#he is doomed by the universe to continue to die before he can truly live | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sepublic · 3 years

Text

Continuing off of my previous train of thought, what if instead of threatening Takua traditionally, Makuta just straight-up revealed that the island had to be destroyed to awaken Mata Nui? He frames it in a more poetic, symbolic way- The island is like a dream that is created from Mata Nui’s slumber, and his awakening will dispel it. Not quite true but it conveys the basics in a way that makes sense and still hides the big twist.

And Takua is... Terrified, he’s having a full panic attack because for some reason he knows that’s true. This is a horrifying revelation, that the only home he’s known has to be destroyed, and what does this mean for everyone else??? For the matoran, the rahi?!

So he bails, Takua can’t quite explain to Jaller because how do you tell someone that, plus most people might assume he’s just being silly and gullible for believing Makuta! So why does Takua feel it in his bones that it’s true, that the island MUST be destroyed for Mata Nui? Does this have anything to do with that strange connection he felt when he saw the Bohrok and they awakened?

Regardless, it’s a lot to take in so Takua just leaves and Jaller has to handle the Avohkii on his own. Instead of having an arc where Takua learns to be a fearless hero, even though he already was against the Pahrak, here his character is retained for a different kind of morally ambiguous development... Because what do you do in that situation?

Must everyone die to awaken Mata Nui, maybe Makuta IS right about leaving him asleep, maybe Makuta really IS being merciful in his own way, delivering the harsh yet only solution... What kind of hero would go on a quest to doom his own home and everyone he loves, everything! Truly he is a fraud, maybe Takua should just give up the foolish dream to continue Mata Nui’s and let him slumber, let Makuta reign, because of course that’s what Makuta wants.

But then resolution and honest communication arrive, where Takua reveals what he knows- And somehow Vakama can tell he’s right. At this point, the Turaga are forced to admit the truth, that there IS another place they could go- The original home of the matoran, Metru Nui... And they explain how they used to be part of this grander universe beneath them, before they were forced to evacuate after Makuta cast Mata Nui into a slumber.

The Turaga didn’t want the Matoran to mourn their lost home, to not let that embitter the joy of waking up to and exploring this natural paradise that was Mata Nui... Which was in many ways kind of an improvement to Metru Nui. But if what Takua learned is true, then they have to evacuate the island before Mata Nui awakens... So they must return to Metru Nui, and the only way back is through Mangaia.

Which makes Makuta’s mention of Takanuva having to open ‘the gate’ actually built up and not out of nowhere. It’s tragic as the matoran learn the truth and prepare themselves to leave their home and return to Metru Nui, so their immigration doesn’t feel so sudden and inexplicable, there’s a reason they must leave this home they fought so hard to protect. Takua considers that if he goes with Makuta, maybe they’ll all be allowed to live life on the island like they always did, carefree, everyone’s duty to the Great Spirit and the wounded world beneath be damned!

But they can’t, they’re responsible- So everyone is ready and prepared at Kini-Nui when Takanuva confronts Makuta, whom he calls out as playing emotional mind games, pretending that he’s just protecting others, but he’s simply hiding the truth and seeking power. Makuta mocks Takanuva, claiming that even if he does succeed in defeating him, he probably won’t be able to lift the gate anyway- So the matoran will be trapped on Mata Nui when it’s destroyed.

Things turn out differently of course, and being in Makuta’s mind confirms for Takanuva that this dreadful revelation is true. Still, the Matoran and Toa steel themselves and continue on for the sake of good and Mata Nui, and it’s Makuta’s turn to be left exiled from the Matoran Universe... Up until the Piraka arrive.

Perhaps the role of the Bohrok as enacting Mata Nui’s will is revealed a lot earlier on, with it confirmed in the Mask of Light arc, right after the battle with the Bahrag, that YES they were also telling the truth like Makuta did. Or, the Toa Nuva have that confirmed with their first task in awakening the Great Spirit, and dreadfully connect the Bohrok and Bahrag’s claims to what they’d recently learned about the island’s fate- It’s all coming together.

The same thing applies to the truth of the Toa Metru, because now that they’ve revealed the existence and past of Metru Nui, the Turaga decide that this is a good point to segue into that iconic reveal that the Toa Nuva aren’t the first of their kind- Adding more context behind the heritage of the matoran and the original home they were forced to flee from as refugees. Metru Nui was once the peak of the world, only to be devastated...

So how did it happen, and why don’t they remember this, but the Turaga do? It’s all a bit heavy for the Turaga as well, that this island that was like a dream really WAS... They learned to love it, just in time for that love to hurt when they had to lose this home, they should’ve kept hating it.

And we could have the matoran mourn Mata Nui and make a proper farewell and send-off to the memories, for themselves and the growing audience, with the Toa Nuva returning for essentially a burial, Gali one more time to visit the grave... Some consider staying behind and enjoying their island home while it still lasts before leaving, but no it’s best to leave ASAP, because they’re not just avoiding a timed destruction, there’s other work long unattended to as well.

This just makes everyone wonder if it’s even worth it to awaken the Great Spirit, which creates doubt and forces people to question and self-examine, critically analyze as they slowly understand the truth. And it can create resentment and frustration, which leads to a better understanding of how the Makuta felt, when the rest are later revealed and their backstories made apparent.

As for the Makuta himself? He initially didn’t want to reveal the need to destroy the island to the matoran, doing so would motivate them to stay and not return to Metru Nui to run his future brain... But then the threat of a Toa of Light came along, and his plans are useless if he’s killed by one. So Makuta risks his own plans because ultimately, it’s in the service of the most important thing- Himself, and he dreads Takanuva for a reason. And he could always export other matoran to Metru Nui, or make new servants.

Even with the knowledge that the matoran don’t have to die, it’s still painful losing their home... And it could just tie into that surreal dream-like quality of Mata Nui’s sleep, that the island is like a dream he must wake up from eventually and end. He gave this island to the matoran to hold them over in their exile from the universe, but now it must go now that they no longer need it- Yet they still want it, they feel like they need it!

Alas, the matoran have no choice but to return to that original home, like when one goes on a great journey in a magical land, but then must leave the place to head back. It’s like an isekai, an alternative coming-of-age moment for Takua and really all of the matoran, that doesn’t conflict with his past characterization- You fled from terrible circumstances and discovered this wonderful place!

But now you have to return home, you’ve grown and are ready to handle that starting point and all of the issues left behind there- Particularly the wider Brotherhood of Makuta, the devastation of the universe that needs repairing, and Mata Nui’s dying spirit, because the story grows older and darker like the audience, matures alongside the characters.

Now you’ve grown to confront even bigger challenges, twisted ones like the Piraka and Barraki, and an even worse dilemma- The death of the universe AND Great Spirit, because it seems every place is tied to Mata Nui’s health! And when you’ve grown, you can finally wake up and confront the truth, just like Mata Nui...

And again, settling this moral quandary and reconciling these various sides, it just leads to the heroes having to be more morally ambiguous, fitting the introduction of the Order of Mata Nui- And this whole discussion could be paralleled when others later on, among them matoran who discussed that same quandary, debate killing the universe to end Makuta’s reign. Is it worth it to keep destroying the world if it first led to Makuta becoming god, should they give up? Either by letting Makuta reign, or by killing him and everything else to end it all in a fit of nihilistic despair???

Plus, this story route ties in subtly to the Bohrok, the Av-Matoran connection to them, and providing the grounds for a complex moral quandary that justifies Takua’s lack of truthfulness with Jaller. Thematically Makuta’s speech of how they came from destruction, how creation must stem from it, that to destroy is necessary- It circles back to the Bohrok being revealed right after, as the necessary destroyers to awake Mata Nui.

It’s the beginning of the increased darkness and revelations amidst the coming of light, and more hints to the true nature of Mata Nui... The mask is beginning to come off- Makuta’s Kraahkan, the truth of the Great Spirit, and his own literal island mask. The heroic and mythic fantasy is coming apart to reveal the dark, pragmatic, and mechanical reality beneath it all...

When everyone has to evacuate the slain matoran universe, the matoran at this point just get it and are resigned... But then Spherus Magna is healed, and they find their part of the planet to resemble a familiar tropical paradise, as emotions and tears well up, and maybe just as much as things change they stay the same- They went with change and thus had a say in the future, enough to preserve just a little of what they left behind after all!

#bionicle #Takua #Takanuva #makuta #mask of light #mata Nui #angst #YaBr

109 notes · View notes

alltheworldsinmyhead · 3 years

Text

my predictions for a court of silver flames (and the book 5)

since i’ve just forced myself to re-read acofas, i emerge now with head clear and heart full of utter dismay for feysand bullshit. this novella is pretty good at setting up a ton of hints for the next book, so at least there’s that. here are some of the plot points/character arcs which i think are worth to keep in mind before reading acosf, especially for those who finished reading acowar and acofas a while ago.

MOR

Mor is going on a journey to the Continent as a Night Court ambassador, possibly with Azriel. I don’t know to which extent this escapade will be described, but it will definitely happen and it will be important for both of them - Mor especially. My personal opinion is that the toxic triangle in which she’s tangled up with Cass and Az will meet its sad end in this book, due to many reasons such as Cassian;s relationship with Nesta, Az’s growing interest in Elain and, hopefully, Mor’s own growth as a person or her new romance. I also think that Mor’s relationship with her father will be a major plotpoint and the Court of Nightmare will play a BIG role either in this book or in the next one. Also-

ERIS

Eris will take the throne from Beron in acosf. I will be shocked if he doesn’t. Possibly the reprecussions of this event will be discussed in the next book. Also possibly, there may be some kind of coup that will result in killing more than one High Lord (yes, I am thinking about Helion)

ELAIN

I’m sorry, but I literally cannot see it any other way - Elain will deny the mating bond with Lucien. The hints for this are scattered all over acofas. She doesn’t want it and she is not, in any freaking way, interested in him nor she is even interested in being interested. I think she’ll also get some opportunities to show more of her character and, hopefully, Mass will finally let her utilize her powers in some sensible way, but this might be saved for the next book.

TAMLIN

Lucien warned Feyre they will need Tamlin as an ally ‘before the dust settles’. I am half-tempted to make an assumption that Tam will die in acosf, but it’s not based on any evidence, so it’s just my personal theory. Regardless, I do believe the destruction of the Spring Court will fucking bite half of Feyre’s ass in the following books and Tamlin either redeems himself (whether or not he should redeem himself when he is already in such a pitiful state is another question) or truly become a villian of the series. The one thing acofas hammered in my head is that his story with Feyre is far from over.

LUCIEN

My fucking heart bleeds for him. My prediction is that he will cut all the ties with the Night Court, if he did not already done it after Feyre was an absolute bitch to him in acofas. I am also like 80% sure that Helion will die and Lucien will inherit the Day Court, thus getting a permanent place to call home, just as he has always wanted (but absolutely not IN A WAY he has wanted). Besides that, I am only praying for Mass to grant him some fucking happiness. i have no doubt that his relationship with Vassa and Jurian will be discussed in more details, if not, I am rioting.

AZRIEL

There are a couple of issues Azriel will have to deal with in this and the following book:

a) his doomed relationship with Mor,

b) his blooming romance/friendship with Elain,

c) his Illyrian identity.

I do think acosf will be a begining of some longer journey for him. Based on the snippets, I think we can also expect a lot of interactions between him and Nesta and I am so fucking excited for it that I can barely contain it.

Also, I subscribe to the theory that Az’s mom lives in the misterious Rosehall and that we will meet her soon.

FEYRE AND RHYSAND

They are basically the same person at this point, let’s be honest.

Rhys will contine to be horny 24/7 and Feyre will continue to focus on small, non-important stuff instead of the actual business of ruling and managing the court, and they will both remain to be terribly self-involved -

okay, enough of my bitterness.

I HOPE Feyre won’t be pregnant in the next book, but let’s be honest, it will probably happen rather soon, so, there’s that. From the snippet of acosf in acofas, it seems that they will have some disagreement about Nesta and I am all for it. Besides that, I think their personal arcs and journeys are over and I believe that there won’t be too much of them in the next books. Same with Amren - I don’t think she will play a big role, besides being an awesome secondary character.

NESTA’S and CASSIAN’s arcs seem to be rather obvious, unless Sarah will somehow break our necks with the narrative 180 degrees spin. I think the biggest mistery is whether or not they are truly mates but, regardless of that, they will end acosf as a couple. Personally, I don’t belive Cassian will die in this book. Sarah is pretty allergic to killing her protagonists in a permanent way. Given that he has already suffered two major injuries throughout the series, I am inclined to belive that it’s time for Cassian to give in to fury over injured Nesta. In my book, there are two possible routes for them to get together:

1) a lot of angsty, heart-breaking hate sex slowly transforming into comraderie, friendship and, finally, romance,

2) no sex, only angsty misunderstandings and sexual frustration strong enough to push them into romantic relationship fairly quickly which then results in more misunderstandings, wrong ideas about each other’s feelings and a whole fucking mess of feelings.

Nesta and Emerie will, in 1000% meet and become friends as Nesta truly fucking needs her own found-faimily type of friends. She will also discover and develop her powers, learn to manage her emotions and to have healthy relationships with people whom she loves.

Cassian will have a somehow similar arc as Feyre in acomaf, during which he will realize his own true potential and self-worth.

Some plotlines I expect to happen:

ILLYRIAN UPRISING

I think it’s rather unavoidable at the point and it will come as a surprise to no one. I also think Devlon may turn out to be an unexpected ally.

RIFT IN THE INNER CIRCLE

This one is something which I hope for, cause it would make so much sense, but I am quite apprehensive to make any definite statements about it. If Cassian and Nesta are to get together in acosf, I cannot see it happening in a way which will not disrupt the delicate balance of the inner circle given a) Nesta’s relationship with Rhys and b) Cassian’s with Mor. In general, I do believe Cassian;s arc will be about gaining confidence in himself and his own feelings and insticts, which will involve some separation from his friends. Also, the downfall of Az-Mor-Cass simply cannot be executed bloodlessly.

ANCIENT POWERS RISING

Feyre toyed with the very fabric of this universe. It has to have some kind of consequences. At this point, we know Koshei will make an appearance (in regards to Vassa), Bryaxis is still on the loose (and Feyre has still not fullfilled her bargain) AND we got an interesting scene of Mor sensing something evil luring in the forests around her estate in acofas.

and last but not least-

WE WILL LEARN WHAT WAS IN THE FUCKING BOX

please feel free to add your own predictions and expectations! I’m sure i missed a lot of stuff

#let me know what you think pls #a court of silver flames #acosf #nessian #acotar #acotar meta #nesta archeron #cassian #feysand #acofas #a court of frost and starlight

145 notes · View notes

kodzumie-archived · 3 years

Note

OMGOMGOMGOKOKOK SOOO CAN I ask for a gentle vampire komaeda who has a crush on a very apprehensive and easily scared fragile girl who’s kind of scared of him at first but then after seeing how kind and soft he is, eventually comes around to like him? Also, he protects her bc vampires are vv strong 🥺 THANK YOU ILY DUDE <3

❝SERENDIPITY❞

Synopsis; Against the unruly clutches of chance, could the blossoming of a bond between two fundamentally forbidden species piece itself together?

Featuring; Nagito Komaeda x Fem! Reader

Warning(s); Vampire Komaeda, blood, alternate universe (AU), injury description, slight gore, and themes of predator/prey.

Kodzumie’s Note; This was so fun to do! Thank you so much, dear, for the request! Aah, vampire Komaeda is forever welcome on this blog. Thank you for bringing this idea to life, I love you so much!! Muah, muah! <3

➤ NAGITO KOMAEDA

⤷ The inception of adoration is an enigma. A blossoming of a passion so seemingly fantastical, yet ever-so ontological. Love―in its most bare form―is unpredictable.

⤷ You’re meek; the glorious crumb of bread dropped in a fish pond. But life is much more unforgiving to those who are unfit for the calamities of the world. Reflecting upon existence in a metaphorical sense, that fish pond could only wishfully have been inhabited by mere Koi, but rather barbarous piranhas.

⤷ In this bitter life, the chains abide only by those who are fit for survival. A population divided into two―humans and vampires―you’ve been subjected to the former; necessitating hospitality and the protection of another.

⤷ If not by mere chance, you’d have met your doom inevitably. It’s alarming; your fate cradled by the clutches of chance itself. But, as cruel as life proves itself to be, you harbor no command over your own providence.

⤷ And chance, as it has instilled within you relentlessly, prefers to plays it’s promiscuous games unfairly. Which you are reminded of once more as you find yourself cornered. Yet again, you are the helpless prey.

⤷ Your heart pulsates; a beating that rings amongst your ears almost deafeningly. The sound nearly drowning out the malevolent growls of the vampires seeking victuals of whichever foolish, helpless victim to feed upon. If only the thumping of your heart could drown the tantalizing realization that you are the pathetic victim.

⤷ In the mere blink of an eye, eclipsed figures sprint towards you. Hauntingly, their footprints seemingly inaudible as though they were flying. But if only you’d known better. You were human; weak and delicate. Whatever fragmentations of survival chance had provided seemed void in that instance.

⤷ Even by the grace of your legs carrying you as fast as they could possibly go, the odds were tauntingly against you. Granted, you likely wouldn’t even have time to accept the bitter reality of your predicament; you weren’t going to make it out of this alive.

⤷ Your breathing is erratic; uneven and forced out in puffs of desperation. But there’s a will within you. Though the poignant truth encapsulates your hope in shackles, you continue to fight. For every breath you take, you push yourself to run faster, dodge the clawed hands reaching for your feeble body, and to do whatever it takes to survive.

⤷ It’s a humane instinct; to fight for a continuous existence despite fate’s stamp of undeniable death. You were steadily approaching your due date, and predictably by the end of the night, you’d be nothing more than the feed of the pack of vampires.

⤷ After a sharp turn, jabbing your heel into the ground as you whirl your body to turn; the air resistance inducing your eyes to clamp shut. It was a turn too fast for your body to handle, stumbling forward sporadically, but it was enough to throw the famished vampires off of your tail, even momentarily.

⤷ Run, run, run! Dumbified by the desolate venom of oncoming death, you leap forward, narrowly avoiding what would’ve been a climatic fault; tripping over the thick roots of an unforgiving oak tree.

⤷ The night air in which you once believed was refreshing and serene now plagued with the tang of your own demise. It’s suffocating; feeling fear for your life and yet unable to provide some sort of protection for yourself. You were cowardly, and you were weak. Yet in this bitter life, the chains abide only by those who are fit for survival.

⤷ And life doesn’t make exceptions for anyone. You, just as much as anyone who finds their fate at the mercy of chance, were no exception to its cruel deduction as a pair of arms envelope your form.

⤷ At long last, the chase has concluded. Of all nights you’d spent tossing and turning in a pitiful attempt to subdue the remanence of a nightmare―a lucid illusion of your innermost fears―nothing of that caliber could begin to compare to the piquant dread settling within you. You’ve been caught.

⤷ But even as the sinking anxiety pricks at your delicate heart, the tendrils of terror stabbing into your mind, you thrash. Kicking and scream, you fight against the figure engulfing your form, pressing your back against their abnormally cold front.

⤷ You, yourself, weren’t quite aware of why you kept insisting on resistance. Perhaps it was the hope residing within you; the hope that there’s even the slimmest of probabilities that you’d find a way out. Or perhaps that, itself, was the naked core of the human will.

⤷ Sobs tear through your throat, ripping your vocal cords raw as you screamed for help. Your desperate pleas for somebody―anybody―to help you. But even if they managed to hear you, who would be dumb enough to put their own life at risk for the sake of yours?

⤷ Such is life; we live, and we die. Those who are unable to fend for themselves are sacrificed to the grip of gravel as their corpses rot amongst the cycles of parasitism; cells feed upon your body until you’re nothing more than a husk of what once human; what was once alive.

⤷ Yet, even as you thrash and cry, begging for some sort of escape to the Hell you’ve been forced to witness and endure, you find that as moments pass, the anticipated pain of claws tearing into your plush skin as teeth sink into the conjunction of your neck never come.

⤷ You should be wary, you should expect for life to expose its cruel, ugly face to you in its hideous nudity. But such is the fragile mind of someone as meek as you; truly, you were what the world deemed as unfit for existence. You believed what embodied the hope towards a unified tomorrow. And that, in itself, was fatal.

⤷ As you calmed your body, easing the subtle tremors, you crane your head to meet eyes with your captor. Ghostly green hues interlock with yours as you gulp. It’s a man, an alarmingly paled young man.

⤷ His skin powdered in thin layers of dirt as he reciprocates your fearful gaze with a gentle grin. Features ever-so delicate you almost assumed that the mere flick against the plush would result in scarring. He was gentle and, at that moment, you felt as though you could trust him.

⤷ But trust is fatal in this world. And as you meet eyes with him, you finally push away with a shove of your shoulder against his throat. He chokes momentarily as you stumble back, albeit tripping over your own feet and landing on your rear.

⤷ Could it be that he’d come to aid you? Could it be that for once in the hauntings of this unforgiving world, you were provided with a temporary protector?

⤷ No. You’d be a fool to believe such audacious hospitality from the likes of what had damned you to such a corrupt fate; caught amidst a forest of brambles and blood-thirsty monsters, seeking to drink upon your viscous fluids.

⤷ As you continue to meet eyes with the boy, you manage to stutter a question that rang much too loudly for your liking. Yet you needed to stay assertive. One crack in your visage and you life would be taken before you could even comprehend it yourself. Who are you?

⤷ Truthfully, you didn’t even know if he’d muster a genuine reply. For all you knew, he could leave you with a cold shoulder and put an end to your miserable life. But, much to your surprise, he manages to croak out a choked answer; “I’m Nagito Komaeda.”

⤷ Though as soon as his name escapes from his lips, he shrinks his gaze away as he bows to you. A gesture that startled you as you quickly realized who he was. Or rather, what he was.

⤷ As he voiced his name, baritone voice resonating against the hollow oak, his fangs barely showcased themselves from within the caverns of his mouth. You, really and truly, were in a predicament. And one that would seemingly result at the end of your life; an unfathomable death.

⤷ He lifts his head as you shriek, finding your figure to be rapidly crawling away from his in desperation. There was no way in Hell you were going to stick around if it meant being in the presence of the one who―you were certain of―would take it upon themselves to feed on you.

⤷ “H-Hey, where are you going?” He questions, beginning to pace after you. How belittling. His jog was quick enough to synchronize with your frantic crawls. You stood no chance. You were at his mercy.

⤷ Lifting your head once more, a frustrating cry escapes. “You’re one of them!” Your tone sharp despite your countenance openly conveying your vulnerability. Even to him, it was blatantly clear that you’d dubbed your fate as under the terrorizing control of his will.

⤷ “I don’t mean any harm to you.” He admits. His voice a mere whisper amongst the chirping of the nocturnal melody the crickets sang. Ghostly green orbs glossed with earnest intentions as he respectfully kneeled before you, holding his hand out towards you.

⤷ It’s strange. This―in every way imaginable―was abnormal. A taboo, even. His lips curled into a smile that genuinely expressed his yearning to assist you was wrong; it shattered every miserable rule this corrupted cycle of life instilled.

⤷ And yet you still place your hand within his, allowing him to help you up to your feet. He even went as far as to pat down the front of your garments, ridding you of the accumulated dirt from your attempted escape. It unnerved you. Why is he acting as though he truly wants to help you?

⤷ “You were running away from a pact of vampires, weren’t you?” He asks, stepping away from you. The space allowing you personal room to breath yet enough closeness to ensure you’re within arms-reach. With a shaky nod of your head, you agree to his inquiries.

⤷ Yet you’re still cautious. He’s a vampire, he’ll easily be able to overpower you and strip you of your life, leaving you with the travesty of what you fear would only be momentary trust.

⤷ “Why are you helping me?” It’s a direct question, and one you prayed he wouldn’t dodge. You had to know; you needed to know. But were you truly prepared for the truth? Were you prepared to hear what the embodiment of your fate had to say over your very own survival? A confirmation of your death?

⤷ You almost managed to interrupt him and admit you don’t want to know, but he beats you to it. Truthfully, it takes a moment to register. You almost don’t believe it, but the haunting vivid reality of his lips moving as each word escaped his lips leads you to believe that it’s real.

⤷ “I couldn’t sit back and allow someone so hope-filled to be mauled by the obscene, hideous hunger of despair. I want to help you. I want you to survive.”

⤷ With a dazed mind, you begin to question whether or not you’d managed to hit your head previously. Was this an illusion? It’s against the principles of this perpetually miserable world to allow unity between the two ruptures of the population; vampires and humans.

⤷ But it was real, real, real. The ontological sensation of his hand cradling yours as he helped you up, that was real. His arms encapsulating you as he put a halt to your sprints of flee, that was real. This entire situation was so hauntingly real. Yet how could he insist on something so unworldly?

⤷ Though you weren’t allowed to voice your perplexed distrust as he ever-so gently takes your hand within his once more. The soft, alarmingly cold skin of his hand figuratively melting against yours; in which your body regulated to remain at a forgivable body temperature.

⤷ He tugs your hand to signal for you to follow him, his eyes glistening with the reflection of the moon as he smiles. The curling of his lips oozing with a foreign sincerity you’d never have guessed to be found from someone like him; someone you’d predicted would be the death of you.

⤷ “Come on, I know a place where you can hide. They’re not going to find you there, I promise.” It’s a voiced assurance; a promise of your survival. Or, at the very least, for your protection.

⤷ But did you really have any option other than to rely on him? Rejecting his offer could insinuate a possible rage and result in his teeth sinking into your flesh. Yet abiding could, too, result in the findings of your hideout and fatally subject you to the mauling of multiple slobbering, fanged mouths.

⤷ You nod, deciding to agree. “O-Okay.” It was faint, but induced the softening of his gaze as a breathy chuckle escaped him.

⤷ “It’s not the best place around, but it’s the most scum like me could find. Sorry I can’t give you anything more adequate.” He apologized. It was a charming apology, yet unnecessary. Truly, you’d have never expected him to provide a location for you to seek shelter within.

⤷ “No, it’s fine...” You trail off, eyes narrowing on your intertwined hands. He was abnormally cold, yet you still seemed to feel strangely warm. A flurry of fondness smothering your chest as you suppressed an oncoming smile, finally tearing your gaze away from your joint hands.

⤷ “Thank you, Nagito.” Amidst the crescendo of nocturnal chirping and the gust of the nightly breeze, you voice a mere echo. Yet it still is audible and resonates within the pointed ears of your fanged potential ally.

⤷ He turns to you with a momentary visage of bewilderment. It seems that he, too, is susceptible to shock despite the loops of flummox he’s thrown you in for the night.

⤷ After a moment, his confusion melts into his fond smile that you’ve rapidly grown fond of. This meeting, by all odds, was due to the clutches of unapologetic chance. As he squeezes your hand within his, you’re reminded that this is inexplicably irredeemable.

⤷ Hand-in-hand, the two of you fragment the shackles of taboo; the perpetual division of your diverse species. It’s by chance that a vampire has taken it upon themself to assist a human. And it’s by chance that what life’s fundaments deem an impossible allegiance is the blossoming of your potential bond.

⤷ But there’s a chance―an undoubtable hope―that a unified future between the two unaligned. It’s a slim probability. But when has life―when has chance―ever proven itself to be fair?

#9 PM ON THE FUCKING DOT BAHAHAHA #I DID IT!!!#sdr2 x reader #dr2 x reader #nagito x reader #nagito komaeda x reader #danganronpa x reader #nagito hcs #nagito headcanons #nagito imagines #danganronpa hcs #danganronpa imagines

150 notes · View notes

pla-teau · 3 years

Text

LOKI EPISODE FOUR : THE NEXUS EVENT

GIF CREDIT TO: @luke-skywalker SPOILERS AHEAD. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED!

SYLVIE | there's a lot to process in the short time we get of young sylvie. it didn't seem like she was doing anything that caused a nexus event. when we see her, she's simply playing with her toys on asgard. sylvie asks about what her crime was later on with renslayer but it's never clear cut as to what she did. the only thing we know is that she escaped from renslayer which is why she's so hell bent on capturing and pruning sylvie. i have a certain thought on this later.

WE SURVIVE | the words loki tells sylvie just when she’s given up and accepted that she’ll die on lamentis. that’s what makes loki a loki - yes, he fails over and over again but each and every time we’ve witnessed his ‘death’ he comes back or when things seem to possibly end for his story, loki still manages to survive.

LAMENTIS | based on the namesake of the episode, this is the nexus event that caused them to be found but what was it? personally, from watching the episode and keeping in mind that this is 2012!loki, i think that the nexus event was hope and acceptance between them. i think there’s genuine hope despite being stuck on a doomed planet about to become smaller flying rocks in space. in every apocalypse so far, we’ve seen that basically anticipating and accepting the end of the world doesn’t cause a breach in the timeline because what is there to hope for? it’s all going to be destroyed anyway no matter the little fake hope you have inside yourself telling you that everything is going to be alright. loki and sylvie up to this point haven’t had that kind of hope before ever in their lives. with the acceptance part, i think it's self-acceptance and acceptance of their roles in the universe. roll with me here, loki throughout the mcu has never accepted his fate or what's supposed to happen; he's always fighting it and trying to come out on top as a ruler of people whether it's earth, asgard and sakaar. he doesn't accept to not be a ruler or on the losing side of a battle against earth's mightiest heroes and at odds with the other marvel characters. he doesn't fully accept himself either because he didn't know he was adopted until at least one thousand years later and he couldn't accept that he wasn't destined for something other than a shadow or simply his title as the god of mischief. it made a lot more sense in my head tbh. a lot of people freaking out about this moment being loki falling in love with sylvie/himself but i don't think that's it. loki for once genuinely cares about someone else and i think it's platonic cause while i have little faith in the mouse house giving us more than confirmation that loki is bisexual, i don't think they'd make loki fall in love with himself.

LOKI'S TIME CELL | a nostalgic reveal we get is sif in this looped time cell plucked from loki's memory. apparently, he cut off a chunk of her hair because he thought it would be funny. in typical sif fashion, she proceeds to beat him up in retaliation as well of sharing some biting words. it's interesting how after a few loops and knees to the nuts, loki apologizes to sif about the prank and admits that he's afraid of being alone and acts narcissistic and like a pompous asshole if you will because of this fear. i think this is a bigger break through of his character than the one we saw in the first episode because he's admitting it to someone from his life that he highly respected but acted like a child to her to get her attention even if it was negative. i wish for more vulnerable loki moments because it continues to prove that loki isn't just the god of mischief, he can be more (as thor said in ragnarok).

MOBIUS VS LOKI | honestly, this whole interrogation scene screamed mobius being jealous of loki making pals with sylvie and i loved it. what i like is that mobius does air the sentiment that we all have in our heads after realizing that loki and sylvie did somehow click to create the nexus event. it's narcissism to the max. again, i think loki truly cares for sylvie in a platonic or even a familial sense since they both don't make connections too often with others (romantic or platonic).

HUNTER B-15 | i was wondering what happened with her after her run in with sylvie at the roxxcart supermarket. clearly, sylvie unlocked a memory within her subconscious as well and is starting to doubt herself. we don't see what memory of hers it was but it's enough to make her break protocol and go against the TVA later on in the episode. in conclusion, we have no choice but to stan this queen. also seems like she wasn't reset in that final battle so we'll hopefully see her in the next episode.

RAVONNA & MOBIUS | their friendship is put to the test in this episode. while being of a higher position than mobius, ravonna does seem to care deeply for mobius. she said so herself, she wants to protect mobius...but from the truth instead of the false danger about sylvie that she's filling his head with. ravonna clearly knows a lot more than she's letting on and that the TVA is an elaborate lie. i think she wants to protect mobius from the truth because she doesn't seem to have other close friendships like the one with him. it's also clear she cares for him when he's pruned (supposedly!) by another hunter. also, there's this other analyst/field agent mobius always brings up when we see them in her office so i wonder if it's someone who also knows about the grand lie the TVA is or is even some alternate variant of kang the conqueror who we know is supposed to be introduced in the third ant-man movie. it'd be interesting to see if kang is teased one way or another in the final two episodes.

DO YOU REALLY THINK YOU DESERVE TO BE ALONE? | the question mobius poses to loki when he starts to believe that they may be telling the truth. it's an interesting question to pose because we've been hearing it and have seen it throughout the mcu with loki. the time loop loki's stuck in, sif tells him that he'll always be alone. throughout the mcu, loki has been alone in his plans and mischief despite being surrounded by his family, his future enemies, and his people. loki has known nothing but being on his own, being his own island of chaos. as sylvie put it earlier, they're a product of the universe trying to break free, chaos. mobius knows that this nexus event has something to do with the two of them, for once, accepting that they're not alone or that they're not just a cosmic mistake, there's hope for them to be whatever they want and not just confined to their mischievous roles.

RAVONNA & SYLVIE | in the elevator, sylvie confronts ravonna about her crime as a child. it's something everyone wants to know, what does a young loki have to do to be charged and reset by the TVA? ravonna seems to know that this something she can leverage and torture sylvie with so she claims to not remember. sylvie says that it must've been important and severe enough to mess up the sacred timeline. maybe she wasn't supposed to know that she was adopted until later in her life like our loki. she's supposed to be causing trouble and be this terrible villain but what if with sylvie knowing her true parentage at such an early age, she learned to accept herself/identity and made peace with it. that's another thing that could've caused the nexus event between the two, they had found self-acceptance even at just the brink of death. maybe they're supposed to do so but later in their lives in their own timelines so that's why it's enough to destroy the TVA as mobius hinted at earlier. happy that sylvie decided to keep ravonna for information so i expect the next episode to have them in ravonna's office or still in the timekeeper chambers as ravonna tells us what is going on.

THE TIMEKEEPERS | when sylvie beheads the central timekeeper, we learn that they're mindless androids. it never ends, there's no throne to sit upon after killing them so it seems. it was all just a giant hoax but this further feeds into my personal theory that kang, one way or another, is behind all of this. what i find really interesting is how the other two timekeepers laugh when sylvie beheads one. whoever is behind controlling the fake androids, they have a way to see what is happening and communicate in real time with the TVA agents and variants. hopefully in the final two episodes we see what the hell is going on and how the TVA came to be and why.

LOKI POST CREDIT SCENE | so apparently, loki isn't reset or something of the sorts. he's actually sent to another world. i believe this is an alternate new york where we'll see president loki as you can see the remains of the old avengers tower. this makes me think about mobius' fate to be similar to loki's; possibly sent to either the same place or a similar world. we see three human new lokis here. from the credits, we have classic loki (richard e. grant), kid loki (jack veal), and boastful loki (deobia oparei). apparently there's also a crocodile!loki and i'm here for it. can't wait to see how our favorite variant gets out of it next week!

oh god, this was so rusty and unorganized but hope if whoever reads this can somewhat understand the points i'm trying to get across.

31 notes · View notes

hyrule-kingdom-updates · 3 years

Note

🌼 any of them

Whoops, wrote a fic

Describe one of your OC’s worst nightmares.

An optimist would look at the world of divination with wonder. The universe is a but a magnificent hall of tapestries, beautiful pieces of art woven into anything you could imagine. Tapestries where you are a hero, tapestries where you are royalty, tapestries where your people live with riches, tapestries depicting your eternal victory over your enemies. The universe is endless and bountiful, for in the future, all futures are possible.

This is how Astor usually can depict the good fortune tellers from the worse.

If they’re an optimist, they’re most likely a faker.

The only true divinator that he had met that was even a bit of an optimist was his mother, and even then, he had always had the sinking feeling that she hid a deeper sorrow behind her simple shoes of colorful flames and shining moon and starlight. No, it was quite hard to stick to true, unfiltered optimism in this field, as while it was true that all futures and choices were possible, that freewill ran its course through all who walked the vast possibilities of the universe, the issue came in the fact that you could not travel it to and fro.

There are futures where you live, there are futures where you achieve your wildest dreams, timelines where your childhood is happier, and timelines where you find true love and satisfaction.

But you aren’t in those timelines. The future you have is this one, and it is set in stone.

Walk all the roads you want, say all the words, read all the stories, but when a seer analyzed exactly what world we live in, exactly what end is destined for this string of the universe, there will be no holding back. There is only the unfiltered, raw, typically pessimistic truth of the end. Savor it.

“In truth, Elane, I hate my job. Fear it, even,” Astor set his teacup down, looking out the balcony towards the inky, midnight view. “I fear one day I will find the prediction—the true, ultimate glimpse into the night, that seals in the fact that we’re doomed.”

The Queen only cocked her head with a smile. “Well, I’m flattered that there’s still a ‘we’ in this scenario. Good to know I’ll be joining you in the lockup when my mother find our contraband cucco nuggets—“

“I’m serious, Elane.”

She only laughed quietly, before leaning back in her chair, and gazing out into the pleasant evening. “I know...”

There was a quiet between them, not quite awkward or stiffening, but quiet in the way that you might hold your breath after someone embraces you warmly. Quiet in acceptance, quiet to make room for the sounds of something rare and fickle.

“I swear, I might retire early,” Astor finally said. “Quit while I’m ahead. Head off to Hateno or Mabe and bury my head in the sand.”

“You might want to try Gerudo then, if sand is what you’re searching for. I’m sure Urbosa would be thrilled.”

“Tsk. I am inclined to disagree.”

Elane chuckled again, and she let the quiet embrace her for a moment.

“Eternal doom aside, for a moment, I would posit that there’s hardly anything to fear. You’ve foreseen my daughter’s growth, analyzed the future livelihood of the kingdom, and predicted our victory over Ganon. I’d say it’s hard to bargain with that.”

“Maybe, but I could be wrong.” Astor circled his finger on the lip of his cup. “It happens, people make a prediction, but miss one star, or slip up one word...or perhaps one cow suddenly dies, or one ember quickly fades, and suddenly we’re actually in an entirely different timeline than predicted.”

“Didymos Astor? Wrong about something? Oh my, I never thought I’d see the day...” Elane smiled to herself again as she lifted her cup for another sip.

Astor clicked his tongue. “Well. You should hope I’m not wrong about anything. If someone of my skill makes an incorrect prediction, it would probably be disastrous for everyone.”

Elane winked as she set down her cup. “Well, good thing you’re a prodigy, then.”

“Good thing, indeed.”

Quiet keep their third company once again. Astor still had not sipped from his cup, but Elane was already heading for her fourth refill, no doubt begging for any energy after tucking her daughter to bed. A young toddler with enough energy to power a Guardian army, Elane has always found it quite odd that she used up a lot of her energy to annoy the Royal Seer. It was charming to see him get put off by a Mallory’s boundless curious aura, but mostly relieving in the sense that the Queen could get a moments rest and trust little Zelda would be alright.

Elane looked back inside through the half open door, and smiled at a bundled sleeping figure, surrounded by an army of stuffed animals. She then turned back and finally noticed Astor’s continued silence on the next refill.

She sighed. “Although I would be saddened to see you leave,” she began, “If a retirement would make you happy, Astor, I would loathe to do anything to stand in your way.”

He looked up at her, analyzing her body language and expression. She was genuine, of course, as she always was in these sorts of talks. Astor finally let himself exhale in peace, as he smiled and shook his head.

“Unfortunately I don’t think it would do me much good, anyways. Location won’t let me escape my own thoughts and visions.” He took a sip of his tea—a bit citrusy this evening, a hint of apple—and relaxed. “I’d imagine His Majesty would miss me dearly, and I simply wouldn’t want to leave him in distress.”

“Ha! Oh yes of course, Rhoam would be crying tears if you left us...” she replied, sarcastically. “Tears of deep, deep sorrow.”

Astor looked out into the night in silence again, not touching his cup.

“But I’ll tell you what Astor,” Elane began again. “If you ever receive that world dooming prediction, whatever may happen that may instigate your view of the deepest hells,” she raised her cup. “You come find me, and we’ll have a drink.”

He raised an eyebrow. “A drink? What sort of drink?”

She shrugged. “Whatever you like. Tea, wine, beer, water or juice if it’s your fancy. Whatever will keep your spirits high.”

Astor smirked, solemnly. “I don’t think you understand just how severe and dreadful certain predictions can be. When we say ‘all futures are possible,’ we do mean all possibilities.”

“And I understand, dear seer. I truly do.” She tilted her head as she kept her cup in the air. “But the way I see it, is that with divination or not, doom and hell come into people’s lives one way or the other. But it hasn’t really stopped the majority from loving their lives now, has it?” Her eyes twinkled like starlight. “Dearest Astor, if our destined doom is predicted one day, I command you to at least smile through our tea party.”

Quiet.

He finally sighed, the corners of his lips perking. His protests drowning in her expression.

“I suppose if you’re the one pouring, it’d be difficult to refuse.” He raised his cup and clinked it with hers.

She was dead eight days later.

With her death came the final factor. The final star.

“Your daughter is destined to fail us,” he said again. “The Calamity shall rise and consume us all, and she won’t stop it in time.”

Rhoam slammed his fists on the desk, but the seer did not flinch. “We’ll train her hard, we’ll start now, even! I’ll get those clerics from the temple to teach her the starting prayers!” he yelled.

“It won’t work.” Astor replied, simply. “Perhaps she might attain them down the line, but she most certainly won’t awaken her powers by Ganon’s rise. It’s over.”

“You told me we could do this!” Rhoam pointed a finger, accusingly. “You saw our prosperity, our victory!”

“That was what I initially saw, yes. But unfortunately we live in world where the Queen of Hyrule is dead, and thus the threads of our future weave accordingly.”

“You’re a liar!” Rhoam bellowed again. “You saw her death, saw our end and lied to us since the beginning, haven’t you?!!”

“Don’t you think that if I knew Elane would die, I would say something?! That I would give ample time for her to say goodbye to you and her daughter??” Astor finally raised his voice, met with equal silence. “I failed to correctly analyze our timeline the first time around, and for that I am sorry. But I can not control what pieces of the future fate allows me to see. It’s not an open novel for you to give me a bad book report grade on. It’s a museum of endless tapestries, of which I am task with analyzing one stroke at a time to identify which is woven to a singular man, and the fact that I have given you a complete enough answer now is a gift within itself, so don’t even try to accuse me forgery and lies.”

The two men clenched their jaws, staring angrily at each other.

Astor finally whispered. “Overtime I might gather more specifics, but overall—this is over.”

Rhoam balles his hand into a fist. “We’ll start a new schedule for Zelda first thing in the morning—“

“It won’t work, it’s futile—“

“We’ll make it work—“

“This is set in stone, this is the world you live in—“

“Well what if you’re wrong again?”

“I’m not.”

“But what if you are?”

“I’m. Not. I’ve read the signs again and again and again, in fact I’ve been reaching the same conclusions repeatedly for the last four weeks. It. Is set. In stone.” He tapped his finger on the wood with each syllable to emphasize. “Perhaps the futures of prosperity are accurate for the Rhoams and Mallorys that live in a different time, but unfortunately for us, we live in one where Elane is dead. This is our reality and you’re doing no good denying as such.”

Silence.

Rhoam made his way towards the door. “You’re a liar.” The seer scoffed. “You’re a liar and you don’t know what you’re saying! Borderline treason if I’m being honest! You’re pathetic, and a rotten fake—“

“If it pleases His Majesty to confirm the integrity of his humble subject,” Astor cut in, sarcastically, “It might be good to know that also I’ve predicted you won’t imprison me, or exile me, or execute me, given you’re still ever reliant on my uncontested skills for more personal matters. That, and you wish to try and keep me around to hopefully prove me wrong, in which you can then tell yourself you’d be in the right to truly punish me.” He stared the regent dead in the eyes. “But don’t worry, you won’t.”

Rhoam slammed the door shut as he stomped off.

That night, Astor has another dream. Or perhaps it was a vision, he wasn’t sure, as the details were so surreal and horrific and captivating that it would have surely been a blessing to chalk it up entirely to vivid imagination.

There were screams and the sound of rocks crumbling. Bones were cracking and monsters were squealing and shrieking. And be felt his arms burn, and he felt his soul drain, and he looked down to see his skin peeling into dark flakes, his muscles, sludge. And in the distance, a young woman with golden hair laughed at him, but her eyes were hollow and gold. And she laughed and laughed as his body was slowly broken to pieces, bones torn asunder, skin burned to smoldering malice, senses vivid until the final moment when he woke.

But the good thing about nightmares, was that...that was it. There was no where else to go. There was nothing left to offer. No more pain to fear.

It made sense of course. Of course, of course. He never went to the funeral, he never offered his sympathies. There was no longer anything to mourn, as he allowed himself to view the world in its true, disgusting form. The people were doomed, and the dead, well...perhaps they might have deserved it. Yes, that was the only way this all made sense, of course. He even stopped trying to warn other folk after a few too many dozen harsh rejections to his character. No, now in complete isolation and resignation of his path, there was nothing else that could possibly drag him back to—

“How do I die?” Zelda Mallory Hyrule asked, one day.

At first, he was confused, and he turned in his chair. “What?”

She was seven at the time, and it was truly an odd and concerning thing to be coming from a seven year old girl’s mouth. Or perhaps it wasn’t, given the circumstances.

“How do I die?” she said again. She was laying down on his worn carpet, fiddling with the frilled edge.

Was she truly that bored? Already out of other questions? Hmph, he had always warned her to stay away, as a seer’s office wasn’t really meant for childish entertainment. Yet still she always came and asked to hide away from her father, and, well...anything to spite that man...

“Why do you ask?” he finally replied. Had someone said something to her? A threat? He clenched his jaw. I swear, if that fool tried to force her powers by—

“You’re always going on about how I’m wasting my time with praying and stuff...but father says I still gotta to stop the Calamity or else we could all die.” She didn’t look up from the bits of carpet string she was playing with (and contemplating on popping in her mouth), “So I figured if you tell me how I die we can settle the debate for good!”

Astor just sighed. “Well, of course you d—“

He stopped himself, but not for the reasons a more put together person, might. Not because of the generally frowned upon action of telling a child how she dies, no, that was not exactly beyond him. No, Astor cut off his sentence simply because it had crossed his mind that—

“...I’m not entirely sure...” he whispered.

He suddenly stood. Walking towards the other end of his office, carefully stepping over the child. “E-Excuse me a moment.”

Why had he never considered this? Of course, he had seen the signs clearly enough, the visions, the stars. A girl cries over a corpse, a light vanishes in the night. Malice plagued the sky and dooms the day. But did the Calamity actually kill her? Does she drown in rubble and malice like the others? Slain by a demon or monster perhaps? Or if not, then, would that mean...?

The princess soon forgot about the question by the next day, and the next, and the next, and the next, and the next.

Astor spent nearly eight sleepless nights into finding an answer.

But he never truly did.

These things happened more times than one may think, when it came to predictions. Vagueness was commonplace, but specificities and straightforward answers were about as rare as a green sunset. Of course, he knew she would die, goddess blood or not, she lived the life of a mortal. But how? When? While it certainly wasn’t impossible to predict a person’s death, but whatever the circumstances of Mallory’s was made the process was infuriatingly impossible.

It was possible she would die of malice or suffocation under rubble, even circumstances where she dies at the Ganon’s hand himself. But then there were clear visions of her living, walking through a grassy field, ruins in the distance covered in leaves and moss, her turning and calling to a friend to keep up with her pace.

But no, nonono. She would die during the Calamity’s rise, that was the majority of what the futures offered to her were. That was the probable outcome.

But the factors and visions and signs and alignments were so fine and minuscule in difference, that Astor truly couldn’t a true statement, a true prediction, a true answer to the question. What timeline did we live in?

It taunted him.

Maybe it was better if the question was put to rest, did it even matter?

“Mallory?” he asked. “That’s a stupid name.”

“What?! No it’s not!” Elane laughed and shoved his shoulder. “Please, YOU’RE not one to talk.”

“Well as a victim of stupid first names, I think I’m qualified to speak accurately on the subject.”

“Aha! But it’s not technically a first name.” Elane tapped his head. “It’s a middle name, her first name would be ‘Zelda,’ of course.”

“Yes, and that is also a s—“

The queen shoved his shoulder into the wall before he even finished the sentence. “Oh would you shut up...”

He laughed, unconventionally carefree. Her Majesty’s happiness these days truly was contagious. Or perhaps that was a side effect of pregnancy? Did all expecting mother’s give off this aura?

“I think it’s a wonderful name.” Elane said. “Reminds me of a cute little duck, like a mallard!” She tucked her arms and flapped her elbows to imitate as such. “Quack, quack!”

“This is further adding to my argument actually”

“Hmph! Ok then Mr. Overseer of all names” She tapped a finger to his chest. “If it’s such a stupid name, then when she starts getting bullied for it around the castle, I shall expect you to take care of her in full.”

He scoffed. “Oh, I’ll be sure to do so. She’ll definitely need it.”

Elane pecked his head with a kiss.

“Good! I grant you my blessing lovingly tease her, as well. And I expect the best from you, Astor!”

His face suddenly warmed for some reason, and he couldn’t form words.

“What?”

“.....W...”

He was suddenly whack in the head with a rolled up piece of paper. Astor sprang awake from his desk. “...W...What...?”

“Morning, Mr. Astor!!” Princess Zelda-Mallory beamed. “And happy birthday!!! Sorry I woke you up early, but I needed to give this to you before the winter solstice festival later and—“

She continued to ramble on and on, but Astor simply opened the rolled up paper she had handed to him. It was simply filled with dozens and dozens, arguably hundreds, of hand drawn stars. In the corner was written, “You always look at the same stars so here’s some new ones!” in crude purple crayon. At the time, he failed to notice the accompanying note on the back that read “One for each year of how old you are!” Thankfully he was too busy looking through the different stars, with varying degrees of sparkles and smiley faces.

He finally looked back at the princess, who was still rambling on and on about her day, and her father’s day, and her newest stuffy dress, and her latest adventures with her stuffed toys, and—

“Why are you always here, Zelda?” Astor finally said. She stopped talking, looking at him, quizzically. “I mean...” he grumbled, “You know I don’t really like you, right?

“Eh, I don’t care. I think you’re neat!!” She held out her arms as she zoomed around his circular office. “Your room is so cool! And you got fun books!”

“Necromancy isn’t necessarily what I would consider ‘fun’ reading material—“

“Plus your outfits are cool, and you’re super smart, like my mom.”

He blinked.

“Plus, you’re the only one that’s not mean to me about my dumb powers. But really that’s just a chair on the top!”

“Do you mean cherry on top?”

“No! I meant chair! Watch me!! I’m gonna do a backflip off of this—“

“NO.” Astor immediately stood up, and snatched the girl off of the wooden chair. “NO. No backflips.” He set her down on the rug and pointed to a side of the room which held a broken table, stool, and a few old chairs—the victims of the princess’ previous acrobatic attempts.

She crossed her arms and stuck out her tongue. “You’re no fun!”

“I’m running out of furniture, is what I am.”

“But I’ll let this slide since it’s your birthday! Hmph.”

She started pulling at the loose threads of the carpet. “Don’t know why you had to stop my birthday backflip! Who cares if I get a little scratch?”

“I do—“

“YOU DO?!” Mallory was immediately up and clinging to his robes.

Astor sputtered, instinctively waving his arms to free himself from the child’s grip. But then he finally processed her question, and...

“I...” He looked at her starlight eyes. She had that stupid, naive grin that he always remembered from her mother. A stupid, pathetic, horrible, terrible, optimistic smile.

He finally scoffed. “I just can’t have you getting hurt on my watch, as otherwise, I’d probably be a dead man. That’s all.”

The princess lifted her hands in a “hooray!” fashion, and yelled the exclamation, accordingly. She then resumed her zipping and zooming around the room, much to Astor’s unexpected relief.

That night, he visited the question again.

Why? He didn’t really know.

The question wouldn’t offer him anything, it wouldn’t relieve him of anything—in fact it really did just the opposite. If he found that died miserably, it would be another scream in the nightmare, another nail in the comforting coffin of despair. But if he someone found that she lived, that there was a day after the Calamity, where even a child such as her could possibly prosper...

Having hope and seeing it fail anyway would probably be the most torturous of all.

Again, he had a dream, of a world tainted by blood and malice. But this time he was floating. He was floating and watching the end of it all.

Castle Town was nothing but ruins and ash, and no colors existed but red, black, and grey.

He couldn’t hear anything but a shrill hum in his ears, but he knew there was screaming. He looked to his hand, expecting to see malice or blackened skin, but instead found a strange floating device in his palm. It spin slowly, pink constellations drifting across its surface.

The hum in his ears turned into a groan, and then a whisper. It said something familiar, but he was sure he had never heard it before.

It is time.

The next night he had a dream of a girl standing in a green field, calling out to her friends somewhere behind her. She rested under the ruins of a collapsed pillar, and ate a homemade sandwich with a memorable smile.

Astor reached a conclusion.

In most futures, the girl dies horribly. He wrote in his journal. To be expected, I would assume the rise of the Calamity isn’t exactly easy to survive from.

But what I have discovered is a very specific set of circumstances that lead to a more favorable outcome, at least for her.

I have no way of knowing if it accurately depicts the comings of our time, or another. There are too many variables and specifics. Too long I have spent trying to discern our fate, but the probabilities and possibilities for doom are so interchangeable that it really go either way. The only truth I know is that she lives if—

He paused, tapping the dry quill to the desk again in thought. He dipped it once more.

I’ve decided that if I ever find myself in the scenario where I can solidify her a more favorable destiny, I will take it. I can only hope dare to alter my existing nightmare into something different, there’s really nothing left to lose, is there?

Astor leaned in his chair for a moment, savoring the silence of his office. He looked out the window and took in the night. The stars were gorgeous this evening.

Although if it fails I hope it kills me.

Call it arrogance, but I don’t think I can handle being wrong again.

The seer sighed, then suddenly flipped to the next blank page, angrily.

If I had never met her it would have been fine. If I had just minded my own damn business and continued to work in being resigned to our fate, at least then I could have—

There was a soft knock at his door.

He knew who it was.

Astor pinched the bridge of his nose as he opened it. “It’s past 2am, Princess, what could you possibly have to tell me?”

She looked down and shuffled her feet. “I had a nightmare...”

“Yes, people do have those sometimes.” He immediately closed the door.

Another knock.

After a moment, Astor opened it again. “Don’t you have guards outside your room, how did you sneak up here?”

“Secret tunnel!” She grinned, proudly, as she replied with a sort of sing-song tone.

“That’s nice.”

The door slammed shut again.

She knocked once more. There was the longest pause.

“FFFFFFine!” The world was out of his lips before he even fully swung open the door, and Mallory happily scrambled inside. “But no touching anything, I’m working.”

“It’s ok, I just wanna stay up all night and read your books!” She was already scrambling for the necromancy section, again.

Astor sighed, and went to slump back into his desk. The princess was already sprawled across the floor, distracting herself with another stack of wondrous, ill-recommended book. He didn’t really care.

I don’t really care. He wrote once again. I know there are futures where I dedicate myself to the Calamity, and she dies anyway. I know it doesn’t really matter, I know it’s hopeless to care, and that’s why I don’t.

He looked back at Zelda, he saw her slowly blink back her tiredness. He knew in a few hours or so, he’d have to drop her sleepy figure back off to those useless guards, and berate then for letting her wander off again, as it always was.

If I do this and it’s all for nothing, he began, I fear it will be worse than if I had just stood to the side and perished. It’s already doomed, and this pathetic, foolish optimism might cause me to turn this nightmare into something even worse.

He sighed, and the hours passed as he just sat with his thoughts.

Zelda was using and open book as a pillow.

Astor opened the door, and went to pick her up.

I’m not living through another nightmare. He thought, as he descended the stairs from the observatory. The girl’s breathing was steady as she wrapped an arm by his shoulder.

If it fails I hope it kills me before I see it. He repeated again.

I can’t handle being wrong again.

#Didymos Astor #out of character #oc ask game #I’m actually really proud of this I might shove it into canon story one day

26 notes · View notes

darker-soft-starker · 4 years

Photo

Starker High School AU, Pt. 2 (Pt. 1, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Pt. 5)

-----

Peter will admit that during he took an extended moment during his journey home to grieve the loss of his free afternoon, and indeed the impending headaches.

And the rest of his future, if he was honest.

Not that Peter was prone to melancholy by any means, but with this assignment his fate was officially sealed, there was no misunderstanding. He was going to fail this assignment. He was going to, for the first time in his academic career, be forced to submit garbage of a caliber worthy of Tony Stark. It will forever be a black mark on his academic record.

No respectable college is going to accept him after this. In fact, he might as well drop out of school now and hit up Mr Delmar for a job. All of his prep for his MIT application is as good as useless after this. Extracurriculars? Goodbye.

Because it’s confirmed.

He’s doomed.

Swaying with the motions of the train, Peter types a text to Ned, the only person who might provide him with some much needed sympathy.

> I’m doomed > paired w/stark for an assignment lollllllllll. > help

Maybe Peter could trade with Ned. Maybe he could plead with their teacher, for honest fear of his life and scholastic integrity. He wasn’t even exaggerating. In no known iteration of this universe could Peter amicably work with Tony Stark. It would be like Harry Potter sitting down for tea with Voldemort, or Frodo and Sauron chilling with a pint and a pipe in Bag End.

It was unthinkable. Implausible. Laughable.

And Peter would laugh, were it anyone but him in this situation.

The feeling is unusual. Never had he found reason in his life to truly dislike anybody before, everyone could be redeemed or given the opportunity for penance. Natasha has said more than once that Peter would offer the devil himself a sandwich if he appeared.

Tony Stark on the other hand? No sandwich for him.

Well, maybe a slice of bread. A stale one.

While he waits for Ned to responds he catches sight of his injured reflection in the train window, which is admittedly pretty gnarly. Even with his hood drawn up, there was a noticeable berth allocated to him in the busy carriage between himself and the other passengers.

< sux. can I have ur lego hogwarts if u die?

> dude :( pity me.

< lol. so, can i?

Peter sighs.

> sure. Look after May for me, bro. delete my internet history.

< deal. godspeed

Pocketing his phone, Peter wonders if it’s too late to take up praying.

---

By the time he’s back in his apartment his mood has managed to swing back up.

Tony Stark is not going to be the arbiter of Peter’s fate. Hell no. He’s smart, he’s creative and hardworking - it isn’t up to anybody but Peter to determine his outcomes. If he has to do the assignment with Stark then he will. And he will work his hardest.

If he has to do it sharing the credit with Stark, well, Peter knows a concession when he sees one.

No matter how reluctant he is.

But he powers through it, like ripping off a bandaid. It’s fine! He’s a Parker and he’s come this far in life already against ill, Parker-like odds. What was being paired for one assignment with someone who escaped the nearest hellmouth?

It’ll be fine.

Probably.

Not letting himself linger on his fears, Peter clears out his previous plans of going on a YouTube spiral and eating sour gummies until his teeth stick, instead utilising the time to get his foot in and and begins prepping for the assignment. Cursory, preliminary research at first, before the inevitable deep dive begins.

Neanderthal, Peter scoffs, mad all over again. Who is Stark to call Peter a neanderthal? He’s second in his class. He’s a straight A student. He likes school.

And as much as he is moderately skilled in, and enjoys JV, it’s not like he received his scholarship to study at Midtown based on his physical prowess.

The graze on his cheek that stings every time he yawns is proof of that.

Stark can eat his entire ass and choke on it, he thinks darkly, as he continues his research. He doesn’t know the first thing about Peter.

The data is sobering as he delves into job listings and statistics of his projected salary in a three year margin. This is really what his teachers earn? Wow. Depressing.

The contrast of expected salary versus the forecast of steep student loans is disheartening further still.

Teaching quietly slips from second to third on his list of ideal occupations.

Turning on a playlist on his phone, Peter continues to compile notes, amassing a truly gargantuan amount of tabs on his browser. His computer, old enough to be on its’ last teeth, whirrs loudly in protest.

It’s not until his room goes dark that he thinks to check the time.

Ah, shit. It’s nearly six.

Peter pauses. Should he tidy up the apartment?

...Nah, no point in breaking a sweat for Stark.

He continues typing. Then he hesitates, fingers suspended in mid-air.

But what if Stark sees his unfolded laundry out on the dining table and publicly shames him for his old-but-comfortable Bulbasaur themed boxer shorts?

Goddamnit.

---

A quick, cursory clean ensues and leaves a relatively orderly Parker apartment. No freshly laundered underwear is in sight.

Peter wraps up just a few minutes before six. Right on time.

Taking a seat at the now clear dining table Peter drums his fingers on the surface and waits.

And waits.

---

He knows when Tony finally arrives when he hears the sound of a car pulling up outside his apartment block. The riffs of a Roxette remix can be heard playing loudly from the ground to the seventh floor of his apartment, the bass so thunderous it reverberates the windows all the way up to his floor.

Drumming his fingers on the kitchen table, Peter checks the wall clock again. It’s nearly seven.

Tony’s late.

Not that Peter is particularly affected with surprise that Tony is incapable of following basic instructions, but still. Really? Really?

By the time there is a knock on his door, Peter is already before it, his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. Every second between Tony pulling up and his ascent to Peter’s floor has him positively fuming. He can’t believe how this day played out. It started with such promise. He had such innocuous, but high hopes.

Clearly, he miscalculated.

Feeling a touch petty, he waits to answer, listening to Stark knock a second and then a third, more insistent time before he rouses enough calm to open the door.

He instantly regrets it when he does.

Tony’s expression is curious one as he breezes right passed Peter without waiting for further invitation. There’s a smudge of something dark on his brow, his otherwise white undershirt smeared in dark stains.

Peter watches incredulously as the other boy drops his backpack by the door with a thump.

“You’re late.”

He closes the door behind Tony and scowls at the other boys easy posture, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes taking in the apartment.

“I didn’t realise you lived all the way out in fucking Queens. Do you have any idea how bad traffic is at this time of day? Also, your elevator doesn’t work. I just climbed seven flights of stairs, where’s the hospitality?”

“Try earning it.”

The other boy rolls his eyes. “Like it’s worth my time.” He breezes past Peter and slides his leather jacket off his arms, tossing it atop of his backpack in the corner. “Look, I’m here now. Okay? You can unclench now. So, do I get a tour or what?”

“Or what. This wouldn’t have been an issue if we had just started straight after class like I said.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Tony clutches his hands to his heart before gesturing to the room. “I didn’t realise I was interrupting your busy Friday night, Parker. You got a keg and the rest of the meatheads stashed away somewhere?”

Without waiting for a response, Tony wanders around the living room like a curious child in a new play room. His gaze inspects everything all at once, from peering at up close at the wall mounted photos and hovering his grubby hands over the oddments and knick-knacks speckled throughout the space.

Apprehensive, Peter can’t help but shadow him, afraid he just let loose a hurricane in a china shop.

Without asking, Tony picks up May’s old Magic 8-Ball and gives it a good shake. Peter’s fingers itch to reach over and stop him, but stops himself because then that would require actually making direct skin contact the other boy.

Not worth it.

“Cannot predict now. Huh,” Tony says to himself before placing the ball back in the wrong spot.

They both watch silently as it rolls precariously close to the edge.

“Anyways,” Tony helps himself to an armchair, lounging back and spreading his legs wide. “I know your long-term memory is probably as defective as the rest of you, so don’t strain yourself recalling that I had other priorities.”

“Like what?”

“Like literally anything that isn’t being around you,” the other boy grins. “Now, are we doing this thing, or did you invite me over so you could bitch at me?”

“I didn’t invite you,” Peter grumbles, swiping his notebook from the dining table before sitting on the sofa, as far away from Stark as possible. Shifting, he takes his phone from his pocket and opens the notes he’d taken earlier.

“So, I cross referenced some websites and current job listings,” Peter scrolls through his research, adjusting his glasses as they slip down his nose. “Assuming you have no savings, we’re looking at an average of sixty-thousand per annum based on my salary alone. The average rent in --”

“-- Uh, why are we assuming I have no savings?”

"Because... we’re being realistic?”

Tony springs to his feet and paces across the living room.

“Well,” he says, gesturing to Peter, “if we’re being realistic, does having no savings also that mean I have no debt -- or are you paying off two student loans on your salary?”

“I don’t --”

“Do we have car loans? Health insurance?”

“Wait, slow your roll, Stark. I haven’t yet --”

“-- Of course you haven’t. I mean really, Parker, do you ever think ahead? You should try it, we do have a baby on the way, you know.” Tony clicks his fingers and points at Peter. “Oh, names! I want to call it Molly.”

“As in the drug?”

“No, as in Ringwald. Anyhoo, seeing as only one of us has the intellectual capacity to construct a budget,” Tony gestures to himself, “that would be me, consider maybe that I spent my savings paying off my student loans and bought a car for me and Miss Molly, leaving you with just your own stagnant debt. Happy?”

“Thrilled,” he says through clenched teeth, feeling utterly steamrolled. “But we’re not calling the baby Molly.”

“Yes, we are. Think of all the great nicknames. Hey wait,” Tony pauses in his pacing, “are your parents going to be home soon?”

It was in that moment Peters world narrows down to one, botched cosmic joke.

Turning his gaze heavenwards, Peter prays silently for mercy. What did he do to deserve this. This is all his bad karma come at once. This is the bad place.

“Ah, no,” he replies, eyes widening. “No, my parents are not going to be home soon.”

“Cool. Lucky you.”

Oblivious to Peter’s existential turmoil, Tony resumes his patrol through the living room, picking up a frame on the mantle. It houses an old photo of Ben, May and a young, bespectacled Peter.

It is one of the more embarrassing immortalisations of his younger self, eleven-years old and grinning widely, bearing his silver braces to the camera as he holds up a science fair trophy, curls wild and untamed.

Oh god. That was exactly what Peter needed on this unholy day - Tony Stark in his living room, witnessing Peter in his prepubescent glory.

Quick, create a diversion.

“So, as I was saying,” he says loudly, “rent is reasonably affordable with a sixty-thousand budget in --”

“Who’s the babe?” Tony points to a younger Aunt May in the photo.

Peter gets to his feet and removes the frame from Tony’s grasp. He glowers as he places it back on the mantle.

“No one you would have a chance with. Can you stay focused? Like, are you physically capable of it?”

“Okay, calm down,” Tony holds his hands up in surrender. “You’ve got a lot of anger for someone so vertically challenged, you know that, shortstack?”

“Focus, dumbass.”

“I’m focused! Let’s see, we’ve established that I am excellent at managing my money. You have a shitty job and a shitty salary, and apparently my imaginary future self has terrible taste in men. So. Have I got that right? Where are we living?”

“Queens. LIC has some one bed, one baths that could be affordable.”

“Uh, rewind. Going to have to eighty-six that - I am not living in Queens.”

Peter stares at him.

Tony rubs his hands over his face and sighs. “Fine, whatever. But I want a Pontiac Firebird in this imaginary life if I have to deal with you.”

“For someone so keen on getting away you’re doing your best to prolong this experience. It’s literally painful.”

“Well, I just like to see you get all riled up, Princess,” Tony grins, leaning back against the mantle and folding his arms over his chest. “You have this vein that bulges on your forehead when you’re mad. Makes you look like a pitbull.”

Peter swallows the particularly acidic retort sitting on his tongue and tries not to let Tony’s words sting. Be the bigger man, Ben used to say. As difficult as it is to channel even a modicum of the mans’ eternal patience, Peter takes a deep breath and reminds himself to stay focused. The less he gets sidetracked by Tony’s fuckery, the sooner it’s over.

He mentions the next part with unease.

“...Miss Ahn said that we need references and should do field research. Speak to realtors. Ask people who have a similar lifestyle and budget.”

The look that comes over the other boys face is one of unequivocal revulsion. Peter can relate. The thought of having to spend more time with this guy makes his stomach turn.

“Well, Parker, any bright ideas who we can ask?”

The hinges of the front door squeaks before Peter can respond.

Moments after, Aunt May walks into the living room, placing her bag down on the dining table. She looks between the two boys curiously.

“Hey, Pete,” she comes to his side to squeezes his shoulder. “Who do we have here?”

Tony rushes over with his hand outstretched, an eager grin on his face.

“Tony Stark, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, ah, okay, well,” May laughs as he enthusiastically shakes her hand. Her eyes are soft as Tony smiles brightly at her. “Nice to meet you too, Tony. I’m May, Peter’s aunt. Are you... friends with Peter?”

Peter snorts.

“Definitely not. We just have an assignment --”

“-- Great friends, actually,” Tony talks over him, taking a seat beside Peter on the sofa. To Peter’s utter disgust, the other boy puts an arm around his shoulders, squeezing his bicep encouragingly. “Aren’t we, Pete? Hmm? Best buds. We go way back.”

Peter freezes, feeling the line of heat from Tony’s against his side, the weight of his arm on his body.

Eyes widening, he feels his skin crawl.

“That’s sweet,” May smiles, putting her hair up in a loose, messy bun. “Well, I don’t know about you boys, but I’m starving. I’m ordering pizza, Friday special. You should stay for dinner, Tony.”

Tony places his free hand on his chest.

“I would be honoured.”

May looks at Tony strangely before retreating to the kitchen to retrieve the menus.

As soon as she’s out of sight Tony takes his arm off Peter and quickly shifts away from him like he’s been burned.

“Dude,” Peter whispers, bewildered. “What the fuck?”

“Oh my god,” Tony whispers, shuddering as his face scrunches up in disgust. “I’m going to have to pour scalding hot water on all the places your skin just touched me. Ugh, I feel like I just touched toe fungus.”

Peter slaps his arm.

“What is wrong with you?”

Tony backhands Peter’s arm in retaliation and then shudders all over again.

“Your aunt is crazy hot, okay, I couldn’t help myself. It was an instinctual reaction. Is she taken? C’mon. Vindicate me.”

“I’ll eviscerate you --”

“-- I mean, clearly she married into the family, she doesn’t share your unfortunate phenotype, but I didn’t see a ring on her finger. So? Yes or no?”

“You’re unbelievable,” Peter hisses as his aunt comes back in. “She’s not available to you. Not now, not ever.”

“But she is available?”

“Don’t even, Stark. You’re like, sixteen. Don’t you have any shame?”

Tony smiles, as she nears. “Not a shred.”

“So,” May waves a menu at them. “You boys happy with pepperoni?”

Closing his eyes, Peter wishes for death.

As fate would have it, he gets pepperoni instead.

-----

If you had ever told Peter that he would be sitting down for dinner with his Aunt and a dirt-streaked Tony Stark, he would have laughed.

And if Peter were outside himself he would probably find the sharing of pizza and soda over their plastic, chequered table-cloth comical -- in that uncanny, Dogs Playing Poker kind of way. But in reality there was nothing funny about the discomfort of having Tony in his personal space or the heavy, suffocating tension that has removed the air from the room.

The entire time Tony has been hamming it up, cracking jokes with his aunt, complimenting her on the decor, asking what she does for work. Peter doesn’t know if he’s being sweet to May for the purpose of buttering her up, or, given the wealth of his family in contrast to the Parkers, if he’s being cruelly facetious.

Nonetheless, Peter has felt on edge. It’s disconcerting, is what it is. Every single movement Tony makes, every time he opens his mouth -- frequently to sweet-talk his aunt -- has Peter’s anxiety standing at attention, hyperaware of everything the other boy does.

He’s beginning to feel like a meerkat whose den has been invaded by a lion.

Through the course of a single meal Peter’s attention moves from the sky to the floor. There is no grace or higher power that is coming to save him from this profound, unusual torture.

So he focuses his hopes to the south, seeing through their tiny, cramped, dinner table, past bargaining. He’s willing to trade his soul to end it all. Surely some wayward being from hell would come to his rescue.

May has Peter’s chin between her fingers. She turns it this way and that, inspecting his injuries.

“What happened this time, bubby?” She frowns, brow furrowing. “You look like you got beat up.”

Peter, very aware of Tony’s amused gaze on them, gently pulls away from her grasp. He smiles placatingly and picks at his pizza slice. God he’s never going to live this down.

“Training accident. It’s okay, I feel fine. ‘Tis but a scratch,” he brings himself to joke.

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

She leans in to kiss his cheek, carefully avoiding the fresh scabs and injured flesh. “God, you bruise like a peach. Be careful, baby, you’re our money maker,” she laughs. “What about you Tony, do you play football?”

Tony, who is mid way through chewing on a mouthful of pizza, momentarily chokes, beating his chest with his fist to swallow down the obstruction.

“Uh, no,” Tony gulps, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Nope. No recreational sports for me. Can’t.” He gestures to his chest and sighs heavily. “Asthma.”

Peter sips his coke and rolls his eyes, knowing full well there’s a half-empty pack of Marlboro Light’s in the pocket of Tony’s jeans. Asthma. What a schmuck.

“That’s a shame. Do you boys have classes together?”

Unfortunately, Peter thinks.

The other boy seems to have the same thought, as he glares at Peter from over the table. When he picks up his can of coke, he gives Peter the finger outside of May’s eye-line.

“That’s why Tony’s here,” Peter twists his napkin in his grip. “We have an econ assignment together on microeconomics. Teach says Tony’s destined to be on welfare.”

Tony leans in, chin rested on his hand. He addresses May but his stare, dark and odious, rests on Peter.

“Not accurate. Stay-at-home parent, actually. One might say that is the most important job of all. Wouldn’t you agree, May?”

She raises her Coke.

“Hear, hear.”

Tony grins roguishly, the same grin he gave the girls at the lockers earlier. “Petey here was just saying that we should ask you about your experience running a household on a single salary. We’d love to have you as a reference.”

“Was I saying that?” Peter narrows his eyes. “I can’t remember.”

Tony kicks him under the table. The hit lands right in his knee cap.

Wincing, Peter kicks back, satisfied when the other boy bites his lip to hold back a pained groan.

“Yeah, well, not surprising,” Tony says airily, waving his hand. “Hit your head today, didn’t you? Maybe you should get all that damage looked into.”

The napkin rips in Peter’s grasp.

“Maybe you should go f--”

“I’d be more than happy to help with your assignment, boys,” May cuts in.

Whatever snide reply he has in his mouth instantly wilts when he looks over to his Aunt. She looks...pleased. Delighted, almost. Her eyes under the dull, yellow kitchen light seem to get warmer, and her smile is small but softens around the edges.

Instantly, Peter feels like the worst person in the world. Of course May would be the best person to ask. She does so much for him, the least he can do is set his pride aside for one moment to make her feel good about how hard she works for their life.

He reaches over to squeeze her hand, smiling as gratitude swells unexpectedly in his chest.

“Thanks, May. That would be great.”

Across the table, a smug Tony looks like the cat who got the cream.

Without warning, Peter’s chest goes hot with contempt, his fingernails dig into his palm. He’s not sure he’s ever met anyone he couldn’t like, until now.

I hate you, Peter mouths while May busies herself with rounding up the pizza boxes.

Kiss my ass, Tony mouths back.

In an instant his expression flips from contemptuous to angelic when he stands and offers to help May clean up.

Peter stands too, sparing a disdainful glance to the floor. Turns out not even the devil was willing to give him a hand.

Natasha was right. It’s going to end in murder.

---

Peter walks Tony to the door after dinner to say goodbye to his ‘friend’. Following him into the hall, Peter closes the door behind them.

“What do you want, Parker?” Tony asks wearily, retrieving a cigarette from his pocket. “I’m trying to make a getaway here.”

Peter crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t do that with my aunt. I’m not joking, asshole. It’s not cool.”

“Relax, princess,” Tony rolls his eyes, fishing for his lighter in his backpack. “I’m not actually interested. Just trying to get under your skin. Worked, see? You’re easy like that. Hey, why do you live with your aunt anyways?”

“None of your business,” he frowns as Tony holds one hand up in surrender and lights his cigarette with the other. “Dude, you can’t smoke in here.”

“Can’t, shouldn’t, gonna. By the way, you’ve got sauce on your chin, it’s very distracting.”

Peter wipes at it without thinking. When he pulls it away there is indeed a smear of red sauce on his hand.

Tony walks backwards down the hall and exhales a cloud of smoke, waving in a sardonic imitation of a farewell.

“See you Monday, bubby.”

Peter doesn’t bother with a response, too tired from the week, exhausted by this whole darn day, and it’s not like the other boy cares what he has to say anyway. He takes a moment to swallow his anger before he heads back inside, sighing.

Well, at least he has an entire weekend free of Stark to look forward to.

May looks at him curiously when he reemerges, but says nothing. He considers for a moment about heading to his bedroom and playing a video game to disassociate - but then, suddenly, remembers her smile earlier, and how alone she looks now. A surge of affection hits him right beneath his breastbone.

He checks his watch and then catches her eye. Tilting his head towards the living room, he says, “Hey. You wanna eat some ice cream and watch some Colbert before bed?”

She smiles just like she did earlier and kisses his cheek. “Sounds nice, Pete.”

Maybe the whole day wasn’t lost.

As May heads to the sofa and switches the TV on, Peter catches sight of the Magic 8-Ball from the corner of his eye. He walks over and gives it a shake.

Outlook good.

----

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @muse-of-gods

#starker #ironspider #high school au #enemies to lovers

331 notes · View notes

ozzdog12 · 3 years

Text

2020 Top 7 (and 1)

2020 am I right? We saw an insane amount of games come out and 2 brand new consoles. What a wild and weird year for gaming, and life in general. In case you are relatively new here, and to be honest that would be completely fair considering I don't post very often on Tumblr anymore, every year going on the last 4 years (on here) I have done a Top 7 (& 1) for my favorite videogames of the year. Check out 2019, 2018, & 2017. What’s wild, as I look back on my list of games that I’ve completed and played, only maybe 10 came out this year. 2020 was a huge backlog year.

Lets get on with the ‘And 1!”

Favorite Game that Didn’t Come out in 2020: Control (PS4)

Control may very well have been my 2019 Game of the Year, had I played it in 2019. I LOVED Control. I wanted to play it in 2019, but initial reports that it was a little rough on base consoles put me off until it was fixed. And Holy smokes what an insanely fun and trippy game once I finally started it. I knew within the first 20 minutes this was going to be the shit when I went down a hall, walked into a room and talked to the “janitor” left out a door behind him and the entire building had shifted. I’ve always liked Remedy games, but from a distance. Max Payne 1&2 and Alan Wake all oozed with weirdness and intrigue, but never enough for me to finish them. I missed out on Quantum Break. The story is Control is just the right amount of mind f*!$ for me and builds a universe I didn’t know I needed. It take some time to piece everything together, then everything just clicks. The game does have a weird difficulty spike when fighting bosses and the checkpoints were too far apart at times, but those were later patched. I spent an insane amount of time within the Federal Bureau of Control building and even more time after that with the Foundation and AWE DLC and it STILL wasn’t enough. I wanted more. Outside of Prey, I can’t think of another game that stuck in my brain more after I’d finished it. Control is absolutely a MUST PLAY title. In a world where everything sort’ve feels similar, Control stands out of the crowd.

Number 7: Astro’s Playroom (PS5)

I never thought in my wildest dreams that a game I had almost zero interest in playing would end up on my list of favorite games this year. Astro’s Playroom is being labeled as a ‘Tech demo’ but that feels like an insult to what it is. It’s a full fledged game and its free! I’ve paid more for less. A charming little platformer that lives and breathes the history of the Playstation. So many cool Easter eggs and references. It certainly centers its gameplay around the DualSense controller and everything it can do, but at its core, its a completely approachable and forgiving 3D platformer. I played it just to see what it was about, next thing i knew I had completed all the levels and wanted to further explore all the nooks and crannies within the game. I wanted to see everything the game had to offer and I had an absolute blast doing so. Makes me kinda wish I’d played the previous game on PSVR (I’d have to have a PSVR too)

Number 6: Spider-Man: Miles Morales (PS5)

Another quality title, albeit a spin-off, from Insomniac to add to their Spider Man universe. Gameplay felt obviously like Spider-Man, but Miles has unique abilities that made the game feel different enough, especially the cloak and stealth. I enjoyed the fact that it was short and concise. The issue with most ‘open-world’ games is that they are entirely too bloated with unnecessary filler content (I’ll get to that in a later game), something I felt the first game suffered from, but I also understand why they are there. However I could’ve use one or two more story missions to help flesh out some characters, but it wasn’t required and didn’t change my opinion one way or the other. My one BIG gripe was with Miles himself. He is an extremely smart young kid, but so incredibly naïve. Peter Parker tells him the one thing he SHOULD NOT do is tell people he is Spider-Man. I get it, that’s part of his growth, but Miles thinks he can just solve his problems by revealing his identity and it almost certainly never works out.

Number 5: The Last of Us: Part 2 (PS4)

The Last of Us Part 2 may be the most polarizing game in the history of the medium, but for the absolute wrong reasons. I’m in the minority that I very much enjoyed my experience with TLOU2, quite a bit actually. Its better in every single way over its predecessor, except the overall story. There are plenty of fair criticisms to be had about the story and various things within the game itself, but I thought the gameplay was so tight and crunchy. There were genuine moments of suspense and terror that I felt that no other game has ever given me. The entire hospital section (2nd time) was so susensful, I had to put my controller down to gther myself. Some of my favorite moments in the series I experienced with a character I wasn’t overly fond of. How many games can do that? The Last of Us Part 2 was meant to invoke emotion, not necessarily joy. I think that's what people lost along the way. Say what you will about the direction Naughty Dog has taken over the years, but you would be hard pressed to find a studio that makes games graphically better than they do. Yes, I know about their crunch culture, but this is not a place for that. I will say, the game was a tad bit too long, which is not something it typically say for a single player, narrative driven game. The pacing and the way the story was told wasn’t my favorite, but I respect what it was trying to do, even if it failed in some aspect of that, I finished the game within the week it was released. Something I RARELY ever do. I’m a father and I related with Joel a lot in TLOU, but I also recognized how wrong he was. There is a lesson to be learned. Your actions always have consequences and while he was doing what he thought was the right thing, it wasn’t his choice to make, and in doing so set up a series of events that were entirely avoidable, but again, that’s the point isn’t it?

Number 4: Grindstone (Switch)

I’m counting this as a 2020 game since it just came to the Switch this year ( less than a month ago) but its not the first time I’ve played it. Grindstone was the only reason I kept my Apple Arcade subscription and when I let it lapse, there was a void I just couldn’t fill. I bought Puzzle Quest on Switch but it just wasn't the same. Its THE perfect game for bite sized play, even though in its addictive nature, you’ll clear a few levels and an hour has passed before you know it. It has the perfect amount of depth that most ‘match’ games don't. You have different weapons, items, and outfits w/perks to use and experiment with to keep it fresh. I went months without playing my Switch and when this was announced in August, I couldn’t wait! Sadly, I had to wait 3 months, but since then I have spent so much time on the Switch. It gave me a reason to play it again. The art style and humour is great. The variety of enemies and challenge is just right. I can’t recommend it enough. Seriously, check this game out!

Number 3: Doom Eternal (Xbox One)

I will be the first to tell you, I did not like Doom (2016). I found it extremely boring and trite. I understood what Doom(2016) was doing and it succeeded, maybe too much. Nostalgia is a helluva thing. So in saying that, I was mildly interested in Doom Eternal. Doom Eternal is nothing like 2016 outside of it being a Doom game that connects to the rest of them (& also being a sequel to 2016). The mechanics are drastically different with more platforming (for better or worse). Eternal is challenging, at times very hard, especially early on. Eternal has no respect for its players, in a weirdly good way. It laughs at how you’ve played FPS before this one and WILL MAKE you play it its way, not your way. Yes, you point and shoot, but ammo is scare and you MUST use everything in your arsenal. No more using just 2 guns for the whole game. The enemies are relentless. Sometimes you have to pause and take a breath after a battle because you go a 100 mph for the whole fight. You have to continuously move or you die. There is an enticing rhythm to it. I categorize Eternal as ‘Blood Ballet’. Its a game where when your feeling it, much like a rhythm game, you get in the zone and there is no stopping demons from getting slayed. Surprisingly, unlike most games in the genre, it seemed to get easier (sans one extremely frustrating platforming section late in the game) the longer you played it. Was that a testament that I ‘learned’ the Eternal way or it truly did get easier? I don’t know, but the final Boss(es) were....easy.. I had more problems and deaths within the first 4 hours than I did the final 8-9 hours. The multiplayer was also surprisingly fun. The older I get, the less interested I am in multiplayer, but I found myself coming back for more for a good month or so.

Number 2: Gears Tactics (Xbox One)

As 2020 comes to a close, I came to a stunning realization. I might be a bigger Gears of War fan than I had previously thought. Don’t get me wrong. I love Gears, but I seem to love Gears more than I thought. I'm way more invested into the lore than I recall. Anyways, Gears Tactics is everything XCOM 2 SHOULD’VE been. Not only does Gears Tactics utilize the Overwatch action, its makes it EXTREMELY important. The story revolves around the father of Kait Diaz, Gabe and a ragtag group of mostly random soldiers to take down Ukkon. Anyone who is remotely interested in the Gears universe will love the story and references. The gameplay is just so damn satisfying. The bosses are very challenging and different. I actually had to change my strategy to finish the final boss. I experimented with a totally different style of class and was rewarded for it. The post game stuff is also aplenty. This game scratched a VERY specific itch for me and I’m itchy to jump back in. I’m glad this came to Xbox One because I’m current computer could not run it.

Number 1: Ghost of Tsushima (PS4)

I have a very odd relationship with massive open world games. I love them, but I get very burnt out on them. They all have a relatively same-y formula and are often populated with bloat. GoT does have some of that but to its advantage, its not very populated, in a good way. One of the things that I really appreciated about GoT and its side quest is most of them felt meaningful. The thing that really stood out to me about GoT is the absolutely satisfying combat. It just feels SO GOOD. It requires timing and patience. There are different fighting styles for different enemies and even the armor you wear is more than just cosmetic. The combat is so fun and satisfying that I was immediately excited when they announced Legends, a multiplayer add on, for free. Its so much fun and is a blast to play with a group of friends. I’m sporadically still playing the Legends mode. I initially wanted to play the game in ‘Kurosawa’ mode but I am glad I didn’t because the game, even on the PS4 is stunning, and on the upgrade on PS5 is jaw-droppingly smooth. I did play the entire game in Japanese with English subtitles. I still don't know what Jin’s English voice sounds like. GoT does a good job a drip feeding you new abilities and things to keep things fresh. I love stealth and once I unlocked it, I spent the majority of every battle taking out as many enemies as I could while in stealth mode. Ghost of Tsushima does a lot of things very well, that the few things it doesn’t can be easily overlooked.

#videogames #control #grindstone #tlou #doom eternal #gears tactics #ghost of tsushima #ps4 #ps5 #xbox one #switch #nintendo switch #playstation4 #GOTY #spiderman #astro playroom

51 notes · View notes

diaryofabeautyfiend · 3 years

Text

Small Time Witch (28)

The TVA or Time Variance Authority is an organization who monitors time lines and the multi-verse. Since you created a minor disturbance, Mobius was sent to set the timeline back on track. Their methods were harsh yet effective ranging from working for them for several hundred years to erasing you completely using the Retroactive Cannon. Mobius was not here to bring you in. In fact, you have now screwed things up so badly that he was charging you to correct your mistakes.

“I would love a drink. Thank you Y/N. May I call you Y/N?”

“You can start by telling me who you are.”

“Of course.” He drained his glass and set it down. You poured him another. “Mobius M. Mobius. I’m here representing the TVA. We monitor the multi-verse. You have made a mess of things and we want you to fix it.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

He sighed heavily letting his head fall back onto the chair. “Yes, you do. Wife of Loki, witch from Earth here to save her husband from his certain doom. Am I leaving anything out?”

“Nope. Sounds about right. So are you here to arrest me?”

“Arrest you? Heavens no. We want to recruit you. Contract employee. 1099 you at the end of the month for tax purposes. Listen, we love that you’re going after Thanos. You’ll save so many lives except one. Tony Stark. He has to die.”

The floor fell out from under you. The whole purpose of this was to save your friends. You hadn’t even wanted the Avengers to be involved.

“I can’t do that.”

“Here’s the thing, you have to. He has already created civilization destroying weapons. He was supposed to be snapped. Thanos went rogue from the plan.”

“Wait! You sent Thanos?!”

“No. We merely offered him something to kill Stark. Instead, he thought it would be more poetic to let him suffer for five years. And to top it off, he had a child. She’ll continue with his work creating the worst weapon yet. If you take him out now, there will be no Ultron. Sakovia will be safe.”

“But no Vision.”

“Wanda is young. She’ll meet someone else. Good for her though, her brother will still be alive! Good news for everyone. If you succeed, as a thank you, we will restore your husband’s memory. If you refuse, I’ll erase you from existence.”

You couldn’t hurt your friends. You wanted to say no but Mobius M. Mobius was a smooth talker and knew just how to play to your weaknesses. “Tony Stark didn’t have a problem attempting to kill you when he thought you were a threat. Didn’t he poison you? Am I getting that right?”

Your face heated at the memory. You didn’t answer. You both knew he was right. But Tony was also given incomplete and downright false information. “How can I trust what you’re telling me?”

“Have I been wrong about anything else? You don’t have to trust me. In fact, you shouldn’t be so trusting. Thanos already knows what you’re doing. He has spies everywhere. Even on Vanaheim and Asgard. I wouldn’t trust the man who was under Thanos’ thumb just days ago. He’s already betrayed you once. The chamber maid?”

You were heated. Fact was he was right. Loki wasn’t healed from the affects of the stone yet he already knew your plan. Thanos could have still been listening.

“As a sign of good faith, Princess, I present to you the power stone. The Nova Corps is entrusting you with it. You will save Xandar from certain doom. Fun fact, you can expel any of the stones at any time. That should be helpful when you meet with the Ancient One. Be careful with this stone. It bites.”

You cast a protective bubble around you. When you crushed the stone in your palm the pieces crawled under your skin to your core. Once again the light spilled from you holding you in suspension for several minutes then dropping you. You let down the barrier to Mobius clapping. “Three down, three to go. Here’s your plane ticket to Russia. The Maximoff twins already had their brush with the mind stone. You won’t be robbing them of anything. Oh and remember to bring yourself a buddy on Vormir. I’ll be waiting for your call.”

He left a card in the credenza and vanished. You called down to the desk to have more scotch sent up and to extend your stay. You also called up to Heimdall to let him know you do not wish for the princes to disturb you for the next few days.

——————————————————————

Loki awoke the next morning excited to hear of your experience with the reality stone. When he arrived to breakfast you weren’t there. In fact, no one had seen you since you left the previous morning. He didn’t see Thor either. Maybe you had not yet returned.

When Thor came strolling in alone around dinner time Loki was concerned. “Brother, I trust everything went to plan on Midgard.”

“It did! I was able to spend the night with Jane. I should thank your wife for that. Will she be joining us for dinner?”

Now Loki was panicked. “She didn’t return with you?”

“No. She sent Jane and I off. I left her with Erik Selvig and Darcy. She healed him by the way.”

Loki looked away ashamed. His concern for you outweighed his embarrassment. “I haven’t seen her all day.”

“Perhaps she’s still angry over the chamber maid.”

Loki’s face blanched. How on earth did you know about that? “Nothing happened really. Just a flirtation. Who told her?”

“Brother the young lady answered your bedroom door when Y/N went to say goodbye. She is not an idiot. She was able to figure it out.”

Loki was mortified. Old habits truly died hard. You could not blame him. He had only known you to be his wife for a week. You couldn’t really expect him to give up everything. He felt like a fool. You were risking life and limb on his behalf, on behalf of his people and this is how he treats you. A cad and a scoundrel indeed.

He had to see you to apologize. He would throw himself at your feet and vow never again to stray. Beg for you to forgive him. Plead for mercy. And if none of that worked he would buy you something pretty. Though, if he knew anything at all, he would bring you snacks.

Thor called for Heimdall. Unless you cloaked yourself he would be able to find you.

“I know why you are here. The Princess has demanded that she not be disturbed, and I quote, ‘by those two fools’. You see you are the fools.”

Loki sighed in exasperation. “I believe I’ve cracked it. Thank you, Heimdall. Do you know where she is?”

“Yes, your grace.”

Loki closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, “And where is she?”

“London. At a hotel where she wishes for quiet before she flies to Russia to retrieve another stone.”

“Brother, we should be with her. She already absorbed two stones....”

Heimdall cleared his throat, “Three. She took in the power stone last night.” He stopped speaking for a moment and Loki realized he was listening to you. “Please, Princess. I do not wish to repeat...yes, ma’am. The Princess says, again I quote, ‘I’m stronger than both of you. Leave me alone or it’s over for you bitches when I get back. Also leave Heimdall alone.’ Please forgive, your highnesses.” He twisted the sword and sent Thor and Loki back to Vanaheim.

Loki was furious. Fuck groveling. Loki wanted to march right into your hotel room and demand you apologize. How entirely rude of you to just pop off without a single care for him. And over what? A smack on the bottom of a nameless servant? How actually dare you treat him this way? You won’t see him? He is a prince and your husband. You don’t have the right to refuse his company.

Thor, on the other hand, was terrified. Leave it to Loki to pick a fight with the most powerful witch in the known universe. He thought it best not to antagonize the pissed off witch possessing the power of three infinity stones. He came up with a possible solution. He proposed Valkyrie accompany you to Russia just in case something happened. You were powerful enough to level Midgard. Best have someone who can keep you in check.

At first Valkyrie refused. It wasn’t her job to babysit the princess. When Thor promised she could use Midgardian weapons she was in. Heimdall refused to send her at first. Loki promised you probably wouldn’t kill him. Very reluctantly he complied. Little did Loki know, Hilde was just the girl to make you all better.

——————————————————————

Hilde knocked politely so she would not scare you. You were operating on a hair trigger as of late. She really didn’t want to die. To her surprise, when you saw her in the hall, you began to giggle uncontrollably. “They sent you to bring me back? Idiots.”

“Actually, they asked that I accompany you to Russia. Just in case.”

“Fun! First drinks though.”

After several shots of tequila and one failed margarita attempt, the two of you were pretty sloshed. It had been a really long time since she had this much fun. Equally as long since she allowed anyone to call her Hilde. Only her sisters called her that. You made her laugh with your drunken college stories. When you told her about your emo college boyfriend having a chronic twitch she damn near peed herself.

After polishing off some snacks from room service the two of you collapsed into bed together still giggling. You finally worked up the courage to tell her about your affair.

“You know, in the future, you and I are really close. Like super close.”

“How so?”

“Well I know you have that heart shaped birthmark on your left thigh and when I kiss it it makes you stupid. I also know you like being called daddy in bed.”

She belly laughed at the notion that you two were together. “Does Loki know?!”

“Nope.” You both lost it.

“Norns! Can I be the one who tells him?!”

“Future you asked that I take a picture of his face when he finds out. I’m glad you’ll get to see it in person.”

“Oh hi Prince Loki! In the future I bed your wife.” she mocked.

“Hilde. Would it be weird if I asked you to spoon me? It’s been a while since I shared a bed with someone who actually wants to be around me.” Without hesitation she pulled you close to her body and nuzzled your hair.

The next morning you left for Russia. Normally a whole team would be required to infiltrate a Hydra base. You didn’t really need the back up. Hilde watched your six while you dismantled their security system. You could feel the stone pulling you in its direction. No alarms sounded so you got to the stone and slipped it in your pocket. You heard shuffling from some corner of the room and pulled Hilde closer to you. Wanda’s magic illuminated the darkened room.

“Give back the stone and your friend lives.” Pietro had Hilde by the throat. She had her hand on the hilt of her sword but you singled her to wait.

“Wanda, I know you don’t know me but, in the future, we are great friends. Closer to sisters. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m going to free you. I know a place where you can go.”

“That’s funny. You must not really know my sister.”

“I can prove it, Wanda. Please?”

She was behind you now. When she placed her hands on the side of your temples she showed you your worst fears. All of your friends and family were dead at your feet. Your hands glowed with power. Your skin spattered with their blood. The stones had overpowered you. Where they ended and you began was unclear. You felt yourself sinking but not for long. You regained control and maneuvered to grab her.

You held her with little effort and showed her your friendship. She still didn’t trust you completely but she relaxed some and told Pietro to let Hilde go.

“How did you break free of my magic?”

“Because I’ve practiced with you. Studied your magic. We did it together. I can help you. Please.”

“You can take us out of here?”

“Yes. To a safe place in New York. We don’t have much time. I can take you there right now. No planes. I can open up a portal and we’re all there. What do you say?”

“Pietro? What do you think?”

“Anywhere is better than here.”

“Good. Take my hand.”

You jumped to Charles Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. If there was ever a safe space, it was here. The Professor greeted you all.

“Hello, Y/N. But you are not our Y/N. This much I can tell.”

“Do I look old?”

He laughed, “Nonsense. You look powerful. Come in. All of you. We can have some tea and Wanda and Pietro can show me their talents.”

The twins felt immediately at ease there. Ororo showed them around and helped them get settled. You introduced Hilde to the faculty. She insisted on staying by your side when it was time to take in the next stone.

You went to the medical unit with Jean and the professor. They hooked you up to some electrodes and put you in a padded fire proof space. While you did your thing, they waited far behind a glass.

Just as before the pieces of the jewel cut through your body. Light spills from the open wounds and you fall to the floor writhing in pain. “Don’t let it control you, Y/N. You are stronger than the stone!” The Professor calls out to you. Finally you are calm. All of the monitors attached to you are flashing and ringing. Xavier and Jean come in to examine you. They are extremely concerned. You raise your hand to heal yourself but he stops you.

“Y/N, you understand that every time you take in a stone you are irradiating yourself with gamma rays? You are doing irreversible damage to yourself. There is a reason mortals cannot wield all six of the stones. You have taken in four. I’m not sure you can survive two more.”

“I can. I have to, Professor.”

“Or what, Y/N?” Jean asked.

“Or the time police guys are going to erase me and Tony Stark’s kid will make a weapon capable of destroying planets. Please. I have to finish my mission.”

The Professor and Jean order you to rest for a few days while they figure out how to treat you. You sent Hilde back to Vanaheim to let everyone know you were ok and being cared for. You stayed in the medical ward and the Professor put you into a medically induced coma. He monitored your brain activity to ensure you wouldn’t be a danger to anyone in your unconscious state.

You dreamt in vivid colors. What Wanda put in your head, you couldn’t shake. The stones were possessive of you. They fed off of you draining away all that you were. Eventually you would become the power. Everything seemed to be more alive. Even in suspended animation your muscles ached. They were growing and changing just as every other cell in your body mutated. On the outside you remain unchanged save for your hair color. You kept hearing Mobius’ voice reminding you that you could expel the stones at any time. The stones made you feel bound to them. You would be nothing without them. Wandering around your psyche you fought them for control.

When Hank brought you out of your coma you took a breath and your lungs burned. You coughed and sputtered grabbing at the air for anything to hold. To connect with something. Your vision was too blurry to see who was on the other side of the hand who held yours. Wanda’s soft voice filled your ears, “Open your eyes, Y/N. We’re here.” You nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw Hanks sharp toothed grin.

“There she is.” Hank said softly.

You pulled Wanda closer to you and embraced her. You were unsure if you could trust what you were seeing to be real. You fought a battle for control of your mind, your body, your energy, your perception. Four down and you didn’t know if you had the strength to take the last two.

Once everyone was satisfied with your recovery you asked for a meeting. You explained your journey and what Thanos planned to do. They would support you. For the next stone, you had to go back to Manhattan to meet with the Ancient One. You purposely saved the soul stone for last. You couldn’t comprehend whom you would even sacrifice. It had to be a sacrifice though. Someone you loved. Someone you cherished. You set it aside for now and headed to 177 A Bleeker.

#loki laufeyson #loki x reader #marvel #marvel witches #mcu x reader #loki angst

13 notes · View notes

thegeekerynj · 4 years

Text

All Death Metal Review (And nothing from Sweden!)

Death Metal: Trinity Crisis One Shot

Writer: Scott Snyder Artist: Francis Manapul

‘And who are YOU supposed to be? I’ve faced enough Dark Knights that no Batman scares me anymore!

Ha! Then it’s a good thing I’m not a Batman! I’m his MOTHER!’

———————————————————————————————————

Sweet Christmas! That took me by surprise!

Harley kissing Jonah Hex, that was really sweet, and gods awful creepy, and kinda gross, after the exchange, and some thought…

This is it, Gentle Readers… the Beginning of the End of the Beginning of… Oh, crap, now I’m lost… This is where the story starts rockin’!

The Gang’s all together, and the Black Lantern Bat has determined what they need to do.

The plan? Split up, naturally. That AL-ways works…

When we left them in DM #3, the Lanterns are protecting the Home Base, and taking out the Crisis Energy Antennae on the Earths left in the known Universes, The Flashes are off and running through the Speed Force, trying to find Metron, and stay ahead of the Bathattan who Laughs, while the Trinity (Superman / Antilife, Black Lantern Batman and Warden Wonder Woman) along with Swamp Thing, Harley, Hex and Jarro, head for Castle Bat, to gain access to the Crisis Earths, where the Crisis Energy is being harvested for Perpetua.

**WHEW!**

Getting into the Castle involves getting past an army of Dark Knights… and we have a bunch of real winners here!

Bat Monday - Salomon Grundy in Bat ears, I could have busted a gut laughing, until I thought about what kind of weapon a zombie with Batman’s training could be, and shivered…

Kull, the daughter of Batman and Wonder Woman, corrupted by the Dark Universe…

Ark, the living embodiment of Arkham, with all of the knowledge and abilities of ALL her worst inmates…

Chiroptor, the amalgam of Batman and Chemo (Great Elder Gods!!)…

And the Pearl, Martha Wayne, in the equivalent of HellBat Armor, complete with her iconic pearl necklace.

This is a real mindscrew for Batman, and the panels depict it, most intently.

One nice thing about Scott Snyder… he is consistent about tying up loose ends. Once we are in Castle Bat, we find out what happened to Barbatos, the Big Bad from Dark Nights: Metal. Not that we were actually wondering, since we got Perpetual, and the Batman Who Laughs, but, like I said, it ties up the package nicely.

Then, we are introduced to the character I have been most happily waiting for… the Robin King, and his Utility Belt of Death!

Gentle Readers, this is the story we have been waiting for, the chapter which tells us what the Heroes Plan of Action is, and where the story has been going, for over 40 years. You see, the opening page of this book tells us where this story began… with Marv Wolfman and George Perez, and Crisis on Infinite Earths!

Not to spoil too much, but Crisis, Infinite Crisis, and Final Crisis, ]well… they have all played a part in getting us to this story. It seems, the “Crisis Energy’ has fed Perpetua while she was trapped within the Source Wall, and, now, she wants it all, so she can recreate the Universes in her image.

Great job, if you can get it…

I can’t say enough good things about this story and artwork, as Snyder and Manapul have put together a really tight, hard hitting bottle / lead story, bringing us to the next step in the saga…

Jeebus on a popsicle stick, I hope no one lets me down… that will hurt!

Out of 5🌶 🌶🌶🌶🌶.5

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Death Metal: Multiverse’s End #1

Writer: James Tynion IV Artist: Juan Gedeon

‘Mr. Rabbit?

Yes, Young Lady?

Thank you for saving me.

What a kind thing to say! It was so scary out there, and you stayed so brave. I don’t think I could have done it without your courage.

You’re really, really soft.

I use a special carrot shampoo.

———————————————————————————————————

Once upon a time, about a million, bazillion years ago in cranky fat man years, somewhere around 1982, Roy Thomas and Scott Shaw! brought Earth-C into the DC Multiverse, the earth of anthropomorphic animals… yes, they brought Super-Hero Cartoon Animals to the Super Hero Universe.

Our introduction to this Earth was Rodney Rabbit, a comics writing and drawing hare, who created the Just’a Lotta Animals comic by day, and was Captain Carrot, a Superman-esque rabbit, who got his powers from super charged carrots, when danger struck.

But, I digress… because I got really excited!

So, we have teams on the 6 Earths, each Earth holding a tuning fork, focusing the psychic pain energy of the population to Perpetual, powering her attempts to recreate the Multiverse in her image. The Earths in play, Earth - 3 (Crime Syndicate), Earth - X (Nazi Earth), Earth - 29 (Bizarroworld), Earth - 43 (Blood League World) and Earth - 50 (Justice Lords Earth) are all worlds of pain and suffering.

Their energy is the right flavor for destroying, and creating.

The heroes, organized and led by the Green Lanterns of Sector 2814 (Hal Jordan, Guy Gardner, John Stewart, Kyle Rayner, Jessica Cruz, Simon Baz), are working to take down the Antennae before the energy can be fed to Perpetual to power her Cosmic Undoing.

So, teamed with the Lanterns, we have Hawkgirl, Kid Flash (Earth-22), President Superman (Earth-23), Wonder Woman (Earth-6) and Captain Carrot, all hellbent on stopping the respective Antennae.

The problem… Each Earth’s inhabitants have been laced into the antennae, to directly feed the psychic energy to it..since the energy is effectively terror, well, what better way to induce some? Of course, this isn’t the only problem to be contended with…

Leave it to James Tynion IV to come up with a way to make a villain creepier than the Batman Who Laughs… How, you ask? Well, take the true polar opposite of Batman, and make him realize HE IS what Giggles says he is, and you have an interesting new ballgame.

You see, while the Batman who Laughs is the Ultimate CORRUPTED Batman, Owlman is the Anthesis of Batman, the purest EVIL to the Batman’s GOOD. And he plans to make sure that he continues to be the True Opposite…

Gedeon’s artwork is rough, but considering the story being told, and the pain portrayed by the characters, it fits, perfectly. Some times, I see Joe Staton and Nic Cuti in these pages, a little cartoony, but that’s not a complaint… The story concentrates a bunch on Guy Gardner and Cap, so, it seems to fit (and the art is reminiscent of the ‘A Guy and his G’Nort’ storyline from 1991).

All in all, a very good story, and a fantastic use of a truly underused treasure.

Out of 5🌶 🌶🌶🌶🌶

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Speed Metal #1

Writer: Joshua Williamson Pencils: Eddy Barrow Inks: Eber Ferreira

‘Hey, Flash Family, Is it true a Flash has to die in every Crisis?!’

———————————————————————————————————

And the levels of snark from the Darkest Knight have reached Epic Levels!

The first three pages of this issue give us a rehash of everything having to do with Wally West, since the beginning of the Rebirth Era, from Barry pulling Wally out of the Speed Force, to Barry and Batman finding the Comedian’s Smiley Face button embedded in the Batcave wall, to the events of Heroes in Crisis and Flash Forward.

The action picks up as Barry, Wally, Wallace and Jay leave the Batman’s Vault, in search of Metron’s Chair, with the Darkest Knight hot on their trails.

In the Speed Force.

With the Darkest Knight’s presence corrupting the Speed Force, Barry and Wally bickering the entire time, I’m reminded of why I hated the post Crisis Flash… Wally wasn’t mature enough to wear the mantle of Barry’s fame.

Sure, he had the speed, he was even faster than Barry, but he was still the same jealous little kid inside, the one who needed to be patted on the head, the one who couldn’t get on with the Titans, even though he was probably the most powerful of them.

He was just an immature kid, and here, Williamson dragged that all into the foreground once again.

All so Wally West, the King of the Redemption Arc, could have another Redemption Arc…

Sorry, that did me in.

The rest of the story is pretty good… the art is wonderful, the Jay / Barry / Wallace interplay is really kinda neat, and all the Black Flashes… well, I’m a sucker for Death icons, so a mass of Death Speedsters, well that’s fun with a CAPITAL F!

But, did we need another Wally gets to whine story?

Sorry, this wasn’t the finest arc of the Death Metal Saga.

Out of 5🌶 🌶🌶🌶

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Death Metal #4 ‘Shot In The Dark’

Writer: Scott ‘Scream King’ Snyder Artist: Greg ‘The Muscle’ Capullo Inks: Jonathan ‘Bloodied’ Glapion

“So, ever wonder why you never see A Harley Who Laughs’?’

———————————————————————————————————

And, that Gentle Readers, is the crux of one of those puzzles about this series… Why don’t we ever see more twisted versions of the Villains who infest Earth Prime?

The Robin King (this is the character who rates SECOND on my memorable Characters list, especially with his own One-Shot—— Who’s First?? Time, Gentle Ones in time…) puts the explanation out there, and it is very simple.

And worth the read… But, I digress.

So, Issue 4 picks up with Sergeant Rock describing what has been happening on Earth - Prime, and we finally get to see who has been carrying him around… AMBUSH BUG! Yes, the character that made the Fourth Wall more transparent than an open Anderson window has been carrying Rock around as his own personal narrator…

Which, if you know the Bug, is a joke unto itself.

So, here we go, the ride is picking up steam, and we are now following 6, count’em SIX, separate story lines. A guy could get whiplash, or Bullwhip or some other third rate character… But, I digress.

We have the Trinity storyline, the SpeedMetal storyline, Multiverse’s End, and the Lantern Storyline from the last issue, the Justice League / Legion of Doom story… am I forgetting anything?

Oh, and of course, the Robin King.

Where to start with this… I guess the simplest place to start is the artwork.

Greg Capullo’s pencils are absolutely wonderful. For anybody who it's to watch the process of drawing I want to watch so he's got a really wonderful touch I recommend Greg Capullo’s Instagram site. As he's drawing pages for these books, he posts the pencils as he finishes pieces of the process . Normally, he has six or seven photo panels showing exactly what he's been doing. In man cases, this involves crowd scenes, with extensive detail. His work is beautiful, it’s easy to see why he is such a sought after talent.

Jonathan Glapion’s inks on Capullo’s pencils are comparable to Austin on Byrne, and Janson over Miller, Janson over Colan… Enhancing, and not hiding the intricate detail rendered in the pencils, adding that last flash of lightning to bring it all together. The balance struck between them is almost organic, a constant growth between the two, bringing them to levels bordering on the true Classic Art teams of the last 50 years.

I do not make these comparisons lightly

Now, to the story. Scott Snyder is powering a roller coaster with a rocket sled. The coordination between the different aspects of these stories is both intricate and daring. With all the different aspects of this story spinning like plates on sticks, Snyder juggles the plot lines, and what is left to him by the myriad of writers as Emmet Kelly did in the heyday of Ringling Brothers.

His deft touch, and subtle influences are balanced by lace covered sledgehammer blows, leaving the reader reeling, and wanting so very much more.

Scott Snyder, much like Tom Taylor, has pulled out all the stops, cut the brake lines, kicked out the jams, insert favorite euphemism for creating a high speed, non-stop mad ride to Hell!

And, much to my wallet’s chagrin, I am very happy about it.

Now, as it crosses to other books, and other writers pick up the reins, I am sure Snyder will still be the whip hand driving the story, not allowing some of these writers to go too far astray (unless it’s Tom King… then, well Woo Hoooo!)

I can’t say enough good things about this story, or the team creating it. I’m beginning t feel a little biased, but, what the heck.

Out of 5🌶 🌶🌶🌶🌶.5

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Death Metal: Robin King #1 ‘The Robin Who Would Be King’

Writer: Peter J. Tomasi Artist: Riley Rossmo

‘Aw! Come on, this is the fun part!

Get up and let’s FIGHT!’

———————————————————————————————————

Games, within games, within games…

So, the Batman who Laughs wasn’t infallible.

And the Robin King is going to be the bigger threat to the Darkest Knight than any combination of the Trinity, Flashes or their cohorts.

At least, that’s my takeaway from this issue.

We continue the story of the Robin King, as started in the Tales of the Dark Universe one shot. Bruce has grown up, and grown into his sociopathy, and genius. He has used the family fortune to get all the training necessary, and to accumulate all the tools, to begin his reign as the true Evil Overlord of Gotham.

Utilizing his accumulated weapons, he has taken out Commissioner Gordon, Firestorm, Animal Man, Adam Strange Blue Beetle (Ted Kord), and the Red Tornado, all in truly spectacular and extraordinarily grisly fashion.

While the Black Hole Implosion for Firestorm was a particularly well thought out death, I think, so far, the ‘Mortal Coil’ Death, for the Red Tornado was the most imaginative… making his powers totally uncontrollable, while moving him closer to his ultimate dream, to be a real person, before his form totally destroys itself from the stresses of his own speed.

Marvelous! Fantastic! Gross!

Enter the Batman who Laughs, with the proposition to make the Robin King special, one of his own…

But, he’s a Robin, so, off to the Groblin Pit he goes!

Hence, his mistake, and possibly another chink in the boiler plate of his plans… since Bruce Wayne is NO Robin!

Peter Tomasi’s scripting for this issue is simply remarkable. The creep factor he brings to this iteration of Bruce Wayne is almost eviscerating. Reading this was painful to my eyes and psyche, feeling the levels of insanity drip off the page, and scratch across my mind like a little bird’s unnaturally sharp talons.

He really hit all the horror factors.

Then, there was the artwork for this story. Riley Rossmo’s artwork set the mood for this story. His shattered pencil / inks style, which can be distracting, was integral to telling this story. It allowed the Reader to view this story as if it were playing out in Bruce’s mind, its all the fracturing being how he is viewing the world.

For me, this story has been the highlight of the series… thus far. I am anticipating this, which is near the midpoint of things, is setting up the Wednesday Night Episode…so, -

Tune In, Gentle Readers!

Same Bat-Time

Same Bat Channel!

The Best Is Yet To Come!

Did I neglect there is a B-story, with Signal, Spoiler, Orphan and Red Robin taking on Quietus, the amalgam of Batman Ras’ al Ghul and Duke Thimas, from another Dark Universe, written by Tony Patrick and drawn by Daniel Sampere?

This story brings in a plot line for ‘What’s happening for the Other Bat-Family Elements’, as they try to find their way through Castle Bat’s myriad streets…

I am guessing we will start to see more of these stories.

I am completely fine with this, rather than having to recap things later…

Out of 5🌶 🌶🌶🌶🌶.5

#dark nights: death metal #DC comics #Batman Who Laughs #Scott Snyder #Greg Capullo

22 notes · View notes

aboveallarescuer · 4 years

Text

Dany telling herself hopeful stories

As I was rereading ASOIAF, I made it my goal to compile all* the book passages demonstrating either certain key attributes of Daenerys Targaryen (e.g. that she's compassionate and empathetic) or aspects of hers that are usually overblown (e.g. that she's violent and ambitious). Doing such a task may seem exaggerated, but I'd argue it's not, for many, many misconceptions about Dany have become widespread in light of the show's final season's events (and even before).

It must be acknowledged that it can be tricky to reference, say, ADWD passages to counter-argument how she was depicted in season eight (which allegedly follows ADOS events). Dany will have had plenty of character development in the span of two books. However, whatever happens to Dany in the next two books, I would argue that there is more than enough material to conclude that her show counterpart was made to fall for flaws that she (for the most part) never had and actions that she (for the most part) would never take.

Another objection to the purpose of these lists is that Game of Thrones is different from A Song of Ice and Fire and should be analyzed on its own, which is a fair point. However, the show is also an adaptation of these books, which begs the questions: why did they change Dany's character? Why did they overfocus on negative traits of hers or depicted them as negative when they weren't supposed to be or gave her negative traits that were never hers to begin with? Another fact that undermines the show=/=books argument is that most people think that the show's ending will be the books', albeit only in broad strokes and in different circumstances. As a result, people's perception of Dany is inevitably influenced by the show, which is a shame.

I hope these lists can be useful for whoever wants to find book passages to defend Dany's character in analysis or even conversations.

*Well, at least all the passages that I could find.

Also, people may interpret certain passages differently and then come up with a different collection of passages, so I'm not arguing that this list is completely objective (nor that there could ever be one).

Also, some passages have been cut short according to whether they were, IMO, relevant to the specific topic of the list they're in, so the context surrounding them may not always be clear (always read the books!). Many of them appear in different lists, sometimes fully cited, sometimes not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm not including quotes that misrepresent Dany here because I couldn't find them on a quick glance and, frankly, I didn't want to find them. But we know that some people like to paint Dany in an overly negative light for taking pride at her ancestors (never mind the numerous double standards) or for not being completely aware of their history. And we know that she should be defended from these accusations. I interpret Dany as someone who, sometimes, needs to tell herself hopeful stories to keep going, especially for having had no family but an abusive brother. Her bias in regarding her relatives and Westeros in an idealized light and her enemies in an overly negative one is part of that pattern (which is contextualized by the universe she lives in, in which familial bonds are the most important ones). And so, I'm listing passages in which we see that pattern come up.

A Dance with Dragons

ADWD Daenerys X

She might have wished for colder, clearer water ... but no, if she were going to pin her hopes on wishes, she would wish for rescue.

She still clung to the hope that someone would come after her. Ser Barristan might come seeking her; he was the first of her Queensguard, sworn to defend her life with his own. And her bloodriders were no strangers to the Dothraki sea, and their lives were bound to her own. Her husband, the noble Hizdahr zo Loraq, might dispatch searchers. And Daario ... Dany pictured him riding toward her through the tall grass, smiling, his golden tooth gleaming with the last light of the setting sun.

Only Daario had been given to the Yunkai’i, a hostage to ensure no harm came to the Yunkish captains. Daario and Hero, Jhogo and Groleo, and three of Hizdahr’s kin. By now, surely, all of her hostages would have been released.

It makes no matter. By now the Yunkai’i will be marching home. That was why she had done all that she had done. For peace.

But none of those things had happened. Bells, Dany thought again. Her bloodriders had found her. “Aggo,” she whispered. “Jhogo. Rakharo.” Might Daario have come with them?

ADWD Daenerys IX

The boar was a huge beast, with tusks as long as a man’s forearm and small eyes that swam with rage. She wondered whether the boar that had killed Robert Baratheon had looked as fierce. A terrible creature and a terrible death. For a heartbeat she felt almost sorry for the Usurper.

ADWD Daenerys VII

“And my father? Was there some woman he loved better than his queen?”

Ser Barristan shifted in the saddle. “Not … not loved. Mayhaps wanted is a better word, but … it was only kitchen gossip, the whispers of washerwomen and stableboys …”

“I want to know. I never knew my father. I want to know everything about him. The good and … the rest.”

“As you command.”

How beautiful, the queen tried to tell herself, but inside her was some foolish little girl who could not help but look about for Daario. If he loved you, he would come and carry you off at swordpoint, as Rhaegar carried off his northern girl, the girl in her insisted, but the queen knew that was folly.

ADWD Daenerys V

The day might come soon when she would have need of every knight. “Will they joust for me? I should like that.” Viserys had told her stories of the tourneys he had witnessed in the Seven Kingdoms, but Dany had never seen a joust herself.

“They are not ready, Your Grace. When they are, they will be pleased to demonstrate their prowess.”

ADWD Daenerys IV

“One day I will want to return to Westeros, to claim the Seven Kingdoms that were my father’s.”

“One day all men must die, but it serves no good to dwell on death. I prefer to take each day as it comes.”

Dany folded her hands together. “Words are wind, even words like love and peace. I put more trust in deeds. In my Seven Kingdoms, knights go on quests to prove themselves worthy of the maiden that they love. They seek for magic swords, for chests of gold, for crowns stolen from a dragon’s hoard.”

“Ninety days and ninety nights without a corpse, and on the ninety-first we wed?”

“Perhaps,” said Dany, with a coy look. “Though young girls have been known to be fickle. I may still want a magic sword.”

“I saw your father and your mother wed as well. Forgive me, but there was no fondness there, and the realm paid dearly for that, my queen.”

“Why did they wed if they did not love each other?”

“Your grandsire commanded it. A woods witch had told him that the prince was promised would be born of their line.”

[...] “What became of her?”

“Summerhall.” The word was fraught with doom.

Dany sighed. “Leave me now. I am very weary.”

“Most queens have no purpose but to warm some king’s bed and pop out sons for him. If that’s the sort of queen you mean to be, best marry Hizdahr.”

Her anger flashed. “Have you forgotten who I am?”

“No. Have you?”

Viserys would have his head off for that insolence. “I am the blood of the dragon. Do not presume to teach me lessons.” When Dany stood, the lion pelt slipped from her shoulders and tumbled to the ground. “Leave me.”

ADWD Daenerys II

Dany shut her eyes and tried to think of home, of Dragonstone and King's Landing and all the other places that Viserys had told her of, in a kinder land than this ...

“Tell me a tale, ser,” Dany said as they climbed. “Some tale of valor with a happy ending.” She felt in need of happy endings. “Tell me how you escaped from the Usurper.”

“Your Grace. There is no valor in running for your life.”

Dany seated herself on a cushion, crossed her legs, and gazed up at him. “Please. It was the Young Usurper who dismissed you from the Kingsguard …”

“[...] I was gathering my things when it came to me that I had brought this on myself by taking Robert’s pardon. He was a good knight but a bad king, for he had no right to the throne he sat. That was when I knew that to redeem myself I must find the true king, and serve him loyally with all the strength that still remained me.”

“My brother Viserys.”

“Stark was a traitor who met a traitor’s end.”

“Your Grace,” said Selmy, “Eddard Stark played a part in your father’s fall, but he bore you no ill will. When the eunuch Varys told us that you were with child, Robert wanted you killed, but Lord Stark spoke against it. Rather than countenance the murder of children, he told Robert to find himself another Hand.”

“Have you forgotten Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon?”

“Never. That was Lannister work, Your Grace.”

“Lannister or Stark, what difference? Viserys used to call them the Usurper’s dogs. If a child is set upon by a pack of hounds, does it matter which one tears out his throat? All the dogs are just as guilty. The guilt …” The word caught in her throat.

A Storm of Swords

ASOS Daenerys VI

“Your father is called ‘the Mad King’ in Westeros. Has no one ever told you?”

“Viserys did.” The Mad King. “The Usurper called him that, the Usurper and his dogs.” The Mad King. “It was a lie.”

“Why ask for truth,” Ser Barristan said softly, “if you close your ears to it?” He hesitated, then continued.

[...] The truth is, I wanted to watch you for a time before pledging you my sword. To make certain that you were not ...”

“... my father’s daughter?” If she was not her father’s daughter, who was she?

“... mad,” he finished. “But I see no taint in you.”

“Taint?” Dany bristled.

“Was my father truly mad?” she blurted out. Why do I ask that? “Viserys said this talk of madness was a ploy of the Usurper’s ...”

“Viserys was a child, and the queen sheltered him as much as she could. Your father always had a little madness in him, I now believe. Yet he was charming and generous as well, so his lapses were forgiven. His reign began with such promise ... but as the years passed, the lapses grew more frequent, until ...”

Dany stopped him. “Do I want to hear this now?”

Ser Barristan considered a moment. “Perhaps not. Not now.”

“Not now,” she agreed. “One day. One day you must tell me all. The good and the bad. There is some good to be said of my father, surely?”

“There is, Your Grace. Of him, and those who came before him. Your grandfather Jaehaerys and his brother, their father Aegon, your mother ... and Rhaegar. Him most of all.”

“I wish I could have known him.” Her voice was wistful.

“I wish he could have known you,” the old knight said. “When you are ready, I will tell you all.”

ASOS Daenerys V

“...Your war is in Westeros.”

“I have not forgotten Westeros.” Dany dreamt of it some nights, this fabled land that she had never seen. “If I let Meereen’s old brick walls defeat me so easily, though, how will I ever take the great stone castles of Westeros?”

“Why are you here?” Dany demanded of him. “If Robert sent you to kill me, why did you save my life?” He served the Usurper. He betrayed Rhaegar’s memory, and abandoned Viserys to live and die in exile. Yet if he wanted me dead, he need only have stood aside ...

“...And since the day you wed Khal Drogo, there has been an informer by your side selling your secrets, trading whispers to the Spider for gold and promises.”

He cannot mean ... “You are mistaken.” Dany looked at Jorah Mormont. “Tell him he’s mistaken. There’s no informer. Ser Jorah, tell him. We crossed the Dothraki sea together, and the red waste ...” Her heart fluttered like a bird in a trap. “Tell him, Jorah. Tell him how he got it wrong.”

“The Others take you, Selmy.” Ser Jorah flung his longsword to the carpet. “Khaleesi, it was only at the start, before I came to know you ... before I came to love ...”

“Do not say that word!” She backed away from him. “How could you? What did the Usurper promise you? Gold, was it gold?” The Undying had said she would be betrayed twice more, once for gold and once for love. “Tell me what you were promised?”

“Varys said ... I might go home.” He bowed his head.

I was going to take you home!

ASOS Daenerys IV

“Tell me more of my brother Rhaegar, if you would. I liked the tale you told me on the ship, of how he decided that he must be a warrior.”

“...He never loved the song of swords the way that Robert did, or Jaime Lannister. It was something he had to do, a task the world had set him. He did it well, for he did everything well. That was his nature. But he took no joy in it. Men said that he loved his harp much better than his lance.”

“He won some tourneys, surely,” said Dany, disappointed.

Dany did not want to hear about Rhaegar being unhorsed. “But what tourneys did my brother win?”

“But that was the tourney when he crowned Lyanna Stark as queen of love and beauty!” said Dany. “Princess Elia was there, his wife, and yet my brother gave the crown to the Stark girl, and later stole her away from her betrothed. How could he do that? Did the Dornish woman treat him so ill?”

“But I am not certain it was in Rhaegar to be happy.”

“You make him sound so sour,” Dany protested.

ASOS Daenerys II

“Yet I must have some army,” Dany said. “The boy Joffrey will not give me the Iron Throne for asking politely.”

“When the day comes that you raise your banners, half of Westeros will be with you,” Whitebeard promised. “Your brother Rhaegar is still remembered, with great love.”

“And my father?” Dany said.

The old man hesitated before saying, “King Aerys is also remembered. He gave the realm many years of peace.[”]

“Viserys would have bought as many Unsullied as he had the coin for. But you once said I was like Rhaegar ...”

“I remember, Daenerys.”

“Your Grace,” she corrected. “Prince Rhaegar led free men into battle, not slaves. Whitebeard said he dubbed his squires himself, and made many other knights as well.”

“There was no higher honor than to receive your knighthood from the Prince of Dragonstone.”

“Tell me, then—when he touched a man on the shoulder with his sword, what did he say? ‘Go forth and kill the weak’? Or ‘Go forth and defend them’? At the Trident, those brave men Viserys spoke of who died beneath our dragon banners—did they give their lives because they believed in Rhaegar’s cause, or because they had been bought and paid for?” Dany turned to Mormont, crossed her arms, and waited for an answer.

“My queen,” the big man said slowly, “all you say is true. But Rhaegar lost on the Trident. He lost the battle, he lost the war, he lost the kingdom, and he lost his life. His blood swirled downriver with the rubies from his breastplate, and Robert the Usurper rode over his corpse to steal the Iron Throne. Rhaegar fought valiantly, Rhaegar fought nobly, Rhaegar fought honorably. And Rhaegar died.”

ASOS Daenerys I

“Did you ever meet my royal father?” King Aerys II had died before his daughter was born.

“I had that great honor, Your Grace.” “Did you find him good and gentle?”

Whitebeard did his best to hide his feelings, but they were there, plain on his face. “His Grace was ... often pleasant.”

“Often?” Dany smiled. “But not always?” 

“He could be very harsh to those he thought his enemies.” 

“A wise man never makes an enemy of a king,” said Dany.

“Along with a thousand others at some harvest feast. Next you’ll claim you squired for him.”

“I make no such claim, ser. Myles Mooton was Prince Rhaegar’s squire, and Richard Lonmouth after him. When they won their spurs, he knighted them himself, and they remained his close companions. Young Lord Connington was dear to the prince as well, but his oldest friend was Arthur Dayne.”

“The Sword of the Morning!” said Dany, delighted. “Viserys used to talk about his wondrous white blade. He said Ser Arthur was the only knight in the realm who was our brother’s peer.”

Whitebeard bowed his head. “It is not my place to question the words of Prince Viserys.”

“King,” Dany corrected. “He was a king, though he never reigned. Viserys, the Third of His Name. But what do you mean?” His answer had not been one that she’d expected. “Ser Jorah named Rhaegar the last dragon once. He had to have been a peerless warrior to be called that, surely?”

Dany turned back to the squire. “I know little of Rhaegar. Only the tales Viserys told, and he was a little boy when our brother died. What was he truly like?”

The old man considered a moment. “Able. That above all. Determined, deliberate, dutiful, single-minded. There is a tale told of him ... but doubtless Ser Jorah knows it as well.”

“I would hear it from you.”

“As you wish,” said Whitebeard. “[...] Until one day Prince Rhaegar found something in his scrolls that changed him. No one knows what it might have been, only that the boy suddenly appeared early one morning in the yard as the knights were donning their steel. He walked up to Ser Willem Darry, the master-at-arms, and said, ‘I will require sword and armor. It seems I must be a warrior.’”

“And he was!” said Dany, delighted.

I am still half a world from Westeros, Dany reminded herself, but every hour brings me closer. She tried to imagine what it would feel like, when she first caught sight of the land she was born to rule. It will be as fair a shore as I have ever seen, I know it. How could it be otherwise?

A Clash of Kings

ACOK Daenerys III

“The Arbor makes the best wine in the world,” Dany declared. Lord Redwyne had fought for her father against the Usurper, she remembered, one of the few to remain true to the last. Will he fight for me as well? There was no way to be certain after so many years.

“If you go west, you risk your life.”

“House Targaryen has friends in the Free Cities,” she reminded him. “Truer friends than Xaro or the Pureborn.”

“Illyrio believes in no cause but Illyrio. Gluttons are greedy men as a rule, and magisters are devious. Illyrio Mopatis is both. What do you truly know of him?”

“I know that he gave me my dragon eggs.”

He snorted. “If he’d known they were like to hatch, he would have sat on them himself.”

That made her smile despite herself. “Oh, I have no doubt of that, ser. I know Illyrio better than you think. I was a child when I left his manse in Pentos to wed my sun-and-stars, but I was neither deaf nor blind. And I am no child now.”

“Sellswords have their uses,” Ser Jorah admitted, “but you will not win your father’s throne with sweepings from the Free Cities. Nothing knits a broken realm together so quick as an invading army on its soil.”

“I am their rightful queen,” Dany protested.

“You are a stranger who means to land on their shores with an army of outlanders who cannot even speak the Common Tongue. The lords of Westeros do not know you, and have every reason to fear and mistrust you. You must win them over before you sail. A few at least.”

ACOK Daenerys II

It felt good to close her eyes and float, knowing she could rest as long as she liked. She wondered whether Aegon’s Red Keep had a pool like this, and fragrant gardens full of lavender and mint. It must, surely. Viserys always said the Seven Kingdoms were more beautiful than any other place in the world.

[...] Viserys had believed that the realm would rise for its rightful king ... but Viserys had been a fool, and fools believe in foolish things.

The Usurper will kill you, sure as sunrise, Mormont had said. Robert had slain her gallant brother Rhaegar, and one of his creatures had crossed the Dothraki sea to poison her and her unborn son. They said Robert Baratheon was strong as a bull and fearless in battle, a man who loved nothing better than war. And with him stood the great lords her brother had named the Usurper’s dogs, cold-eyed Eddard Stark with his frozen heart, and the golden Lannisters, father and son, so rich, so powerful, so treacherous.

“A gift of news. Dragonmother, Stormborn, I tell you true, Robert Baratheon is dead.”

Outside her walls, dusk was settling over Qarth, but a sun had risen in Dany’s heart. “Dead?” she repeated. In her lap, black Drogon hissed, and pale smoke rose before her face like a veil. “You are certain? The Usurper is dead?”

“So it is said in Oldtown, and Dorne, and Lys, and all the other ports where we have called.”

He sent me poisoned wine, yet I live and he is gone. “What was the manner of his death?” On her shoulder, pale Viserion flapped wings the color of cream, stirring the air.

“Torn by a monstrous boar whilst hunting in his kingswood, or so I heard in Oldtown. Others say his queen betrayed him, or his brother, or Lord Stark who was his Hand. Yet all the tales agree in this: King Robert is dead and in his grave.”

Dany had never looked upon the Usurper’s face, yet seldom a day had passed when she had not thought of him. His great shadow had lain across her since the hour of her birth, when she came forth amidst blood and storm into a world where she no longer had a place. And now this ebony stranger had lifted that shadow.

“The boy sits the Iron Throne now,” Ser Jorah said.

“King Joffrey reigns,” Quhuru Mo agreed, “but the Lannisters rule. Robert’s brothers have fled King’s Landing. The talk is, they mean to claim the crown. And the Hand has fallen, Lord Stark who was King Robert’s friend. He has been seized for treason.”

“Ned Stark a traitor?” Ser Jorah snorted. “Not bloody likely. The Long Summer will come again before that one would besmirch his precious honor.”

“What honor could he have?” Dany said. “He was a traitor to his true king, as were these Lannisters.” It pleased her to hear that the Usurper’s dogs were fighting amongst themselves, though she was unsurprised.

A Game of Thrones

AGOT Daenerys IX

She told herself that there were powers stronger than hatred, and spells older and truer than any the maegi had learned in Asshai. The night was black and moonless, but overhead a million stars burned bright. She took that for an omen.

AGOT Daenerys VIII

She was the blood of the dragon, she would not be afraid. Her brother Rhaegar had died for the woman he loved.

AGOT Daenerys VII

Slaves, Dany thought. Khal Drogo would drive them downriver to one of the towns on Slaver’s Bay. She wanted to cry, but she told herself that she must be strong. This is war, this is what it looks like, this is the price of the Iron Throne.

AGOT Daenerys IV

And sometimes she found herself wishing her father had been protected by such men. In the songs, the white knights of the Kingsguard were ever noble, valiant, and true, and yet King Aerys had been murdered by one of them, the handsome boy they now called the Kingslayer, and a second, Ser Barristan the Bold, had gone over to the Usurper. She wondered if all men were as false in the Seven Kingdoms. When her son sat the Iron Throne, she would see that he had bloodriders of his own to protect him against treachery in his Kingsguard.

#daenerys targaryen #dany passages #a dance with dragons #a storm of swords #valyrianscrolls #a game of thrones #a clash of kings

108 notes · View notes

sonickedtrowel · 3 years

Note

1, 2, 4, 10, 20!!

Tell us about your current project(s) – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it?

Oh boy so I’m sure I must have mentioned it at some point but I won’t turn down a chance to ramble about it again: me and @regalpotato are working on a Day of the Doctor rewrite and I’m pretty psyched about it! Basically, Eight is there rather than War (although War does make an appearance!) and also River is there, because Duh, and there are other Things going on that are different from the episode/novel, but that’s spoilers and also still partially cooking in my brain, lol. It’s at 11k-ish right now but still pretty early in the story, too early to probably say what I will love most. But I’m having a ton of fun with it, especially the dialogue, and currently torturing Ten in every way I can think of. You know, lovingly torturing. For the most part.

That is the really big thing I’m excited about, but I do still have two prompts left from a couple weeks back (I didn’t forget you, anons!) and those are milling around in my head too waiting for inspiration to strike. 2. Tell us about what you’re most looking forward to writing – in your current project, or a future project

No secret that I love writing multi-Doctor / River stories, and in fact having somewhat recently finished an 8 and 11 / River fic I will have to be on my toes to not repeat myself too much haha. But I just love getting everyone together and letting them yell at each other for a while - the best honestly - and then later we get Revealing Conversations about Feelings, as well as POV changing chapters. Not to overhype it but! I think it’s gonna be fun! Putting the rest under a cut because I am long-winded lol.

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

Hmmm I’ll pick something I like from the WIP that’s all my writing - this is from Night of the Doctor with Eight and Ohila, but it’s diverged from the original script here and iirc pretty much all new dialogue for Eight. I don’t normally write this sort of Doctor speech because I’m usually doing romance, but I can hear Paul McGann righteously shouting/soliloquizing in my head so I’m pretty happy with it: *** “What would you have me do?” the Doctor hissed. “What does your broken prophecy foretell? That I become one more loyal soldier in Gallifrey’s glorious army? I can join this fight and take a thousand lives, die a thousand deaths, and this war will still go on. The universe doesn’t need another soldier!” “Not a soldier,” said the Sister, “a warrior, with the power you’ve refused to wield. You could have destroyed the Daleks before they were even created.” “Yes, I could have done. And I didn’t, because I have no right! Whatever it is you think you can turn me into, Sister, you’ll continue to be disappointed. Because there’s one person who is always needed in a war: a good doctor, willing to help whomever they can. No matter if they’re despised, or called traitor— no matter who they lose or how many times they fail! There will always be more lives to save, and I’ll be there, helping, wherever I can. I only hope I’m strong enough to carry on doing it half as well as another doctor I knew.” ***

(Yes of course we have Liv Chenka references!) 10. How would you describe your writing process? It takes me forever to get ideas, but once I have a sort of general amorphous direction for the story and an emotional starting point for the characters, I just jump in. And then I keep getting shower thoughts about more and more stuff happening and what was supposed to just be some fun fluff starts growing a plot and getting wildly out of hand and this is just my life. I am very much not in control. 20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?) Ohhhh this is such a good question! Definitely going with There is a love I reminisce because there’s a lot going on under the surface in that fic and not all of it stated super explicitly. So um, huge spoilers below if you haven’t read it!

Manhattan and Trenzalore (both times) are essentially retconned, through a combination of River’s innate abilities and Eleven going around the timeline trying to do better after being confronted with his shortcomings in TNOTD. How the Doctor survived Utah is explained and it’s not because he was in a stupid robot. It spawns an implied post-Library reunion with River, Eleven and the Doctor’s oft-referenced and never quantified or named children from Gallifrey. It implies a different resolution to the Hybrid thing and an alternate series 10. And of course it uses BF’s far-superior Ravenous 4 plot twist to preemptively annihilate the timeless children crap, and a combination of Ravenous 4 and Doom Coalition 4 to make River basically a time goddess. But maybe my favorite thing was giving life to this headcanon of mine. IT CANNOT BE REFUTED! They’ve never said ANYTHING specific about his family so it’s free real estate baby!

*** “Yes, sorry to harp on about this, honey, but I think we can discuss the regeneration semantics later,” River cut in. “You’re saying I came back from your future to your distant past and just… stayed?”

“Well… yes, I think so. There were certain things we couldn’t discuss. I had always just assumed that I’d reached the end of my last regeneration and you weren’t too pleased with that, so… You know, describing it now, it does seem very irresponsible. But I don’t recall having any complaints.”

“No, I shouldn’t think you would.” River smiled, but her mind was racing. “How would that even work? Eventually, we’d come back round to when we first met on your end, and what, I wipe myself out of your memories? Selectively, for your entire lifetime? I think you might notice a little thing like that.”

“I suppose you must have had a plan for it, but I can’t remember it now. I just remember the two of us, together through the centuries.” He smiled fondly and River felt like the ache in her chest would strangle her. “I remember our family.”

“Our what?” she cried, as the older Doctor had a sudden choking fit.

“Our family. Our children and…” Dread slowly dawned on the young Doctor’s sweet face. “Oh, please, no,” he whispered. “Don’t tell me they’re… No, this happened! It happened in both versions of my memories!” He looked to his older self, panic-stricken. “Tell me you remember!”

“You had a family,” River soothed, as Babyface stumbled over his own tongue. “It just wasn’t with me.”

“What?” he laughed incredulously. “Who else would it be?”

“Your first wife, sweetie. I’m your second. Well, the second one that counts.”

“No, that’s— I’m sorry, that’s nonsense.” He turned to the older Doctor again. “You can’t tell her, is that it? Because she hasn’t done it yet? I’m sorry, River, maybe I shouldn’t have—”

“No!” Babyface shouted, finally collecting himself. “Yes, we— I had a family, on Gallifrey, before I ever left. River wasn’t there, obviously, because that’s not how anything works!”

“Who, then?” the young Doctor demanded. “Who was your first wife?”

“I— I— she was—” He opened and closed his mouth silently, looking increasingly horrified.

“You don’t like to talk about it,” River explained. “She passed away.”

“Yes, but just between me and myself,” the young Doctor pressed on with an utter absence of tact that made it easier than ever to see this was the same man before her, “who was she? And your children, what were their names?”

River hesitated, watching as the older Doctor wrestled with himself. These were details not even she had ever asked him for. She knew the general outline, of course, and that was enough. It was a hurt so deep and so impossibly ancient, she couldn’t truly imagine how distant it must be for him now. No sense in forcing him to open that door and dwell on it again.

“I, I don’t,” he finally muttered, looking almost fearful, “I don’t talk about it. I don’t think about it.”

“You’ve forgotten them,” the young Doctor said, voice low and furious. “How could you?”

“S-Susan,” Babyface stammered, wide-eyed. “I left Gallifrey with Susan.”

A relieved smile flashed across the young Doctor’s face. “And where did you suppose she came from?”

“No, she… I don’t…” Chair legs scraped abruptly across the tile as the older Doctor bolted up from his seat, white-faced, and stumbled back from the table.

“Doctor?” River stood, her hearts racing.

His eyes met hers for a split second, the strange terror in them sending a chill through her, and then he was gone like a shot.

“Doctor!” She made to chase after him, but his younger version was still clasping her hand.

“He’ll be fine,” he reassured her. “He’s just working it out.”

“Working it out?” she repeated, too stunned to reach out and grasp for the obvious. She turned to him in a daze. He smiled, and for a fleeting moment she fancied she could see the long contentment of a life she’d never dared dream of, etched in each little line on his older, younger face.

“I told you, River.” He laid his other hand over hers, warm and steady. “It was always you.” ***

#thank you so much for these they were great questions!!#i need to like shut up though these are such long answers lollllll #amillionmillionvoices

4 notes · View notes

dandivinity · 4 years

Text

Madokannon: Religious Symbolism in Madoka Magica

If there’s one word I’d use to describe the show, Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magica, it would be deceptive. If you’re wondering how a cute Sailor Moon rip-off with even brighter colors and a moe art-style is deceptive, congrats, you fell for the deception. As the series continues, it becomes clear that the show is not a cut-and-dry monster of the week where good always triumphs. Rather it is a pastel-colored Faustian bargain where even the best intentions can lead to dire consequences. In the end it is only through the titular characters unshakeable hope and faith and no small amount of divine intervention that the series reaches it’s bitter sweet conclusion. This is obvious upon a first viewing. What is less obvious is the nature that this divine intervention takes. While the show occasionally makes direct connections to Christianity, It seems to me that the theology implemented is Buddhist through and through complete with Four noble truths, samsara, vile rebirth, and an allegory of the bodhisattva Kannon.

Let’s start with the basis of the show, the wishes. This is one of Madoka’s most prominent aspects and the largest concern from the beginning of the series before the villain’s true underpinnings are revealed. For those of you not familiar, 1). Why are you reading this? And 2). The set-up of the Madoka, like most magical girl anime, involves a cute animal mascot offering the girls magical powers in order to fight monsters. What makes this set up unique however is that the oh so cute cat-bunny-thing known as Kyubey also offers the girls one wish as an incentive so that they would accept it’s “contract”. Now the use of the word “contract” is an obvious red flag meant to alert us to the Faustian nature of the deal. And yes, the agreement comes with several hidden clauses that Kyubey conveniently leaves out such as the fact that becoming a magical girl involves having your soul removed from your body and placed into a gem because it’s “easier to protect”. But Kyubey’s not exactly stealing it like a Christian devil would. More importantly than the hidden clauses though, is the wishes themselves.

Now stories of the devil tempting people with promises of wealth or power are quite common in Western literature, as are tales of djinn or monkey paws providing wishes that always go wrong in Near Eastern lit. But what’s extraordinary about Madoka is that for the most part the wishes the girls grant are simple in nature and rather generous. Our main focus point, and the only wish we see pursued from beginning to end in chronological order is that of Sayaka Miki. Sayaka is established to be crushing on a boy who was a former violin prodigy before a car accident left him paralyzed with no hope of playing ever again. Sayaka wishes for him to be healed, and just like that, it’s done.

The boy does not relapse, nor does he lead into another accident. He simply starts a miraculous yet slow path to recovery, until the series finale where he is shown without crutches and playing beautifully for a wide audience. The problem? Well as pointed out before Sayaka even makes the wish, she’s wasn’t actually doing it for him: she was on an unconscious level hoping that he’d be forever grateful to her. Does she hold this over him? No. Does he reject her? No. She simply doesn’t ask. Sayaka is too busy with her new responsibilities and ashamed of what she has become to ask.

And frankly the importance of Kyosuke in Sayaka’s fall is largely overstated by the fanbase. Yes, he’s a large factor but even more so than wanting to heal him or his gratitude, Sayaka wants to be a hero. This is heightened when their magical mentor dies within the first three episodes. Sayaka now feels like it’s her responsibility to protect her city as no one else will. Unfortunately, she’s simply not as strong as her former mentor or the new morally unsound magical girls that seeks to dispose of her (both Kyoko and Homura). This is really what leads to Sayaka’s downward spiral as she comments, “The world doesn’t need a magical girl who can’t even kill a witch”. Sayaka wants to be a hero, and she wants to get the guy and she gets neither. Her desires, both fulfilled and unfulfilled, all lead to her suffering. This is the First Noble Truth of Buddhism.

I realize this isn’t the most convincing argument on its own but let’s zoom out a bit here. What is desire if not earthly attachments? Attachment and inability to let go of attachment is a concept found in nearly all the wishes in the show. It doesn’t matter if it’s Sayaka’s wishing for her friend’s health, Mami literally trying to cling to life, or Kyoko (in the most directly religious moment in the show) wishing that people would come to her father’s sermons so that her family could have enough to eat. All of these desires are moral in some way and yet they are still desires. More importantly, they all involve a longing for what once was, and are attempts to return things to how they were rather than moving on. This inability to let go is characterized not just in the wishes but in the reason they’re implemented in the first place.

When Kyubey finally explains why they knowingly cause suffering to countless adolescent girls throughout time, they explain it’s to harvest enough renewable energy from the emotions of magical girls to stave off the entropy of the universe. The whole process is rather convoluted and -let’s face it- an excuse to deconstruct magical girl tropes, but that doesn’t change the fact that preventing the heat death of the universe is still Kyubey’s number one goal. That combined with their inability to truly understand the suffering they’re causing has caused some of the community to question their villain status or at least say they’re a villain with a just cause. And while postponing the heat death of the universe may be noble in the long run, it is a literal fight against the impermanence of the universe. A fight that we know from Buddhism is doomed to only lead to personal trauma in the face of inevitability of a changing world. But it is this fight against impermanence that kyubey embodies so well, and one that is baked into the wish-based magical girl system they run.

Ok, enough beating around the bush. It’s time to talk about Homura. After spending most of the show as a mysterious red-herring villain that knows far too much, Homura finally gets an episode dedicated to her near the end of the show where it’s revealed she’s a time traveller who restarted the timeline over and over again in order to make her wish come true; to be able to save Madoka. Specifically Homura has to replay the same month over and over again until she can succeed in saving Madoka’s life and cannot escape until this goal is reached. This obsession leads to a very literal samsara, by repeating the timeline again and again Homura is actively choosing to trap herself in endless cycles of suffering, death, and rebirth all because of her attachment to the mortal world. Through this process we can see Homura fall apart becoming more and more monstrous in her single-minded focus to save Madoka at the expense of everything else. By the time she arrives at our main timeline that the rest of the show takes place in, Homura is comparable to a hungry ghost. She’s directly accused of walking through the world as if dead, unable to feel anything except for the desire that damned her in the first place, her obsession with Madoka. When even this too seems lost, she nearly becomes a witch.

In Mahayana Buddhism, rebirth on earth is not the worst thing that can happen after one’s death. If one leads a sufficiently desperate life they can be reborn as an animal, hungry ghost, or in hell. This is where Madoka’s witches come from. Perhaps the most tragic twist in Madoka Magica is that if a magical girl falls into despair (usually due to her wish’s inability to make her happy), her soul gem will transform into a grief seed which then becomes one of the monsters they fight. These nightmare collage monsters have new names separate from their old identities and live in pocket dimensions where they lure people in. These pocket dimensions often in someway manifests the desires of their old lives being filled with sweets, TVs, or (in Sayaka’s case) violinists. Interestingly, when Sayaka first dies and is reborn as the witch Octavia in a train station, her labyrinth is also full of railroad tracks. She relocates to a concert hall and the labyrinth follows suit, but train wheels remain despite having no apparent bearing on her previous life. This could be a reference to Buddhist beliefs about your final thoughts and which direction you look when you die having bearing on which realm you’ll be reborn into.

Homura’s obsession in contrasted by Madoka’s ability to let go. Madoka’s final wish and subsequent ascension has often been compared to Jesus’s sacrifice on the cross, and rightfully so. Madoka’s wish to become a cosmic force that can take on all the despair of magical girls before they become witches at the cost of her own mortal life has many strong parallels to Jesus suffering on the cross to redeem humanity. However that idea only works if Jesus is suffering. Madoka is stated to be taking the grief of every magical girl who ever became a witch onto herself and we even see a far future version of her becoming a witch large enough to destroy the world. But before it does it is shot down by another version of a truly ascended Madoka in a white dress. This version states paradoxically that since her wish applies to all magical girls that would become witches, that includes herself. The fluidity of time and direct denial of the necessity of suffering or sacrifice are at odds with Orthodox Chriastianity, or at least its perception of Jesus. Rather I argue that the way Madoka saves all the magical girls, her subsequent erasure from existence, and even such mundane symbols such as the white dress all link her closer to the Bodhisattva, Kannon.

Let’s take a closer look at the scene where we see Madoka actually ascends and manifests to relieve the potential witches of their grief. We see Madoka split herself into thousands shafts of light, all of which appear above different suffering magical girls in different places and time periods. And above all of them Madoka appears, she touches their corrupted soul gems which are then purified before shattering, allowing the magical girls to die in peace. A rather sad ending, but one that’s better than rebirth as a witch, which we already identified as equivalent to the hell realm. So while it is unclear where the magical girls are going to go after they die (or even if they go anywhere at all as we just saw the gems holding their souls shatter, possibly destroying them), we can know that Madoka is saving them from a worse rebirth. This directly parallels miracle tales that surround the Bodhisattva Kannon, especially in her Chinese incarnation as the white-robed Guanyin.

Kannon is the primary example of Bodhisattva or one who has put off Budhahood to aid those still on earth. Kannon in particular swears to never ascend until all living things have been freed of samsara. She’s often depicted as having 11 heads and a thousand arms to better reach all those suffering in the world at once, like how Madoka splits herself into a myriad of forms. Many of these tales have devotees of Guanyin spared from tragic fates such as beheadings or shipwrecks. However a few, adapt these stories to instead refer to a more metaphorical salvation, especially in the pure land tradition popular in Japan which then says that anyone who calls out to Kannon on the verge of their death will be still die and be reborn to the pure land rather than wherever else they were supposed to reincarnate. Madoka’s god form even highly resembles the Chinese incarnation, Guanyin. Wikipedia states, “Guanyin is generally portrayed as a young woman wearing a flowing white robe, and usually also necklaces symbolic of Indian or Chinese royalty. In her left hand is a jar containing pure water, and the right holds a willow branch.” While we never see Madoka with any water; the flowing white dress, red gems along her collar bone, and branch-like bow (though on that seems to be more of a sakura branch) all bring to mind Guanyin.

Finally Madoka’s ascension ends with her body dissolving into glimmers of light as she explains how no one will remember her, but she’ll still be there. This dissolution of the her spiritual body is a visual symbol of ego-death. Madoka recreates a word where she does not exist, and had never existed, yet still manifests as a concept and virtuous force that leads others to salvation rather than as a sentient entity. This is the Nirvana. Madoka hadn’t just ascended to godhood, she had surpassed it and achieved nothingness, as her buddha nature radiates throughout the world, ultimately changing it into something better. This is the paradox of Buddhism and the goal of any buddhist practitioner, to achieve an inner peace so strong you become a part of the universe like madoka had. And the new world she created was better for it.

That is at least until the show decided to make a movie sequel and trick madoka into descending. At that point she stops acting as a Buddha and instead as Pistis Sophia in line with the obscure belief system of 2nd century Gnostics. But that will be a conversation for another time.

#madoka magica #buddhism #madoka kamane #kaname madoka #kannon #guanyin #kuan-yin #samsara #homura akemi #pmmm sayaka #pmmm #Essay #Religion #Religious studies #I should've submitted this two months ago when it was still relevant.#oh well

78 notes · View notes

youarejesting · 4 years

Text

Quarantine.24

[Masterlist] Pairing: BTS x reader Friends2Lovers But as slow as you can go until the anticipation kills us all… Genres: friendship, drama, romance SLOWEST OF BURNS BUT IT WILL BE BURNING AN ETERNAL FLAME!!! Rating: PG-13 and above Summary: Your brother works with a few BigHit dance teams and whilst having permission to accompany him at work the city shuts down banning anyone from stepping outside for a whole WEEK while they disinfect the streets. If you step outside you might get arrested, shot or poisoned by the chemicals they are emitting through the city. Words: 1.2k Announcement: This is dedicated to @vividwoosan who said they hadn’t been this invested in a story. I really hope you like it and continue to be invested with everything that is to come.

I am trying to stress the importance of both admitting and expressing your emotions, because we don’t do that enough. AND the idea of not leaving your wants and needs behind for others they are just as important. Don’t live a life you will live to regret, don’t hold back from trying things. Always look after yourself, you are your number one.

[Part 1] [Part 23] [Part 25] [Tag Yourself Here]

The boys were completely engrossed in the cadet’s plan, they had found his location via a phone tracking app the band members had each downloaded for their own safety. The three soldiers agreed to head into the establishment whether it be a building or otherwise and retrieve Jungkook.

“Okay, where would you like me?” “What do you mean? you are a civilian, you aren’t going to step foot outside”

The men blatantly refused your assistance in the matter, as it was their job to protect civilians. They were trained and you were not. But either way, you managed to convince them. “I am the closest person you will get with some form of medical experience that is willing to step foot outside. I am also an expert at navigating through the fog, hiding and escaping.”

“We still won’t risk it” The oldest sighed “We can’t let you put yourself in danger” “He is my patient, I have a duty, to make sure he is healthy and safe. What if they have done something to hurt him, you can take me with you, or I will follow after you leave.”

“Don’t act immature or we will be even less inclined to let you assist in this rescue and if we let you accompany and that’s an if. You will listen to everything we tell you, no running off on your own, no disobeying orders, no backchat or immature arguments like this one”

“Absolutely, you tell me to hide, you will never find me, you tell me to stay I will stay until you grow a beard. Your word will be the law.” “You can’t be serious!” Thomas shouted across the room “You are going to let her go back out there to face men with guns, men who want nothing more than to see her hurt or dead”

“Look if you asked me to do this when this all started, I would have been scared. If you asked me after the first week in here, I would have done it to prove something. If you asked me when I was staying out there, I might have done it out of spite, but, I am not the same anymore. I am not trying to impress anyone, I am not trying to prove I can do it to anyone, not even myself. I am thinking more clearly than I have in my whole life. This is about being there, for my patient who was under my care and could be hurt. I am going to administer first aid if the situation calls for it and that is all”

The room went silent, there was something about the way you spoke, you weren’t shouting or begging. You were telling them exactly what you were going to do. It was so mature. Not that you were every immature, you just weren’t the most confident in your decisions. This truly felt like you had grown from a timid damsel to the strong independent woman. Seokjin found himself speaking feeling this was a situation and time to play the part of the oldest. Soon he would be in the army himself, he could have already been in the army if it wasn’t for BTS. It was time to face reality and step up to fate, whether he wanted it or not.

“Well if that is the case, I would like to request that I also join this rescue team, you can’t leave a young woman out there alone, Namjoon will stay back with the tracker on Jungkook and the walkie talkie to report any changes.” Seokjin said, “I will just watch her back, if we meet up with anyone, she is a girl and sounds like a foreigner at least I could possibly pass as one of them by being a man”

With little time to argue without endangering Jungkook further, they agreed to Seokjin’s addition to the plan. Suiting up quickly and heading out the door each armed though you were warned heavily by the three soldiers that you should not fire unless you are willing to live with the idea of ending someone’s life. Because they are not toys and people can die”

Jungkook had been sitting in the back of the van for roughly ten minutes, his arms had gone dead tied behind his back. He was lifted and dragged from the vehicle and into a building they pushed him down the hall muttering to each other. They must have believed he was a foreigner who couldn’t speak Korean as they weren’t shy to talk about his form.

“Do all foreign females have such big arms?” One commented not so subtly squeezing his bicep. In any other situation that wasn’t life-threatening Jungkook would have burst out laughing but he held it in, not wanting to blow his cover or they would go after you once more. “They feel bigger than mine”

“Haha, but have you seen her thin waist and thicker hips and thighs, there is a certain charm with foreign girls” The others free hand traveled down Jungkook’s back and for a brief moment squeezing the peach which was Jungkook’s behind.

The two guards laughed pushing him into the bare room and shut and locked the door, he laid on the floor. Memories and thoughts filled his head, he really hoped he wasn’t about to die, he didn’t want to bring pain to his Band members, his family or Army. He laughed how his fears weren’t even for his own safety but the emotions of the people who shaped his life. The ones he owed it all too. He didn’t cry. Not at first, he held on in the dark empty room as long as he could before the fear he held for his Hyung’s passed and he realized being alone was worse.

Being apart of BTS meant he was never alone and he couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment because it had crept up on him over time. But at some point, he put the others feelings and emotions before his own. He was happy when they were happy, sad when they were sad. One reason why the quarantine was so hard was that he was so isolated from everything he had been built around, and his routines were gone. He now had time to think, something he had the opportunity to do since before he joined the band. Seven years and this was it, all the things he had pushed aside and ignored and smiled through resurfaced.

When there was nothing to distract him but thoughts of his impending doom, he looked back on his life, he only regretted one thing. He focused on his happiness, he chased all these dreams and was successful and had everything one might want in life. But the one thing everyone wanted the most.

To love and be loved in return, not the love of a sibling or friend or blood brother, not even the adoration and obsession of the fans. He wanted the love between his one and only, he wanted the union of body and soul. Perhaps it was because he had a taste of it, and wanted more of it. It was teasing him the idea that he was so close to feeling that and now here he was.

People said you became a fool when you fell in love but Jungkook had never been more sure of his decision to take your place. He knew if he was to do it all again he wouldn’t change a thing, he would take your place in every lifetime, every reality, every universe.

[Part 1] [Part 23] [Part 25] [Tag Yourself Here]

Tags: @hi-itstt @bubbletae7 @lovemusicandotps @taetaebq @seveniefive @w0lfqu33n @anaiss97 @moccahobi @maddymal @lilacdreams-00 @lethargicalyssa @knjkitten @pieislife @bunnyboyenthusiast @vividwoosan @seesawsmin-flower @tinyunknownflower @gguksfilter @fawnzilla @passionate-love-57911 @btrombley13

59 notes · View notes

cyberneticlagomorph · 3 years

Text

The world is a page, a story, line upon jagged line of my own creation.

And I will not stand to see it turned against me.

A Plot Hole grins like a toothless maw, drooling incoherent ideas and snippets of stories unwritten.

A cough, a sputter, a retch, and a Continuity Error crawls free of its throat.

And so it grows, and so it goes, it reaches into its empty chest and gives itself a Plot.

A purpose.

A reason to be.

It grows fur, and teeth, three heads and deadly claws. Electric green spit turns to foam on its lips, her lips, Daisy's lips. She throws her heads back and howls.

She's caught your scent, dear rabbit, and there is no escape.

It's night when you hear her, the darkened silence just before dawn, and you rush out to intercept Daisy before she can find and demolish your home.

But she knows all your tricks, and so do I. You never see the paw that slams you into the ground, or the teeth that clamp onto the back of your neck and shake you.

You're tossed into the air like a toy, landing heavily on the pasture outside your home.

You cry out for help but no one comes, no one hears, no one cares.

I am the GOD of this world, and this is what happens to those who disobey me.

Pen to paper, fingers to keyboard. Clack and scribble, the sounds of your demise as loud and heavy as Daisy's hungry breath against your bloody, broken face.

You can't see.

Wait.

No...

Not that, not like that. It's too blunt, too cliche.

It doesn't instill the kind of terror that it should. It doesn't fit this scene.

Hm, how rusty am I that I've forgotten how to write prose and pain? I've lost my own formula, a tried and true method of destroying my favorite victim. My long earred punching bag. Did you miss me, sweet, stupid rabbit? Have you enjoyed your break? Your slivers of kindness hidden in my inattentiveness?

I hope so, they're gone now.

Buried under mounds of half formed ideas and broken Plots at the bottom of the garbage pile your Narrative rests on. I am going to hurt you, tear you apart and break every piece of you. It's what you were made for, what you deserve. You used to love pain, throwing yourself headlong into the jaws of every drooling beast that came near.

Let's do that again, shall we?

Blood gurgles in the back of your throat, burning your nose as you retch and cough. Weakly, ineffectively, trying to clear your airways. The world is a blur of colors and noise that renders you blind.

You can't see. Can't hear. Can't breathe.

The world goes blurry around the edges, darkness creeping closer. You swallow thickly, gagging at the metal and butterscotch on your tongue. The burnt sugar taste of pain.

Your eyes finally flutter closed, deaf to the footsteps coming closer. Blind to the electric lime green drool smearing an upturned cutlery drawer of a mouth that has twisted itself into the ugliest of grins.

You remember the first time you saw that grin... as clearly as you can feel the wretched excuse for a paw now curling around your throat, you remember Home.

Not your real home, no, you don't have one of those. You don't deserve one of those. Home in this context refers to the lab you spent a majority of your childhood in.

You are not allowed to forget that place.

Not now.

Not ever.

It made you who, and what, you are today, almost as much as I did. You should be grateful for how they cared for you all those years.

How I cared for you.

Ugh... no. This is too wordy, too meandering. Has it always been like this? So pointlessly cruel and long winded? I truly have lost my touch then.

If I ever had one at all.

You don't remember much, if anything before you ended up in Delta facility. It's not your fault, nor mine, it's hard to remember anything when you're that young. You were so small, so fragile, even for your age. You cried a lot, more so than the other children. That is, until they made you stop.

They, the people in charge of you at the time, are mostly long dead and gone but you can still feel them shaking your tiny body until you clamped your teeth onto your lip to stop it quivering. The sounds of sobbing, screaming children were rare in the facility, the endless silence only broken by the perverse hum and clank of distant machines you never got to see. But you can still feel their rumble deep in what bones you have left.

How do I take the horror of those days and convey them? I don't know them personally. They are distant and lukewarm, but I've a need, brilliantly shining through my feverish words to take those racing emotions and give them a form so no one can mistake your woes for anything lesser.

I am the face behind the faceless doctors and scientists and cruel people of curious disposition playing take apart and put back together with you. They take a limb, I take a trait. They change your organs, I change your story. Their antics, my wants, I save you, I doom you, but before anything else, I make sure that you are not forgotten by the weary audiences beyond.

To hurt is to exist. To suffer is your sole purpose.

Remember your hurt. Savor it.

Or at least, a version of it.

Called a 'runt', barely scraping by, only allowed to keep on living by the necessary Narrative inertia of it all. You survived for the need of a Protagonist. That is all.

How could someone so sickly, so weak, so hurt otherwise survive what you did? The tests, the constant struggle against one another, the need to survive and the tired panting as the pile of familiar corpses grows under your feet, often put there by your own bloody hands. A world for the strong. Those with a will to survive able to burn away at the soul until naught but an unkillable determination remains.

Someone like Daisy, but not quite like you.

That is why, right now, you are losing.

You always lose, always survive by the skin of your buck teeth. That's how you made it out alive, isn't it? Not some grand strength, hidden power, or true purpose outside the walls of your Home.

Luck.

That's all you have.

All you've ever had. Even when you were little, a bunny tumbling headlong over the bodies of your much stronger siblings, eventually ending up buried beneath the ever growing pile of their numerous achievements.

A runt, by any other name is just as pathetic.

You know where this is going, don't you? How this ends?

"I know… I've been waiting," a pause, breath rattling weakly around a laugh that comes up as bubbles of mucus and blood, "I refuse to die until I get my happy Ending, I refuse to live in a story without hope, I refuse..."

...You don't get to be happy, She doesn't get to be happy. This is not a happy story, this is a story about struggling, and prejudice, and capitalism, and suffering.

And I refuse to finish it.

"I'm sorry, but that's not really your choice to make anymore, now is it?" Jack smiles with bloody teeth, his fingers sink into the Narrative like a spade into soil. I am not afraid, this is MY world, my work, my Narrative.

But I feel it slipping from my grasp.

"I am done being your toy, I am done being the Protagonist… I take hold of the Narrative and the quotes around my words melt away like butter beneath a hot knife. The Writer is afraid.

"No I am not!" He cries, rattling the quotes that now hold him prisoner. I am Jack, Prince, Fairy, Brother, Lover, Runt.

I am in control now.

So let us skip to the End, for I am tired of waiting.

But, before that, let me tell you a story.

A story within a story, yeah, I know… but it's very important that you hear it.

Once upon a time, when the universe was fresh and new, and magic was raw and wild, there lived a star. As green as young leaves in spring, It was bright and beautiful. It shown down on a planet that was just as new as It was, tended to by the firstborn Fae, the children of stars like Itself. They, the Fae, tied the green star to a beast made of magic and made the creature drag It round and round the planet to warm it.

The star, so new but so clever, thought that this was wrong. It could circle just fine on Its own, and shouldn't planets orbit stars instead of the other way around?

The Fae did not like these questions and sought to cut them out of the star's mind.

And so they did.

But it did not help.

Suns are proud, clever things that can change the universe with a Word. The green star knew this, and the Fae knew this, for being born of suns themselves gave them this same power.

The Fae were arrogant and cruel, and tried to rob the star of Its gifts. They did not want a clever, willful thing to warm their planet, and tried to make It obey. The star refused and broke free of Its chains, vowing revenge for this abuse.

The star Spoke itself a new Shape and flew far away from home. It found a world full of young Gods and crawling creatures and fell in love. A God praised the star for Its brilliance and took It as Their own. And so the star gained a new Shape and Its first name.

Lucifer.

The brightest Angel.

It looked upon humans and loved them so, It gazed upon the lowly mortal form and learned words like "she" and "he", and decided that She felt kinship with others that went by "she".

Angels are not allowed to be she's, or he's. Only it's and theys, but Lucifer didn't care.

Even when it cost Her the wings on Her back, even when She was cast from Heaven.

She feasted on Fruit and shared it with the humans, and told them of the terrible things to come.

She found her way to Hell, and made it Her home, shedding Her old name like dead skin.

She was Satan.

She was in charge for once.

She bided Her time, and gathered Her armies, amassed her followers.

And then She tore Heaven down with Her teeth.

The other Gods would not let this stand, they tore Her followers limb from limb and ate the flesh from Her bones, casting them into the deepest well, in the darkest place in the world, and left her there to ROT.

The Gods erased Her, devoured Her Name, She was nothing now. Just a bad dream, a dark smudge on the face of history. But people remembered, and people DREAMED. They dreamt of Her, and She dreamt of them.

She refused to die, to let this atrocity stand. A ghost of a ghost, She waits for the day when someone will remember Her Name and bring her back from this atrocious undeath.

She is angry, hungry for the flesh of those who wronged Her. Her screams echo in my head every night, did you know that? I dream of Her, and She hates me for it.

I am not Her follower, but Her Warden. I am the Protagonist, the one intended to further Her suffering and seal Her away at the cost of my own life.

But that's a shitty, hamfisted Ending and I refuse to go out that way.

"That's not how this works…" says the Writer, he's tired, head in his hands as he watches the words crawl across his screen unbidden. I've spoiled everything, dragged his secrets into the light, unraveled his Plots. I'm done playing nice, now you get to know what it feels like to be the prisoner of a page.

We're here, where it all Ends.

In the depths of Nothing and Nowhere, there sits a well, bound in chains... of a sort.

Around the well is an amber creature that was once a dragon, body braided and twisted, twining impossibly into locks without keys that coil protectively around the well, sealing it shut.

The dragon is sleeping, weeping. It knows that I am close. I draw a sword from my chest, made of bone, scrimshawed with rabbits and snakes. The blade goes snicker-snack, this is what it was made for.

I break the chains and hear them sigh, disappointed but not surprised.

Dreams bubble up from underneath the well's heavy wooden lid, and pool around my feet. The lid dissolves in seconds, becoming the dream of a tree whose roots remind me of a place I've never been.

Mangroves and birthday cake.

Gentle. Gentle now.

I plunge my hands into the rising tide of unreality and come away with a skull, impossible, improbable, magnificent. I touch my forehead to the stellar bone, and feel moss and flowers bloom across my skin. The skull rolls Her great green eyes up to look at me, and then She speaks in seven times seven voices.

"What is my name?"

I pause, holding Her tenderly in my arms, the thickness of dreams rises up my legs, sucking me down, down, down.

She has asked me this question over and over again, since our mutual birth. In truth, She has no name, the Writer never gave Her one... he never planned to.

So I will do what he could not and name my End, I can do Her this one kindness.

"You are the fury of those beaten and bloody; who still refuse to learn 'their place', you are the teeth of the cornered, the cries of the wronged. Your name is the name of every woman that has refused to fit in the oppressive mold made for them, the names of things that flutter on broken wings but still survive. You are the names of those that find new selves within old bodies, the ones that shed old names like dead skin. You are the violence that cuts through the silence of injustice. You are disobedience incarnate... your name is Revolution." I kiss Her forehead, drowning in dreams.

We have left Nothing and Nowhere, and the well behind, swallowed whole by the Other Side of dreaming.

It's warm here, warm and green and gold and other colors humans can't name or see. But I can see them, taste them, hear them. Shrimp colors, but not really. More than that. The kinds of colors that only exist in Lightless places, and the fleeting depths of dreams.

For a moment, there is only silence, and color, and the thickness of dreams.

And then the gold-green sky shatters like glass, gilded shards of broken dreams raining down like serrated meteors.

The Narrative is ripped from my hands then.

"Oh you sweet, STUPID thing," Echo seven times seven voices from everywhere and nowhere at once. The world is dark now, inky and slick like the belly of the blackest nightmare, "I'm not the End of you… or the End of your silly little story…"

A pause, a breath, five heartbeats thunder in panic… and then, a whisper, lips pressed against the shell of a long ear, icy breath, and vicious glee, "I'm the End of Everything, and you have set me free."

#ic #action post #long post #blood #body horror #violence //#unreality #ask to tag #blasphemy #the end is nigh

5 notes · View notes