And I don’t doubt for a second that WWX was involved in that process; I have very mixed feelings about the scene in CQL where he blows off his duties to go and get drunk, because on the one hand it does do a good job of showing just how bad his mental state is getting (and how JC refuses to acknowledge it despite WWX obviously being Not Okay), but on the other hand... I just can’t see WWX not throwing himself into helping JC with everything he’s got even while his mental state is coming crashing down around him. I mean, this is the guy who created an incredibly powerful weapon that even he couldn’t fully control, not knowing what using it would do to him, to help his brother win a war. I’m pretty much certain that WWX ran himself into the ground helping JC rebuild and run the sect... then when he found himself in charge of a small group of desperate people, scrambling to keep them fed and clothed and healthy, JC just abandoned him to deal with it on his own.

And the whole “Oh, but JC was so lonely, don’t you feel bad for him?” shtick. I hate it so much. If he didn’t want to be lonely, he should’ve considered that before alienating everyone in his age group and leading an army to murder his brother, the only person left who was willing to put up with him! It’s... really hard to feel bad for someone who’s brought most of their suffering on themselves through a series of generally shitty and frequently downright cruel actions with easily foreseeable consequences. If he got sick of being alone, he should’ve apologized to his peers for being a dick to... literally all of them and tried to make amends and strike up some sort of relationship. Or, if that didn’t work, go out! Meet new people! Try not to be as awful to them! Also, he’s a sect leader. If he couldn’t even maintain a positive relationship with other sect leaders, people who, let me remind you, he has to work with on a regular basis and several of whom are actually nice and friendly people, that is on him. If you are awful to people you will end up alone. And then JC decided to respond to learning that the people he was a dick to every time he saw them (and, in LWJ and NHS’s cases, caused the death of someone they cared about) wanted nothing to do with him... by whining about how lonely he was as if that wasn’t largely his fault. Like, he lost his family and that’s awful, but he could have had friends to help him through his grief, and it’s his own damn fault that he doesn’t.

WWX’s life was miserable. He had plenty of friends, yeah, but he spent years on the streets after his parents died brutal deaths; was raised in a family where he was treated like a servant and a scapegoat; lost everything in an event he was blamed for despite having nothing to do with the attack; had to sacrifice his incredibly powerful golden core (thereby losing his primary means of defending himself while on the run and drastically shortening his lifespan) to keep his brother from letting himself die; was thrown into a corpse pit for three months where he had to create an entirely new and experimental (and as such incredibly dangerous) form of cultivation and probably resort to cannibalism just to survive; had to fight a war almost immediately after escaping; spent a... good portion of time (not sure how long exactly because the MDZS timeline is more a suggestion than an actual coherent timeline) being treated alternately as a tame pet or a rabid animal and having to pretend everything was just fine while everyone tried to either control him or remove him and his brother very obviously got increasingly resentful of his skill and power; had to abandon his home, his family, and everything he had left of his old life to save a bunch of innocent people while everyone, including his brother, acted like he’d gone mad for not wanting to let them die horribly; had to go back to the corpse pit he spent three months in because it was the only place where they might be safe; accidentally killed his brother-in-law due to losing control after being ambushed on the way to a celebration for his nephew that he was invited to by people he trusted, almost certainly making him wonder on at least some level if that was why he was invited; lost two members of his new family who he clearly loved because of said accidental murdering; learned their deaths were for nothing and, when he retaliated against the planned attack that shouldn’t have happened because that’s what WQ and WN gave their lives to prevent, saw his beloved sister die to save him; and, after all that, lost the rest of his new family to a siege on a civilian population led by his brother. And after all that, his response was... to destroy the incredibly dangerous weapon he’d made because he didn’t trust the sects to not destroy each other and themselves with it and kill himself rather than risk losing control again and hurting anyone else. In the novel too; I don’t doubt for a second that WWX planned on dying in that siege, even if he didn’t expect destroying the seal to do it.

Take a look at that paragraph. All those things that happened to WWX. And in the end, he was kind. He was so, so kind, and remains kind even after thirteen years of being dead. He would have been well within his rights to go all “Then let me be evil” on the sects, but every time he attacked them they struck first, and most of the serious damage he did happened as a direct result of losing control of his experimental and mostly unknown new cultivation, which is a real risk even with spiritual cultivation; NMJ probably would have happily killed everyone in Qinghe if the qi deviation hadn’t gotten to him first, given how easy it was for him to attack even his beloved little brother. Everything bad that happened to JC is on that list, pretty much. Everything that JC suffered WWX did too, with some variations in the details (and of course dead versus alone for the same period of time). JC had the advantage of a sect at his back and a high rank by virtue of his birth, while WWX’s position was entirely reliant on JFM and, later, JC. And yet some people insist that WWX’s trauma doesn’t excuse his actions but JC’s somehow does. Now, some people argue it’s different because WWX was a mass murderer. Yeah, well, JC’s a fucking serial killer, and he doesn’t have the excuse of losing control due to using resentful energy to cultivate and being attacked by everyone he’d ever known and trusted.

...I’ve kind of lost track of where I’m going with this. Short version: I very strongly disagree with anyone who insists WWX’s trauma doesn’t excuse his actions while bending over backwards to argue that JC’s trauma excuses his.

#well that got... long #and probably not super fun #i have Thoughts about this particular subject it seems #grapehate #asks #anon

[thestarkerisobvious]

Sixteen - The Masked Librarian

amazing art work by @starker-sorbet​  A snugglefic for @mrstarksbabyy​

Sixteen

1 The Masked Librarian

After his sixteenth birthday, Peter used his birthday money to buy several notebooks and spent the summer filling them up with the facts he had gleaned from Tony, along with the books he had gotten from the libraries.  For fear they would be found, he wrote a lie in bold marker on the covers:  

                                                Novel Ideas:  

                                              Ideas for a Novel

Putting a timeline together with the information he got from Tony was impossible.  Tony was far more concerned with his duties around the farm than who was actually ordering him around.  

Peter’s constant questions finally made it clear – Tony had never been terribly concerned with whom he was serving, as long as he was fed and had a job to do.  Who was the son, nephew or uncle or son-of-the-uncle of whom ultimately did not concern him.  The title of “Master” wasn’t even passed on directly from father to son in every case, although it was, Peter finally ascertained, only given to a male blood relative of the original Post homesteader.  There were other problems, too, with the things Peter was being told.  Tony had no interest in years or wars or anything in American history that Peter could plot along a timeline.  Peter quickly learned there was no point in asking “which war?”  Tony had never understood which wars were which, just that men sometimes left for them.  To Tony, all the wars were “The War.”  To further complicate things, Peter strongly suspected that New York City was referred to as “New Amsterdam” by the Post family long after it was really called something else.

What he could find in the libraries was sparse.  The best he could find was the same stories they had been told when they bought the house: that two Post brothers had come from Germany and married a woman who was related to the royal family in Portugal.  That the boys were always taught German in honor of the patriarchs and the girls Portuguese, for the same reason.  That a Post had been a famous hero in the Civil War until he died by Direct Encounter With A Cannonball.  No other details.

Until the 1920s.  That’s when things got interesting..  The Post Homestead, at one time, had been a type of artist colony, which was to say, the sprawling Post family were famous for inviting artists to live, sometimes for years, as guests in their multi-generation household.    This had started out as a series of artisans hired to tutor the multiple Post daughters.  Over the decades this had become a tiny thriving community.  Mostly painters and sculptors, according to the books, but there were musicians too.  This had caused a conflict between the Post family and the town – for a period of the time the Post Homestead had been bringing in jazz musicians at great expense, much to the delight of the tiny artistic community.  To the town at large, not so much.  (Those of the African American persuasion were welcomed to come and work in Devil’s Hollow, but not “let the sun set” upon them.  The Post Family apparently did not share those same reservations.)

What happened after that was hard to piece together.  Tony wasn’t around to ask, and even if he was, he might not have known the answer.  But the death of Jedediah Post certainly must have been a turning point. 

Or maybe it just seemed that way to Peter because that was the most newsworthy event he could find.  Jedediah Post was a man of considerable wealth, and left a great deal of it to the towns around him, as well as three different museums in New York City.  But none to Devil’s Hollow.  The amount of art the family had amassed was significant, including paintings, sculptures and something called “art deco” which, as far as Peter could tell, involved a lot of very fancy furniture.  The donations were large and it was easy to track down stories about them.  Some of the museums in New York City he had even been to, although he had never seen the art in question (he was more of a Science Exhibit man himself) but some Aunt May had seen. 

The breadth of the donations was breathtaking, but mostly Peter’s research turned up bitterness and resentment.  Jedediah Post had left nothing to the Devil’s Hollow library, nor the museum (there had been one in those days) nor the school.  Apparently After-You-Die Donations had been a local phenomenon in Devil’s Hollow, particularly from the Post family.  That ended, it appeared, with Jedediah. 

Was there a reason?  Did Jed Post attempt to create an artistic community at the Post Homestead, and resent the town’s undue influence on whom he was allowed to invite?  Or did he simply make more friends outside the boundaries of the town than in?  And was that why the sprawling Post family all relocated elsewhere?  Whatever had happened, sometime in between the 1930’s and the 40’s the last Post son was living there completely and utterly by himself. 

Was he hated by the townspeople because he was a hostile misanthrope, or did he become a hostile misanthrope BECAUSE he was hated by the townspeople?   Whatever had happened, the Post estate had gone from a busy, noisy, bustling place to a house with one resident.  

Evan Post.

Evan Post… and Tony.

When Peter wasn’t pouring over his books he was remembering what it was like to be wrapped up in the arms of the thing that lived under the bed.  Which reminded him of his promise to the thing that lived under his bed.  He took long walks daily, getting sunlight and climbing every available surface that looked climbable, doing all those things that he had been promised would make him “healthy.”  Exercise by itself was boring, but the further he could walk the more wildlife he could observe.  The higher he climbed, the same.  Aunt May started to call him “The Spider” as he came home daily reporting all the wildlife he had observed from dizzying heights.  The exercise did him good, it made him hungrier at night and soon he had grown several inches and put on more weight.  He admired himself in the bathroom mirror, he enjoyed standing on the scale.  He was proud of his new body.  

He couldn’t wait to show Tony.

The long walks into the forest and the many hours sitting in trees gave Peter time to think about what life had been like for his friend in the years between Jedediah and Evan Post.  Which led to even weightier thoughts about what life had been like for Tony in the years between life in the monastery and life with the stylite Simeon the Elder.

Primarily, Peter thought about Tony, and what Tony liked to eat.

In the monastery, it appeared Tony and the others (the ones he called “us”) were fed just like guard dogs.  Or more correctly, like hellhounds.  They were fed on cattle and “infernal vapors” and, on rare occasions, people.  All until he was sent to live with Simeon on a pillar where he learned how to feed entirely on feelings.

Peter went over it in his head many times, the things Tony had said about Simeon and his other monk-lover, the one he had left behind without a single thought.  Simeon he had loved, Peter was sure of it.  “I was his beloved,” Tony had said.  (He had also spoken about touching, about pretending to be shy, about needing to be ‘taught.’  Peter tried not to think about that, but he did.  He thought about it a lot.)  

It was true, Tony might have loved Simeon the same way he loved the fields of cattle being raised to feed him, but he loved the man nonetheless.  Spent 12 years with him on a pillar, when he was supposed to be convincing him to return to the monastery.  Protected his ability to ask questions. Took away his hurt and his desire to hurt himself.   Lived on that, and nothing but that, until the day he was forced to kill the man.  That was something he could not control, Peter was certain, any more than he could control being after “sent into the ground.”

The next thing he knew, he was working in the New World.  Was he fed with farm animals, too, working on the farm as he did?  The only thing Peter could think of was the roaring twenties and the artists that lived and created at the Post Homestead.  The layout of the little artist colony was easy to see from his vantage points in the tops of trees or in his hiding place in the empty barn.    Barns, silos, and animal stalls had been razed and almost a dozen cottage-like guest cottages built by Jedediah in his day, only to be raized to their foundations by Evan decades later.  Had Evan despised growing up in that cacophony, unable to find a quiet place to himself, destroying all vestiges of it in his old age?  Or had he treasured that life, growing up in the safety of his title as son of the lord of the manor, removing the artists village when he finally understood he would never see the likes of it again?  Had he hated people as an old man because he had hated people all his life?  Of had he considered the composers, painters and sculptures the ‘normal’ people, and hated the people of Devil’s Holler’ because they were anything but normal?

Even knowing what Evan Post had done, Peter could still sympathies.  He himself had to go to school with boys his age who complained that the “for’ners, n-words and queers” were taking over the country, while he sat in silence and day-dreamed about the day he could go to college in New York City and be surrounded by “for’ners, n-words and queers” again.

Peter tried to picture it, sitting up in a tree and observing the whole of the Post Homestead.  A little village of people, creating, despairing, hoping, disappointing, arguing, loving, scheming, fearing.  And Tony underneath it, grazing on it all.  Tony spoke of feeding from artists after the work was done, or else the work would never get finished.  Did he know it instinctively?  Or did he learn through trial and error?  How much art was never complete because he fed too soon?  It couldn’t have been much, the finished artworks that DID come from the Post Homestead were legion.  Did the artists even know they were feeding Tony their light?  Was it voluntary?  Mandatory?  Tony remembered a grandmother that called him “a musa,” The Muse.  Did they think Tony was the cause of the art that was produced in this place, or did they realize he was simply growing stronger from it?

And where did the money come from?  The Post Homestead was an actual farm, and then one day it wasn’t.  Were the artists all brought here because Jedediah Post was a very rich man, and knew what he wanted to spend his wealth upon art?  Or did Jedediah invest his money into feeding Tony, which in turn made him a very rich man?

And how difficult was it for Tony, feasting on the light of sculptors, painters and controversial Jazz musicians, to learn how to live on nothing but the hate and fear of Evan Post?  What did that turn him into?  Tony readily admitted that he had driven off everyone who had come to live in the Post Homestead before Peter’s family, driving them away because all he wanted to drink was fear.  Couldn’t stop seeking out fear, causing the fear, even when he realized his own greed was driving away his only source of food.

And he had tried to inspire fear in Peter and his little family of three, Peter remembered.  When his quiet family moved into the vast house they decided, that very first night, that there was a good reason why the Post Homestead was considered haunted.  Their quiet country home was anything but quiet. It wasn’t as noisy as their New York City apartment, of course, but still not quiet.  Not only did floors creak and doors slam in empty rooms, but entire wings groaned and floorboards squeaked in the exact rhythm of footsteps.  The wind howled under the porch like an angry monster.  The first night in their new home not a single member of the family slept a wink.

So, naturally, the little family sat at the breakfast table the next and formulated a plan – a research plan.  That very day they set out for the tiny town library, got library cards, and searched out books on architecture.  When the library proved lacking they drove to the next town and did the same.  Soon Peter had a pile of books to read and May and Ben set out to fix up their Still-Quieter-Than-New-York-City farmhouse.  Peter found the books fascinating, had read them to May as she worked in the kitchen or Ben as he worked on the fences, but when those two ran him off he mostly he found himself reading out loud to himself in his room.

And, just like that, the noises quieted down.

The wolves, too, that had howled with alarming frequency when they first arrived (alarming because they had been assured there were no wolves in the woods anymore) dried up the very weekend Peter had come home with an armload of books about canines.  At the time it seemed to Peter that he had superpowers.  Whatever alarming phenomenon their haunted house produced, Peter could make it go away just by researching it.  He joked about it with Aunt May as he read to her about plumbing at the breakfast table (the obvious reason for the growling sounds coming from the basement.)  She called him “The Masked Librarian.” 

Now, he realized, he had been doing something else entirely.  Tony had lived on a diet of fear.  But Peter was only providing Tony with questions, the joy of gaining new information, followed by more information.  The thing Tony called “light.” 

Sometimes Peter wondered if Tony would be happier in a household with more emotional displays – Peter knew that “light” was not simply the positive emotions.  In addition to fear and hate, Tony fed on anger, sorrow and righteous indignation just as well.  But Peter’s little family had certainly put Tony on a strict diet.  May was stubbornly, sometimes grimly, cheerful whereas Uncle Ben raised his voice so very rarely Peter could remember every single instant.  Peter was by far the most emotional of the trio, reading books about pollution that made him cry, about endangered animals and acid rain that made him so angry he felt like punching the walls.  Tony had requested all of those kinds of books, had requested laughter and tears and anger and questions. 

Had requested everything but fear.

He had described Peter as ‘fearless,’ and in many ways that was true.  Maybe Peter had inherited some stubborn, determined optimism from the same ancestor as Aunt May, or maybe he had learned it hanging onto her apron strings.  In any case when he had first discovered that there was a voice talking to him from under his bed, fearlessness and determination had certainly served him well.

But now that the thing that lived under his bed had a name and a backstory, Peter certainly felt some real fears creeping in.

Especially as the season that Tony had told him to wait for came creeping in, a sixteen-year-old Peter was aware of some budding feelings.  His body, he was told, would be changing.  He thought he was prepared for that.  But he was finding, much to his alarm, that his brain was changing too.  Watching the foxes chase rabbits from his perch high in a tree, or watching the owls devour their prey whole from his hiding place in the barn, Peter poked at those fears gingerly, teasing around the edges.

All his life, it seemed, pretending the fear wasn’t real had served him well.   Now he wasn’t so sure.  Normally, when Peter Parker was alarmed by something, he looked it up at the library.  But he wasn’t sure there were any books on this subject.

So he did the only think he could have done, he reviewed it in his brain.  Reviewed everything he knew about Tony.  Everything he knew about the thing that lived under his bed.

As he went over the story in his mind, he found himself with two things that he decided not to label ‘fears’ after all.  He decided it would be more expedient to label them ‘regrets.’

Alright, three.  Maybe four.

#The Thing That Lives Under The Bed #Demon!Tony #But not THAT Demon!Tony #Starker #thewitchway writes stuff

[sparrowwritings]

Final Fantasy Writing Challenge Day Twenty-Four: Clocks

Day Twenty-Three -- Masterpost -- Day Twenty-Five

Two members of the Convocation of Fourteen sat at the same bench located outside of the governing hall. Each had similar strained expressions as they looked over the identical gaudy invitations in their hands. They also both had the fronts of their robes, their gloves, and their red masks caked in a tiny, shimmering substance.

"How much effort do you think Hythlodaeus put into making these?" Artemis-as-Azem asked. Since the other members of the Convocation had taken their leave, her act of pretending to be her twin had been relaxed for the moment. Insofar as looking actively annoyed was her way of doing so.

"Knowing him, the maximum amount to make this awful thing look the worst. If only to further embarrass us when we received it." Emet-Selch drawled. He shook the card and more shining fragments of that substance Hythlodaeus had created fell to the ground. He had been “inspired” by the incident that destroyed the Hall of Glass. Not too long later a concept known as "glitter" had been created. And used for occasional pranks by the Chief of the Bureau of the Architect against his friends. Much to their dismay, he had released the concept to the public, and so everyone in the Convocation already knew what glitter was when Azem and Emet-Selch had opened their cards and the substance had exploded all over them.

"Remind me again why we should bother replying?" She asked while looking over the deliberately juvenile handwriting. It was an invitation to join Hythlodaeus in attending a lecture headed by the leading expert in Time manipulation. That he had sent in lieu of asking in person because the answer would have been a firm no from both Artemis and Hades. 

One would think that a glitter-bomb laden card would have confirmed the disinterest of both parties. That person would also assume that Azem and Emet-Selch were reasonable people with even more reasonable friends. They would be wrong.

"That he put so much effort into this means he's required to attend and desperate enough for company that he ensured we would at least address the card." Hades sighed and ran a hand down his mask. Some of the glitter dislodged itself and fluttered in the air around him. "At the very least we need to see him in person for the technique to get rid of this damnable stuff."

"And give him time to beg us to go." Artemis dusted at a sleeve in a vain attempt to dislodge more sparkles. "I never attended any classes involving time. Is Kronos really that dreadful?"

"From what I've heard, he's an unpleasant individual and delights in his unpleasantness."

"So there are two of you in the city."

Hades sniffed. "My unpleasantness is limited to the few people I bother to be around. His is a public spectacle."

She put a hand to her chest dramatically. "I'm touched you would grace us with the true extent of your personality."

"Your sarcasm is much appreciated." A quiet silence fell over the two of them. Eventually, he was the one that spoke again. "So you're going?"

"Ugh," Artemis slouched in her seat. "I'm going to have to. With Hythlodaeus miserable and Apollo trying to keep up his spirits, someone else has to be there to make sure he doesn’t take negative criticism so personally. I’ve heard that Kronos lectures are entertaining, at least.”

"You're attending the Time manipulation lecture?"

Both of the seated folk froze, only relaxing when they realized who the speaker was. Elidibus gave a kind smile, as if the two were speaking of normal things and hadn't accidentally revealed the secret of Azem. Besides, he already knew it. 

Artemis recovered quickly enough to answer first. "Yes, actually."

"I suppose I might pop in…" Emet-Selch said lightly. "I've yet to see the latest developments in that field."

"May I join you and your friends, then?" Elidibus had his hands behind him, looking all the more like his actual age. "I've been curious about Kronos' lectures but I haven't had the opportunity to attend yet."

The two older Convocation members (well, one and one imposter member) gave each other a look. As one they shrugged. "Why not?" They answered simultaneously.

------

"So now that I've had to waste half my lecture on going over the basics, shall we proceed to the heart of why I'm standing here?" The body language and voice of Kronos didn't even try to disguise how utterly displeased he was with how things were proceeding. From the way that Hythlodaeus was sunk into his chair and covering his mask with his hands this was an expected, if undesired, result. Artemis could see why he needed the company. Being alone and dying of secondhand embarrassment in front of a hall full of promising students was far lessened when there were more people he knew that could share in it. 

At least Elidibus still seemed interested in the topic, seated as he was to her right. Hythlodaeus was in the seat to her left, a veritable puddle of forlorn mumbling. Apollo patted their friend on the head from his spot on the Chief's other side. Emet-Selch had taken the seat to the Emissary's right, more than glad to not need to directly hear the quiet pleading for the torture to end. That was his excuse, anyway. Artemis suspected that he wanted to be certain that the young man wouldn't be bothered by any other attendee during the lecture.

Hades could be soft hearted like that, when he thought no one was paying attention. 

Back onstage, Kronos received the answers (or lack thereof) that he must have been searching for, because he quickly snapped his fingers. A display consisting of a large line, followed by several generic people shapes and a timepiece appeared above him. He didn't bother looking before he spoke. “Now, seeing as most beings experience time in a linear fashion, and we’re now all aware of how it moves forward and splits,” A wave of his hand took the singular line and split one end into multiple ones. The people shapes floated until one sat at the end of each line and changed color according to which line they went to. One shape, white in color, stayed on the still-connected part of the line. “The obvious next question becomes: Is it possible to move backwards through time to change an outcome? I say yes.” 

Artemis blinked, then leaned forward to see how he came to this conclusion. From the corner of her eye, she could see Apollo stopping his comforting gestures to curiously look towards the stage. Hythlodaeus had even perked up enough to be sitting properly in his chair. 

“After all, time is a progression. One step begets another begets another. What many forget is that negative progression can also occur.” Kronos gestured to the audience. “Have any of you had to be diverted from the path you were taking because of construction? Don’t bother answering, of course you have. What happens when you must trace back your steps is negative progression. Your goal is just as far as it was when you had gotten started. The energy you had saved up to go forward is spent doubling back.” He gestured at the diagram. “Similarly, if you can figure out the energy it costs to move forward in time, all one needs is double that to go backwards. Multiply exponentially by the amount of time you need to travel and you will find yourself when you need to be.” Their seats were close enough that Artemis could see the proud smirk on his face. “Simple, really.”

“But can you actually change anything?” A voice called out from the audience. “All you’re proposing is the means to move backwards! Wouldn’t the changes you make affect your reasoning for going into the past in the first place?” Kronos glared in the direction it came from. 

“I’m getting to that.” He snapped. Quite literally, as he snapped his fingers and the figures moved around again. The red colored one moved slowly from its split in the timeline back to where the white colored one was stationed. The timepiece turned backwards to reflect this. “Now as the fool suggested there lies the possibility that, should you obtain enough energy to move backwards in time, you can cause the future you were trying to prevent in the first place. Thus, your self in this future must needs travel to when you arrived and cause the events that lead to you traveling, ad infinitum. This is what’s known as a Closed Time Loop, and many have theorized that it is the only possible outcome for attempting to change the past.” The red figure, having made its way to the combined timeline, moved in the direction of its split, only to move backwards again. Again, the timepiece moved backwards or forwards depending on how the red figure was moving.

“There is some…” Kronos paused, then said the word as if it were a curse. “Merit...to that theory. There are certain events that one cannot rightly prevent on one’s own. The rise of a virulent disease, for example, could be warned about. However, the disease could still spread before any preventative measures can be taken and cause the damage you had gone to the past to prevent. Similarly, natural disasters are just as difficult to prevent from actually happening. How then, can one effectively change the future?” 

Artemis looked to her right in time to see Elidibus on the edge of his seat. Even Emet-Selch seemed like he was actually paying attention and not just half sleeping through the lecture.

“Again, the solution is simple.” Kronos picked up the white figure from the timeline. “You must remove the person who will cause the most damage to the future you are trying to prevent.” A loud murmur went out through the hall that he ignored. “With that person away, the progression of events must change the outcome of the future. Thus your mission will be complete.”

“What do you mean by remove?” A student from two rows up called out. 

The man rolled his head (and presumably his eyes) hard enough that Artemis was sure his mask was going to dislodge itself from his face. Not that it would have taken much, considering how it was perched on his large, sharp nose. “Not anything as base as killing the person. I mean actually remove the person from the situation entirely. Isolate them in a place where the event won’t be able to touch them while everyone more competent takes care of prevention and recovery.” 

“But how--” 

The timepiece onstage made a blaring sound, shutting up the student. Kronos looked pleased. “That’s all the time I have to explain these very simple concepts to all of you. I’m obliged to tell you that if you wish to learn more, my papers on the equations behind moving backwards in time and how one would be able to isolate the person who would cause the most damage in the future one is trying to prevent are readily available. I won’t be taking any questions.” With that, he quickly made his exit.

Artemis didn’t look at Hythlodaeus, instead turning her focus onto Elidibus. “So...what did you think?”

The young man was practically buzzing with energy. “His grasp of Time and the mechanics of how it works are astounding. I would like to attend more of Kronos’ lectures.” 

She looked past him towards Emet-Selch. He looked like he just ate something sour. “So you didn’t think he was...rough?”

Elidibus nodded. “Oh he was certainly terse. An uncommon trait, of course, but refreshing to see one teach with such a method.” He looked up with an easy smile. “Although I will say I’m far more pleased to have been invited to see Kronos with two of my brothers than I am in seeing the man himself. Thank you for allowing me to join you both.”

The impact her heart made inside her chest was utterly unnecessary. Even if she’d wanted to, Artemis couldn’t have stopped the warm and gooey smile from spreading on her face. “Thank you for joining us.” 

A throat clearing noise drew her attention back to Emet-Selch. The red of his mask made it harder to tell, but he definitely had the remains of a flush on his cheeks. She was going to tease him about it later. “I second the thanks. If you wish to try out other lectures, be sure to talk to us.”

The emissary nodded fast enough that his hood threatened to fall off. “For certain.” He then peaked around Artemis towards Hythlodaeus and Apollo. “I would also like you both to join us the next time, if neither of you mind. Perhaps the next lecture won’t be quite so humiliating for the Chief of the Bureau of the Architect.” 

She turned her head in time to see Hythlodaeus, having gotten his second wind from Kronos finishing his lecture, melt back into his seat with a prolonged groan. “If I’m still in one piece after all of the complaints I’ll have to field, just say the word and I’ll be there.” His words were muffled between his hands, but they were clear enough to hear even among the exiting crowd.

“And I’m always fine with going where Azem goes.” Apollo smiled back at Elidibus with a slight flick of his hair extensions to remind those in the know that he was pretending to be Artemis.

“Then it’s settled.” The young man stood up with a slight bounce. “At a future date, the five of us shall see another lecture.”

“Perhaps we could attend something by Astraeaus?” Emet-Selch suggested. “Gossip says that some of his work had gotten stolen, and I’m keen to see if there’s any truth to it.”

“What does he create?” 

That started a discussion that lasted until the group had left the Akademia grounds altogether.

#final fantasy xiv #Final Fantasy 14 #ff14 #fanfiction #writing challenge #clocks #twin azem AU #azem #emet-selch #hythlodaeus #apollo and artemis #hades #elidibus #more like minibus #kronos #astraeaus #both of them are amaurotine OCs of dovahcat's #half added to expand more headcanons #the other half to write bitchy kronos parts #because he is a bitch of the highest caliber #this is the second of a 1-2-3 punch of stories #thanks to me really getting hit by the CHALLENGE part of the writing challenge #twenty four down seven to go

[alittlepieceofwarcraft]

I would actually really like to know how your HCs pan out for TUA and black Butler

They both don’t end happily for my ocs I’m afraid.

The Umbrella Academy, shortly after Five’s physically 18th birthday

When Effy escaped the Commission, she cut out the tracking device in her arm, flushed it and went to the Hargreeves’ in hope of finding refuge. She burst in, hiding behind a sofa and begging them not to tell them she was there. The Handler then comes in with two workers demanding to know where Effy is. The group plays dumb and one worker informs the Handler that the tracking device is currently running past them. They realise she’s flushed it and leave to form a bigger search party.

When they leave, the group all look towards Effy and Diego demands to know where Effy has come from and who she is, naturally suspicious of her. Before she can answer, Alison notices the blood from her cut after she removed the device. Alison bandages her up while she tells her story, explaining that the Handler had discovered the anomaly of the kids in the Umbrella Academy all being born at the same time to women who weren’t pregnant before. She took it upon herself to use the briefcases and recover as many of the other children as she could from any timeline and in any order. Therefore the ages of the children all vary based on when she had access to them which is why Effy is 18 like Five and not the same age as the others. Due to her kidnapping and murder techniques, she was able to obtain many more than Hargreeves did, 11.

Over time of knowing Effy, they’d learn many things, such as on parallel to the Academy, the Commission’s most were girls with only 1 boy. Effy was originally known as Five but having two Fives was confusing and Alison noted they couldn’t keep calling her Female Five so it was shortened to Effy. She had a tattoo like the members of the Umbrella Academy did but it was barcode on her neck, used to identify her as property of the Commission. Effy had the power to manipulate electrical impulses, switching radios on and off and getting into restricted frequencies and so was used by the Commission to listen in to historical broadcasts to detect anomalies. Her power would later reach its full potential while running from them. She could conjure electricity and use it as a weapon and most deadly of all, she learned how to manipulate electricity in brains and was able to kill people by shutting it off. Little did the rest of the Commission know that the Handler was actually raising a group of villains to counter the Umbrella Academy for her own gain and when the Handler discovered Effy had these powers after she massacres a dozen workers who came to retrieve her, she is delighted.

She was unable to perform basic tasks like running a bath as she was used to showers and Alison became a motherly figure to her, teaching her how to adjust to the world. She grew close with Five, who was originally cold to her but she had scientific knowledge and understood a lot of the language he used which he wasn’t used to. He realised that someone else had been used by the Commission like he had been. They both humanised each other, to the point Five actually acknowledges that Dolores was a mannequin. Effy and Five form a romantic relationship over time that lasts until her death.

They’d meet other Commission Escapees: Martisha with powers of invisibility who was stolen from Uganda; Hayley with the ability of speed, stolen from Scotland; Silvie with the ability to read minds and at its fullest, wipe memories, stolen from Canada who is one of the youngest as she is 6, taken as a baby 6 years ago. They’d know that Effy is half Caucasian, half Japanese and was stolen from the UK like Lila was. The girls had given themselves names privately while staying at the institution except Effy who couldn’t make up her mind on one.

Effy goes through multiple arcs. She starts as a timid, traumatised girl who has been through abuse to a confident individual. However, as her she reunited with her siblings and the Commission cracks down on finding her, one incident (I won’t detail here) the Handler reminds her that she is a villain, she was raised to be a villain and the Academy children will never accept her as she is. She cracks. The stress and trauma of the event that brought back repressed memories and the taunts from the Handler breaks her and she kills every person who was sent to kill her. She turns against the Academy and with her sisters, Hayley and Martisha, vows to free her remaining siblings by any means necessarily, conflicting with her agreement made to the Academy which stated the rescue should be pacifistic and no innocent people should be harmed.

It takes a long time and many events later for Effy to heal and rehabilitate. They do manage to rescue all of her siblings.

However, a twist in fate is that the Handler makes a deal. She discovered that the time travelling done by the Academy has caused several lesions in time and must be fixed. She will consent to the freeing of the Commission’s children if Effy uses her powers linked up with the time technology to manipulate these lesions into closing. This is an intense process and would kill her.

Effy consents. The Handler is left with a smug satisfaction that she managed to get back at Five again. Silvie however does something no one thought she was brave enough to at the age of now 7: stand up to the Handler and protect her family. She uses her powers to their fullest potential to wipe the Handler’s memories of ever knowing about the children.

As for Rushi in the Black Butler one, she never reveals her feelings towards Elizabeth and remains as her bodyguard.

[beliamh-its-me]

Performance overview & Research

The overarching theme of My Country is inspired by the question, ‘How united is the United Kingdom?’. The idea behind the theme derived from the contrasting verbatim scripted opinions surrounding Brexit. Through acknowledging the vast amount of opinions and stories, we compared each region to the referendum results. Not only did this support our theme, it helped to structure the fictional manifestations of regional characters. For example, Caledonia’s persona has been based off the Scottish remain vote totalling 62.0% (BBC, 2016). So, in order to amplify this, Caledonia is extremely defensive and angry in a way to foreshadow the verbatim lines. Brexit links to the exploitation of corruption within the UK’s patriotism, something amplified in the script. A poignant line, to support the theme comes from Theresa May, ‘...a vision that works not for the privileged few’. The message shows the government promoting the UK as a satisfied minority, proposing changes are needed. This idea finishes the play, leaving the audience questioning the current political climate. We aspire to start a conversation, about politics and its importance. May, quickly became the Conservative party leader. Offering an idea that Brexit was a distant idea, until it was not, accompanied with unsettling optimism. Another issue that arises is the name ‘Brexit’. Broken-down it means ‘Britain’ and ‘Exit’. This means Northern Ireland is excluded from the branding, linking to a long history of division within the UK, and is played on in the script. The major element, being the lack of spoken lines from NI through verbatim, to create the sense of lesser respect for NI’s opinions. The theme of delight breaks tension in the performance. During the fictional scenes, there is shared food, facts and laughter! This is important in remaining partial, but mostly to celebrate the UK for individuality. The constant return of the characters throughout the verbatim sections, create a sense of familiarity. The creative vision is synonymous with the medium, Zoom. The Guardian (2019) reported that Farage’s party accounted for 51% of all shared content on Facebook and Twitter during the campaign. Meaning that Brexit was a social media operation. We used this to incorporate the fictional characters. This is shown through using Facebook inspired videos that indicate joining a ‘Pub Chat’ group call. This implies the characters oversee the verbatim characters, and join the audience in watching the performance. Further, creating a sense of realism as the audience form a relationship with the fictional characters. Both parties are learning about the Brexit repercussions, however the voices of the nation’s get drunk instead resolving the issues within the discussion. This imitates life, as Brexit was unclear.

The creative vision started with explicit use of the Facebook page however, due to complications of practicality, we decided to use the page as an implied structure, through ‘Pub chat’ videos. This was determined after wanting to use a link to the page, to display images alongside monologues. The page distracted the words being spoken, so we refrained. Click here for rehearsal footage

In two ways we have portrayed to the audience the right atmosphere. First, creating a sense of urgency through breaking up scenes with movement and digital influence. This mirrors the masses of campaigning prevalent at the time, and allows information to form in an unbiased way. The second aspect is placing the audience vote before the ‘vote’ scene. This immerses the audience and clarifies a timeline of the performance.

We discussed other avenues to separate the fictional characters from verbatim. Through development of the first scene, we determined that costume would support our intentions. All fictional scenes have Union Jack hats and tops. This is so we can physically change our aesthetic to make transitions easier for the audience. Click here for rehearsal footage.

Research:

My Country- a work in progress, is a verbatim play created by Carol Ann Duffy and Rufus Norris (2017). Duffy is an award-winning writer for her work writing raw and expressive poetry and plays. Duffy’s work includes Take My Husband (1982) and Standing Female Nude (1985). Rufus Norris has acted, written and directed numerous plays/operas such as, Market Boy (2006), Cabaret(2007) (BBC, 2013). Together these playwrights have been able to create an enticing piece surrounding the Brexit debate, with views from numerous angles of the leave/remain spectrum. Verbatim interviews promise direct access to actual lived experiences and make them authentic (Fisher, 2011). To convey Brexit and the volume of controversy surrounding it, verbatim is one of the best ways to express the UK’s concerns fairly. The final vote was 51.9% Leave, 48.1% remain (BBC, 2016). This shows that it is almost impossible to depict the UK’s opinions without using both sides, especially when looking at regions such as Northern Ireland and Scotland who have a troubled history with England. Summerskill (2021) see’s verbatim as ‘Documenting aspects of historical material which tend to be missing from other sources relating to lived experience (p. 24). With the combination of media, technology can thicken participant’s experience, through building different versions of reality, or spaces (Burnett, 2019). This supports our intentions to blend education with theatrics. It also justifies our ideas to improve audience connection. Our audience, typically, were under the voting age during the referendum. This means that, although the effects of Brexit will deeply govern their lives, they had no say in the matter. With the use of verbatim we can transfer the thoughts, feelings and facts from the UK to give the audience an education. Although Brexit has happened, the British Youth Council (2020) are still fighting for young people to be ‘stakeholders in [their] future’. Through reminding them of the past we could motivate them to work on their future in this country. The challenges of creating a political performance entail removing any bias, to allow a genuine response from audience members. If it is done correctly, the abstract creation of political theatre can initiate enquiry and evaluation instead of negative confrontation (Kritzer, 2008).

When looking at companies to influence ideas throughout the creative process, I wanted to draw on two avenues:

The first, being movement to enhance the digital platform. As the creator of the ‘Feast’ and ‘Europe’ sequences, I wanted to make sure that we were utilising the ability to make smaller gestures, whilst still adding abstract and full-bodied movement. I drew inspiration from DV8, a physical theatre company. DV8’s published work of Can We Talk About This?, depict a woman talking in verbatim whilst holding a tea cup. The movement around her is abstract and exciting. The idea to have a focus whilst also conveying deeper dramaturgical control is powerful and I wanted it to be seen within the above-mentioned scenes.

The second, the incorporation of portraying political information. I have drawn on a slightly abstract perspective for this influence. This American Life (2020) by Ross Gay explores delight, which is one of our themes, in this there is a podcast of a boy getting the bus for the first time. Although he is surrounded by the excitement of childhood, he still speaks of death and anxiety. This is something echoed in our piece, a lot of the audience members have been treated like children in the eye of Brexit, but are being given the platform to learn it as they maybe should have at the time. We use our polls to give the audience the chance to express this.

The link below will take you to a specific research document for this performance, containing sources for performance material and references.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1X5ibI5xWIoWm3bK9W6aAgplQtarR-Hq5gq8m9uGf1u4/edit

The link below will take you to the social media page:

https://www.facebook.com/RuleBritannia1922

Bibliography

Afflick, R.  (2020). ‘British Youth Council urge Government to consult young people on Brexit’. British Youth Council, 31 January. Available at: https://www.byc.org.uk/news/2020/british-youth-council-urge-government-to-consult-young-people-on-brexit (Accessed: 12 March 2021).

‌BBC (2015). ‘EU Referendum Results’. BBC News. Available at: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/politics/eu_referendum/results (Accessed: 2 March 2021).

Burnett, C. et al. (2019) ‘Conceptualising Digital Technology Integration in Participatory Theatre from a Sociomaterialist Perspective: Ways Forward for Research’, Research Papers in Education, 34(6), pp. 680–700. Available at: https://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=eric&AN=EJ1229827&site=eds-live&scope=site (Accessed: 12 March 2021).

DV8 (2021). DV8 Physical Theatre. Dv8.co.uk. Available at: https://www.dv8.co.uk/media-portal (Accessed: 8 May 2021).

DV8 (2021). DV8 Physical Theatre. Dv8.co.uk. Available at: https://www.dv8.co.uk/projects/can-we-talk-about-this/foreword-by-lloyd-newson (Accessed: 12 May 2021).

Fisher, A. (2011) ‘Trauma, Authenticity and the Limits of Verbatim’, Performance Research, 16(1), pp. 112–122. doi: 10.1080/13528165.2011.561683

Gay, R.. (2020). The Show of Delights - This American Life. Available at: https://www.thisamericanlife.org/692/the-show-of-delights (Accessed: 12 May 2021).

Kritzer, A. (2008) Political Theatre in Post-Thatcher Britain: New Writing, 1995-2005.  Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan

My Country: A Work In Progress by C.A. Duffy (2017)

Savage, M. (2019). ‘How Brexit party won Euro elections on social media – simple, negative messages to older voters’. The Guardian, 29 June. Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2019/jun/29/how-brexit-party-won-euro-elections-on-social-media (Accessed: 26 April 2021).

Smith, N. (2013). ‘Rufus Norris: Who is the new National Theatre director?’ BBC News, 15 October.  Available at: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-24532470 (Accessed: 10 March 2021).

Summerskill, C. (2021) Creating verbatim theatre from oral histories. Routledge: New York. 

[4dorks-1windmage-1shadow]

Vaati as a D&D Character, Part 6: Vaati

Inspired by a question I saw on @hauntinghyrule ‘s blog. My character analysis and thoughts on what character class the boys would be if they were D&D characters, and why. Also! @atinybitweird has been drawing the boys D&D designs, and she’s doing really great! I’ll link to her posts on the individual analysis as well as reblog them here so look out for those : D

Green / Red / Blue / Vio / Shadow / FS Zelda

As a preface, there won’t be any doubles on classes except in the case of dual-classing, and in those cases the first class I talk about my justifications for will be the primary class (i.e. the class they would have chosen at level one). My choices will be based on the character theming and personalities, even though at a base level it would be easy to say “they’re all paladins, duh” because of the implied “holy knight chosen by the gods to eradicate evil” concept.  HA I TRICKED YOU We’re talking about Vaati now. I’m gonna blow your mind. Here’s a revolutionary concept I bet nobody’s thought of before (I’m being sarcastic do NOT message me): Vaati’s not a sorcerer, he’s a wizard. Or rather he was a wizard before he abandoned his studies to cheat his way to becoming a powerful Sorcerer. But Athena, he’s the Sorcerer of Winds, not the Wizard of Winds? Why is he a wizard then? BECAUSE CHILDHOOD THAT’S WHY. Vaati’s origin story is that he was the apprentice of a renowned and legendary Minish sage, Ezlo. Wizards are the only magic users who become magic users through study- both personal study and through apprenticeships and formal schooling. Until Vaati used Ezlo’s Wishing Cap to turn himself into a Sorcerer (thereby dual-classing from an intelligence based spellcaster to a charisma based spellcaster), he was probably learning to harness the arcane arts through good old fashioned book learning (and of course, Ezlo’s tutelage). He may have even chosen an Arcane Tradition to study under Ezlo before realizing that the Wishing Cap was a quicker shortcut to the power and change that he wanted to enact. You only need 2 levels in Wizard to choose an Arcane Tradition, and at that point the only abilities Vaati really has is some low-level Wizard spellcasting, Arcane Recovery, and the 2nd level Arcane Tradition ability which is pretty fitting and just shows how lazy Vaati ended up being.  Every Arcane Tradition has a little section telling you what the school of magic is about, and the one that made me think “oh yeah, that’s what Vaati would be into” was the School of Transmutation description. It reads thus:

 “You are a student of spells that modify energy and matter. To you, the world is not a fixed thing, but eminently mutable, and you delight in being an agent  of change. You wield the raw stuff of creation and learn to alter both physical forms and mental qualities. Your magic gives you the tools to become a smith on reality’s forge.

Some transmuters are tinkerers and pranksters, turning people into toads and transforming copper into silver for fun and occasional profit. Others pursue their magical studies with deadly seriousness, seeking the power of the gods to make and destroy worlds.” - Player’s Handbook, Page 119

You’ll notice I bolded some stuff in those paragraphs- that’s because they can directly relate to events in Vaati’s timeline as a character. He has five forms which, as far as I know, makes him the villain with the most forms out of all the Zelda villains. His most plot relevant moments involve him transmuting someone into a different form including himself, the Gleerok in the Cave of Flames, the Great Mayfly Fairy (in the manga), Ezlo, and Princess Zelda. His element is Wind, which is most commonly associated with change, adaptation and flexibility, and Transmutation is about mastering magic that does these exact things. Vaati’s ultimate goal was to become a “perfect” version of himself by finding the Light Force and using it to turn himself into a god, which worked for the entire Vaati Reborn battle. If he had just applied himself to his studies under Ezlo, he wouldn’t have needed to cheat and use the Wishing Cap to make himself a powerful sorcerer. Just for fun, lets talk about what he would have gained by only being a wizard. First, he would have access to certain spells that he could cast without using spell slots, including Polymorph. School of Transmutation lets him create a Transmuter’s Stone, which he can use to grant himself darkvision, increase his speed, grant himself proficiency in Constitution saving throws, or resistance to acid, cold, fire, lightning or thunder damage. This Transmuter’s Stone could later be used to emit a burst of power that would allow him to transform objects no bigger than a 5 ft cube into other objects of similar sizes, masses and value, as well as remove all curses, diseases and poisons from an afflicted person while healing them to their maximum HP; he would be able to cast Raise the Dead without using a spell slot and even if he didn’t have it written in his spell book, and even use it to reverse the effects of aging on a person to a minimum of 13 years. He could have had a fucking Philosopher’s Stone but he CHEATED!!! Wizards by far have the most diverse amount of spells that they can learn, and by only taking 2 levels in wizard he locks himself into only having access to level 1 wizard spells and cantrips.  By taking Sorcerer, he still gets access to 9th level sorcerer spells, but the amount of 4th, 5th, 6th, 7th, 8th and 9th level sorcerer spells is half the amount of wizard spells of those same levels. His spells have a wider range of versatility with the Metamagic options supplied by the Sorcerer class, and although he wouldn’t get the cool perks of Transmutation Wizard, Storm Sorcery is nothing to joke about. This is where the Sorcerer of the Winds part comes in- Vaati altered reality using the Wishing Cap and imbued himself with the power of elemental air. He finally gets to use those sweet sweet Evocation, Conjuration and Necromancy spells that I theorize Ezlo wouldn’t have let him dabble into much because the Minish are a peaceful race- why would their sages need to know Meteor Swarm (Evocation) or Flaming Sphere (Conjuration) or Soul Cage (Necromancy)? And Storm Sorcery perks are pretty awesome. Vaati learns to speak, read and write the language of elementals, and whenever he casts a spell of 1st level or higher he can fly up to 10 feet without provoking opportunity attacks. He gains resistance to lightning and thunder damage, and when casting spells of 1st level or higher that deal lightning or thunder damage he can cause anyone within 10 feet of him to take lightning/thunder damage equal to half his sorcerer level automatically. Eventually, when he’s hit with melee attacks he can deal lightning damage to the attacker equal to his sorcerer level and push them away with a burst of wind, up to 20 feet. And his two levels in wizard mean that he still gets the highest Storm Sorcery ability at 18th level: immunity to lightning and thunder damage, and a magical flying speed of 60 feet. Vaati’s transformation really just gives him all of his wishes on a platter, no pun intended- the freedom to fly and power to wield the elements and change himself on the fly- and his high Intelligence stat means he knows how to use those abilities to gain the advantage, making him a formidable opponent and party member. In conclusion, Vaati is a level 2 Transmutation Wizard, who dual-classed to Storm Sorcery Sorcerer through the power of a wish.

#IM SO PISSED #I HAD THIS POST WRITTEN OUT #AND THEN MY COMPUTER ZOOMED OUT BECAUSE MY HANDS BRUSHED AGAINST THE TOUCH PAD #AND IT DELETED MY WHOLE FUCKING POST #AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #THIS WAS WRITTEN OUT OF RAGE #FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK #FUCK THIS SHIT #FUCK MY SHITTY COMPUTER #four swords #minish cap #vaati #character analysis #dungeons and dragons #im done writing this and less angry so i will just say #vaati changing from an intelligence spellcaster to a charisma spellcaster makes sense if you take into account four swords games #specifically the first one #where he kidnaps maidens and stuff #which means he had a stupid amount of confidence in how charming he actually was or he actually was that charming #and zelda was just having none of it #editing the tags to say #what if the wishing cap was a wizard hat #just sayin y'all

[manage-mischief]

Ground Zero

Part Two: Freedoms 

Read on AO3 here. 

Summary: Two-shot. Though Tonks had been fantasizing about moments like this for months—moments when the two of them were in bed together—none of them had involved quite this much blood or mortal peril. In which Remus is injured during a mission and Tonks has to think fast to save his life.

Author’s Note: This will be a two-shot and perhaps part of a larger Remadora series. They are definitely one of my OTPs, and I feel like a lot of their relationship was glossed over in the books. This story attempts to place a timeline on some of their romance. It takes places soon after Order of the Phoenix, before the Half-Blood Prince. I envision it happening right before Harry arrives at the Weasley’s and sees Tonks and Molly there. I’m pretty new to fanfiction writing, so any kind comments would be appreciated! (I had to re-upload chapter 2 because of a link issue and because idk how Tumblr works lol sorry about that)

Chapter 2 : Remus recovers from the attack while Tonks tries (and fails) to stay casual. There's only one bed, after all. Past Wolfstar if you squint. 

One minute. That’s how long she allowed herself to lose control. Sitting there, shivering on the cool bathroom tile, she felt like a complete idiot. Since it had been well-established that the universe hated her, it made perfect sense that she had to have gone and fallen in love with a man who she was quite certain would never love her back. At least, not in the way she hoped. She had managed to earn in his friendship, but was sure that, in his eyes, she was still the same immature girl he had believed her to be all those months ago: too young, too frivolous, too clumsy. And, he was probably right. He had been a bloody professor for Merlin’s sake! Meanwhile, she was the girl who would pretend to be professors to pull pranks and end up in detention with a Howler from home the next day.

Not to mention the issue of Sirius. She had never known exactly what had gone on between Remus and her cousin in the past. But, after Remus’s reaction to Sirius’s death, she was fairly certain their relationship had not been strictly platonic. These thoughts of Sirius caused her to shake even more. A few stray tears slid down her cheeks. It was her fault he was dead.

She relived the fight at the Department of Mysteries every day. Her biggest failure. What could she have done differently? What curses or hexes had she forgotten? If she had been a better dueler, a better Auror, would Sirius still be alive today? Surely, Remus had asked himself similar questions. So, Tonks resigned herself to the sad truth: even if Remus felt anything towards her, he would never want to be with the witch whose incompetence had led to the death of one of the only people on Earth he had ever loved.

Her minute was up. Tonks pushed herself off of the floor. She leaned over the sink and stared in the mirror. Her hair, which often involuntarily changed color to reflect her mood, had reverted to its natural mousy brown. Right now, she possessed neither the desire nor the energy to turn it back to pink. With one hand still gripping the basin of the sink, she turned on the faucet. For a moment, she just stood there, listening to the water run. She took a deep breath and splashed a few handfuls of cold water on her face. Returning to the bedroom, she was determined to force any longing thoughts concerning Remus from her mind. Constant vigilance, she repeated to herself, policing her stream of consciousness in order to banish all romantic inclinations. Although, somehow, she was certain this was not quite what Mad-Eye had had in mind when he coined the phrase.

“You should try and get some sleep,” she remarked as she exited the bathroom, feigning a casual tone. “You take the bed. I’ll put some blankets on the floor.”

He propped himself up on his elbows to look at her properly. “Don’t be ridiculous, Tonks. You just saved my life. You’re not sleeping on the floor. This is a king-sized bed, there’s plenty of room for the both of us.”

Great, just great. Why did this man have to be so goddamn chivalrous? So much for ignoring the mess going on in her brain and…other regions… Sharing a bed was not going to make this situation any easier. Maybe if she possessed more willpower, she would have told him no—insisted that she sleep on the floor, or went downstairs to check out another room. But she didn’t. Instead of making what would have undoubtedly been the more responsible decision, she began to remove her shoes and bloodstained clothes to join the half-naked subject of her pining under the blankets.  

The two partners sat in silence for a prolonged moment, both staring up at the ceiling to avoid meeting the other’s gaze. Tonks mentally kicked herself. This was getting ridiculous. There was no reason why she should be acting like a schoolgirl. She was an Auror: an elite wizarding warrior. She ate Death Eaters for breakfast. Surely, she held the capacity to brave the awkward territory into which they were entering. She turned to face him, sitting herself crisscross with her feet on the mattress. “So…love potion, eh?”

He chuckled lightly, relieved at the break in the tension. “I suppose I did promise you a bedtime story, didn’t I?”

“It really is the least you could do. Seeing as I saved your life and all, Lupin.”

“Fair enough, but I’m afraid I made the tale sound a lot more interesting than it actually was.”

Tonks raised her eyebrows. “Spill.”

“In my 5th year, some admirer of Sirius’s—I should note he had plenty of them—gave him some fire whiskey for Christmas. I told him not to drink it. Naturally, I assumed he had tossed it out after my warning. But then, one night, he and I were in our room and fancied a drink. Sirius opened a bottle of fire whiskey, which, as you can probably guess, was the bottle he had received from the girl. We drank it. Needless to say, when Peter and James found us later that evening, we were in quite a state—blabbering on about a ‘Michelle Thompson’ or something like that. We had started a duel over which one of us would get to ask her to Hogsmeade. I had cast Levicorpus and Sirius was hanging upside-down in mid-air when they arrived. Well, James and Peter had a right laugh, but then, being the good friends that they were, used James’s invisibility cloak to sneak down to the Dungeons and fix up an antidote. When I came to, they told me what had happened. Obviously, I was quite reluctant to drink or eat anything Sirius offered me for a long time after that.”

Tonks giggled. “Sounds like something Sirius would do, drink something given to him by a strange woman without thinking. Reminds me of the time Charlie Weasley almost ate a tainted chocolate frog before a Quidditch match. Some Slytherin bloke had them delivered by owl the morning before the game. Unmarked. I had to slap it out of his hand! Turns out it was filled with undiluted Bubotuber pus! He would’ve been out commission for weeks! But, even after we found all that out, he was still cross with me for ruining his chocolate frog! How thick can you be?!? I mean I know sometimes Mad-Eye’s methods are a bit out there, but, you’ve gotta admit, the bloke’s got a point about never eating or drinking something you didn’t make yourself.” Tonks was cracking up, fondly remembering the look of innocent disappointment on Charlie’s face. She snorted. Her hands instantly flew to cover her mouth, eyes wide. What kind of noise was that? She didn’t even have her pig snout on!

To her surprise and delight, Remus smiled and laughed alongside her. For a second. Suddenly, the weight of death hung heavy in the room. Their laughing ceased. The pair looked away from each other once again.

“You and Sirius were close, huh,” Tonks remarked, emotionless. She turned back to face him. He gave a quick nod, still avoiding meeting her gaze. She would not pry.

“You know, in some ways, you’re very much like him. You both have the same devil-may-care attitude, the same penchant for troublemaking.”

She noticed he used the present tense.

“I’d never met him before the Order. Mum was banished from the family once she married Dad, y’know. But if she ever mentioned the Blacks, she would tell me he was her favorite,” Tonks reminisced.

She remembered the last days she had spent with Sirius at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. They had laughed and drank themselves silly, destroying as many Black Family heirlooms as they could get their hands on. She had asked him for advice about her Order missions—not because she had really required it, but because she could tell her questions made him feel needed. She was pretty sure he known then about her developing crush on Remus. But, he showed no signs of jealousy or animosity towards her. Instead, he would flash sly smiles and wink at her whenever Remus was near. “Moony’s a good bloke,” he had cryptically remarked during one of their final afternoons together, after he had caught her staring.

Those conversations with her now-dead cousin seemed ages away. The guilt resurfaced once again, swelling in her chest, snapping her back to the present.

“It’s not your fault,” Remus gently whispered. Feeling tears pricking in her eyes, she furiously blinked, attempting to ebb their flow.

“That he’s…that he died. It isn’t. Bellatrix was after Sirius. I hate to admit it, but she may be a better dueler than the whole Order put together. She would have gotten him regardless, it was all set up. She would have done anything to kill him. She hated him. If it’s anyone’s fault that Sirius is dead, it’s mine. I should have known something was wrong. I should never have let him leave that house.”

“But he was dying there, too,” Tonks replied, her voice breaking. “He was dying every day he couldn’t be out fighting with us. There was nothing anyone could have done. He had to leave that house eventually. I would have done the exact same thing. It’s a shame we all didn’t wise up sooner.”

Another heavy silence filled the room. “He told me you were a good man, Remus.”

Silence again. And then, “He said the same about you.”

She raised a questioning eyebrow.

He continued. “I mean, clearly, you are a very kind, very beautiful woman…” he trailed off. Some part of Tonks was elated that he had called her beautiful. Another part was ashamed for feeling elated. They were discussing a dead guy, for Merlin’s sake!

His next remark was so quiet she wasn’t sure he had really spoken at all. “He said he approved.”

“Approved of what?”

Instead of responding to her question, he said: “I told you earlier that you’re a lot like him. But you are different in many ways, too.”

“Oh?” She tried to hide some of her disappointment. Was this his way of telling her he wasn’t interested?

He stared intensely into her eyes. “Sirius tried to do everything in his power to distance himself from expectations. He worked very hard to be seen as different, and cared very much about how others saw him, despite appearances. But you don’t feel bound by anyone’s expectations. You don’t care what others think of you. You’re unapologetically whoever you want to be, your own person. You’re unique, Dora. It’s one of the things I love most about you.”

She couldn’t quite remember what had followed. An infinitesimal shift of a body. A creak of a bed spring. A gentle kiss. Then more. She briefly broke away. “I think I’m in love with you, Remus.”

He pulled her closer into him, now both sitting up. Their kisses deepened, becoming frantic and hungry—quite unlike any kisses she had experienced before. Careful not to disturb his still-healing wounds, she ran her hands over the uninjured parts of his chest, feeling the lean muscle below her fingertips. She felt his hands respond in turn. Electricity coursed through her veins. All thoughts fled her mind. It was just the two of them, wrapped up together on the old hotel bed. She glanced at him in between breathless kisses, questioning. He met her eyes and nodded. “I think I’m in love with you too, Dora.”

They both grinned as she straddled him, as gently as she could…

Tonks gazed at the sleeping man beside her, attempting to memorize every feature of his face. He looked so peaceful, so carefree, when he slept. There was no telling what would happen when he woke: if he would express regrets, tell her he couldn’t be with her, admit he had made a mistake. Maybe she was a daft idiot for sleeping with her partner. Maybe he would reject her, using their age difference or his werewolf status as excuses for why they would never work. She honestly didn’t know what she would do if he said any of those things. It could be the beginning or the end for them. But at this moment, she forced herself to remain in the present, to remain in the warmth of Remus, his arms wrapped protectively around her waist. She kissed his forehead before dozing off into a blissful, dreamless sleep. Free.

#remadora #remus lupin #nymphadora tonks #remus x tonks #Harry Potter #hp fanfic #hp #hp ootp #hp hbp #Harry Potter and the half blood prince #Harry Potter and the order of the phoenix #My writing

[goodbyecringe]

(Un)Natural Selection Chapter 6

Enjolras

There was no more avoiding it. Thirty-five girls from different backgrounds with different motives were living right below me. I had done everything I could to throw myself more into my work than usual. I had taken to meeting with the dignitaries and pouring over caste related civil disputes. Of course Father said that this was the worst way to spend a prince’s time because there were majors and soldiers to deal with those things. However, it would be impossible to abolish the caste system without knowing what the specific problems were.

“I can’t believe it,” a joyful voice said from the doorway, “I don’t think I know a single man that could work if there were thirty-five women getting makeovers in their basement.”

“Ferre, when have you ever known for me to let women interfere with my work?” I said, turning around in my chair to face him.

“Well in the sixteen years that we’ve been friends I’ve only known of your relationship with the great Patria. It’s unfortunate you couldn’t marry her,” he said, clicking his tongue.

“It’s unfortunate I have to marry at all. How am I supposed to change the governing system of Illeá when I have to worry about finding a wife? He did this on purpose of course, maybe I somehow tipped him off,” I said putting my head in my hands.

“The only thing that tipped off your father was the fact that you invited eight aspiring political figures that are all openly against the caste system. In all actuality it could be argued that he did you a favor. Imagine if we were all that the media focused on over the next few months? By the time you were made King every pro-caste politician would have been able to perfect their argument. Of course I’m sure your father is hoping that the Selection will distract you from your responsibilities and Les Amis.”

“Yes, I’ve already thought about that theory a thousand times over. But what’s stopping me from eliminating thirty tomorrow morning? He never made me commit to a formal timeline-”

“And I’m sure you’ve already thought of the associative repercussions for doing that Julien,” he said, cutting me off. “You already know that the media would have a field day. You would be marked as a heartless slab of marble. Remember, you need the people on your side during the revolution,” Ferre became serious as he sat on the edge of my desk.

“No matter who I choose, the castes will be divided. Anyone lower than a Four would be seen as a saint to the lower castes, however the lower castes already stand with our views. We need to secure the support of those who we are removing from power,” I sighed as I restated the facts.

“We’ve been through this at least a dozen times, Julien. Isn’t that the entire reason you decided to announce that this would be a caste-blind selection? You just need to take it one day at a time. And since there are thirty-five eligible bachelorettes in your home, you should at least give them the respect they deserve,” Combeferre said, standing.

“I’ve haven’t even met them yet Ferre, how have I already disrespected them?”

“You don’t know any of their names, you don’t know what they look like, you haven’t bothered to learn a thing about them. But I could guarantee you that everyone of those girls knows everything about you.”

“Are you referring to those presentations I put Les Amis in charge of? I swear, if Jean Prouvaire’s presentation takes over an hour I’ll leave and simply review the applications in my office… alone.”

Combeferre chuckled as we walked out of my office. The walk to the Men’s Room was more eventful then I had ever expected. Dozens of servants were making final adjustments to the decorations. There were fresh flowers around every corner, the drapes were open, letting sunlight shine through the halls. As the new butler, Grantaire, opened the door, I had to restrain myself from rolling my eyes. The beautiful library space that I used as my philosophical escape to discuss the future of Illeá had been turned upside down. Feuilly and Joly were hanging a large piece of white fabric over a large bookshelf, and Bahorel was closing all the drapes so the setting sun didn’t blind anyone. I grabbed a notepad and took a seat next to Courfeyrac in the front row.

“Your Royal Highness,” Bossuet called out from his place in front of the projector.

“Our fearless leader and marble statue,” Courfeyrac laughed from next to me.

“We, the Friends of the ABC, are proud to present your future wife, or at least the thirty-five possible candidates for the title of Queen Enjolras,” Jean Prouvaire announced as the lights began to dim.

From behind me, Grantaire was laughing with Bossuet while he turned down the lights. Les Amis began to seat themselves in front of the screen, all armed with several manilla folders which I assumed held the applications of the selected girls.

“First, we will give a brief presentation about each of the thirty-five contestants and then we will tune into the Report and Enjolras will get his first real look at the girls.”

I made a note that if a career in politics never worked out for Prouvaire, he could take Kyran Cervantes’ job. Suddenly, the screen lit up with the faces of thirty-five young women of various appearances, all of which I was sure would be changing drastically during their makeovers.

“We have decided to present in the order of east coast to west coast, so first up is the lovely province of Hansport! So please give a warm welcome to Miss Teresa Gilbert!” The screen centered on a girl with near white hair that was sharply stopped just below her cheek-bones.

“Teresa is nineteen years old and is proud to call Hansport the place of her humble roots. She has been acting in television shows and movies since she was three years old. Her favorite role was a princess during the apocalypse where she learned what it truly took to be a royal! She says that she will never be afraid of the media,” Prouvaire finished, now sounding confident in his game show host role.

There was a massive amount of applause from the boys around me. Looking down at my notepad I jotted down, Teresa Gilbert: movie star, 2. There was nothing more, nothing less about this girl. It was only too bad for her that I couldn’t care less about the television industry. Unfortunately, her status as a celebrity made it too easy to know her caste.

“Next up we have Adele Castro of Waverly,” a picture of a mousy looking girl with large green eyes appeared on the screen.

“At sixteen, Adele is our youngest selected girl, but don’t let that lead you astray because she’s already been quite successful…” Prouvaire continued to explain how she had spent her life volunteering in less developed countries.

Adele Castro: volunteer, 2 or 3.

“Now gentlemen, show some love for Miss Éponine Jondrette from Allens,” the face of a tan girl with a wild head of brown hair came over the screen. Despite the large state of her hair, her eyes appeared tired and her cheeks were hollow.

“Miss Éponine might give our fearless leader a run for his money! In her free time, Éponine enjoys reading about Political Science and learning about other cultures. She can speak English, Chinese, and French fluently,” I couldn’t help but think about how her appearance contradicted her description.

Éponine Jondrette: hungry wildcard, 5 or 3. By the time Prouvaire had finished I had made note of Lucy Frost: artistic, 5 and Harley Housten: average, 4 or 3. Everyone applauded as Jean bowed to take his seat. Joly walked forward and pulled a stack of index cards out of his suit jacket.

“Moving West we’ll start out in the province of Kent. Miss Cosette Fauchelevent recently returned to Illeá after spending about 5 years living in an Abbey in France. Cosette is an avid gardener and has a passion for animals,” Joly rushed as the room admired a pale girl with golden blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

Cosette Fauchelevent: lark, 2 or 3. At some point throughout the presentations all of the girls started to blur together. A few girls stood out, for example, Liberty Cook: paralyzed, 4. I couldn’t believe how delighted I was when Bossuet finally got to Angles.

“At the age of 20 our oldest contestant is Musichetta Simon. Miss Musichetta has recently begun a career in the prominent modeling agency in Angles. However, prior, she traveled throughout highly impoverished areas of Illeá to provide clean drinking water,” Bossuet said, failing to remove his eyes from her picture. The bright color of her red hair caused his bald head to reflect a pinkish color.

“Excellent job Bossuet,” Prouvaire said, clapping a hand on Bossuet’s back. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Grantaire was passing out refreshments before we settled down to watch the Report.

“I hope that everyone else is as excited for the next few months as I am,” Courfeyrac called out.

“Now remember my friends,” Combeferre stood, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “We are to remain out of sight out of mind. Unless Enjolras asks for our presence specifically, we are not to interact with the women of the selected. Everyone here is subject to the law,” he called out, staring directly at Courf.

“Thank you for all of your hard work my friends,” I said, standing next to Ferre. “I hope that you all feel more comfortable with the process of creating and executing presentations. Even though this may have sounded like a fun and frivolous exercise, it is important to find a way to improve yourself in any situation,” I could hear groans among the group. “However, I am very appreciative for the effort that you put in, and if any of you have any suggestions during this process, please feel free to know. I shall see all of you tomorrow evening for our regularly scheduled meeting.”

“Won’t you be staying to watch the Report, Enjolras?” Joly asked.

“I’m afraid I have a very important speech concerning several dignitaries of New Asia that I’ve been neglecting to revise,” I said, making my way towards the door. As Grantaire opened the door for me I could hear what seemed to be a stampede of high heeled shoes. I decided to wait until I could no longer hear them, so not to cause a scene since I wasn’t supposed to meet any of them until tomorrow morning. While looking across my shoulder at the crowd of girls I was taken aback when I felt something collide with me. In the second it took me to turn around, the person was already on the ground.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, looking around for her heels. “I should have been paying attention to wear I was going, but you see my shoe broke and I’ve been trying to keep up with the rest-”

I think she stopped breathing when she finally looked up at me.

“I am deeply sorry, Your Highness,” she went into a deep curtsey.

“The fault is entirely mine Lady... Éponine,” I paused, noting the silver name tag pinned to her green dress. “I should know to pay more attention to my surroundings.”

I extended my arm to help her up, which she accepted. I could see that the heels on one of her shoes had snapped in half, which must have been the cause for her falling behind.

“Would it be considered rude for a lady to run down the hall in her bare feet?” She asked in a brazen way.

“I believe that would be classified as a capital offense.” I smiled thinking of how the royal planner and etiquette instructor Claudia would throw a fit if she witnessed such an event.

“Well then maybe you can keep this a secret between just the two of us?” She suggested looking back and forth between me and the rest of the girls.

“Only if you promise to only wear shoes you can properly walk in.”

She gave a mischievous smirk before running towards the crowd of her competitors. There were several times that she had to stop and pick up her dress to avoid slipping, but she eventually caught up to the group as they entered the Women’s Room. I made a mental note to add the word cheeky next to her name in my notebook.

#enjonine #prince enjolras #enjolras #eponine #the selection #les mierables #fanfiction #crossover #les amis #Joly #Combeferre #courfeyrac #bahorel #grantaire #cross-posted #ao3 #jehan prouvaire #musichetta #cosette

[clonerightsagenda]

The epilogues look terrible and I don’t want to spend my time reading them... but I love + trust your judgement and your takes on things. Could you summarize them? (No pressure if you don’t want to)

OK, it’s been a few weeks since i read it, but I will do my best.NOTE: This is probably not comprehensive and definitely not objective. As a supplement, I did some poking around, and the MSPA wiki has some bullet points. I also eventually found another  summary on tumblr, albeit by someone who also didn’t like it, so it is probably biased as well. 

ANOTHER NOTE: Those content warnings weren’t a joke. Below are references to sexual content, assault, suicide, sexism, transphobia, character death, and probably some other stuff.

WHAT HAPPENED:

In the prologue, Rose summons John to inform him that he needs to defeat Lord English right now, or they will all experience terrible consequences. These are mostly meta consequences you can interpret as ‘if we don’t produce new Homestuck content on its 10th anniversary, everyone will give up on this franchise for real, and also canon doesn’t seem stable when the big bad never got beaten’. John goes to visit Roxy and Calliope before he leaves and is given the option to eat either meet or candy. This represents a choice he is supposed to make, and that choice creates two timelines.

In MEAT, John travels back in time and gathers three 16 year old versions of his friends. They confront Caliborn in the battle he represented in his Masterpiece and are sucked into the house juju. Vriska activates it, but not before being pulled into the black hole. Rose and Jade die immediately, with Rose’s body being destroyed and Jade’s falling into the black hole, because why should women get to fight the story’s biggest misogynist. Dave lands a solid hit on English before having his head bitten off Mami from PMMM style. John gets chomped on as well and a gold tooth ends up embedded in his chest. Davepeta appears and drags the wounded LE into the black hole. John finds his father’s wallet, retrieves his car, and slumps inside. Terezi appears, in bad shape after a long time wandering the ring. She seems confused at his state (explained because in CANDY she has been texting that version of him for years). She removes the tooth from his chest and they have sex.

Meanwhile, on Earth, Dave and Karkat have avoided talking about being a relationship for seven years, while Jade harasses them about becoming a threesome. This is explicitly tied to her abandonment issues but also she is referred to as a slut so like. Don’t love that. Jane is running for president, and Dave thinks this is terrible because she’s a woman fascist and doesn’t understand the economy and Karkat should run instead. Other shit is happening but I lost track. Rose is ill because she’s becoming her ‘Ultimate Self’ and seeing all timelines. Dirk claims he’s overcome the same problem and offers to help her but ends up controlling her and revealing he is the one actually writing this narrative.  There is a bit where the narration starts addressing the reader directly and then turns orange which I admit is genuinely cool and might have been interesting if done with characters I didn’t actually care about.

Dirk amps up controlling the narrative, directly forcing people to do and think certain things. (For example, he sequesters Rose away in his workshop and tells Kanaya via narration she believes Rose is better off with him, and she uncomfortably agrees without understanding why she thinks that.) He supports Jane’s bid for the presidency, even though she wants to crack down on trolls because they are naturally violent and reproduce too fast. Everyone tries to get Jake’s endorsement because he’s popular, which includes Jane attempting to seduce him in a very uncomfortable scene.Then Jade slips into a nice coma, because it’s not Homestuck without Jade losing her agency, and alt!Calliope starts using her as an avatar to take control of the narrative away from Dirk. They have some back and forth arguments before he is pushed out which, again, is genuinely clever but would be more enjoyable without all the edgy bullshit. Dirk eventually tricks alt!Callie and sedates Jade, taking back control of the story. Jane wins the presidency. Also at some point Meat!Roxy and Callie ID as nonbinary and start using they/them, and narrator!Dirk freaks out about it and misgenders them a lot, which is character assassination bc everyone knows Dirk is a trans icon. Anyway. Dave and Karkat have an awkward talk about their relationship where they keep dancing around things and Dirk tries to force Dave to kiss him. Dave gets frustrated because he’s aware someone is trying to make him do something (like with the Aimless Renegade), and eventually yells at Dirk to get out of his head before kissing Karkat. Terezi brings John back to Earth, and he begins to fade, since apparently LE’s tooth was poisoned with something more powerful than god tier that makes you irrelevant. Possibly a meta commentary on the hero or story not being needed once the big bad is gone. Terezi is sad about this and listens to him bleed while she smells him die. Then Dirk contacts her via narration and implies he can help her. She gets a text (later revealed to be Vriska). Dirk gets a spaceship from Jake after forcing him via narration to grovel about how much he loves him and then rejecting him and flying away with Rose and Terezi in tow. Jade wakes up long enough to tell everyone Dirk’s gone bad before she gets repossessed and starts pointing in his direction, prompting everyone to give chase. 

There is a final scene that will make more sense later, so I’ll add it later.

CANDY

John decides not to go fight LE. Roxy is delighted, and they began dating. Calliope tells John it is time to let Gamzee out of the fridge. Gamzee pops out and claims he is redeemed in a long speech making fun of sloppy redemption arcs. He then proceeds to be terrible for the rest of the story.Candy essentially satirizes Harry Potter epilogue style fics. Jane marries Jake (it’s implied she essentially roofies him with the trickster lollipop) and has Gamzee on the side. They have a son named Tavros. John and Roxy have a son named Harry. Rose and Kanaya adopt a troll clone of Vriska and name her Vriska. Jade, Karkat, and Dave are all dating, but Dave and Karkat are miserable. Dirk kills himself when he realizes the timeline went off kilter. Jade’s corpse from the Meat timeline crashes to earth, and in the middle of the funeral (which was genuinely a good scene) she sits up, possessed by alt!Calliope. Alt!Callie sequesters herself on the old meteor, now landed, and explains to Aradia and Sollux that this timeline is a dead end and she is protecting it from the influence of the prince. She also, in a parallel to Dirk’s reveal in Meat, talks about how every narrator has an agenda even if the text is formatted to make you not realize that.Jane becomes a fascist dictator and begins oppressing trolls. Karkat eventually get sick of being in a trio and runs off to be a resistance leader, including getting a sick eye patch (reference to Summer Teen Romance). Meenah stole the Ring of Life from Meat John and lands in the session; she and Karkat begin dating. Other ghosts begin falling from the sky as well, and Gamzee converts them to his redemption religion.John feels like something is really off.  His only solace is texting Terezi a lot, and he seems closer to her than he is to his wife. He and Roxy break up for a while and then (non-romantically) reconcile. Jake eventually leaves Jane and takes Tavros with him. Jade and Dave become rebels as well, then Dave meets a hologram of Obama, who helps him attain his ultimate self, putting his soul in a new robot body. 

Oh, also Vriska falls out of the sky, has hatesex with Gamzee, kills him, and then talks with Rose and Kanaya’s Vriska about how she loves Terezi. Then she texts her, as seen in the Meat timeline. Isn’t Vriska 13 and Gamzee an adult at this point? Probably. There’s a lot of questionable age stuff in this.

I’m sure I missed some details. Can you tell I’m losing steam.

Anyway, the two last chapters of each section reference the other storyline. At the end of Meat, Lord English’s body falls out of the sky, and alt!Callie (still in Jade’s body) devours it, becoming powerful enough to battle Dirk. Candy!Davebot arrives and he and Aradia jump into the black hole in pursuit.At the end of Candy, Dirk’s ship nears a new planet where he intends a new game of SBURB to be played. Rose is in a robot body serving as his handmaid essentially, and Terezi’s also on board.  

TAKEAWAYS:

There are a lot of different interpretations of the epilogue. A mockery of the two extremes of fanfic. Andrew Hussie continuing the theme of ‘all authors are tyrants by nature’ and using his self-insert to display how he hates his own story but also can’t stop telling it. Dirk trying to create conflict by making himself a villain because otherwise they’ll lose relevance and disappear. Musing on how being arbitrarily labeled 'grown up’ when you’re not ready (aka handed godhood by a game that doesn’t understand people) can fuck you up, and there is no single winning screen in life. Just a big old meta experiment on unreliable narrators. I can see where some of this is coming from, but frankly, I found it disturbingly sexist (even if it is intended to be so for effect). A lot of the sex and violence felt over the top and graphic just to be #ow the edge rather than serving any narrative purpose. Also, authors can do what they want with their texts, and they’re allowed to write tragedies, but after Hussie’s self-insert informs Caliborn that the most important stories are about friendship and teamwork and the fandom (that I’ve seen anyway) really responding to the bonds between characters, it felt cruel. That’s my feeling. Not everyone shares it. But hey, I’ve got my solution.

#Anonymous #homestuck// #bluh bluh huge bitching alert