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erwinsvow · 3 years

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𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞.

summary: he wasn't always alone. in fact, there was a time when levi had you.

warnings: angst, fluff, mentions/description of injury and patching up, levi needs sleep

author's note: been in the works for a while because i couldn't figure out what i wanted to do, but this takes place after levi & zeke's conversation and there will be an angsty part two, i hope everyone likes it! it doesn't really make much sense but bear with me :)

listening to: don't let me go

“I bet you’re not popular with the ladies. Don’t act like you know about someone’s feelings.”

He pauses, feeling his heart skip a beat.

“I know. And I was… popular enough.”

He lets his mind take him back, back a time before everything in the world was so messed up. When he knew what his responsibilities were, and when there were clear orders to follow. He can’t seem to recall when everything went straight to shit. It feels like it’s been a long time coming.

He knew he was screwed years ago, when he was trying to stitch up the deep gash on his shoulder by himself, sitting in his quarters with a bowl of warm water and bloody bandages. You had been helping the others, a traumatized recruit with a concussion and broken leg, courtesy of the fifteen meter that had overwhelmed him.

There were a few others too, especially a familiar face that seemingly always needed your assistance after a mission. He wondered just how many times the boy—because that’s all he is, a boy, and that’s all you are, a girl—could get away with the same old ruse.

Regardless, he wouldn’t be visiting you tonight. Never mind that the cut he’s trying to nurse by himself is nearly impossible to properly reach, and that he feels dizzy from consistent bleeding and lack of energy in his body. The alcohol he ingested to calm his nerves doesn’t really do anything, either, since there isn’t nearly enough of the stuff in his room to actually have an impact.

He’s going to crash soon, he knows, and even though sleep always evades him, he just wanted to get this wrapped up and lay down without making a bloody mess everywhere. He releases a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding. The very thought of you is enough to tense up every muscle in his body, and the idea of you being alone with that idiotic, improper recruit makes his fist tighten around the needle. Sewing himself up tonight is a lost cause. He finally decides a bandage, no matter how bloody it might become, will have to do.

He stands up, slowly because he doesn’t want to pass out from a head rush, when there’s a knock on the door. He groans a little too loudly at the sound of it. He doesn’t feel like talking to anyone tonight, especially in this condition, wearing a torn scrap of a shirt and blood trapped underneath his nails.

“Who is it?” he calls out harshly, wondering if maybe they’ll just leave if he sounds scary. The other scouts knew he didn’t like to be bothered, and wouldn’t have come unless there was an emergency. If it was Hange she would have barged in already, and he would have recognized Erwin’s heavy footsteps from down the hall. No, he knows who it is. He just wishes that he’s wrong.

“It- It’s me. Petra said you were hurt earlier and that it looked bad. I just wanted to make sure it was okay…” Your soft, hesitant voice trails off, and he knows how much courage it took for you to knock on his door.

What he doesn’t know is that there was no way you were falling asleep tonight without making sure Levi was okay, no matter how angry he would get at you for bothering him at night.

You’re bracing for that reaction when the door opens, but when your wide eyes meet his tired grey ones, you feel yourself melt and all the words in your head disappear. There’s only one fragment of a thought left, the fact that Levi’s bleeding, and a lot, at that. You don’t even wait for his permission to step inside, suddenly energized by anger and mumbling to yourself as you set down your supplies and rummage through them.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” he questions quietly. He tries to line his voice with steel like he always does, but the facade is fading with every passing minute.

“I have to clean out your wound, captain, before something festers. If you had told me about this, say, right when we got back, it would have been fine by now, but now I have to rush because you’re too proud to ask for help-” You still and silence yourself.

It was out of line to enter without permission, but this is something else all together. Caring too much is one thing, you know, but insubordination is not tolerated, especially not by Levi.

You pick up a clean needle and thin silk thread that you need to patch up the wound, while searching for the jar of boiled water you need to clean it out first. Alcohol would work too, and you can smell it in the air, but you can’t find the words to ask for it.

Levi’s hands are unusually still, you know because you always notice them, and it’s a stark contrast to the way you’re shaking right now. It’s strange, because you stitched up a handful of others earlier today, and you were completely fine. Even Gunther, who you had always thought was handsome and could make you blush with an off-hand smile, never incited this kind of reaction from you.

You’re silently praying that Levi doesn’t comment on the tremor, but since you’re about to dig a sharp point into his shoulder to tie the skin back together, it would be idiotic if he didn’t say something. You turn to look at him, but it feels like he’s not even there.

His head is hanging down, propped up by the single functional arm, as the other one continues to bleed. You know it’s painful and that he should be saying something, something that makes you stutter and stumble over your words like he always makes you, but he’s just silent.

“Well, get on with it then. If that’s really why you came here this late.” His voice makes you tremble even harder.

There’s so much you try hard at. You try to be the best soldier you can be, even though both you and your superiors know you weren’t meant for this. Sometimes you can fool your fellow soldiers, and the handful of people you can call your friends, and with a few years under your belt, it seems like it’s getting easier to live this life. But you know deep down that it’s not. The one person who always sees right through it is Levi, though.

It’s part of the reason why you’re such a damn mess around him, because there’s no reason to present a false veneer if he knows the truth. You’re not a real soldier, not a real fighter, and you’re more useful as a medic stitching people up than anything else.

And yet, it’s always him who saves you. Him, who makes sure that any threat in between you and the scout you’re trying to rescue from the brink of death is eliminated. Him, that keeps one eye on the target and one eye on your back just in case. And every time, every goddamn time you need to be rescued, he rescues you.

But now, with his head hanging low and any semblance of not knowing why he always saves you gone, it feels your chance to repay him has finally arrived. The shaking stops when you go to sit down near him. Maybe it’s the sudden rush of energy in your body, but you find yourself unbuttoning his shirt to remove whatever remains of the cloth.

His body tenses further, but he doesn’t stop you, and he doesn’t say anything. You’re as gentle and careful as you can be, and once you’re successful, you drop the mangled shirt on the floor. Taking the water, you pour it over the wound as Levi releases a soft hiss at the feeling, for which you’re apologizing before you can even realize the words have left your mouth. He doesn’t say anything, but his shoulder relaxing encourages you to keep going.

You take your time, trying to clean off all the blood you can. You think he’ll protest when you pick up his hands, and wash those too, but he doesn’t. It’s not until you run your own hand over his softly, squeezing the top of it because you don’t have any words to express the thoughts going through your mind, that he finally speaks up.

“Thank you.”

It’s so quiet, you could swear that you had imagined it. He doesn’t look up to meet your eyes like you wish he would, but a smile forces its way onto your face regardless. You focus on the hard part now; stitching up your captain and making sure your work doesn’t leave him with any scars. You focus on your technique, fingers working nimbly and mind focused on this, and for a short time, it doesn’t feel like you’re with your captain, your superior. It just feels like being there with Levi.

All the while, his brain is working overtime to figure out why you’re like this. Why you’re treating him so carefully and gently, when you have no reason to. He doesn’t pick favorites, and even if he did, you wouldn’t be anywhere near that list. You’re not the fastest, you’re not the most lethal, and in fact, he could count on one hand your titan kills and assists. You help people. You save people. But most of the time, you’re just recovering a half-dead soldier so that their body can be buried at home and not forced to remain out there, alone. You’re just there so that parents can have a grave to mourn at, instead of an empty tomb.

He doesn’t treat you better than anyone else, and most of the time assigns you more cleaning duties than the others. You always take it and never complain, something else that he always wonders about. He had come to the conclusion it was because he’s saved your life countless times, and the fact that he isn’t going to let up soon. So you take everything he gives you with a polite smile. And for some goddamn reason, he can’t get that smile out of his head, no matter how hard he tries. You don’t even know how you make him feel; like he’s special and that he deserves these attentions.

A particularly painful turn of the needle makes him flinch, and brings him back to reality. You’re apologizing again, murmuring how you’re almost done, but he doesn’t want you to leave yet. He lets his mind flicker over how you’re always apologizing, and how much he just wants to tell you that you don’t have to, not for anything. Not for having to come and save you, not for stitching him up, not for trying to fix him.

You let out a sharp breath once you finish, getting back up to fetch a dressing, but his hand grabs yours before you can get too far. Levi looks up, grey eyes full of an emotion you can’t exactly pinpoint, one you have never seen before from him.

“Will you stay a little longer?” And just like that, everything in the world seems to fall into place.

“Of course. Let me just wrap it up, first. I’ll stay as long as you want.” You’re surprised at yourself for finding the words so quickly, because your heart has never pounded so fast in your life. You fumble around, trying to find the right thing, hands shaking again, and you can’t seem to get them to stop.

You go back to Levi, wrapping the cloth around his shoulder and securing it around his arm, suddenly hyper aware of the feel of his skin. It’s softer than you had imagined it would be. Both of you sit in the silence for a while, your hand finding a place over his and rubbing soft circles on his knuckles with your thumb.

You want to say something, anything, but there aren’t any words that seem right. His fingers deftly work their way around yours, and you honestly wonder if he can hear your heartbeat or the blood rushing to your cheeks. It’s past midnight now, and you have a feeling dawn will be approaching before long.

“You should really sleep now. It won’t get better until you rest a little.” You’re speaking because his actions gave you a little bit of confidence, but he interprets it wrong almost immediately.

“Of course. You’d like to go now?”

“N-no! No, I just thought that, that you would be tired now. I can go if you want, I-”

“I don’t get much sleep anyways.” He doesn’t even mean to sound so dejected, but it comes out before he can stop himself. He’s spent too, too many nights laying awake, sleep ever-evading him, wondering how it might be to sleep besides you. Would he get some rest? Would he be able to close his eyes and not open them an hour later with a pounding chest? He can’t remember the last time he was able to fall asleep, and stay asleep. You don’t make any movement to get away, and he notices your hand twitch and wonders why.

You have to fight yourself internally to keep your hand down, and not wrap your arms around your captain as you process his words. Your heart feels strangely heavy at the thought of Levi laying awake, all alone, exhausted but unable to succumb to the ease of rest. He’s on guard, all the time, every minute of every day, and half the time he’s expending his energy on saving you.

You’re not confident, like some of the others. You never have been. But in this moment, you feel something rushing into your body and coursing through your veins, something close to confidence but slightly different. The feeling makes you release Levi’s hand and shed your sweater, and crawl into his bed. It’s almost exactly as you expected, and not nearly as soft or warm as your own. But you think about Levi sleeping soundly beside you, him peaceful and content, and it doesn’t matter how comfortable his bed is. You just want him to fall asleep.

He looks at you with a mix of emotions, surprise being mixed in with them. He hadn’t been expecting that, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate it.

You’re sitting under the covers now, waiting expectedly for something. A part of you fears that this wasn’t what he meant, or wanted, but your racing heart calms down a little at the sight of him coming in to get settled beside you. He releases a sigh when his shoulder hits the mattress, at ease finally, and so exhausted that every muscle in his body is about to give out.

He sleeps on his back, you note, before shifting your gaze to the ceiling quickly. You certainly don’t want him to notice that you’re staring, or that you keep fingering the soft sheets between your fingers to remind yourself this is real and really happening.

“Stop fidgeting.” His voice is quiet, and even, and stills you instantly. You finally lift your head to look at him, letting out a breath at how he looks. Eyes closed, almost peaceful, laying on his back with his hand resting right near you.

You’re not sure if it’s the confidence from earlier, or something new entirely, but you adjust the sheets to cover him more, pulling them and letting them rest on his chest. He doesn’t open his eyes, but you notice the way he jerks a little at the motion.

“Sorry, Levi,” you whisper, trying to remain as quiet as possible. You lay your hand on top of his, intertwining your fingers and letting your own eyes close. You can hear his every breath, the scent of his skin taking over and clouding your mind as every sense slowly focused on one thing; him. “Let’s sleep now.”

#this is probably the first thing i've posted that is in canon and it makes no sense but i really liked writing this #me: i wanna write dark content #also me: writes angst with fluff and calls it a day #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman imagine #attack on titan #aot #levi x reader #shingeki no kyojin

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ask-hunterxhunter · 3 years

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Continuation of yandere trio: how would they b like as dads in their yandere state? What would the s/o do if she stsrted to notice that their kid starts to resemble their father's behavior? How would the adult trio react to their kid trying to help their mother escape?

Illumi

The S/O’s reaction would depend on many factors (personality, her state after everything that happened, so on), so it’s not so easy to predict it. As for Illumi’s, well… I can tell you it wouldn’t be pretty. It’s disturbing enough that Illumi would act as if you’re indeed married and happy together (though it is how he sees things), imagine how it would be with a baby.

Because he doesn’t see anything wrong with his actions, Illumi wouldn’t force you to act as a “happy, loving wife” or bother to hide the circumstances of your relationship from his children (though he might not be so obvious, keeping a few details from them, such as kidnapping for example, especially during the first years of their lives, believing they’re “too young to understand”). It’s not that he would sit down with them at some point and tell that he’s kidnapped you, but he wouldn’t deny it if you told them. He wouldn’t be exactly happy if the child ended up asking “why do you hurt mommy” or “why don’t you love her”, but he wouldn’t go into a fit of rage, at least.

If/When the child questioned Illumi about your “relationship”, he would give the same responses he gives when you try to explain to him that he is hurting you: Cold, “logical” arguments that completely ignore the matter of free will and the nature of feelings.

Yes, it would be pretty messed up.

Perhaps the only good thing we can say about this is that Illumi would never use them against you or vice-versa (such as keeping the baby away if you don’t behave, poisoning the child to hate you, or threatening to hurt them to keep you in line). He might forbid you from seeing them, but only in “extreme” cases as Illumi would have the whole “delusion that you’re a happy family” going on.

This, however, is the only good thing we can say about Yandere!Illumi as a father. Remember the kind of yandere this guy is? The one likely to believe that you do love him, sees nothing wrong with his actions, and all? This sort of applies to his own child as well, in a sense. He would already want to raise them as he was raised but it would be worse in this case: The child would be more a part of his “ideal” of a family than individuals. Illumi would be a lot more “overprotective”, while also being manipulative, wanting to shape his children to be the “perfect successors” of his bloodline. While you can still argue with him about it, he will listen a lot less (if at all) than in a normal state of mind.

It’s not that Illumi wouldn’t love them, but if the Zoldyck’s kind of “love” is already twisted normally, well, imagine how it would be in this scenario. He might even mention that he wouldn’t make the same mistakes he made with Killua.

Actually, his behavior towards Killua is a pretty good indication of how he would be as a father, only worse.

Thankfully, there is the chance of your influence and the child’s own nature rebelling against Illumi’s teachings, so they wouldn’t be an “Illumi 2.0”.

Once Illumi realized your child is trying to help you escape (maybe even wanting to leave with you), whether you’re successful or not, he would be angry, confused, and even hurt (as hypocritical as that sounds). He is virtually incapable of understanding you both wanting to leave him. You’re a family, he loves you both, he keeps you safe… Your behavior makes no sense. Why would his wife and children want to go away?

If you are caught in this attempt, Illumi would punish you both, all while saying that it’s not something he wants to, but he can’t have this bad behavior. He would probably place the child in chains and whip them, or some other “Zoldyck-like” punishment, while keeping you two from seeing each other for a while. If you guys kept trying, he might decide to put needles in the both of you to prevent future attempts.

Hisoka

Hisoka never cared much for the idea of becoming a father, but once it happens, he accepts it and may surprise those around him by actually becoming excited about it after a while. This is all fine and good, but with him as a Yandere? Well, the excitement still happens and all, but it’s disturbing…

Don’t try to point out how messed up this situation is, Hisoka will just smile and ask how can you say this? Don’t you see? You’re a family now. Yes, it’s possible that he hopes/believes this may work in his favor, somehow “pushing” you into accepting him. He certainly won’t hesitate to make use of it, often holding you close, whispering that this is “our child”, so on… Really, Hisoka may not be the abusive type of Yandere, but he is the proof that sometimes hell can exist without physical violence.

It’s not easy to say/imagine how Hisoka would be as a dad because, well, c’mon, it’s Hisoka. However, especially in this situation, we can’t say he would change just because he became a dad (especially in his behavior towards you). It’s just not in his nature. And we can’t forget that this child was born from a person who simply does not love him. About that, it’s unclear whether Hisoka would care to keep the whole “yandere” thing hidden from the child (including that he’s keeping you with him by threat/force/whatever). He believes in living life as he wants, so while this may sound sick, he wouldn’t see why this might be problematic. If you decide to pretend to be an actual couple for the sake of the child, Hisoka may agree but he won’t be pleased about it. Remember, he is the sort of yandere that does want you to love him for real.

While he wouldn’t completely ignore what you have to say about raising the child (at least not completely), Hisoka would probably want to train them soon, imprinting his values and views of the world on them. It wouldn’t be to Illumi’s level, but it would still be pretty dysfunctional. Not that Hisoka would see it like this, as he genuinely believes in his way of life (let’s be honest, the guy isn’t exactly one that cares too much about “good” and “bad”, is he?).

It's hard to say whether or not Hisoka would be abusive (though it seems unlikely) despite this particular aspect (or at least it wouldn’t be to Illumi’s level), but that doesn’t mean he would be exactly a good dad. He may want to be, but his mental state simply doesn’t allow it. Even if he treats the child well, c’mon, you’re being kept against your will. There is no chance of this being a healthy environment for a child to grow (and the danger of them turning out like Hisoka is beyond scary). Besides, it’s open for debate how much of the affection Hisoka has for the child is genuine and how much is connected to his obsession for you (which would not tone down after the birth).

If the child is smart, they would not let Hisoka know they don’t agree with him keeping you with him against your will, regardless of his argument that he does love you. Hisoka would at once start to pay attention to their moves, so escaping would be even harder.

He would be… “Displeased” to see your child trying to help you escape (even more if you two succeed). Yes, he isn’t delusional like Illumi, but it doesn’t mean he accepts the fact that you don’t love him, and having his child helping you (and probably running away with you, if they know what’s good for them) would feel like a betrayal.

He wouldn’t take that well at all.

Hisoka would hunt you two down like a hound from hell, making his decision to kill all the Spiders seem like a walk on the beach. There would be no arguments, no talking, no nothing, he would find you. As much as he could be training the child, it wouldn’t be enough for them to win should they try to engage him in a fight. About that, Hisoka might see that the child doesn’t want to be an insane fighter like this, but he secretly believes that he can change that with time.

It should be noted that Hisoka wouldn’t kill them, but it would pretty much the same it is with you in a sense: He would simply not let the child go and would resort to whatever means are necessary to keep you both with him.

Chrollo

Due to his lifestyle and focus on the Phantom Troupe’s goals, Chrollo never gave much thought about having children (then again, he never gave much thought about getting in a relationship and, well, see where this got you).

Just like he was not moved by pleas or arguments, he won’t listen should you try to convince him to let you go or at least give the child to adoption (better than to be raised by an insane criminal like Chrollo, not that you would tell him that). In fact, Chrollo will be strangely excited about becoming a father. In his mind, this sort of approaches you two more (even if you’re still clear about your rejections). He would hold you close, whisper how much he loves you, that you’re going to be parents… All while ignoring that you never wanted this in the first place. Beneath this veneer of normality, there will always be that frightening tone of someone who is beyond obsessed.

About that, it should be noted that Chrollo won’t be above using this in his attempts to manipulate you into thinking you’re better off with him and that you would be better off accepting your new life. Your protests would likely be met with a creepy smile as he points out it’s not as if you have any choice in the matter.

Would he want to put a façade of you two being happily together for the sake of the child? Maybe (at least during their first years)… Chrollo knows you don’t love him and that he is causing you pain, but while he takes no pleasure out of it, he also doesn’t regret it enough to let you go. Does he know what he is doing is wrong? Likely, but he also knows killing people is “wrong” and does it look like he cares? So chances are, he will keep acting as he always does. He won’t bother to tell the child that he is keeping you with him by force, as it’s not something that crosses his mind.

Once you tell them (or they realize it on their own), Chrollo will have no apologies to offer, nor will he lie or try to manipulate them. Yes, he can pretend to be all innocent and friendly with his prey but it is not the same with his own family. If the child tries to ask him about it, Chrollo will be honest, while feeding them the same arguments you’d expect from a Yandere: He loves mommy a lot, but mommy needs time to accept his love. He always makes sure mommy is happy, so it’s fine. He wouldn’t consciously manipulate his own child into helping him convince you to give in, but it may end up happening anyway.

Sometimes, “bad” parents try to keep their children away from their world (drug dealers want their children to never touch drugs, so on). It’s not the case with Chrollo. While the Spider will always be a priority, Chrollo would certainly hope his child would grow up to become the “next head” of the group (hell, some of the Troupe’s members might be in favor of that for all we know). Even if they start to reject his teachings, Chrollo would try to get them to see things his way, but it wouldn’t be quite in the way of a father trying to convince his child to become a doctor like him. It’s not that Chrollo would hurt them, but the child might have glimpses of Chrollo’s true nature anyway.

Once you two escape, Chrollo would do everything in his power to get you back. It doesn’t matter how. He would be worried, yes (imagine what would happen if the Mafia caught you two?), but he would also be angry, revealing the depths of his obsession with you once he has you back. Will he be relieved that you two are “safe”? Yes. But that doesn’t mean he won’t keep you two chained for a while if that’s what it takes.

Chrollo loves his children, he does, but in the messed up state of Yandere Mode, he would not accept that they don’t want to have anything to do with the Spiders (let alone that they want nothing to do with him). He would not hesitate to keep them prisoners, like he does with you (though this is not the term he would use), trying to convince them to give in and join the Spider (again, what choice do they have?).

#Adult Trio #dad #father #Hisoka #Illumi #Zoldyck #Chrollo #Kuroro #Lucifer #yandere #Yandere dad #Yandere!Dad #headcanon #hxh #headcanon hxh #Hunter x Hunter #I don't think any of them would exactly be amazing dads #but this would be way worse

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everything-withered · 3 years

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Seventeen months is a long time.

He tries not to think about it; measuring it won't make the weight of those weeks, days, hours or minutes lighten any less, but it helped to remind himself that time itself still existed, and it passed whether he could keep up with it or not.

My name is Kurosaki Ichigo, it is four-seven-twelve-three o'clock, he recites to his reflection, and between those words, he became: the bed, the shower, the dining room table, the school bell.

He tried not to notice what being diminished from verb to noun felt like lest he grow too attached and like it -- he wasn't suicidal, but sometimes he wondered, and that's scary enough -- even if it would've been easier compared to the dizziness of the world spinning round and round without an axis to keep him steady.

Living, she's often told him with a weary smile and unfathomable blue eyes, is the hardest part, isn't it?

And in the beginning, he hadn't seen that admission for what it was, and scoffed, but now he knows better, doesn't he?

Even back then, she'd always remind him how much older she was than him, how much longer she's been doing this.

And now all he can think about when she says those words is if that means she's been as lonely as him all that time.

And he thinks.

Between the little notes she'd left him before she went away: reminders to watch his footwork, to practice kido, to remember to thank Yuzu more often, to be nicer to Dad, to hang out with Karin more, to loosen up a little.

To how she glared at him through her tears when he'd tried to stop her from her own execution.

He remembers, with a dull ache in his chest how she couldn't even look him in the eye when she faded from his world like the sweetest of mirages.

And thinks the answer is yes.

At the press of a fingertip to his cheek, he grunts in surprise.

Rukia, teasing and scolding at once, says, "I can hear you thinking."

He squeezes his arm around her waist. "You'd be blushing if that were the case."

She snorts, and while she doesn't poke him again, her hand slides easily into his hair, scratching a little at his scalp just the way he likes it.

Approving, he burrows in closer. "I mean it."

With his words against her skin, she shivers, and flicks his ear in reprimand.

"You really cared about me before," he says, hushed; a revelation, a confession.

"I did," she says.

He buries his face against her neck like that'll stop her from being able to tell how warm his cheeks are. But, at least from this distance, he isn't alone. She's just as flushed, just as warmed.

Rukia inhales, squeezes him tighter; always the hand that reaches back when he's flailing for a life line, for someone to see through whatever bullshit veneer he tries to fit on his face.

"I do."

Ichigo exhales, lets himself be held, and holds her in turn as she rebuilds whatever walls had trembled at the admission. He's patient.

They don't talk about this.

Not unless they're dying. Not unless they're preparing to throw themselves on the wire so the other doesn't have to brace for impact. Not unless they're trying to convince themselves of something stupid: like how the other would survive the separation, the loss, again.

They've tested the theory enough times to know what the answer is.

"Was that what you were thinking about -- that I cared about you then?"

He hums no. "I was thinking that I was lonely before you, and that if you were half as lonely as me, you've been that way a lot longer."

She doesn't reply, but the leg around his hip tightens just a little as if to draw him impossibly nearer still. Like she could open herself up and keep him there, a part of her, carrying him with her always.

"It's not a competition."

"No." But seventeen months was a long time, and she's waited so much longer.

He can't imagine it. Doesn't want to.

Not when he's haunted by his own absence, his inability to exist earlier as if that would make her loneliness quieter, her own lackof less obvious.

"I still wasn't there," and that is shame, that is anguish and sadness and desperation, and its those seventeen months in one big rush.

"You're here now," she says, and though its said soft, it rouses his attention, tugs him to straighten just to see her face -- solemn and lovely and heartbreakingly sincere. "We're here together. So stay, stay with me."

And he huffs out a chuckle because what else is there to be now that they're here, now that they're together?

Ichigo-and-Rukia.

Rukia-and-Ichigo.

Conjoined at the soul; they're a beast of too many limbs that ache with the too taut pull of any distance between them.

He's felt it every day they've been apart, and every day he didn't know for sure she was coming back.

He's felt it in reverse when they were together again, and calling it a reunion wasn't enough.

Not for the sense of rightness it created, not for the way it felt like a cosmic sense of justice prevailed.

Not when Rukia's got his breath in her lungs and his heart in her palm; home and safety personified.

When her arms are full of him and him of her, and that's all it takes to make the world slow just enough to make it bearable, to feel like everything will be okay because he's got her and she's got him, and being alone is just the temporary state between together and not.

Seventeen months is a long time, he thinks, for something like this? It's not nearly long enough.

#ichiruki #ficlet #cuddles #seventeen months #it's been a minute

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foursideharmony · 3 years

Text

The Cat, the Prince, and the Doorway to Imagination (Chapter 5)

Summary: Roman confronts the other Sides.

Pairings: Platonic/familial LAMP/CALM, Platonic/familial DLAMPR

Content Warnings: Violence and threats of violence, nightmare imagery

Word Count: 3,194

Read on AO3: here

“Won't be long now,” said Mr. Beaver as the group rounded a low hill. The sun was just starting to sink, and the resulting shadow made them all the colder. They had been on the move for nearly twenty hours, with only brief and infrequent rest stops, and had long since begun dragging their feet. Their trail made a continuous ragged line through the snow.

“I can't feel my anything,” Patton moaned.

“Well if nothing else,” said Mrs. Beaver, trudging alongside him and patting his hand, “they'll at least have decent campfires where we're going.”

Another twenty-five or so minutes brought them around the base of that hill and the next one, and then the Beavers led the group up the slope of a third and tallest hill. “And here we are,” said Mr. Beaver once they reached the summit. “The hill of the Stone Table.”

The hilltop was a broad space, clear of trees, with a grim gray construction in the very center: the Stone Table itself. It seemed like the whole snowscape of Narnia spread out before them, all the way to the twinkling ocean. It would have been a lovely view if not for the circumstances that had brought them there.

No one greeted them. They thought at first that no one was even there, but Virgil pointed to a hunched figure crouched on the ground some distance away from the table, tending the embers of a small fire by means of an awkwardly long poker held at full arm's length, as if she were afraid to go too near it. She was very slender, with lightly tanned skin and misty pale green hair that stuck out from her head in bristly locks, falling down to merge with her dress, which was the same color and texture.

“Ailim, is that you?” said Mr. Beaver.

“Oh!” said the woman, rising to her feet in one motion, more gracefully than any human could manage. “Beaver...I wasn't expecting you.”

“Ailim...where is everyone?”

She shook her head with a sound like leaves rustling in a breeze. “A few are nearby, keeping to cover. As for the rest...they are safe in their homes. Where else would they be? Aslan has not come after all. Of my people, only my conifer siblings and myself are even awake. The rest of our cousins still sleep.”

“Ailim is a dryad,” Mrs. Beaver explained. “That's the spirit of a tree. In her case, a fir tree.”

“And you must be the humans of the prophecy,” said Ailim. “Do you know why Aslan has not returned?”

“B-beats me, Miss,” Patton said, teeth chattering. “The story seems to have hopped off the rails at some point.”

“Oh, how rude of me not to notice how cold you are. Do come sit by the fire. She crouched to poke up the flames, and used an equally long-handled set of tongs to add another log. Soon it was crackling nicely, and the Sides were clustered around it, sitting on small boulders that had been cleared of snow and soaking up the warmth.

“It doesn't bother you?” Virgil said as Ailim fed the fire again. “Burning wood? I mean, if you're a tree too...”

“This was all fallen and dead already when it was gathered,” she explained. “No Narnian of good heart would ever cut down a living tree, or even take so much as a single branch. Sometimes an aged dryad who knows she will die soon will bequeath her wood to those who need it, but living trees are sacrosanct. Or,” she added sadly, “so it was before the White Witch came.”

“We'll figure something out,” Patton said. “I think…I think the Witch is hurting someone we care about too.”

“In the meantime,” Mr. Beaver cut in, “this lot needs food and rest.”

“Of course,” said the dryad. “There are shelters in the thickets on the southeastern slope, and provisions. Tap three times quickly and twice slowly on the large boulder and the fauns will let you inside.” She met each of their gazes in turn. “In the morning we must hold a council of war.”

*******************************************

At least Jadis's bed was comfortable enough.

Roman had found it eventually, after wandering the frozen castle for what felt like hours. It was only a broad, thick slab of ice on the floor, but it was heaped with enough blankets and furs that he was adequately shielded from the worst of the cold, both from the frigid air of the castle and the bed itself. He crawled in, his head still spinning, and wrapped himself in layers of bedding like a caterpillar forming its cocoon.

Sleep came quickly, but proper rest did not; Roman's dreams were full of ice and crystal and stone and snowflakes that came spinning down out of a black sky like tiny sawmill blades. Where they touched him he flinched and bled, and his blood was the pale turquoise of a glacial core. It whispered to him in sounds that were almost words and phrases in a language he only partially understood.

Perhaps he thrashed or cried out in his sleep, but if so, no one noticed or responded.

And with the coming of the dawn, Roman opened his eyes...and knew who he was. And what he was.

*******************************************

The war council never happened.

After their long trek, the Sides had just enough energy left to swallow a few mouthfuls of the stew the fauns had prepared and fall asleep on rough cots in a den of sorts excavated from the hillside. The Narnians hadn't the heart to disturb them, and they didn't wake until the sun was well over the horizon, and then only because a strange, piercing sound was blaring from outside the shelter, coming from some distance away. It was like a horn, but shriller, and it set their teeth on edge.

Bleary-eyed from stolen sleep, they bustled out to find their hosts interrupted in the act of preparing breakfast. “What's going on?” Patton yawned. “Is it time for the council meeting thingie?”

“We're not sure,” said one of the fauns, whose name escaped him. The peculiar sound continued at intervals of a few seconds, and seemed intended as a signal of some kind.

“Something is approaching!” came Ailim’s voice from the hilltop. “Let us all gather as a show of our numbers!”

“What numbers,” Virgil muttered, but he joined the other two, and the Beavers and fauns and other handful of Narnian citizens now emerging from their respective shelters, in hiking back up to the summit, where Ailim was waiting with another dryad, taller and wirier than herself. They got there just in time to see, bursting through the trees on the northern slope, a Dwarf they barely recognized as the White Witch’s driver. He was blowing on some kind of wind instrument that appeared to be made from silvery crystal—or perhaps ice—which was of course the sound they had all been hearing. Behind him, further downslope, there was some kind of commotion that wasn’t yet visible through the brush and piled snow.

“Narnians!” bellowed the Dwarf. “Make ready to receive your most exalted ruler, the White Warlock!”

“What?” Virgil growled.

“White Warlock?” said Patton. “No, it’s supposed to be the White Witch. A scary lady! I remember that part!”

“'Warlock' is a semi-archaic term for a male witch,” Logan observed.

“Guys, I have the worst feeling about this…” said Virgil.

More creatures were emerging from the trees on the hill slope, and it took the Sides a moment to realize that they were looking at a procession of monsters. First was a group of Goblin heralds carrying gonfalons that seemed to consist only of crosspieces crusted with masses of icicles. Then came a formation of Dwarf archers, and then several Ogres bearing clubs. Following this were a few Hags, hissing and pointing threateningly into the gathering.

(“What is this, the whole bloody entourage?” whispered Mr. Beaver. “Dear! Mind your language!” Mrs. Beaver retorted.)

As the procession reached the hilltop, it broke to its right, circling the space counterclockwise and fanning out along the other side of the Stone Table from the Sides and their allies, effectively corralling them—they could retreat, technically, but there was only one direction available; they would be easy pickings if they tried.

Finally, the White Warlock himself appeared, lounging in a fur-lined sedan chair on the shoulders of four massive Minotaurs. His crown glittered as he moved in and out of patches of shade and his robe was made entirely of ermine, with a train that trailed behind the chair for ten yards, held off the ground by a team of Yew-dryads, their short shaggy hair speckled with scarlet berries. The Minotaurs crested the hill, and one of them kicked snow over the smoldering campfire, extinguishing it. They eased the chair down, and the Warlock rose from his seat, stepped lightly to the ground, and turned to face them.

It was Roman...and he was wrong.

They knew what “evil Roman” was supposed to look like. The fans loved to imagine him, for some reason, and they tagged Thomas in their fanart of the concept often enough that the Sides were familiar with the consensus image: the haughty expression, the gaudy gold crown studded with rubies, and especially the transformation of his suit from pristine, heroic white to Disney Villain black.

It wasn't...it wasn't supposed to become even whiter. It wasn't supposed to gleam almost too bright to look at in the sunlight, so that even the ermine barely looked white by comparison. The gold braid wasn't supposed to be replaced with silver, nor the noble red of his sash with a dusky grayish mauve like dried rose petals under a veneer of frost. The crown was not supposed to be made of silvery ice, with only a single huge diamond set under the central point.

His hair was not supposed to be shot through with white strands that turned out, upon closer inspection, to be ornamentation of impossibly delicate ice filigree. His eyes were definitely not supposed to be gray, flecked with blue-green. And he was not supposed to be pale, but he was—paler than Virgil, if such a thing were possible, lacking even a cold-induced blush to his cheeks, yet without looking the least bit unhealthy. It was as if he had been molded out of ivory.

The only hint of warmth in his appearance was that diamond, which flashed all the colors of fire.

He was wrong.

“Hark! You are all guilty of high treason against the Crown!” he said without preamble, and his voice at least, if not the disdainful tone, was familiar. “Except you three,” he added with a curt nod at his fellow Sides. “However! We are in a lenient mood! Abandon your rebellion at once, and swear fealty to us, and you will not be punished...this time. As for you...” He addressed the Sides again, and for just a moment, his cold arrogance retreated, “...in exchange for your fealty, I will make you all lesser Kings in my court. Think of it! This glorious winter kingdom could belong to all of us!”

The Narnians shuffled on their feet, making no reply. The Sides traded glances, Logan frowning uncertainly and Virgil shaking his head with a haunted expression. Finally, Patton spoke.

“Roman...this isn't fun anymore, with you acting like this. This isn't how you said the story was going to go. Can we just...go home? We can talk out whatever's bothering you.”

It was shocking how quickly Roman's eyes hardened. “I will not be mocked,” he said, low and dangerous. “You have one day and night to change your minds...or else prepare for war. And these—” he made an expansive gesture at the creatures he had brought with him, “—are merely the outermost tip of my armies.” He returned to his sedan chair and the Minotaurs hoisted it up. The procession began to descend the hill.

“Down with the White Warlock!” blurted the taller Dryad, Ailim's companion. “Aslan is King!”

Roman's head whipped around to glare at her. Without a single word, he nodded to the nearest of the Hags, and she lunged at the Dryad, shrieking and making a throwing gesture. There was something like a flash of light in reverse—a flash of darkness—and the tall tree-spirit sank to the ground with a sigh.

“Muricata!” Ailim cried as one of the Ogres stepped forward and lifted the fallen nymph in one massive hand.

“Find her tree,” growled the White Warlock. “Cut it down while she watches.”

“No! Please!” Ailim begged. “She is my sister!”

“Take the other one as well. Let them both watch.” A second Ogre seized Ailim and began dragging her along while she screamed in terror and grief.

“Roman!” Patton gasped. “H-how could you?”

“Don't make me punish you as well!” Roman snarled. “Move out!”

The procession withdrew back down the hill, leaving the Narnians devastated and the Sides both bewildered and appalled. “So now what?” Virgil said, pacing erratically and pulling at his hair. “This is really bad, you guys. Super bad. We're not just talking rail-jumping here. Roman's taken a flying leap off...off something, I don't know, but there is something wrong with him. I thought maybe he was just throwing a surprise twist at us, but did you see him? That look in his eyes? This is so bad—”

“Virgil, you are spiraling,” said Logan. “Try one of your breathing exercises.”

“I don't understand,” said Patton. “Why would Roman go this far? Do you think he's mad at us for something?”

“It is possible,” said Logan. “He has undergone a number of upsetting occurrences recently, and his mood has not been the most stable. Then again, with his talk of 'swearing fealty'...perhaps he is simply craving validation.”

“Should we just give it to him then?” said Virgil. I mean if it's the fastest way to get him off the crazy train...”

“Unfortunately, I have to advise against indulging him in this,” said Logan. “While it may work in the short term to, as you say, 'get him off the crazy train'—which does not sound like a practical or enjoyable means of transportation, by the way—the likely long-term effect would be to encourage him to continue these destructive methods of addressing his self-esteem deficits.”

“Patton, you're the 'should' guy around here...what should we do?”

“I'm honestly thinking we should just leave. The best way to send a message that the game is no good, is to quit playing. He can grapple with his feelings as long as he needs to, and we'll be there for him when he's ready to come out and talk.”

“I would tend to agree,” said Logan, “but I doubt there is any way for us to leave the Imagination without Roman noticing, and in his current state he would be certain to take steps to stop us, possibly violently.” He began to pace rapidly, wearing a tamped-down groove in the snow. “However...perhaps one of us could make it back to the door undetected, leave, and come back with...additional resources.”

“What kind of 'additional resources' did you have in mind?” said Virgil.

“It occurs to me,” Logan said, still pacing, “that Roman is rather...comfortable, with the three of us. That may cause him to take our points of view for granted, which ironically makes him less likely to listen to us than to someone with whom he might experience more interpersonal friction.”

There was a beat while Virgil and Patton took that in. “Oh, no!” Virgil said after a moment. “If you're suggesting what I think you're suggesting, then...no. I can't agree with that.”

“Just so we're on the same page,” Patton said carefully, “you want to go get Janus? You think he could help?”

“I think his presence might shock Roman just enough to shake him out of his assumptions about how this story is meant to go,” Logan explained.

“You could be right,” said Patton. “Roman arranged all this because he hasn't felt much like a hero ever since we started including Janus in our discussions. But somehow he wound up going completely the other way, to being the villain. Maybe seeing Janus will remind him of what he's trying to avoid?”

“Okay, cool, so I'm outvoted. Coolcoolcoolcoolcoolcool. So which one of us should go?”

“I was planning on doing it myself,” said Logan. “It would not be fair to ask you to carry out a plan to which you object, and between myself and Patton, I believe I have a greater chance of making the trek without getting sidetracked or losing my nerve. No offense, Patton.”

“None taken. It's an awfully long way to go by yourself, though. Are you sure you even know the way?”

“I have an excellent head for navigation and I believe I can triangulate the location of the door based on our travels thus far. I would feel more confident if I had some form of transportation, however.”

“I can carry you, sir,” said a deep but young-sounding voice from among the Narnians. It was the largest of those gathered, a Talking Bear not quite full grown but undeniably burly and powerful. “Name of Stoutpaws, sir. I'm not as good as a Horse but I'll do my best.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Stoutpaws. My name is Logan. If we start now, I estimate you can get me to my destination before sundown.”

“You're leaving already?” Patton said, fretting.

“Roman has only given us until tomorrow, Patton. Given the round trip, I need to use every minute I can to make sure I bring Janus back here before the deadline.”

Patton strode up and pulled him into a hug. “You be careful.”

“Likewise,” said Logan.

“I'll guard him with my life, sir,” said Stoutpaws. He crouched on all fours so that Logan could climb onto his back and then loped away down the westward slope of the hill.

“Gosh, things are happening fast,” Patton said, watching them go. “It all started so simply.”

“Come on, Pat,” said Virgil with a lopsided smile that got nowhere near his eyes, “you should know by now that nothing in this mind of Thomas's is ever simple. And on that note...we should probably pull this bunch together and come up with some contingency plans, just in case Logan doesn't get back in time.”

“Yeah,” Patton agreed noncommittally. “And someone oughta buck them up. They just watched two of their own get dragged away by the bad guys to be...” He trailed off.

“Don't think about it too much,” Virgil said. “Just...yeah, don't think about it.” The gathering was breaking up, the Narnians returning dejected to their hillside shelters. Patton and Virgil joined them.

Unseen in the snow-dusted brush nearby, someone was watching...

#sanders sides #fanfiction #lamp/calm #Platonic LAMP/CALM #dlampr #platonic dlampr #narnia #sympathetic janus #sympathetic remus #villainous roman

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foxofsunholt · 5 years

Note

How would the ros act if due to time travel schenanigens they met their children before they got together with the mc? What would they say to the child and the mc? How would they feel?

This ask was really interesting, thank you for sending it in! I kept trying to make it more light-hearted, but in the FOS-world, the idea of fate is very strong—any one of these characters confronted with the idea of what their future would assume that’s what’ll happen 100%. For some characters, the implication of that is too great–the extreme disconnect between the idea of them eventually having a family against what their current situation is…is just too…jarring? It should be a hopeful sign, but it would wack them in the face like a raw fish, esp. pre-getting together with the MC in which they’re just ripe with emotional issues.

Anyway my point is this really ran away from me ajskhdkajdh

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Colette is thrilled to meet her parents, but she keeps her lips sealed about the nature of her birth. She is blonde and smiles without shame–she looks so much like Adelaide that a connection can no longer be denied. Adelaide hugs her daughter, weeps into her arms at the very idea—that one day her life is happy. Colette is eager to know The Fox of Sunholt beyond what she has heard in stories; to get to live through the legacy of her parents. Adelaide will not discuss the logistics, but she pulls you aside and speaks with excited whispers. Look at what this means, she says, it means we win. Colette is hope, and everything Adelaide could have wished for and more.

But Adelaide has never spoken of her affections for you, and with news of your child in the future, she concerns herself with never speaking of it. Colette tells you of a great love-story–yours. She speaks with reverence and her words feel like a lie. You ask her why she’s never told Adelaide about these stories (which you still don’t think are real). She grows very quiet; she reminds you a lot of yourself like that, as she tries to make herself small. She said she doesn’t want to hear it, your daughter confesses. You feel her pain as she tries to hide her love for the both of you away, for Adelaide’s sake.

The future can be bright and beautiful, she’s addressing the people of Sunholt and for the first time you notice the way her lips quiver when she lies. Colette is just a symbol of a future Adelaide pretends to believe in.

When faced with the truth, the princess cowers.

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Theodore and Theodosia know better than to incur their mother’s ire, so they only tell you about the circumstance of their being. It’s clear they’re uncomfortable around Camille. Confused, you ask them why. It’s Theo who answers, picking at the dirt under his nails. She’s just really..different. But the magic the twins use is hard to hide, their techniques proof of secrets passed through Camille’s family. The idea of this ‘future’ unnerves her. The thought, the mere idea, that her life turns out okay is horrifying. What had all her pain been for? What then is the point of all her work? And how–how in the name of Seven is this magical future supposed to happen? As far as she’s concerned, their future is not hers. Vehemently she denies it, and them.

And in doing so, she pulls from you. She might run, one day, if her loyalty to Adelaide did not anchor her to this journey. Everything is just something waiting to go wrong–and knowing there is a life out there with you–that is something she’d never be able to accept the inevitable ruining of.

You get to know your children well, but they don’t recognize their mother. And you find yourself knowing Camille less.

I wanted to set the world on fire, she tells you, standing over ash and rubble, now what?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Ares runs with his arms open to hug you immediately, and then to Mars. He doesn’t think about the implications of being so open about his parents, he’s just happy to see the two of you. It is a shock to see the brave warrior he knows to be his father suddenly a stiff and grumpy man, but his boundless energy is enough to cancel out even Mars’ awkwardness–most of the time, at least. Mars himself struggles to bring the topic up with you, or Ares. He insists this is some trick, he tries to draw away from you but he misses you too much when you are apart. He has not accepted that Ares is his son, or that there is some future with you–but he takes it in stride, best he can.

One day, when Ares is fast asleep, Mars gathers the courage to speak. What does it mean? He asks and you shrug. Might he be an impostor? You shake your head, Ares is too honest for that. And what do you think? Do you—do you really believe that we–that there’s— Words catch in his throat and confidence dies on his tongue.

There is an idea of the future that Mars has always had. It is one lived alone in a world of blacks & whites. There is no place for love in his future, but he asks you if you’ll allow him to be wrong, just this once.

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Kai stumbles into the group with a bloody nose and a crooked grin. He smiles the way Faith does, with mischief behind his teeth. You make the connection instantly, though he denies sharing any details of his parents. Your stomach twists as you eventually piece together who the other-half is in this equation. Me? You shout one night, dangling your feet into a cold lake with Kai silently by your side. He frowns but nods and draws a finger to his lips. If you tell her, she’ll run—then I’ll poof outta existence. That’s how future stuff works, right? He’s astute, he gets that from you.

The future is scary, that’s what Faith tells you. She says it’s her biggest fear and then laughs as though it’s merely a joke. Behind her veneer of flirtation and confidence there is a woman who is so deeply afraid and you gather that she knows. You don’t talk about it, or who Kai is. It would ruin something, you think, and even Kai feels it.

One day, he tells you, you two will be really happy, I promise. I’m not gonna get in the way of you guys gettin’ there. Then he pauses, never one for physical affection he succumbs to the urge to hug you. I love you both and I’m sorry.

As it turns out, even without the conversation, Faith runs.

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Lucy is nonchalant about it. Sid is a little less. A kid! As far as he’s concerned, it’s great news. He hugs her first hard and tight and she has to pry him away. Then he hugs you, with just as much force. He laughs loud and he holds you close. It’s great, he says this over and over again as though he’s trying to convince himself of it. Lucy isn’t very talkative, you think she gets her need of privacy from you. Sid is louder than normal, forcing out a friendliness that’s uncharacteristic even for him.

This means we make it out okay, he says, it also means we’ve got somethin’ special to be fightin’ for–not just an idea. But what does it mean for you two? You’re friends, naturally, but a child? Sid seems unconcerned with speaking of the logistics here. Tactfully, he avoids the topic altogether and tries his best to act unchanged with the knowledge.

It’s weird, Lucy tells you, seeing you both like this. When you quirk your brow at her, she elaborates. Unhappy, I mean.

Sid is at his ship, your knife pressed to his throat. it’s strange, ain’t it? He says, arms thrown up in the air, you’d think knowing it’ll all be okay would make this a lot easier, wouldn’t it?

It’s just funny! Lucy groans in frustration, you denying her a mug of ale, you two are supposed to be like gross and– she presses the tips of her fingers together, stammering through poorly attempted kissing noises. –but it’s nothing like that!

You run your hand over where Sid’s blood has burnt through the steel of your blade. Fate is wrong, Sid told you once, a lifetime ago, destiny’s never set in stone–life’d be too easy if it were.

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Juno and Bora ambush you in the words, snickering behind hand-crafted fox masks. Yoon regales you with an old tale about two trickster spirits, Juno can’t keep herself from jumping in and finishing the story–which spurs Bora hitting her sister behind her head, which then results in Juno retaliating and what once felt like a threat against your life has dissolved into childish bickering between two siblings. Needless to say, they’re bad at keeping secrets.

You know what this means, you let Yoon’s suggestive joke drift through the air. The Fey population is dwindling.

But it all feels like a joke, perhaps because Yoon takes nothing with seriousness. His children are amused by his apathy for only so long, before they turn to you, finding that your pessimism is equally as unamusing.

The world’s a lot less sad in the future, Juno tries to tell you, Colette and Theo and I collect frogs from the lake behind the castle and then ‘Dosia gets really mad ‘cause Theo puts them in her bag but you an’ Dad always laugh! Not at ‘Dosia, ‘cause that would be mean, but when we tell you about our day you get like— she mimics a smile, you shoot her a look of confusion.

Forget it, Bora interjects, no one ever tells us what it was like during the war, it’s like everyone’s trying to…

Hide it in ‘Dosia’s bag!

…Metaphorically.

Yeah, duh, not really, ‘cause that’s where the frogs go.

They tell you stories of the future, of their friends and the school you will help to build. Yoon sits and listens to them one day, his face unreadable. There is a conversation to be had, you and Yoon are due for a lot of those. In lieu of one he takes you to that lake behind the castle—which is not a lake at all but a Rot-stained swamp. He presses his palm against the corrupted trunk of a nearby tree, letting it burn through his skin, blood tricking down the bark. Imagine a child playing here and tell me it doesn’t sound like a lie.

You have a hard time telling him any different.

#asks #?????#idk what this is #Anonymous #kids

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tcrmommabear · 5 years

Text

TCR Birthday Bash Day #2

Hey y’all, this is fucking 3,308 words long. This thing comes to a hearty fucking 8 pages on my Google document, and I’m not kidding, this is entirely the reason why I’m so behind on every other prompt. I was going to spend the day before each prompt, post it in the morning, work on the next.

Then this just kept growing. And growing. And, holy hell of the high seas, GROWING.

It’s an entire fanfic by itself. Please, enjoy what I’ve suffered through.

***

What We Left Behind on the High Seas

He found her on the deck, staring out after the sea. It wasn’t hard, not many places to hide, but still. When Haru didn’t want to be found, she never would be. An annoying skill, if it hadn’t also saved their hinds a dozen and one times, or taken them to parts of the world he never thought they’d see.

He wishes they could go back to those times, thinks maybe they could, one day. But a daughter and impending doom doesn’t undo 20 years of bad blood. Trust me, he tried.

The bag drops by her feet, clothes and enough gold to keep the loosest lips sealed. She glances down at it, then back at him, a single eyebrow raised.

“Cutting tail and running, huh?” she drawled, no more surprised than a dog finding a flea by it’s paw.

“Well,” he begins, stretching his shoulders before leaning over the rail, “I’ve got a reputation to uphold. Without a reputation, what do any of us really have?”

She laughs, short and dry, but a pleasant and oh, so familiar sound. He wonders if she longs for what they used to have, especially after the truth of what ruined their lives came to light. Not a betrayal from him, not a lie from her. Just the jealousy of a cabin boy neither could remember the name of until today. The same one leading the British Armada, that tried to steal their daughter, and, pretty important, try to kill them multiple times over.

(And manage to, back before they learned who he was, years ago.)

Still, they stand together, each having fought to bring the other back. Maybe because, despite every ugly word and bitter feeling they harbored towards each other, the world felt a little too scary, a little too empty without the other.

He breathed in deep, took in the briney air, salt stinging against his throat and lungs. It felt better than the words he wanted to speak.

“Will you take my only rowboat, or at least wait for us to make port before departing?” she asked, wind ruffling what pieces of hair that escaped the tie. The sight stirred something deep within him, the memory of brighter skies and equal, wonderful views. The thought of land makes his knees buckle, a drink begging for his hand. He didn’t want to wait.

“No, a boat will work just fine for me. I’d hate to slow down your quest to kill yourself,” he responded. His words were sharp, but gave no sting. Flippant concern. Haru hummed, mirroring his pose to watch the sea of pitch pass them by.

He looked at her. Really looked at her.

They’d faced impossible odds, been killed and brought back more times than either cared to admit. He had never seen her so calm. So settled into her skin, like something weighed down her bones and sunk her down to her heels. Crows feet, the beginnings of frown lines. There was a day, a time, a moment when he thought he’d see that form on both their faces. He knew she’d never admit to thinking the same. Neither would, really. Just keep it safe in their thoughts.

The same way they’d never admit that they didn’t hated the other. Just too stubborn and hurt to fix the mistakes of the past.

“Why are you fighting this battle, Haru?” he asked, watched as she glanced his way and returned to the sea.

“Why not?” she deflected, eyebrow raised to provoke.

“Not really an answer.”

“Well, not really a question, Hunter. What difference does it make? We’re pirates. Don’t really do reasonable.”

He snorted, ignoring the way she looked at him expectantly, knowing his past, and his… Flair. He turned away, using the excuse to look over towards the captain’s quarters. Snow blonde and green eyed. Their greatest treasure, fierce and kind and more of a pirate than either of her parents, sleeping peacefully away.

“You can’t drag her into this, Haru,” he almost begged, wondering if his daughter still got the same nightmares she had when the pair of them had first started sailing together. He heard a shuffle, took it as Haru standing up.

“I’m her mother and it’s her choice. We’ll make that bastard pay for everything.”

“I’m her father and it’s our job to keep her safe. We can’t win this fight, we can’t even begin to hope we have a shot. We just need to go.”

“We?” Haru counters, ruefully, their eyes meeting as their heads turned. His tongue freezes, reminded of stolen chocolate, fresh polished wood, and clean sails. Of betrayal and stranded islands. He broke away first. She knew he would.

“So, just you two, then,” she nodded, and he wanted to know what she really thought. What she felt beneath the polished veneer. He didn’t think she’d let him back in.

“Haru-,” she cut him off, pushing off the rail and walking off towards the stairs leading to the underbelly of the Feral Beast.

“The choice is yours, Hunter, I won’t persuade you either way. But,” she turned, wind ruffling her hair free, strands twisting around her face, “you’ll have to convince Yuki. Because you’ll be dead before you can drag her anywhere against her will.”

His heart twisted, the sight of her back fading away too much, too familiar and cruel. He surged forward, fingers brushing her arm, just enough to get her to stop, to look at him. Her face was neutral, but her eyes betrayed the surprise.

“I never stopped loving you,” he told her, stumbling and breathless and so reminiscent of times long past, but with so much more on the line this go around.

“I never stopped. How could I? I was… Furious, hurt, scared, but I never thought it was because of you. Everything I did, who I became, then and now, has your name written all over it. I couldn’t bear the thought of not being in your life. And… And now I find out we have this beautiful, clever, headstrong pirate of a daughter and I just want to keep her safe. To keep both of you safe.”

Tears well, and when she tries to look away, he gently touches her cheek, turning her back to him. She looks at him, equal parts desolate and in love, and he knows he looks the same. Haru sighs, pulls his hand away, but doesn’t let go.

“I… I can’t say things haven’t changed. I can’t guarantee that what I felt is the same, or as strongly, as purely as before. Time changes everything, no matter how much you struggle against it. But I never stopped loving you, either.”

He felt weightless, floating deep in the sea water. Like he’d leapt between two buildings and stuck the landing when he thought he wouldn’t.

“Please, Haru,” he tries, begging, pleading, hoping, “let’s forget this, all of this. Let’s all go, and hide, live our lives. Death is not worth all of this. Let me keep you both safe...”

She’s quiet, considering, tugging her hands free.

“Cowards die a thousand deaths, but a hero only ever knows one. I don’t need to be protected, I need you to support and understand me, my choice. You don’t have to like it, but I don’t need you disrespecting me, or our daughter, and all we suffered through.”

She puts a step between them, inches of space that feels like miles. She lingers in the doorway, half stepped down the stairs. Waiting. She can’t ask him to stay, and he can’t convince her to go. She has to let go.

“Goodnight… Hunter.”

***

Whoever shakes her awake is gentle, but it doesn’t stop the blind fear burning through her system. Her arms flailing, her leg jerking out, weak and tangled in the blankets. A hand stops her, a heartbroken but kind voice croaks out.

“Hey, hey, easy, it’s me spitfire,” Baron Hunter- her father- soothes, rubbing her arms, and then her back when she sits up. She rubs away what little sleep built in her eyes, but it did no wonders to help her father. He looked like hell, probably felt almost close to it, and she’s sure he knows exactly what the bottom of the ocean looks like.

Still, it’s Baron, the man who took her in, helped her hide and face her fears, searching for the truth of who she was. If only she could have realized sooner. Maybe they wouldn’t be off to die.

“Don’t tell me we’ve already reached port because that was hardly a minute of sleep,” she half yawned, half griped. Baron chuckles, shaking his head no.

“Not yet, snowflake, still have a little while.”

She frowned, cocking her head. She took a moment to really look him over, wondering what would bring him to wake her. Her heart sinks down past her lungs, an aching weight in her stomach.

“Did mom and dad get in a fight?” she jokes, fighting to keep the fear out of her voice. She knows things weren’t good between the two, but she couldn’t imagine them going south so fast. Couldn’t imagine one of them already parting ways. Especially Baron.

“Something like that, snowflake,” he mumbled, taking her hands between his own, “your mother has made up her mind, and she’s going after Hawthorne...”

Not a surprise, Yuki figured. If she hadn’t thought there were already on their way, she would have taken off after the… The mongrel herself.

“-But I’m not going, snowflake. And I want you to come with me.”

Her eyes widened, realizing now what their “fight” had been about. She wanted to be angry, but it was hard when a sleep-deprived brain was still struggling with the implication of it all. When the first person you trusted came by and asked you, finally, for a favor. But one too painful, too much.

“I… I tried to convince your mother, but she made her choice. I want to keep you safe, Yuki. I can’t risk losing you, not after I just found you. I can’t do it,” he whimpered, voice wavering to reach her, to tell her the depth of what he needed. She couldn’t help the feeling of her heart breaking. But…

“Baron-Father. You can’t ask that of me. Please. You can’t leave.”

He shook his head, squeezing her hands, locking her in place.

“Please, snowflake. I can’t do this. Why can’t we go?”

She simmered, chewing on her lip until she could taste the metal. Her heart hammered, fury and sorrow and righteous indignation burning through her being.

“Because what’s going to stop Hawthorne? Who is going to stop him? He’s just going to keep destroying peoples’ lives, killing our friends and family until he gets what he wants. And it doesn’t matter what he wants. Because all it is annihilating anyone who stands in his way.”

“Yuki, please, you don’t know what you’re going up against…”

“He’s a monster! Okay, let’s look at this- he betrayed you and mom, turning each other against each other for some petty reason, he tried to force me to marry him all because I happened to be your daughter, and, to top it off, in the grand scheme of things, has been hunting pirates in the off chance that he might meet you and mom and kill you. Which he has done!”

Baron flinched, pressing his forehead against her hands, but she yanked them away, letting him rest his head against her bed.

“Please, Yuki, Yuki, my daughter, my sweet…”

Daughter.

She flinches back, slamming her back against the wall of the ship, bared her fangs she practiced having for the streets and the battles she never knew she’d actually see.

“Right, my father. Tell me, how has the child-rearing gone the past few hours, because I don’t remember it the last 20 years.”

Baron jerked back up, eyes watering, jaw dropped like an anchor and twice as heavy. She tried not to feel guilty.

“Snowflake, Yuki, that’s not-!”

“What?” she hissed, throwing the blanket over his head and storming past as he struggled free, “Not fair?! Not right?! How do you think I feel?! I finally, finally have a family, my life’s one treasure, the one thing I’ve been looking for my entire life, and I almost watched some… Some…”

She struggles with the right words, running through the swears taught to her over their travels.

“Some… Sodding, dickless, bastard with the face of a jack’s ass almost kill you! Kill my mother! Tell me, oh father of the past six hours, how is any of this right!?”

He looks down, fiddling with the blanket between his hands. His shoulders are tight, lip trembling. Her heart aches.

“Don’t ask me to go,” she pleads, “please. I need to do this. I can’t let him get away with this… I can’t say no to you, so please don’t ask me to go. Because the reason I’m here is because of you.”

He didn’t give her a response, stares at the hands that had begun shaking long before and had never stopped. The bag is swept into his arms, and he’s crossed the distance before she can breathe another word. His arms are warm, smelling of salt and what she can only describe as love, and she hugs him back.

She lets him go.

***

The rowboat is gone in the morning. They found it on the docks, a kindly fisherman holding watch. Before they can even ask, he’s walked away, nary a word. Haru and Yuki say nothing to each other, the missing third enough of a wound without the salt of 20 missed years. They may be strangers, but Yuki knew Baron well enough. Too well, if the rowboat was any hint.

They continue to sail, straight to the end of the line.

***

Hawthorne is on the agreed upon island, more a peak of sand than a true land mass. White sails filled the sky, stormless clouds with red flag lightning. He smiles, tips his hat with a flourish Yuki was sure he was trying to copy from… Someone else.

Her mother, still the picture of calm, only nods her head.

“Well, my ladies, I see our time is upon us. I don’t suppose we could settle this easily, per my previous terms?”

Haru scoffed, “What, me in the brig and your hands on my daughter? Not a chance.”

He looked expectantly at Yuki, eyebrow raised. She bared her fangs.

“Eat shit and live through to enjoy it, pig.”

Hawthorne sighed, settled his hat upon his head, “Very well, option B, then.”

His sword was drawn, loud and dramatic and heading to Haru’s throat.

There was a distant rumble, the crash of cannon fire.

All three paused, looked back at the armada of white, curling and collapsing inward as ships descended upon it, sails of Wicked Crows and Cat’s Paws emerged from within.

Panic crept into Hawthorne’s voice, a trembling and furious “What?!” climbing in octaves as the battle raged. Ships were decimated, quickly and efficiently, red British flags replaced with the black skull and bones. There was the boom of another canon firing, close as a ship surroundings the island filled the air with shattered wood.

“Excuse me, you three down there? My clever wife and talented daughter? Are you going to stand there being dramatic all day, or are we going to actually have a war today?!” a voice called out, a fast approaching ship carrying a figure in the crow’s nest, standing on the rail and leaning to the farthest point possible by a rope. The figure waved, highlighted by the flapping flag of a broken crown.

Haru grins, voice filled with false annoyance and genuine glee, “Such a fashionably late entrance, did your cape get caught in the door?!”

“You can nag me about my timing later, my love,” Baron roared back, over the sound of cannons and wind and waves, “but I’d start running!”

The trio paused to look at each other, frozen for a moment as each considering who’ll make the first move.

“Fuck it-!” Yuki screeches, kicking her foot to throw up a flurry of sand, smacking straight in Hawthorne’s face. She grabs her mother’s arm, tugging her towards the ship closing in fast. The old wood groans under the strain, sharply turning almost impossibly fast. Ropes woosh out, just within their grasp. Haru takes the lead, launching forward, grabbing the rope and locking arms with Yuki.

She tugs, pulling Yuki close, and letting her gain a purchase. She slips free, tumbling as she hears Hawthorne call out, “Someone!! Anyone! Stop them!”

“Well, fuck…” Haru mumbles, rushing to stand, readying her sword. Soldiers storm towards her, more than she’s possibly sure she can take. Anything to give her daughter time to climb, and the ship to kickstart and take off.

“Mm, no you don’t, Chicky,” a familiar voice gruffed, a shadow dropping down in the sand in front of her, blocking the vision of the guards surrounding her. An arm wraps around her stomach, giving three hearty spins, before launching her in the air. The feeling is familiar, and through the panic writhing in her stomach, she streamlines, hovering in the air weightless, before landing with a familiar roll.

She drops the sword, races to the edge, and pulls Yuki to the top, Muta hanging onto the end with one arm as the ship pulls away. Faces fill her vision, swimming between the adrenaline and tears, friends and family pulling to embrace her and her daughter.

“Look alive, people, we still have a war to win!” Toto called out, leaning over the rain beside Haru to the remnants of British ships beginning to push through, heading steadily towards their ship from all directions.

“We won the first battle, my friend, who cares how the rest of the war will fare when we’ve already made history?” Baron dropped from the ladder, gently pushing through the crowd to stand before his family.

Her heart pounded, knocking against her ribs and asking to be let free. She crossed her arms, eyed him over as he stood, taking in the familiar cape, the cocked captain’s hat, and the smirk slowly coming back into his smile.

Tried, measured…

“You’re late.”

“By all accounts, I arrived just in the knick of time-.”

“-And who are you calling “your wife”?-”

“We’re practically married-.”

“-If so, I want a divorce-!”

“-Haru, please, not in front of the children-!”

“Mom, dad,” Yuki interjected, giddy and alive and very aware that could change, “save the flirting for later? We’re literally in the middle of a war.”

Baron laughed, tossing his cape in a way Haru would never admit still made her swoon. All of this was so much easier when he wasn’t saying they were married and acting like a father. She’d have to fix the technicality of not being married.

“Never fear, Snowflake. I think we’ve just begun. Everyone? Places! We’re about to meet the middle of it.”

The others rushed off, lingering touches on Haru’s shoulders and Yuki’s hands, before it was the trio still left at the head of the ship. Haru took his hand.

“What took you so long, anyways?” she asked, staring down the hellfire battle.

“Well, you wouldn’t believe how long a good cape takes to find. Worse than finding Sephie and Louise when they don’t-...”

“I meant… You. This you. Where have you been, Baron?”

His eyes softened, wrapping his arms around Haru and Yuki’s shoulders. Around the only things that mattered in his life.

“I needed time to think. You.. Were right. I’d rather die here than live without either of you. Living as a coward when I knew I could be a hero.”

They all smiled, racing down the barrel of the run and straight into the fray.

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mirajens · 7 years

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love in lights

an installment from I’ll crawl home to her. paring: miraxus rating: k genre: romance found on ff.n

Christmas with the Dreyars.

Christmas always brought in a huge crowd. Mirajane couldn't think back on one Christmas where she'd had spent it all by herself. Even when mama and papa died, the three Strauss children still knew how to make a mourning period festive, all of them blessed with an over pouring optimism and love for family. Even when it was just her and Elfman left, Fairy Tail had been there for them, rowdy and warm.

Now, newly married and with close to thirty guests under her roof, it was hard to imagine ever feeling lonely. She had so much to be thankful for now with a shiny new wedding ring and a new house to go with it. And, Mirajane thought with a secretive smile on her lips and a subtle brush of her and over her belly, with a little Christmas miracle on the way, too.

She wasn't big enough to show the subtle bump through her loose dress and she was glad she wasn't known to favor constricting fashion. Thought it probably wouldn't matter soon enough. She was only trying to conceal it from one person, anyway.

Across the room she spied her husband. Laxus was never good at hiding his irritation but in an effort to not be that Grinch, he hid his sour expression behind one of many bottles of beer he'd be using as a crutch against the crippling idea that Dumb and Dumber (i.e.: Natsu and Gray) would be spending more than the regulated passing visit in his brand new home. It was hard not to fall in love with him over and over again as she observed him from her post. As hosts, they hadn't been able to have a minute to themselves all night and she worried that Laxus would lose it when the second fracas of the night was put on the table. The man might have been a fixture at the guild hall but he always took to his quiet corner table and noise-cancelling headset. But she'd seen him smile sincerely when Elfman's son told the tale of the wound he got from a sandbox accident and she saw his eyes soften when a less than sober Erza lead a toast for Makarov's legacy..

Mirajane didn't think it was all too bad for him. The exasperation seemed to be a customary veneer at this point.

All but swelling with love, Mirajane went to him. Festive music amalgamated with raucous life sounds around them, and even with an annoying crowd of party goers milling around them, intimacy was hard to misplace. As easily as she melted onto his side and beamed up at him, his arms went around her shoulders and he touched his lips to the crown of her head. Laxus' warmth was all-encompassing.

"Hey, you." Mirajane greeted him. "Wanna take it easy on the booze? Remember what Macao said about the beer belly." She pat a hand on his gut, playfully.

"Unlike him, I actually work out and do jobs so I'm pretty sure I'm good." Still, he scoffed at the memory. "You want me to get you one? It can't be easy to stomach seeing so many shoes on the new floors."

She contemplated telling him now in an off-handed way that she was pregnant just so she could see his jaw drop. But she supposed it would be cruel to drop the bomb in such a public setting and in such a busy environment. She could imagine the burden of sensory overload was enough for Laxus already and didn't fancy the idea of him kicking their guests out in what would surely be a state of agitation as he was prone to. No, she would stick with her original plan and tell him when they were alone.

Laxus woke on Christmas day just past 3pm. His eyes felt sore and his head felt tender but as far as hangovers went, this was a merciful one, considering all that he'd drunk the night before. He rolled over to face Mirajane when he heard her greet him good morning, her voice gentle, evoking great feeling in him. He didn't want to be that sap that wondered what he did to deserve waking up in a new house to a smoking hot wife, thirty-five but still hale and hearty, finally guild master despite it not feeling as sweet as his younger self thought it would be. It was a good life.

Mirajane had an amused look on her face, as she was prone to when watching Laxus wake up. He was always so haggard and grouchy before his brain truly caught up to full alert, not unlike a baby jostled from a nap. Brimming with fondness, Mirajane carded her fingers through his hair. "Merry Christmas."

Instead of replying, he grinned at her. It might have looked scary since he couldn't trust his facial muscles to work properly before he's had breakfast. Maybe he was still a little bit drunk because he couldn't stop staring at the way sunlight filtered through her pale hair.

Mirajane closed the book she'd been reading while she waited for him to wake (The History of BDSM; thanks, Lucy!) and slipped back under the covers with Laxus. With the covers over their heads, his arms loose and warm around her, her nightshirt sliding between their skin, it felt like they were the only two people in the world.

"Laxus, I'm pregnant." She told him, plainly.

Laxus blinked. "For real?"

Mirajane nodded.

"Well, shit." Laxus huffed in faux indignation. "I thought I was gonna win Christmas this year since I got us a trip to Galuna. You're kicking my ass here, Mira." Still, he smiled, wide and toothy, before kissing her enthusiastically.

"Try harder next year. I don't want to keep a six year winning streak." Mirajane said with a laugh. Giddiness bubbled in her throat, almost overwhelming.

"This is the best Christmas, ever."

#miraxus #Mirajane Strauss #Laxus Dreyar #fairy tail #christmas fic #i know its august but let me have this #ichth

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travelshakti · 7 years

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Life Cuts Both Ways

Well this has been fucking intense, excuse my french. I never thought in a thousand and eight years that I would ever be disabled. Yet, here I am. Unable to walk for the past four months. This journey is long and uncertain. I have had to dig in deep, deeper than I ever imagined.

After my accident I wrote about the harrowing experience of jumping into the Mediterranean Sea and breaking my ankle in this blog. Regretfully, believed that doctor in Spain when he prescribed that I stay off of it completely, articulate 1000 times/day, then start rehab in two months. Since my first surgery I have had three reconstructive surgeries on my ankle. Luckily, my surgeon here in Portland, Oregon is a genius and I believe he is able to salvage my limb. When I first crutched into his office I was six weeks post trauma, confused, emotional and presented with an infected non-union distal tibial fibular fractures and exposed internal hardware. It was not good.

It is a long story of how I got there but suffice it to say that as I made my way back to my family in the USA I saw a number of doctors whom obviously didn't know how to treat, prescribe or advise me. The incredible man who is saving my foot now reminds me regularly to let the past go and focus on my future. He is right. What's done is done and there is nothing that will change what happened. Nothing.

I have heard of people breaking bones. From what I could tell they end up in a cast or I saw them crutch by and eventually they heal and walk again. I naively thought it was going to be that simple for me. Have the surgery, lay low for a few months then BAM! get back to life. Little did I realize at the time that this is my life. And these are my lessons. And this is my fate. As heart breaking as it is some days this is my current reality and so I must face it.

To face my fear, weakness and insecurity is not something I like to do. It kinda makes my face wince. I mean, really? really. Ok, fine. So I did and I am. What I am finding is both absolutely terrifying and uniquely liberating. After I woke up still drowsy from my first reconstructive surgery I slowly became aware that my right foot was pinned down in a steal cage called an Iliazarov apparatus. It was so big, heavy, wide like cement brick and awkward that it took me a couple days to learn how to get myself to the toilet. Before that I was carfely making it to the Komodo by my bed. For fuck sake! I was so graceful, strong and agile before. Humbling experience to say the least.

I was reduced to my greatest fear and had to sit with my whirling mind. My mind was like a mine field. Every thought was an explosion that threatened my sanity and polished veneer. I wondered how I would navigate such a scary, volatile and intangible terrain. I was quickly loosing my grip on reality, on who I thought I was and what I thought I was meant to do. In moments I felt like a a trapped fox unable to move freely about the earth. Non of my maps worked, I was in uncharted territory. I had to forge a new path into a deeper unknown, a more essential domain.

It was a real struggle so I decided it was better to let everything go, drop any baggage from the past that I was carrying. It was too heavy and I knew I wouldn't need it where I was going. I had to loosen my grip on who I thought I was, untether my soul from the image I had constructed of myself, and release fundamental aspects of myself that I identified with but were no longer available to me.

All I really wanted to do was go back to that moment on the beach just before my life changed as I knew it and simply not jump. My mind replayed the perfect scenario where I packed up my towel, tied up my shoes, got back on the trail and ran back to where I had come from. I wanted to run away and not look back. I saw it in my mind a thousand times. If only I had...

But life isn't like that. Life isn't as forgiving as we would like it to be, so we have to forgive ourself. We have to be willing to look ourself in the eye and brave a new way forward. Life cuts both ways.

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astrognossienne · 7 years

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tragic beauty: marilyn monroe - an analysis

“I am not a victim of emotional conflicts. I am human.” - Marilyn Monroe

In her short life, Marilyn Monroe became the ultimate blonde sex symbol, but the giggling, baby-voiced coquettish veneer concealed a driven actress who desperately wanted to be taken seriously. I’ve seen all of her films, and she shines through in all of them (even the turkeys). As accessible as she was, she was quite enigmatic. I say that because, frankly, it’s amazing how deeply troubled…and completely unprofessional Marilyn was from the beginning to the end of her career (flubbing lines, the legendary lateness) and yet people still wanted to work with her and she always seems effortless on camera. But people put up with Marilyn even when she wasn’t making money which is a testament to her, I think. I look at some of her early Fox work like Don’t Bother to Knock or Niagara or even RKO’s Clash By Night and I just wonder what she would have done with more darker or noirish material. Given half the chance, I bet she would have been at least nominated for an Oscar. As exploited as she was celebrated, she had many great and relatable quotes for me personally. But I think this one, simple as it is, is what really needs to be remembered most.

Marilyn Monroe, according to astrotheme, was a Gemini sun and Aquarius moon. Despite having a father, mother, and siblings, Marilyn grew up alone in foster homes and an orphanage. I can only imagine what that felt like. Throughout her life, she suffered with issues involving trust, abandonment, identity, and self-worth, resulting in bad behavior on the set, including habitual tardiness. It doesn’t take a psychiatrist to figure out why. Her life from the beginning touched the fringes of the film industry, painting L.A. as a company town, where millions grow up in the shadow of the business. Given this proximity, perhaps it seemed natural to MM to pursue and attain stardom; on the other hand, this “six degrees of separation” between Norma Jeane and the Hollywood industry also implies that stardom in L.A. can be as far away as it is close, as elusive as it is attainable. During the lean years, when she was struggling to stay on contract and land a breakthrough role, Monroe traveled the party circuit, allowing herself to be at the beck and call of studio execs like Joseph Schenck, who graced his poker parties with young starlets. Though hoping to attract the attention of producers and directors, these starlets were auditioning to be mistresses as much as actresses. Perhaps she wanted to make it understood that she was in it for a career, not a love nest in Beverly Hills. Later, she used publicity about her acting coaches and classes to try to counter being typecast as a dumb blonde on and off the screen.

Everyone knows her story, so I’ll tie that in to focus on my favourite screen performance of hers, the underrated performance she gave as Nell in one of her earlier films, Don’t Bother To Knock. The role as written is about a girl with a traumatic childhood and strained relations with her folks, she’s spent time in a mental institution, her first real boyfriend went off to war and never came back, and now she’s got serious attachment issues—so she responds by inventing a new, more glamorous persona, putting on another woman’s things to pretend to be a confident, sexy woman—all to hide the crumbling interior. Norma Jeane Mortenson was a refugee of numerous foster homes, her mother having been institutionalized. Having endured psychological and sexual abuse as a child, she had grown into a needy, insecure young woman. Her high school sweetheart Jim Dougherty married her more or less under duress, and when he was shipped off to war in the Pacific she desperately wanted to get pregnant to secure the simulacrum of a stable home life. It’s not a one-to-one match, by any means, but there were enough undercurrents of similar emotional damage under Marilyn’s façade to draw from in bringing her role to scary life. Who broke Marilyn? Sad as it is to hear, she did it to herself. If she had said no to the “celebrity” side of Hollywood she might have been happier, but who can say? All I can say was that she was one of a kind, and as such, she’s inspired many cheap imitations but no one could ever top or match her.

Next week, I’ll be focusing on a very turbulent actor who’s had more than his share of demons (like Marilyn, his alleged fling): Aries Marlon Brando.

Stats

birthdate: June 1, 1926

major planets:

Sun: Gemini

Moon: Aquarius

Rising: Leo

Mercury: Gemini

Venus: Aries

Mars: Pisces

Midheaven: Taurus

Jupiter: Aquarius

Saturn: Scorpio

Uranus: Pisces

Neptune: Leo

Pluto: Cancer

Overall personality snapshot: Was her game Trivial Pursuit or chess? Did she want to go dancing or to study philosophy? Was she a skittish, quick-witted, ever curious, talkative live wire, or was she an impartial observer, scientist and poet, determined to follow her vision of the larger truth wherever it may lead? Whatever her actual age, she was possessed by a restless, bright bird of youth which constantly vied for her attention with a serious, wise old owl in her. Thus on the one hand she had a need for endless variety and stimulation; on the other her instinct was to look for the one root truth which encompassed all others, and which would help her make the world a better place. In short she had the light, breezy, adventurous and flirtatious qualities of spring combined with the reflective, cool mood of dark mid-winter. Her Middle Way, through which these approaches could be resolved, was an equable autumnal observation post. From here she could relish the fruits of spring and plan forward, with a spectator’s wisdom, for the demands of winter, and in this she could at times be uncannily prophetic. This gave her an enviably broad view of life, which combined her deft, childlike lightness of touch with her deeper, serious sense of purpose. As one of life’s Great Spectators, she could display a deep understanding of her chosen career, enabling her to achieve almost anything she wanted. Thus she was a great talker and theorizer and she could do remarkably well at whatever she gave herself to wholeheartedly.

She especially liked people, or at least their minds, and was fascinated by what made them tick. If she wasn’t an actress, this could have attracted her to psychology and sociology, and yet also towards the creative arts, especially music. She was likely to have the natural sense of words and rhythm of the writer, poet and musician. She responded to life with a freshness and vitality. Above all, she aspired to know the truth, the Whole Truth, and she loved talking about it and trying to give it expression. If she was drawn to business, her objectivity and cleverness would have enabled her to spot opportunities. Needing plenty of interaction with people and lots of movement, she was best as an organizer, go-between and negotiator, leaving the practical work to others. Whilst she could turn her hand to anything, the important thing as far as work is concerned was to make a virtue out of her flexibility and to ensure that, one way or another, she had several screens to her computer. Philosophically, and this was a philosophical combination, she was likely to identify with the view that, as human beings, we are naturally free, and that it is only our false assumptions that prevent us from doing or becoming whatever we want. What she failed to recognize is that it was, in fact, her ultra-reasonable approach to things that limited her potential freedom. Her very reasonableness cut her off from her own unreasonable emotions, yet understanding such emotions enabled her to cross the last frontier in her potential growth. Indeed, she may have denied that she was plagued by any such feelings. But she, more than most, had a way of romanticizing the idea of personal growth. She took readily to paths of self-improvement, as long as they were intellectually sound.

She had great presence with a strong-featured face and a sunny glow of inner self-confidence. She displayed a regal quality in her posture and carriage, holding her head proudly, back straight, walking slowly and deliberately. Was well-built. She had an eye for design and glamour. She was comfortable wearing strong colours and patterns. Felt that anything was better than being ordinary. Collecting knowledge and communicating played a great part in her life, because she needed mental stimulation. Her clear logical mind loved to debate, although her opinions were changeable. She was intensely curious and had good reasoning powers. Although she appeared very well-informed, she may have settled for a superficial grasp of the situation at times. She was a talker. At her worst, she was prone to ceaseless chatter and was more talk than action. She sought knowledge but was easily attracted by anything new and interesting on the horizon. She needed to consciously develop more self-discipline, so that she could gain full benefit from her wealth of ideas and knowledge. Before she expressed her opinion, she needed to make sure that she knew all the facts. Education provided her with the necessary polish, so that she could easily fit in to all social situations.

She belonged to a generation gifted with original and unusual artistic talents, highly imaginative, secretive and visionary. As a members of this generation, she felt uncomfortable facing reality, finding the world a difficult place to survive in. The unknown and the taboo appealed to her, because she wanted to have the freedom to explore and think for herself. As a member of this generation, she felt the world’s suffering very deeply and felt a great need to help the less fortunate. She was part of a very artistically talented and creative generation that wanted to escape from the demands of the world around them into a world of excitement and glamour. Members of this generation loved the theater and the cinema, in fact, any sort of creative self-expression. They also believed in the rights of any individual to express themselves. This generation was both idealistic and romantic, selfish and individualistic. Marilyn Monroe embodied all of these Leo Neptunian ideals. Also, as a member of the Leo Neptune generation, she experienced and fully embraced changes in sexual mores and attitudes, changing the way people approach the whole issue of romantic relationships. Changes were also experienced in the relationships between parents and children, with the ties becoming looser. In Monroe’s case, her relationship with her mother and father was nil to nonexistent, and was primarily raised by a succession of foster families. Was part of a generation known for its devastating social upheavals concerning home and family. The whole general pattern of family life experiences enormous changes and upheavals; as a Cancer Plutonian, this aspect is highlighted with Monroe not having a stable home life and her difficulties and inability in having children of her own.

Love/sex life: She was a pushy Mars in Pisces lover who believed that the best emotional defense is to always be on the offense. She hid her vulnerability behind a façade of daring and sexual bravado and she compensated for her own tendency to fall in love too quickly and too often by making everyone fall in love with her first. This aggressive stance made her one of the most visible and dynamic lovers of this type but it also left her wide-open to emotional injury. Since it was she who took the initiative in relationships, it was very likely that she found the warmth and emotional support she so desperately needed. It was making it last that was the problem. That required patience and patience was the one ingredient of a happy love life that she totally lacked. When hard times hit a relationship, or she felt less than totally adored, she immediately began looking for an exit. It always seemed easier to make a new start than to ride out an emotional storm. Until she learned to deal with this restlessness (some might call it cowardliness,) she’d never find the secure bond she desired. And she never did. Monroe’s sex life was frequently disrupted by her emotional insecurity. She possessed a tangible sensuality and, more importantly, a unique ability to project that sexual fullness through the lens of a camera and to the world. The giggly, blond persona she created has captivated generations but much of the time she was just looking for a partner who could make her feel protected and worthwhile.·

minor asteroids and points:

North Node: Cancer

Lilith: Leo

Vertex: Sagittarius

Fortune: Aries

East Point: Leo

Her North Node in Cancer dictated that she needed to develop the more caring and compassionate side to her personality and try to place less emphasis on the materialistic aspects of her life. Her Lilith in Leo ensured that she had a scrappy plucky attitude hot-wired into her psyche. She needed to be in control and to be mistress of her own destiny, because her life was in the control of not-so-well-meaning others as a child. Her Vertex in Sagittarius, 5th house dictated that she had a desire or continual need for feeling irresistible and irreplaceable on all levels of intimacy, whether spiritual, intellectual, emotional, or physical. From the fires of hell to the heights of heaven, the further and deeper the range of interaction she could experience with another the more fulfilling. She had an attitude of duty, obligation and sacrifice when it came to heartfelt interactions. The negative side was the tendency to become hypochondriacal or martyristic to get the love she so desperately wanted. There was a need for others to appreciate the sincerity of her intentions, to the daily tasks she executed in a conscientious and caring way and for others to know that her actions, no matter how routine they may seem, were based on devoted love. Her Part of Fortune in Aries and Part of Spirit in Libra dictated that her destiny lay in using her strength and energy to go out and seek her fortune in life. Her journey was as significant as the goal. She found success and happiness by being both bold and confident, and through her own innovative and creative efforts. Her soul’s purpose lay in developing relationships and bringing equilibrium to situations. She felt spiritual connections and saw the spark of the divine when she helped others and followed her artistic pursuits. For her, beauty truly was divine. East Point in Leo dictated that she was more likely to identify with the need for pleasure (including the potential of liking herself) and comfort.

elemental dominance:

air

fire

She was communicative, quick and mentally agile, and she liked to stir things up. She was likely a havoc-seeker on some level. She was oriented more toward thinking than feeling. She carried information and the seeds of ideas. Out of balance, she lived in her head and could be insensitive to the feelings of others. But at her best, she helped others form connections in all spheres of their daily lives. She was dynamic and passionate, with strong leadership ability. She generated enormous warmth and vibrancy. She was exciting to be around, because she was genuinely enthusiastic and usually friendly. However, she could either be harnessed into helpful energy or flame up and cause destruction. Ultimately, she chose the latter. Confident and opinionated, she was fond of declarative statements such as “I will do this” or “It’s this way.” When out of control—usually because she was bored, or hadn’t been acknowledged—she was be bossy, demanding, and even tyrannical. But at her best, her confidence and vision inspired others to conquer new territory in the world, in society, and in themselves.

modality dominance:

fixed

She liked the challenge of managing existing routines with ever more efficiency, rather than starting new enterprises or finding new ways of doing things. She likely had trouble delegating duties and had a very hard time seeing other points of view; she tried to implement the human need to create stability and order in the wake of change.

house dominants:

7th

11th

8th

Her attitude towards partnerships with other people was emphasized in her life, whether on a personal or on a business level. It also revealed her marriage partner. It indicated how she dealt with other people and how her relationships with others affected her. Also had the propensity to attract enemies, and the effect that they had on her life was an issue. Globally aware, she put emphasis on her friends and acquaintances, as well as the influence of groups and societies on her life. Her general hopes and aspirations revealed themselves, as well as how well she functioned as part of a system. This extended to how she manifested her creativity against the background of the community. She loved the totality of the human experience and embraced the whole cycle of human life, including birth, sex and death. Her darker side, and the complexes and emotions that she preferred to keep hidden, even from herself was a theme throughout her life. Her ability to undergo deep personal transformations and spiritual regeneration was also highlighted.

planet dominants:

Neptune

Sun

Moon

She was of a contemplative nature, particularly receptive to ambiances, places, and people. She gladly cultivated the art of letting go, and allowed the natural unfolding of events to construct her world. She followed her inspirations, for better or for worse. This dictates that she had vitality and creativity, as well as a strong ego and was authoritarian and powerful. She likely had strong leadership qualities, she definitely knew who she was, and she had tremendous will. She met challenges and believed in expanding her life. She was defined by her inner world; by her emotional reactions to situations, how emotions flowed through her, motivating and compelling her—or limiting her and holding her back. She held great capacity to become a part of the whole rather than attempting to master the parts. She wanted to become whatever it is that she sought.

sign dominants:

Leo

Gemini

Aquarius

She loved being the center of attention and often surrounded herself with admirers. She had an innate dramatic sense, and life was definitely her stage. Her flamboyance and personal magnetism extended to every facet of her life. She wanted to succeed and make an impact in every situation. She was, at her best, optimistic, honorable, loyal, and ambitious. She ventured out to see what else was there and seized upon new ideas that will expand their communities. Their innate curiosity kept her on the move. She used her rational, intellectual mind to explore and understand her personal world. They needed to answer the single burning question in her mind: why? This applied to most facets of her life, from the personal to the impersonal. This need to know sent her off to foreign countries, where her need to explore other cultures and traditions ranked high. She was changeable and often moody. This meant that she was often at odds with herself—the mind demanding one thing, the heart demanding the opposite. To someone else, this internal conflict often manifested as two very different people. She was an original thinker, often eccentric, who prized individuality and freedom above all else. Her compassion, while genuine, rose from the intellect rather than the heart. She was hard to figure out because she was so often a paradox. She was patient but impatient; a nonconformist who conformed when it suited her; rebellious but peace-loving; stubborn and yet compliant when she wanted to be. She chafed at the restrictions placed upon her by society and sought to follow her own path.

Read more about her under the cut.

Marilyn Monroe was born Norma Jeane Mortenson on June 1st, 1926 in Los Angeles, California to Gladys Pearl Baker. Her father’s name remains unknown, but whoever Norma’s father was, he played no part in her life. Shortly after Norma’s birth, Gladys was diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic and was placed in a mental institution. After her mother was sent to the mental institution, Norma was sent to an orphanage, where she would spend the majority of her childhood. In 1937, Grace and Doc Goddard, family friends of Baker’s, became Norma’s foster parents. Together they took care of Norma for a few years, but when Doc’s job was transferred to the East Coast, he decided that the couple could not afford to bring Norma along with them. Since the majority of her childhood was spent in foster care, not much is known of what Norma did in her free time. However, as she got older, she enjoyed reading and acting. After her foster parents had moved from California, Norma was once again sent to a foster home where she would stay for two years. To get out of the crazy lifestyle of jumping from house to house, Norma decided to get married.

In 1942, at the age of 16, Norma was wedded to James Dougherty, an aircraft plant worker. At the time of her marriage, Norma was modeling swimsuits, dreaming of becoming an actress, and was slowly gaining more attention. As she began to focus more on her career, her marriage fell apart. When James returned from overseas, he told her to choose between her career or him. The couple divorced in 1946, the same year that Norma signed her first movie contract. This movie contract with 20th Century Fox gave Norma a new image. She was renamed “Marilyn Monroe” and she dyed her hair blonde. Her acting career didn’t really take off until the 1950’s when her movies ‘The Asphalt Jungle’ and ‘All About Eve’ gained her a lot of attention. Marilyn was offered more and more roles in hit movies like 'Niagara’ and 'Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.’ Her bleach blonde hair, nice figure, and breathy voice helped her to gain these roles. In 1956, Marilyn moved to New York City to study acting with Lee Strasberg at the Actors’ Studio because she was tired of receiving 'dumb blonde roles.’

In 1959, Marilyn was assigned a lead role in the film 'Some Like It Hot.’ This would be her last major film before the decline of her career. In 1962, Monroe was dismissed from 'Something’s Got to Give’ for missing so many days of filming. Marilyn claimed that the absences were due to illness. The film was never produced because the producer declined to make the movie without her. In 1960 and 1961, her last two films were both box office disappointments. She was also fired from her last project. It is said this is due to a string of unsuccessful marriages. One such marriage, to baseball player Joe DiMaggio, lasted only nine months. Marilyn’s health began to deteriorate due to increased dependency on drugs and involvement in unhappy marriages. On August 5th, 1962, Marilyn was found dead with an empty bottle of sleeping pills beside her bed. Though there has been much speculation over the years, her death was officially ruled as a drug overdose, not a murder.

#ask #marilyn monroe #gemini #long ass post #astrology #tragic stars #star analyses #mine

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kalinara · 7 years

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Rip/Sara - Gideon. Rip - self-worth. Rip - stubbornness. Rip - temper. Rip - fights. Rip - friends. Rip - era (any/all). Rip + team - era (ie., how much culturally does Rip miss/not realize he's missing/realizes he misses and doesn't care in his interactions with the team). Rip - time travel. Rip - music. Rip - concentration. Rip - aloof (what's it masking?). Rip/Sara - time. Rip - team. Rip - families. Rip and Jax - bond. Rip and Rogues - mastery.

I think you’re trying to murder me. Fortunately, my babbling knows no bounds.

However, these will likely be shorter than my other headcanons/meta.

Rip/Sara - Gideon: So Gideon is an interesting complication to any Rip pairing fic, because, well, she’s there. She’s always going to be there. And regardless of whether you see her relationship with Rip as having romantic elements, it’s still going to be a factor.

I wonder if, in a way, it would be rather like living inside of your mother-in-law. Which seems awkward.

I have to say though, I don’t think that Sara would propose a threesome. She did think that Gideon was hot, but I don’t really think Gideon is her type personality-wise.

Rip - self worth: ... Really?

Okay, I don’t think Rip is completely without self-worth, but I think that his self-worth is particularly wrapped up in the various roles he plays. And that becomes a problem, because said roles have a disconcerting habit of disappearing on him.

He has value as a husband and father. Until his wife and son are dead. He has value as a Time Master, until they betray him, are revealed to be corrupt, and are destroyed. He has value as a guardian of the spear of destiny, until he was captured and turned. He has value as the Captain of the Waverider, until he is supplanted by a more capable alternative.

The problem with Rip is that as soon as he loses his role, he doesn’t really know how to find a new one. I’m not sure he really knows how to define himself in his own right, without the input of the people around him.

Rip - Stubbornness:

Hah, well, that is definitely a character trait that Rip has. I don’t think Rip is stubborn just for the sake of being stubborn though. Rather, I think he generally has a very clear idea of what his goal is, what he wants, and how things are supposed to be.

That doesn’t make him any less difficult to deal with sometimes though. But as we’ve seen, especially in season 1, he can be swayed and reasoned with. And he really seems to value that the team will call him out, force him to back down, and make him see things another way.

I do feel a little sorry for Vandal Savage sometimes though. Because Rip will not ever give up. :-)

Rip - temper:

I tend to see Rip as being a hot-tempered sort. His anger comes in flashes and dissipates pretty quickly after the initial eruption.

The one exception is if you hurt someone he cares about. Then he will come for blood. This is the man who hunted Vandal Savage through centuries. I wouldn’t recommend it.

Rip - fights:

Hm. I think Rip, on a whole, was never really prone to fighting. When he lived on the streets, he was a small child. So any fight he got into would not have ended well. At any point that he was attacked, the goal would have been to strike quickly and escape. I doubt the Time Masters would have had much patience for casual fighting either.

This isn’t to say that Rip can’t handle himself in a fight. We’ve seen that he can. But I don’t think he enjoys it the way that certain other characters do. I think that, for Rip, a fight means that either his life, someone else’s, or the mission is on the line.

This might make for an interesting contrast with Sara, who I think DOES enjoy the fight. I think that if she ever realized exactly how good he was (like in the scene in Out of Time), she would be very enthusiastic about the idea of a friendly match. And he would NOT.

Rip - friends.

I’m not sure that I think Rip has the capacity to have casual friends. I think he has acquaintances/allies and then he has people that he would 100% throw himself into a volcano for, with no middle ground.

And it makes some sense, given his upbringing. You get the sense that the Time Masters didn’t necessarily produce an environment that allowed for casual friendships (though the children did appear to play together at the Refuge), so if you’re going to break the rules you might as well go all out.

...I think that might be Rip’s motto anyway.

Rip - era (any/all).

I think that as a Time Master, Rip isn’t really supposed to have a favorite era. But we also know exactly how well Rip seems to follow rules like that. But for all his interest in the Wild West trappings, or his success in fighting Time Pirates, I don’t think that’s what makes an era particularly interesting to him.

I think it’s the people. Rip’s favorite eras are the ones that his favorite people reside in. He loves the Wild West because of Jonah. He loves the 1940s for the JSA. He loves the early 21st century for his team. (And specifically 2130-ish because that’s where he and Kendra finally killed Savage).

Rip + team - era (ie., how much culturally does Rip miss/not realize he's missing/realizes he misses and doesn't care in his interactions with the team).

Rip was raised in the future by a scary time-space cult, so he’s definitely got a different cultural background than the rest of the team. But I think it’s less about pop-culture trivia (you never know what might be relevant to a Time Master’s studies after all. Some future war may have been averted because of the ambassadors’ mutual love of the Backstreet Boys), and more about the way they look at the world.

I make fun of Rip’s “because, fuck you” tendencies, but the thing is, in the world that Rip grew up in, his entire life would have been wrapped up in rules and regulations. Everything regimented. Everything monitored. The man lives with an AI who watches and records his dreams. Freedom, privacy, democracy, those may not even be values in Time Master society so much as historical concepts.

Can you imagine how strange Sara, Jax, or Ray’s childhood would sound to Rip? Or heck, even Snart and Rory’s?

I think Rip is always fundamentally aware of how alien he is from the rest of the team. In a way that they aren’t. But I also think that’s part of why he values them so much. They fill a need for him that his own culture has never been able to provide.

Rip - time travel

I think Rip, deep down, simply loves to time travel. It’s just...fun. He loves to visit different times and meet different people.

If Rip Hunter hadn’t been raised by the Time Masters, he would have still somehow managed to go out and build a time sphere in his garage and do it that way.

I know, because I’ve read the comics. :-P

Rip - music.

I think that Rip loves all kinds of music. But that he hasn’t listened to much of anything since his family died. He hasn’t sung, or touched an instrument since then either.

However, in the time between season one and season two, that was starting to change. He’d be in the engine room, supervising Jax’s repairs (hardly necessary at this point, but Jax was still anxious enough to want to make sure he was doing it right), and find himself humming a Rolling Stones song under his breath. Thankfully, Jax didn’t hear him. If the crew knew, he’d never hear the end of it.

(Jax actually did hear him. He and Gideon were colluding on having the ship play some of Rip’s favorite songs as a surprise but Rip disappeared before they could.)

Rip - concentration.

A headcanon to do with concentration. Hmm.

Oddly enough, I’ve got nothing. :-) I think Rip is generally very good at concentrating on tasks at hand, but that the crew would try anyone’s patience and I’m sure havoc would ensue. (Possibly conveniently timed for when Rip has been working too long and missed food and sleep. Making it very easy for someone like Sara or Jax to nag at him to go to sleep since it’s obvious that he wasn’t going to be able to get back in the right frame of mind.)

Oh, I know. Rip hates concentrated orange juice. It is a terrible thing.

Rip - aloof (what's it masking?).

Rip Hunter is a seething mass of white-hot rage, hopeless love, and impossibly bad decisions all thinly wrapped in a veneer of British sarcasm

Rip/Sara - time.

I have to admit, I see Time Canary as possibly the most star-crossed of any potential Legends of Tomorrow pairing that comes to mind. Because I do think they’d be good together. I think they have a strong emotional bond, and they’ve been good support for one another on many occasions.

But they’ve always had issues in terms of timing. When they met, Sara was dealing with resurrection and bloodlust, and Rip had JUST lost his family.

Later, after they’ve worked together for some time, with Sara’s bloodlust under control, her slow coming to terms with Laurel’s death, and Rip finally starting to move past his grief and trauma, he disappears.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and circa Raiders of the Lost Art, I started to see a lot of signs that the two characters might be ready to come together. Sara’s reaction when she thought Phil was Rip. Phil’s kind of tentative attraction (I see Phil as basically Rip, with all the baggage stripped away)...

But then there was the Legion. And evil!Rip. And even though Sara clearly doesn’t blame Rip for what happened, that’s a whole mess of new guilt and trauma that he’ll have to work past to even be remotely able to conceive of pursuing a romance with Sara. And Sara’s got her own issues: the captaincy, the quest, (and her understandable frustration with his general personality. :-P)

I think the characters definitely love each other, and that it’s possible that eventually that love could move into a romantic direction, but so far, the timing has never been right.

Rip - team.

I think that Rip Hunter loves his team to a ridiculous, irrational, near obsessive extent. He would die for them in a heartbeat. He has no idea what to do whenever he’s without them. And he wants to hug them or beat them to death with a broomstick on a daily basis.

I also think that he has no idea how to communicate any of this to any of them. And he’d probably die of embarrassment before he ever made the attempt. So they have no idea.

This is why I find all of the teases about Season Three so fascinating. It will be so interesting to see what happens to cause Rip to break so completely with the team, how the aftermath shakes out, and what ways he ends up functioning without them. I’m dreading it a little too, of course. But it ought to be a fun ride. :-)

Rip - families.

I always find myself wondering how Rip and Miranda initially established themselves as a family. Because it’s not like either of them had much experience to base it on, as far as we know. Rip’s account of his backstory involved starving on the streets and then the Refuge. Though, if Miranda was recruited at the age of ten as well, it’s possible that she may have memories of her original family life.

But can you imagine how confusing it must have been at first? I mean, obviously a Time Master’s education would have included concepts of family dynamics and marriage. Since so many historical events were fueled by those kind of things. But there’s a difference between reading about it and living it.

I’d like to imagine, from the little bit we see of Miranda, that she adapted to life in 2166 Whitechapel very well. She seems like the sort to be able to make friends easily, and possibly she was able to study them as she went. And Rip is the sort to follow her lead when it comes to such things.

On the plus side, having grown up very separate from modern or even future ideas of family dynamics, Rip and Miranda would have had the freedom to basically discard anything that didn’t suit them. I’d imagine whatever they came up with would have looked rather odd to an outside observer, but worked very well for them. :-)

Rip and Jax - bond.

One of the things that I thought season two did really well was establish a clear and strong bond between Rip and Jax. And that’s pretty impressive considering that Rip was gone for eight episodes, and the characters did not have a huge amount of interaction in season one. There were a few good bits here and there: Rip choosing Jax as engineer, Rip’s concern in the 1950s, his gentleness with Jax’s father dilemma, and the endangering part of River of Time, but the real thrust of their dynamic seemed to come about in Out of Time, and carried on through Rip’s return.

I know I’ve said this before, but in a way, it actually makes a lot of sense that the two would get along. They’re the youngest men on the ship (even though there’s a ten year age difference between them). They’re both mechanically minded and they both truly love the Waverider in a way that only an engineer or mechanic can. They’re not childish or silly in the same way that Nate or Ray can be.

If there is one character that I think Rip might have been able to truly relax around and be a functioning human being with, I think it’s Jax. (And I think we saw that a bit in Fellowship, with the jelly beans).

And Jax is one of the two characters (the other being Sara), who I think really do feel an honest connection to their mission and the quest. He’s definitely a character that I could imagine captaining a time ship himself in the not-so-distant future.

Rip and Rogues - mastery

I am tempted to make jokes about Rip wearing a leash, but I will behave myself.

The thing that’s always been interesting about the Rogues in season one is that, of all of the characters, they were the only ones who really had any sort of experience working as a team.

The Hawks were always “us against the world” even when Kendra had her memories. Ray, Martin and Jax were all fairly new to the superhero thing. Sara had a bit more experience with the League of Assassins and her brief stint with Team Arrow, but those experiences have a certain level of baggage attached.

But Snart and Rory have been a criminal team, off and on, for decades. They’ve regularly worked with other people too. They have justifiable confidence in their skills because they’ve practiced them for decades. And Snart, in particular, has been a leader of groups for about that long.

It’s an interesting dynamic. Because Snart is by far a better leader than Rip ever was, but there is no way that he would have managed to lead this group. It's not his quest, and while the crew liked and respected him, it’s not clear that they would have trusted him enough to follow him.

One of the things I’ve always wished for was to see more direct interaction between Rip and Snart, and Rip and Mick. (Particularly the latter, since the show is not subtle with their many parallels.) There is some good fic out there to fill the lack, at least. :-)

(I may have to hold off on responding to the rest until tomorrow. :-))

#rip hunter #legends of tomorrow #headcanon flood! :-)#Anonymous

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ghostmartyr · 3 years

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top 5 villains

You know, the thing about villains, that I have learned through many years of skimming fandom, is that I am bizarrely short of villain stanning. I should have a long list of villains I like. And yet.

I like plenty of characters who are very much not good people, and very much antagonists. But it’s the chaos that’s essential, there. My favorite member of the villain squad is the nuisance who’s just hanging out enjoying being their worst self.

A top villain should be, like. Threatening. To be at the top, they should be adhering to their own agenda, and that agenda shouldn’t be the level of a side quest in the main story. The plot should turn on their ambition just as much as it does for the heroes.

Their reign should be both devastating and entertaining. Bring some style to it. It’s not about being an obstacle for the good guys, it’s about winning.

How many of the following truly check off all those marks is up for debate, but I think they’ve at least got the vibes.

Spoilers for each series the villain belongs to, and I will make sure to note said series in bold when it hits. Images blatantly stolen from wikis.

- - - - -

The Locked Tomb, specifically Gideon the Ninth

Cytherea Loveday

(No art for you, book person.)

She probably shouldn’t be on this list. Yes, that’s how we’re starting out. Not that she isn’t a villain, and not that she isn’t threatening, and --

Look. She’s on the list. More because I like her and she happens to be a villain than me liking her because she’s a villain, but as villains go, she is, as the kids say, a fave.

The living embodiment of, “I came out to attack people and I’m having such a good time right now.” She is the main villain of the first book, and she spends most of the time that we see her lounging in gardens and batting her eyes at her boss’ daughter. She basically treats her murder spree as a company-sponsored tropical vacation. She impersonates her first victim, puppets said first victim’s closest companion’s corpse around (yes the corpse is also her responsibility, and yes she may have stuffed FV’s corpse in around it what of it), kills children, kills a married couple enjoying their anniversary, doesn’t kill the main character because the main character is easy on the eyes (it is slightly more complicated than that but if you want a good story you can read the book), and even when she dies she’s getting something she wants.

(Neglected wants include murdering God.)

Essentially, she’s dreamy. Don’t @ me.

- - - - -

Madoka Magica: Rebellion

Kyubey

Specifying the movie and not picking Homura. I’m great at this.

The reason is actually very simple.

In the movie, Kyubey filled me with hatred. In the series, it’s more of a, ‘lol, you scamp, helping move the plot along’ annoyance at best. I don’t really mind the evil alien bunny ferret in the series. Obviously it’s a bit of a dick, but Kyubey feels like a product of the evil system more than actually being a villain.

Enter the movie.

Enter (irrational levels of?) rage.

Kyubey, in Madoka’s new world, operates with less gains than the witch system provided. The system still functions, but the Incubators could be more fulfilled by it, so it’s like -- ‘can has throne of madokami? kthx start the torture back up.’

Again, Kyubey is a product of the evil system. But the evil system that Madoka defeated. She won, and here Kyubey is, trying to start the game all over and break everything she fixed (arguably succeeding in the case of Homura). The injustice of it all made me actively angry at Kyubey in a way that I seldom experience towards fictional characters. The system was dead, and it had no business trying to come back. Kill it, kill it good, and don’t leave a body behind to bury, because fuck the system.

Then Homura’s treatment of Kyubey at the end disturbed me enough that I can’t actually stomach a manifestation of my dislike for our favorite alien cat marshmallow, but for the strength of reaction Kyubey inspired, we have our second spot on the list.

- - - - -

Rurouni Kenshin

Makoto Shishio

Obligatory mention that all the decent people in this series would punch their author in the face at bare minimum.

Shishio is probably the closest embodiment of the ideal villain talked out above the cut. He has goals. He has a life outside the hero. He’s initially only mildly interested in including the hero in that life. He’s out to rule the country and bathe the current government in blood, and doing it in style is a very cool side effect.

The guy’s set on fire by his own side because they’re terrified of his power. He is the nightmare created by people who put down a road to Hell brick by brick with their maybe good intentions. Along the way they meet a demon, and up until the threat of his power becomes too great, they happily embrace his skills.

Upon his recovery, all he’s really about is proving that they were right to be terrified, and they also should have done a better job with their murder, because guess who’s alive, bitch.

The strong live, and the weak die. Makoto Shishio is alive to remind the government that they are weak, and he will feed on them.

He has an army, he has followers, and he balances all of their motivations so that they are acting only in his favor. Hatred, admiration, or loyalty, it’s all a tool. He kills the woman he loves to win a fight, and she dies grateful for it.

Terrible person. Beautiful conviction. He dies without once faltering in his philosophy and power. He is a force.

Bonus points for being voiced by Steve Blum in the anime.

- - - - -

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)

Horde Prime

This is the part of the list where I start having a little bit of trouble. I mean. The first entry is also that, but Horde Prime is here because I looked at my standards and shouted into the void of my mental file cabinet, “is anyone in here like that?”

Horde Prime is here because he is scary as fuck. He’s a genocidal religious cult leader, and the cult members being clones of him does not mean he plans on being nice. He will put on a polite smile and sink his claws into your throat if you so much as think of being a creature beyond his might.

He is the epitome of a Saturday morning cartoon villain, but in the best way. He doesn’t have a positive motive outside of his own ego. He’s power-hungry and arrogant, and the entitlement oozes off him in any scene where he deigns to interact with people. He is a monster. A veneer of civility can be draped over it all if he’s in the mood, but the universe is his, and he will destroy as much of it as he pleases until it catches up and starts bowing down.

I want to have fun hating villains, and Horde Prime is delightful to hate.

He’s evil and has stage presence. Thank you, sir, your descent into Hell will be witnessed with great satisfaction.

Worth noting that his voice actor, Keston John, is a huge part of that stage presence, and does phenomenal work as his voice.

- - - - -

Rurouni Kenshin

Yukishiro Enishi

(Image not stolen from a wiki because somehow the vibes weren’t right from his page.)

Enishi would do so much more than punch his author in the face, because he’s an awful human being, but an awful human being with one very clear, obsessive stance.

Yes, I wrote Enishi’s name with the family name first and Shishio’s with the family name second. Yes, this is because Kenshin going “Makoto Shishio” in the anime dub is burned into my brain, and Enishi doesn’t have that going on. My list, my bad choices.

First, it must be said: COOLEST CHARACTER DESIGN OF THE LIST. FASHION GOALS. FITNESS GOALS. REALLY FUCKING COOL SWORD. REALLY FUCKING COOL FIGHTING STYLE. BADASS TRANSFORMATION THAT PROBABLY MAKES ANYONE WITH BASIC BIOLOGY UNDERSTANDINGS WINCE.

What a dick.

Here’s the deal.

Kenshin killed his sister.

Enishi will make Kenshin suffer.

Here is the nuance that Enishi can’t grasp until the end.

His sister loved Kenshin. Her death was a horrific accident, partially set up by both her and her brother attempting to arrange Kenshin’s death (one of them changed their mind).

For the hero of the story, Yukishiro Tomoe is a gaping, open wound across his face. It is his greatest failure. There is no part of him not aching with guilt and remorse over her death. There is only pain, and the reminder of it threatens to drown him.

For the villain of the story, there is only one response to that: Good.

It is not enough for Enishi that the man he hates dies. Enishi wants to rip Kenshin’s heart out of his chest and leave it beating in a field of salt and glass. He wants to destroy any shred of life Kenshin has found without his sister, and he wants Kenshin to know that all of this destruction is his fault.

What Enishi wants is the hero’s complete and utter annihilation. His soul deadened, and his suffering infinite.

Obsessive hate to the extent that Enishi feels is just... impressive as hell. His view of the world is black and white to the extreme, and he will make that our hero’s problem. He will not doubt himself except to wonder if keeping Kenshin alive to suffer is a misstep. Enishi is angry, traumatized, and quite often a fucking asshole whose emotional development ceased as a child. Where he was also a little jerk, but you could try to imagine a world where maybe he didn’t bite people if you wanted to be optimistic.

Then he watches Kenshin kill his sister, and proceeds to be the absolute worst in the name of his righteous vengeance. A bunch of people are seriously wounded, there is a large amount of property damage, and trauma is everywhere.

Here is peak Enishi:

Villains need to commit, you know?

Points for passion.

- - - - -

And that’s five? I count five. Awesome.

Sorry this took so long. I wasn’t sure how to go about a list, and then I didn’t want to just phone it in, since it’d already taken forever. Thanks very much for the ask, though! Hopefully this serves as an entertaining response.

#asks #Rurouni Kenshin #spop in the name of love #viva la pluto #Madoka Magica

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kyilliki · 7 years

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Following an ask you answered a few days ago about Ed's bachelor party you mentioned the rest of the Cullen men's 'atypical first sexual experiences'..I was wondering if you had any HC's for each of them from their first kiss with their partners to their first sexual encounter. I can imagine it would take a lot of trust from Esme, Rosalie and Alice considering their pasts.

[A broad disclaimer: the timeline of the Cullens' relationships is very, very brisk, particularly given their various personal histories. That undoubtedly works for many readers, but I'm like... "Slow down. You have forever. Why are all of you rushing to commit when one partner's emotional faculties are compromised by newborn-ness/quasi-PTSD/amnesia??" Realistically, I'm not sure how trust could be built that fast.]

Let’s start with Rosalie and Emmett. I think their relationship moved very quickly from first kiss to marriage to sex. This could only happen because Rosalie was betrayed by her social class. Her parents emphasized her beauty, not her character. Her circle of friends cared about popularity and notoriety in the society pages. Nobody asked her what she wanted out of a marriage or taught her what a healthy romance looked like. The only person who really got her was Vera.When Rosalie got to know Emmett, it quickly became clear that he held none of the values which had once ruined her life. His whole personality reassured her. Plus, the way he reacted when she told him about her human experiences convinced her that she could trust him. (You’re probably sensing that this narrative hinges on luck. If Rosalie were a bad judge of character or Emmett hid some personality defect beneath a friendly veneer, it’d be a disaster.)

This is probably an unpopular opinion, but I think Carlisle and Esme totally had sex before marriage, several months after their first kiss. Although they talked and built trust the conventional way, there was a huge point of mostly-unspoken conflict between them. Esme didn’t feel good enough for Carlisle, given her past, and Carlisle felt that that he could easily re-traumatize Esme. The only workaround? Having gentle, hesitant sex, realizing that both parties were having a good time, and getting married with the understanding that sexual intimacy was.... well, imperfect at this stage, but not this scary, deal-breaking thing.

Jasper and Alice are a mystery to me. I mean.... if you know you’ve found your fated partner, chosen for you by the hand of destiny, why not have sex immediately (assuming that sex is something you want out of the relationship)? If you’ve been horribly sad for the past few years, feeling hope again must be very powerful. Of course you’d feel a pull towards the person who restored your emotional capacity. And, from Alice’s end, she can foretell how sex will impact the relationship/how any intimate encounter will go. Isn’t all that the perfect set-up for a near-immediate mate relationship?And yet, Jasper and Alice have so much baggage. He’s traumatized. She has no human memories and a bunch of visions that might have misrepresented his character. I want them to have an impetus to wait a while, but other than “maybe human courtship could be fun to experience”, I’m not seeing what it could be.

#character: carlisle cullen #character: esme cullen #character: rosalie hale #character: emmett cullen #character: jasper whitlock #character: alice cullen #asked and answered #for pairings that are supposed to represent different aspects of love #the cullens sure are identical in many domains #it's just..... a weird theme #Anonymous

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twtrealestate · 7 years

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