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bellevuesanitarium · 1 year

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Art by @spinda-draws

Rules

I refuse to interact with anyone under the age of 18.

I'm very flakey and will respond slowly. Sorry about that. :(

This blog is dark-themed. Some heavy topics may occur such as violence, mentions of abuse/trauma, drugs, alcohol and the likes. If this isn't your cup of tea then this isn't the blog for you.

I welcome asks from anyone, even if we're not mutuals.

Don't be shy about shooting me a message if you're interested in RPing. I promise, I don't bite. And ignore the suspicious shovel I'm holding behind my back.

This is a multimuse blog. I know that can be intimidating and overwhelming for some (speaking from experience). So if you have any questions about the characters or the Bellevue universe, shoot me a message. I'll be happy to give you the rundown.

This is a side blog. If I follow you back it will be by @dapperdisgrace

Muse List and the Bellevue Universe

Dr. Fable

Plague doctor, physician, beloved in Bellevue Sanitarium by test sub- We mean, patients. Francis Fable Crowell is patient, calm, polite and always happy to see his patients. He not only works with plague cases, but he also specializes in hypnotism to calm the stressed out mind. Whatever plagues both in body and in mind, he will help find a cure. He also makes remedies and potions to help those who are ill. If he adds rainbow sprinkles to your medicine, please just listen to the good doctor and go along with it.

Dr. Sable

Plague doctor, surgeon, Fable’s twin sister. Penelope Sable Crowell is a little more aggressive when it comes to treatment, not as patient as her twin brother, but she’s amazing in her line of work, which is body modification. It ranges from flesh to mechanical body parts. If you want a heart transplant, she can do that. Missing an arm? Here’s a new one! Though, it might end up having scales, or be a tentacle. In that case, don’t be surprised, frightened, disappointed or all of the above when you wake up and your arm is more flexible than the rest of your body and you’re producing steam from your ears.

Judge Jeeves

Jeeves, like in his title, is a judge - a judge for the newly departed. He takes the form of a skeleton with two white glowing orbs in his sockets, giving the impression they're his eyes. Dressed like a traditional judge, he wears a black robe and a powered wig, the wig being tied back with a blue ribbon. He's professional and does his work as thoroughly and accurately as he possibly can. His beloved pet and loyal companion, Cherry Blossom, is a orchid mantis the size of a large dog. The only time he ever shows affection is towards her.

Grim & Scythe

The Grim Reaper, also known as the Angel of Death, is not what you'd expect him to be. He is rather short, merely standing at 4 feet, and his temper is just as short as his height. He drinks heavily, but not what humans call alcohol. In the Afterlife, an angel's type of poison is called spirits, which is just another word for alcohol anyway. It has the same affect on angels.

His companion Scythe is, well, a scythe. It's sentient and can speak and move freely on its own, but it relies on Grim to do his job and reap souls of the newly departed. Since Grim is always getting drunk, Scythe has to scold him on a regular basis and push him to take his job more seriously. The two bicker a lot, but don't let that fool you. They're inseparable.

Doctor

A former plague doctor, he still holds the name to hide his identity. After the death of his ill-fallen mother, and after years of studying healing, he found a new fascination with not only alchemy, but the arts of dark magic. He started using his own patients as test subjects to discover things no one has explored before. After retiring his physician position, he continued his research and his obsessiveness lead him to modifying his own body using a mixture of alchemy and dark magicks, so he can prolong his life to discover more hidden secrets of the universe. Inventing artificial immortality lead to some dire consequences, like garnering the attention of the gods. Dr. Fable and Dr. Sable, the gods' pawns and children, were sent out to hunt down Doctor and bring him back to Bellevue Sanitarium in the Afterlife to study his modified body.

Knock Knock

A patient in Bellevue Sanitarium, also known as S-011, is an anomaly that crawled out of the Void. The twins have not been able to figure out how exactly he came to be, but Subject 11 takes a human-like form made completely out of a dark matter. He looks exactly how humans would describe seeing a shadow person at the corner of their eye. However, Subject 11 has donned a blank, white mask to give himself a more unique look, or - in Dr. Fable's notes - it is said that it's how he can make himself more recognizable to creatures that "live in the light".

He's extremely flexible and is considered an acrobat. His stealth is as deadly as his bloodlust. His movements are so silent that it's as if he's not part of this world. Other patients with a keen sense of smell claimed that Subject 11 has no smell on him. He is mute, but understands English and other languages quite well. When asked for his name, he simply responds by knocking twice on a surface. Hence, he's been coined as Knock Knock.

#i will post more about the universe #just wanted to repost this and get this out there

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the-apprentice-lia · 3 years

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Hey! I saw that you do headcanons as well? Sorry if I’m asking in the right place but I loved your post on Asra’s hurt!! Could you possibly do the “mc getting slapped by the m6” ask please? My angsty little heart needs foodddd

hiii!! i’m so glad you liked my post:)) don’t worry, i’ll do my best to not cry when i’m writing this although it probably won’t work

i just wanna say that under no circumstances is it okay to hurt your partner!! please don’t take this post the wrong way:)

the main 6 slapping mc

asra

• it probably started because of how much he keeps from you. you know it’s just because he doesn’t want to see you hurt or unhappy because of how much of your life you’ve lost to your premature death, but it’s still so infuriating. you’re not a child, and you tell him as much.

• as much as you love each other, arguments can get messy. you know so much about each other that it’s difficult not to go for the soft parts in an argument, and you just snap.

• they’re probably running his hands through his hair, tears of frustration and pent up feelings slipping down his cheeks and catching the light of the many candles around the shop, making them glister strangely beneath the low light.

• “asra, you’re being ridiculous. how in the arcana am i supposed to know about who i was if you won’t fucking tell me?” you shout at them, crystals and glass bottles clinking together on the shelves.

• asra breaks, finally raising his voice as well, telling you that you’re acting like a child. you feel a twisted feeling of satisfaction at his loss of control. at least they’re actually treating you like a person— but you’re still so frustrated.’why can’t he just see that you’re not a china doll, easily broken and delicately made?

•you’re screaming now, tears blurring your vision. all you see is red. “if i’m acting like such a child then why did you even bother bringing me back? you should have just fucking left me to rot beneath the lazaret if you won’t so much as—” you’re cut off with a sharp crack.

• asra’s stronger than they look, and he wasn’t thinking as he lashed out in anger and pain, so you probably stumble back into the shelves behind you, or onto the counter of the shop.

• you touch your hand to your hot cheek with a dull feeling of surprise. it’s as if everything is through a haze, your gaze flickering up to meet asra’s horrified one as you take a step back, a dry sob heaving through your chest as your knees give out and you sink to the floor.

• “mc, i’m so sorry, i can’t— i don’t— please. i’m so sorry,” he stumbles over his words as he crouches before you, giving you enough space that you could easily leave. you don’t, and he breathes out slowly as they reach towards you and gently, heartbreakingly softly, cups your face to turn it towards him. he inhales sharply as he takes in your bruised cheekbone, red already beginning to spread outwards in the shape of his hand, and he flinches to see that he’s hurt you, his beloved apprentice.

• he opens his arms slowly, hesitantly, and you sink into them, burying your face in his scarves and then drawing back slightly with a faint hiss as your cheek touches the fabric, and he lets out a sob as well, burying his face in your sweet-smelling hair. murmurs “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry,” into you over and over again, rocking you back and forth on the floor of the shop.

• he’ll hurt for weeks after, even after the bruise fades, he’ll simply refuse to touch you for days after the incident. whispers “but what if i hurt you,” his voice breaking at the mere thought of it, and you cradle him to you, stroking his cheek as he shakes.

nadia

• the argument was probably about her refusing to ask for help. she’s been alone for so long that the refusal simply comes naturally. she has to prove that she can be successful alone, that she can make something of herself without anyone.

• at first, you tell her gently that she can trust you, that you’re always here for her, and that she doesn’t have to do this alone— but she doesn’t want to hear it, telling you insistently that she doesn’t need any help.

• “your dark circles would say otherwise, nadi! you can’t keep going on like this!” you tell her, your voice strained as you lay a hand on her arm. you just want to help her, but she won’t listen to you. “i can do it myself,” she tells you coldly, pulling away from you and turning back to her work. “i don’t need your help. i never have.”

• you feel the hurt blossom in your chest, but you try to push it down as you close her books, smudging the ink on a document by mistake. “nadi, please.” you tell her, but she doesn’t even seem to hear you as she opens her books and sets her jaw, looking at the ruined document. you bite your lip in dismay and go to apologise, but she cuts in before you get the chance. “you ruin everything. you’re such a nuisance, can you not find anything better to do with your time than to bother me? i am the countess of vesuvia, and i don’t need your help.” she’s shouting by the end of her outburst, and you recoil, hurt now showing across your face— but it’s quickly replaced by anger.

• you laugh disbelievingly, your voice spiteful and pained as you speak. “you don’t need my help? well that’s certainly a different tune than the one you were singing when you came to me in the middle of the night, asking for my help. and even then i gave it unbegrudgingly. you’re so stubborn, nadia! you’re so ridiculously naïve that you can’t even see that not everybody’s against you. so your sisters acted like every older sibling the world over, and excluded you from a few games. you carry grudges as if the world’s out to get you and nobody seeks to help you. you’re such a child! why—” your screaming cuts off at the sharp crack.

• you cry out at the sudden flare of pain. nadia’s also a lot stronger than she looks— i mean, she’s a master sword-fighter. and so, you stumble backwards into the marble table opposite her desk, turning away from her to catch your breath, your figure shaking with quiet sobs. everything seems to fall away, and you hold your arms around yourself in a poor attempt to keep your paroxysms of sobs quiet.

• nadia is completely silent. the jarring force snapped her out of whatever tired grumpiness she had been wallowing in, and now she’s just looking at her hands, a look of absolute horror twisting her features as she takes in the hand, resting palm-down on her knees, that she used to— to— she can’t even think about it. she has betrayed your trust, used your relationship, built on a foundation of love and mutual respect, to hurt you. it’s as if she’s seeing the world through a haze of disbelief. she’s taken advantage of your love for her, she’s physically violated you, and the thought of that leaves her physically ill. hot tears drop steadily into her lap, as she turns her hands over, and her eyes widen even more, if possible, with horror. blood glisters thickly on her index finger, coating the closest section to her palm where a golden ring sits. the countess of vesuvia never takes her rings off during the day, and she’s snapped out of her daze by the quiet hiss that comes from where you stand.

•when the first tears stream down your face, you hiss at the sharp pain, touching your fingers gently to your face and wincing as they come into contact with… is that a wound? you stare at them as they come away a deep, garnetine red. your hair is sticking to the blood running down your face from the wound. you sob dryly as the pain sets in, and by the gods it stings. it seems that even the air twists into your opened skin, burning sharply. you’re so lost in the mist of disbelief you barely notice when nadia comes up behind you.

• “my love?” her voice comes, softly, and you stiffen as she lays a hand on your upper arm. she withdraws it quickly as her voice breaks. “please, mc. say anything. look at me, i beg of you.” you don’t say anything for a minute before you inhale softly and turn to her.

• something in nadia breaks. she lifts shaking fingers up to her mouth as your eyes meet hers, and she takes in what she’s done to you. she’s sliced your upper-cheek open from just short of the bridge of your nose to almost the edge of your face. and the cut is deep. bruising spreads around it, in the shape of her hand, and she lets out a sob before dropping to her knees, taking your hand in hers. “by the arcana, mc, i am so, so sorry— i don’t know— i can’t— please, my love, i am so sorry,” she presses her forehead to your hand before you start to cry, sinking to your knees as well and burying your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking. you hiss softly as you draw your hand away and it comes away a glistening, wine-dark red.

• you flinch away from her as she comes to envelop you in a hug. “don’t. please,” you say softly, pulling yourself away from her. you leave bloodstains on the floor. her eyes hold inexplicable sorrow and remorse in them, as she nods haltingly, her heart breaking as she realises— you’re… afraid of her. later, she’ll bury her head into her pillow and sob her heart out but for now, she needs you to know to not be afraid of her. she loves you, you know that— and you need to know she’ll never violate the trust you put in her again.

• “mc… please. i’m so, so inexplicably sorry for what i’ve done to you. i promise it will never happen again.” her voice is soft, and she speaks to you as if you’re a wounded deer she’s found in the palace gardens, her voice breaking as she lets you see that she’s approaching you, her arms in front of her as she holds them out softly when she’s quite close to you.

• you look at her, meet her eyes with yours, and slowly settle into her embrace as she lets out a quiet sob of relief, burying her head in your hair. you pull away with a quiet gasp of pain when her hair meets your wound, and she cups your face (your good side) softly, stroking your cheek with her thumb as you close your eyes and she moves closer to you, giving you the time to pull away before her lips meet your forehead and she kisses you there gently before pressing one just above your cut and pulling you back to her, minding your cheek. you cry softly into her chest, and she does so into your hair. the two of you stay there until the blood starts to dry on your cheek and she stands, helping you up.

• “i’m taking you to the infirmary, dearest one.” “but… nadia.” you gesture to the state you’re in with a raised eyebrow. blood stains your collar and had dripped down your cheek in steady rivulets— and now your entire cheek is coated in blood. the cut itself is deep and thorough, splitting the skin so that the flesh beneath is easily visible, and the black, blue, and red flesh around your cut in the shape of nadia’s hand is enough that there is no room to doubt how your injury happened. “i’m your partner. there’s nobody else that would have done this— your entire court will know.” you look at her gently. “i can hide this.”

• and yet again, nadia’s heart is absolutely crushed. broken. shattered. “my heart, you should not have to hide what i have done. we’re going to the infirmary.”

• the entire way there, nadia weathers the stares and whispers with, for once, a bent head. you tighten your fingers around her hand— you know how important the favour of the court is. when you finally arrive, and you have to explain, haltingly, how you were injured, nadia gets a few looks of unbridled disgust as your injuries are treated. you squeeze her hand every now and again, and she looks at you gratefully. her eyes darken as you bite your lip roughly when the antiseptic meets it, your eyes watering as she strokes your hand, never taking her eyes away from you.

• afterwards, will absolutely doubt herself as a leader and a partner. no matter if you forgive her, no matter that the bruise fades and the wound heals, she’ll still always linger on your scar when she’s kissing your face, she’ll still murmur “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry, darling,” into your hair for months after.

• if anyone is so much as even vaguely disdainful towards you with respects to your scar, you’ll literally have to talk her down from having them thrown out/arrested. you forgive her, and she loves you with all of her— but when dark feelings surface now there’s absolutely nothing you can do that will even get a shadow of a rise out of her. is just calm and collected. never so much as raises her voice at you.

• will 100% look at you as you sleep and hate herself for harming you in any way.

hope you enjoyed the angst fest!! these were so long— but i’ll do the next four periodically:)

#nadia the arcana #nadia x mc #nadia headcanons #nadia satrinava #countess nadia #the arcana nadia #asra the arcana #asra x mc #the arcana angst #angst headcanon #asra headcanons #asra alzanar #the arcana asra

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dangermousie · 3 years

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CFC Chapter 54

“A crashing car?” Ahahahaha I see you, Meatbun. But it was indeed an utter pileup!

I know I commented on this passage in its various iterations eight billion times already but I still have more to say. And it’s that XQC taking so long to realize that even though HY is young, his emotions and feelings are as genuine and strong as those of anyone older is so realistic - people do tend to think that especially with regard to children - think of a reaction of an adult to a three year old crying over ice cream they dropped. It’s all amused even if not meanly so. Because to an adult with vastly more experience, this is not a big deal. But what that forgets is that whether it’s ridiculous to someone else or not, to the person at issue that is a real feeling, AND that of course a person can only feel through the lens of their experience - what else is there? Emotions aren’t any less valid because they are informed by lesser or different experience.

Honestly, to me so far this is one of the driving messages of the novel - everyone is in their own world of issues and pain and none of these characters can truly look through the lens of another person and it would be so much better if they did. To XQC, for so long, He Yu’s strong feelings (and we know so many of these feelings are awful - despair, and self-loathing, and loneliness) never quite felt real and therefore never quite felt fully valid. And by the time it wasn’t the case, it was too late.

But the same is true for He Yu - he is so concentrated on his own grievances and his own pain, he cannot perceive others’ different issues. In He Yu’s mind, he’s the winner and always champion of Misery Olympics and while he’s had a horrible time of it, that doesn’t mean other people didn’t either just in different ways. Whether because of his condition, his issues or just his age, HY is not empathetic in the least.

And think about it - XQC does not have a horrible illness. He does not have unfeeling parents. But he had to watch his beloved parents brutally murdered in front of his eyes at 13 (!!!!) and then had to raise a 5 year old by himself. Is it worse or better than HY’s trauma? That’s a matter of opinion but what there is no question about is that is a different type of trauma and a different type of scar. Or think about the patient in the asylum whose name I am too lazy to look up - her life is such a theater of horrors that to me, it makes the combined issues of HY and XQC seem small, though once again that’s subjective. Nobody wins when people start this sort of competition.

My heart breaks for XQC but also - I am sorry - if/when HY x XQC hook up again (how? I have no idea! But that is one of the joys of Meatbun - I both have no idea how/where it’s going and utterly trust her), please have He Yu read up and learn things because Good God. You should not be in major pain the morning after unless you are into pain and XQC clearly is not!

The other thing is the bit about XQC forcing himself to walk in his usual ramrod-straight manner is the moment I went utterly gone for him. I mean, I liked him and found him interesting before. But this is the thing that flipped that invisible switch for me and I went rabid and irrational and now I am Team XQC and I don’t care what he wants and does from now on, he should have it. It’s so small but so real. My mother and her mother were both big on straight posture. And one of the reasons they gave was when you walk with good posture - you look confident but also it makes you feel confident and stronger. And I’ve actually found it to be true - when you throw your shoulders back and straighten your neck and hold your head up, it does not just give others a signal, it gives a signal to your own brain. So to see XQC insist on doing it, despite being emotionally and physically shattered - because of his pride refusing to give up, because he’s so unbending, but also this being some sort of instinctive armor, just hits straight through the heart.

OK, I laughed at HY as a fucking machine. But also, this is another point in the whole “everyone has issues” narrative and HY’s life could be worse. HY, with all his other issues, can pay an insane amount, an amount that XQC could not pay in a million years, so easily. It’s not even a blip to him. Hell, the fact that he forgot to pay speaks to that - I can see forgetting to pay a friend a couple of bucks back right away because it’s not much money. HY forgets because it does not loom in his mind. And this rich lifestyle is instinctive, is ingrained in him. I think he’d find it hard to be poor.

THAT is what he’s thinking about? Priorities are...

The sole good thing that came out of this insanity is that XQC is getting in touch with his emotions, even if those emotions are (rightly) rage. He’s too closed off from them normally.

The fact that you slept with a man should be secondary to the fact that you drugged and raped him, but here we are...

To me, this sums up He Yu as a moral wasteland. To still, when sober and past his fit and not under influence of wine, to still feel excitement over his revenge and to somehow twist it that it’s XQC’s fault for being raped by He Yu is !!!!!!!!!

(I suppose if I were charitable, I’d assume that the disquiet is small stirrings of almost dead conscience and his “he deserved it” is an attempt to justify the unjustifiable to himself, but I honestly don’t want to think so because I am so angry at him. Not until I see some more evidence. I don’t feel like being indulgent with He Yu since he’s indulgent with himself enough for two.)

1. The fact that you can tell from the picture XQC got taken by a man (I am gonna defer to Meatbun’s expertise here) definitely points to the fact that the pictures are going to be used for something bad later - because if it’s just oh XQC had sex, so what, he’s single what’s the big deal. But like this it becomes a different matter. No idea if it will be used for HY or XQC or both, and by whom (money is on Duan and co, but after the way HY went off, I would never say HY himself won’t use it badly somehow) but knowing Meatbun, it will go for maximum damage.

2. Ruthless? Perhaps. Unfeeling? Hmmmm. I am not He Yu’s biggest fan atm but that’s a wonderfully misleading adjective here. He does still seem to be in shock. And fixating.

3. The whole “hahahaha XQC is a hypocrite when he was all ‘I am not interested in sex’“ is - I am not sure if HY is just short-circuiting (fine) or using a rapist justification/rolling in a sea of toxic toxicity (not fine) because I am sorry, that’s totally like “he/she had a reaction, can’t be rape” writ large. Yeah, sure he had a reaction - you poured drugs down his throat. That has nothing to do with his default preferences or his actual state. THE FUCK?!

Anyway, we end on the whole “u mad bro?” bit and you know what strikes me? HY was all “I am done, we are done, my revenge is complete I don’t care” but here he is, still desperately seeking and craving reaction and interaction from XQC.

I remain utterly puzzled as to how these two will ever be a couple except for a couple being defined as “two mutually homicidal people.” Leaving aside everything else, I am willing to accept HY is in the closet - clearly whatever his orientation is, it includes men. But I do not get that sense from XQC at all. When he’s not drugged, he’s barely interested in sex with anyone and I do not get the sense he’s in the closet either. Chances of anyone, let alone He Yu, who is both a man and someone who raped him to humiliate him, being able to entice him into sexual encounters voluntarily is about the chance of me going to visit Mars. Meatbun loves doing insane things so I can’t wait.

PS I know people use the term psychopath all the time casually but ummm, I think He Yu may actually be one? When he has his father (!!!) on speakerphone, calmly carrying a conversation with the man as he’s raping his father’s friend in the club as he talks (!!!!!) that is...in RL I’d be “team lock him up for life, there is something so basic broken in him that it can’t be fixed.” Like - the hell? The ability to put things on different shelves so much is not in the same country as sane (it makes me think of 2ha and TXJ banging CWN being the curtain while performing court business but TXJ was bona fide clinically insane and also this is worse because this is his actual freaking father omg.) Of course, only time will tell whether it’s evidence of him being irreparably incapable of normalcy in terms of living in the world/interacting with others or it was an extreme psychotic (in casual parlance not medical one) break because most people are capable of truly horrific stuff if certain levers are pushed and his default is saner. It’s the question, isn’t it? Whether He Yu’s factory default setting is the monster of the previous chapters or the kid who’d cut his wrists so as not to hurt others.

Anyway, this novel is a terrifying roller coaster ride and I love having strong emotions.

#cnovel #meatbun doesn't eat meat #case file compendium

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sjhanny2000 · 3 years

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Secrets Worth Sharing

A/N: Hey y'all! This is my first Naruto fanfic, which I've also posted on Archive of Our Own. Please be kind and enjoy!

Warning(s): Minor character death, angst, hurt/comfort, intersex characters, arranged marriage, talks/thoughts about abortion/miscarriage

~~~~

Tobirama Senju was a man of many secrets. Well, more like a man that highly values his own privacy and is not as open as other individuals (like his easy-trusting older brother for example). He was not given the privilege of being open with his truths and feelings, having been groomed from birth to be a heartless shinobi who did not allow his emotions to interfere with his performance. His father had been harsh with these facts whilst training and out on the battlefield, blunt and uncaring that Tobirama and his brothers were children and children had no place amongst the battlefield and shouldn’t be expected to take a life without a bat of an eye. Kawarama had only been seven when he was ripped away from this world, so young and full of life, and it had taken everything in Tobirama’s small, lanky eleven pre-pubescent form to not break down much like his elder brother had, to feel such unbridled emotion his surviving otouto had felt. Itama’s death only a year later (sweet, innocent, and healing Itama) wrung him dry of tears, of allowing himself to be so vulnerable when it came to loss because to die ‘in battle was honorable’, at least that’s what their father had said as dirt was piled atop of his otouto’s grave to the right of Kawarama’s. He fought with every fiber of his being to protect what little family he had left, taking hits meant for Hashirama and saving Toka from debilitating blows, creating new jutsus, and putting the needs and feelings of others before his own because he wasn’t supposed to feel, shinobi don’t feel-.

Then, as he stood dutifully beside his anija opposite the Uchiha heirs amongst their fellow clansmen, Tobirama couldn’t help but feel. Moments before he had nearly stolen the life of one Izuna Uchiha and as adrenaline and tension crossed through his ever lanky yet muscular form, the conversation mingling between the opposing clans made his heart thumped against his chest as the two clan heads agreed to peace. Hope fluttered dangerously in his chest as his wine colored orbs searched Madara’s half hidden profile, gazing at those pools of obsidian with caution and reluctance whilst trying to determine whether the Uchiha was speaking truth when he offered his hand in establishing between through blood soaked clans. The time following the mutual surrender of the Senju and Uchiha, of Hashirama and Madara finally obtaining the means of support to create the peace they had dreamed of from a young age as they were forced to bury clansmen and young brothers, was a whirlwind of events, filled with peace talks, negotiations, and making sure his anija did not make a fool of himself. He waited for the other shoe to drop as each party laid out the final agreements, for this foolish dream of peace between the two rivals to come to an end before he began to believe it was true, and much to his surprise and his other clansmen (including his far too optimistic elder brother), the Uchiha set a requirement for concession.

“A Senju heir must marry one of ours, as a show of mutual acceptance of these peace agreements and in means of acquiring extra security for our clan.”

By the time this peace talks came to be, Hashirama and Mito had been married for nearly a year already and with the eldest Senju heir already taken and the other two dead and gone, the responsibility of establishing peace, in ending the unnecessary bloodshed between their respective clans, to honor the unneeded deaths of Itama and Kawarama, fell onto Tobirama’s shoulders. Being placed in such a position with no means of escape or replacement had been both suffocating and frustrating but he knew better than to reject the frail olive branch the Uchiha had set before them. Hashirama had tried to reason with Madara, (“Madara, is this really necessary-?”), and before the Uchiha clan head could even think of a response, Tobirama calmly sealed his fate.

“We agree to the terms you lay before us.”

His readied agreeance shocked not only his brother and cousin but floored the Uchiha delegation, particularly one Madara Uchiha who stared at him like he had grown a second head. Many deemed him one of the greatest haters of the Uchiha, having seen his treatment towards the rival clan on and off the battlefield, but Tobirama truly had no firm and enduring hate and ill-will towards the fire natured shinobi. Yes, he felt hate towards the Uchiha that had slaughtered his brothers but it was not directed towards the entirety of the Uchiha; they had been at war and a shinobi did whatever it took to survive or gain an upper hand, even if it meant killing the innocent. He found himself wondering what Kawarama and Itama would be like as he stood there with determination, arms crossed over his chest with finality. Would they be upset at seeing him agree to practically give himself away as a bargaining chip as a means to obtaining peace? Would they beg for there to be another way, to demand the Uchiha change their mind? Sadly, he would never know and that piece of knowing reality only strengthened his resolve.

Hashirama, placed between a rock and a hard place, conceded to giving away his only living brother away as a means of finally having peace and Tobirama watched as dread and reluctance colored his anija’s tar colored eyes. The plans of this arranged marriage were set and Tobirama found himself coming to look eye to eye with his promised husband and obsidian orbs subtly clashed with his pools of merlot, an unspoken bond now tying them together forever. Upon arriving back at the Senju compound, Tobirama found himself subjected to a nearly hysterical Hashirama, his elder brother demanding why, why had Tobirama agreed to such demands, there had to be another way-! Toka, while significantly more in control of her emotions, had similar demands, her main emotions having been anger and frustration (“There is only enough room for one idiot in this family, little cousin, and Hashirama already has that role covered!”) and after dealing with a depressed Hashirama, Tobirama did his best to soothe his cousin's worries. The only calm and rational person aside from Tobirama himself was Mito, his well-collected and commanding sister-in-law swiftly jumping in and knocking some sense into her blubbering husband and seething cousin-in-law and if she told him that she questioned his intelligence as they parted ways for the night, only the gods and the chirping crickets would know.

With the negotiations finished and the bed made and laid in by both parties, the construction of Hashirama and Madara’s dream village began and with it began his forced courtship with the Uchiha clan head. Hashirama, in an attempt to be intimidating, threatened the apathetic Uchiha with bodily harm if he ever came to harm his “precious otouto”, those his threats fell short for numerous reasons, the largest being that the peace treaty prohibited any violence occurring between the clans. Tobirama was swift in reminding his anija of this fact. Madara and his courtship began with a rocky start, as many arranged marriages do (Hashirama and Mito’s being the rare exception), and the need to be open emotionally, to not hide his emotions and to be the mind and voice of reason always was a difficult task. His betrothed also struggled with this reality, to be vulnerable in a world that ate such an open state with murderous glee, and arguments were had and feelings accidentally stepped on. Two emotionally stunted men together was a recipe for disaster and many watched them with bated breaths, for their engagement to fall apart, for the cautious hopes for peace to shatter into millions of pieces before their very eyes. The weight to succeed weighed heavy on Tobirama’s shoulders and as he stood in the middle of Madara and Izuna’s backyard amidst another argument with Madara, copious amounts of rain hailing from above without restraint as frustration and confusion tormented his soul, it finally forced him to collapse. He shouted at the Uchiha standing a mere few feet away from him under the roof of the engawa, tears racing down his marked face as he shouted himself hoarse, one of the worst storms in the region's history unfolding around them. Madara watched him with irritation, a well-made mask of indifference sitting upon his stoic visage, and as Tobirama finally gave up, when he threw the towel in and allow himself to be vulnerable for the first time in years, the Uchiha’s rough lips were suddenly on his own and suddenly his surroundings, his worries, his fears were gone and replaced with warm comfort.

Their relationship became one of truth and openness from that moment forward, the two of them doing their best to establish a balance between themselves, and unknowingly fell in love along the way. By the time the primary building of Konoha had been completed and their wedding date arrived, Tobirama could confidently (and quite fondly, though no one needed to know this at the time) state that he loved Madara Uchiha. As they exchanged their vows before the clans of the village, with Izuna smirking that ugly smirk of his and Hashirama in tears as his poor wife comforted the weeping fool (“He is taking Tobi away from me Mito!”, “Tobirama is not yours beloved, he is a grown man.”) Tobirama gazed at his husband to be with honest hope and heated cheeks. His heart sweetly ached at hearing Madara say “I do”, at knowing without a doubt in his mind that he was now Madara’s and Madara was his, that he had someone in which he could wholly confide his secrets and feelings in, and Tobirama knew he had been blessed well the moment their lips joined, sealing their marital union as those around them cheered and sobbed in the case of his anija. Their marriage, while lovely, of course experienced its own bumps here and there, particularly on matters of legislation and equality within the village, but Tobirama wouldn’t trade it away for the world because a world without Madara at his side was not worth living in.

Yet, as he stared at the white stick resting within his shaking hands, Tobirama feared that the world they had made was going to shatter at any second. Two lines of crimson glared at him with undenying truth, the feeling of an extra, new source of chakra nestled within his own person only confirming the results within his grasp. He had been born as an anomaly not only in appearance but in anatomicalities as well; the midwife had nearly passed out when she caught sight of not only albinism but his newborn self having both male and female genitalia and his father’s reaction hadn’t been much kinder. Few people knew of his condition and those who did typically accepted him no matter his abnormalities, Madara being no exception to that, and as he found himself happily married and being tasked with teaching the up and coming generation, the Senju found the yearning to have children of his own grow with each hair ruffle.

Tobirama knew the likelihood of someone with his condition, rare as it was, being able to carry a child let only father one and had unhappily accepted that he would never be able to have a child of both his and Madara’s making. With this truth in mind, the two of them still practiced safe sex and were content with the moments of parenthood being a mentor allowed them, never feeling compelled to strive for anything more; well, at least, Madara hadn’t shown any interest of having children of their own. Even with their vigilance and cautiousness, they ended slipping up here and there, having drunk too much sake or simply enjoyed feeling one another intimately, flesh to flesh, and now here Tobirama was, standing alone in their shared bathroom, two seconds from imploding as he internally panicked. How could this have happened? They had been so careful! What was Madara going to think?!

Silent, unshed tears threatened to fall down his pale features, the gravity of the situation at hand weighing down on him without any restraint. Madara and he were busy with their village and clan duties, with Tobirama being the advisor to his idiot brother who had been elected hokage somehow, along with being the Uchiha matriarch, and Madara acting as his other advisor and clan head. They had already been married for two years and were financially and emotionally stable as two shinobi could be and would have no trouble affording the costs that came along with having a child. No, Tobirama worried over whether this pregnancy was even viable and if Madara would want the child growing within him. The two of them were happy and content with their childless life, what if Madara only wanted that? He couldn’t give up his child so easily, the chance of having one in itself was a miracle, but he could never imagine living a life without his dark haired Uchiha. This secret was going to be the literal death of him.

*Knock knock*

Soft knocks from the bathroom doorway ripped Tobirama away from his heavy thoughts, the Senju hurried tucking the test into the pocket of his training pants, calling out swiftly, “Enter!”

He was thoroughly relieved when the calm personage of his sister-in-law appeared in the doorway, a look of caution and soft worry conflicting with her beautiful features as she stepped forward, sliding the door closed behind her.

Comforting pools of inky black washed over his form, the Uzumaki princess coming to kneel beside him, “No one saw me enter. It is just us.”

Relief flooded his system once more, a shaky sigh escaping the albino as he ran a hand through his hair for probably the millionth time in that hour alone, “Thank the gods.”

“If I may ask, what is this sudden need for secrecy Tobirama,” Mito questioned calmly, gazing at him with searching eyes. “Has something happened?”

Here goes nothing…

Slowly retrieving the test hidden within his pants pocket, Tobirama shakily deposited it into his sister-in-law’s hands, and if the situation had been different, Tobirama would have revelled in being able to shake Mito into a state of shock as she was now.

The Uzumaki’s now avid attention shifted from the positive pregnancy test to Tobirama, the redhead murmuring with caution, “Are you certain?”

He gave her a weak nod, his nerves growing with each second. “I can sense another source of chakra developing within me. Its size fits with the time frame of the last time Madara and I slept together without protection eight weeks ago.”

“Does Madara know of this,” Mito replied, face growing stoic once more. His lack of an answer had his brother’s wife sighing, placing the test back within Tobirama’s grip, “I see. I figure this pregnancy was neither planned nor expected.”

Tobirama did his best to reign in his fluctuating emotions, the sensor squeezing his eyes shut, “I presumed having a child of our own would never be a reality, considering our circumstances. We have never discussed having children, Mito; what if he does not want to be a father? I-I cannot just dispose of it.”

Mito shifted her form, a comforting hand coming to rest on his shoulder, “While I cannot speak entirely on your husband’s behalf, Tobirama, I know I can say that he would be over the moon to hear you are with child. Madara treasures the clan children, why would he not adore having his own?”

Both he and Madara treasured the children within the Uchiha clan, spending large amounts of time assisting fellow clan members by babysitting their spawn or teaching them various jutsus. Tobirama had often found himself imagining the dark haired children that often swarmed his husband were their children, excited to see their father after a long day. A reality he never thought possible until now.

Pools of wine, shakened with doubt and worry, came to fall upon Mito’s face of comfort and dignity, “How do I even go about telling him? What if he assumes the child is not his?”

She squeezed his shoulder in reassurance, voice smooth as water and warm as midday sun, “He would have to be stupider than he is now to conclude the child within you is the product of adulterous actions, brother. You simply need to be honest with him, just as you always have been; keeping this secret will only complicate things more.”

“Tobirama, I’m home!”

No, no, no, he wasn’t ready, he-!

It was only Mito’s touch that kept Tobirama grounded in that moment of panic, the Uzumaki stating with confidence, “Some things cannot be kept secret Tobirama. Tell him.”

“Tobirama? Is everything alright -?”

Madara’s familiar figure appeared in the bathroom doorway, the Uchiha’s already concerned face only intensifying as he stopped mid sentence, coming to kneel beside Tobirama with worry, “What has happened?”

Standing to her feet with grace, whilst knocking the pregnancy test out of view, Mito greeted the Uchiha clan head with a small smile, “Nothing that will not right itself in time, my friend. Now please excuse me, I promised my husband of mine that I would have his favorite dish prepared for him before he returns.”

Her gaze shifted to Tobirama with skillful ease, stating calmly, “Have faith Tobirama, all will be well.”

With that, the Uzumaki was gone, and the two men were left to themselves, an awkward silence quickly enveloping their persons due to her absence.

It was Madara who spoke first, the Uchiha taking Tobirama’s bare hand in his gloved one, “Are you alright Tobirama?”

Was he alright? He was eight weeks pregnant with a child he was not even sure had been possible until his discovery, one he was not certain that his husband would want. The Senju had numerous duties to fulfill not just as the advisor to the Hokage and as clan matriarch but also as a sensei to his students; he would not be able to assist them in learning for the following months until the child’s subsequent arrival.

Tobirama swallowed the fear attempting to slither up his throat, hand tightening around Madara’s, “Promise me that you will listen to what I have to say before releasing your judgement Madara.”

“What is going? Tobirama-!”

Steeling himself, Tobirama gave his husband a stern glare, “Promise me.”

Madara shifted uneasily in his position beside Tobirama, answering reluctantly, “I promise to listen.”

An agitated sigh left the sensor, Tobirama doing his best to gather his thoughts, “As you know, I have been experiencing fatigue and bouts of sickness these past few weeks. To better understand the reasons behind my condition, I conducted various tests on myself and whilst running these tests, came across a foreign entity within myself.”

His husband stiffened and moved to speak but Tobirama cut him off before a sound could escape him, “Worried that it was unnatural, I began to run more in depth tests to better understand the origin of this foreign entity.”

“In the end, with my symptoms in mind, I conducted a final test to confirm my suspicions. The results have me anxious about your reaction, because it is something I did not think possible of occurring.”

The clan head gazed at him with wariness, fear present in those beautiful pools of midnight black that Tobirama loves to peer into for hours on end, but Madara’s voice is strong with determination, “Whatever it is Tobirama, we will face it together! Hell, that idiot brother of yours will do everything in his power to fix it!”

A frown formed on Tobirama’s face, the sensor retorting quietly, “This is not something that can be healed Madara-.”

“It cannot hurt to at least try,” Madara shouted, his other hand coming to cup Tobirama’s left cheek. “I refuse to let you die laying down you foolish Senju-!”

Chuckling wetly, tears of anxiety and cautious joy blurred his vision, “I am not dying you Uchiha idiot.”

Confliction of relief and confusion waged on Madara’s personage, “You are not? But you said it was unfixable-!”

Tobirama was quick to cut him off, giving the fiery man a firm look, “If you had let me finish before rudely interrupting me, I was going to tell you that the condition I am in cannot be healed but it will fix itself on its own in seven months time you blockhead!”

Black eyes searched his person, clearly scrambling for answers, and the albino groaned in annoyance, “I swear, you can be as dense as my brother at times! I am trying to tell you that I am pregnant, you imbecile!”

Oh kami, what had he done?

Madara froze in his spot beside Tobirama, staring at him with undetectable emotion, and the sensor instantly was sent into a panic at his reaction, “I know we have never officially discussed having children and I know having a child right now while the village is still so young and with us being so busy is not logical but I want to have this child and I will raise it with or without your approval-!”

Rough lips smothering his own cut him off mid-rant, fiery passion burning brightly in the act of intimacy as his husband’s other hand came to cup his right cheek, and after a few moments of quiet, Madara pulled away, joy shining brightly in his tear-blurred eyes, “How could you ever think that I would not want to have a child with the man I love?”

With that, Tobirama fell apart, silent tears rolling down his cheeks as he timidly replied, “A normal man could never do this.“

“Who said I wanted a normal man,” Madara firmly questioned, eyes stern and passionate. “I married a man who is a genius shinobi in his own right, who also happens to have a condition that has gifted us with a chance to have a child of our own flesh when so many others couples dream of such an opportunity!”

“You are not upset,” Tobirama whispered cautiously.

Madara gave him a shining smile and kissed him once more, tears of his own running down his face as his right hand came to rest on the albino’s flat stomach, “I could never be upset over something like this Tobirama. A child is a gift from the gods; I only pray it has your beautiful mind.”

The Senju stifled a sob at the Uchiha’s confession and Madara rested his forehead against Tobirama’s, allowing him to give his husband soft, comforting kisses.

After a few moments, Tobirama was able to reign himself in, giving Madara a small grin, “Hashirama and Izuna are going to be complete nightmares once they learn I am expecting.”

Scoffing, Madara pulled away, though he didn’t move his hand resting on Tobirama’s abdomen, “Those two buffoons are already nightmares in general. All hell will break loose once they hear they will be receiving a niece or nephew within the year.”

A comfortable silence filled the area for a few minutes before Tobirama spoke once more, “I asked that we do not let anyone know of the baby until at least the twelfth week mark, Mito aside of course; I do not want to get anyone excited in case I happen to miscarry.”

“You are not going to miscarry anything,” Madara stated confidently, moving Tobirama to rest his back against his chest whilst other hand came to join his right one. “But I understand your reasoning and agree to wait until you are ready to share this news.”

Tobirama turned his head to look at his husband, murmuring lovingly, “Thank you Madara.”

His husband pecked his lips, replying fondly, “Anything for you, my husband.”

Some secrets were better worth sharing after all.

#madara x tobirama #tobirama senju #team tobirama #headcanon #uchiha madara #senju hashirama #uzumaki mito #naruto #arranged marriage #angst #intersex #fluff #minor character death #izuna uchiha #toka senju #naruto fanfiction #naruto imagines

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kiki-shortsnout · 3 years

Note

For intimacy prompts: #17 laying your head on someone’s shoulder for Frostiron! 💚❤️ Thanks!

I'm back!!! Sorry it's taken so long, but I'm back to answer my prompts! Thank you so much for this one! I enjoyed writing this!

***

Loki stumbled as the Bifrost set them both down, too exhausted to shake off Thor’s steadying hand on his elbow, his brother’s own exhaustion evident in the slump of his shoulders. Loki had no strength left in him to make a jest about Thor’s overprotective tendencies, instead looking around the Midgardian cityscape he’d come to think of as a second home, his limbs limp.

Part of his atonement for his war crimes was to take a more active role in defense of the planet he sought to enslave. His mother and brother’s pleas not to imprison him swaying his father from a harsher sentence. He was a…tolerated member of the Avengers, a proverbial thorn in the side for most. He’d formed a tentative, begrudging respect towards the Black Widow, but he was a constant source of irritation for the rest of them.

Well, someone needed to keep the Avengers on their toes.

Loki was still called upon to keep Asgard and the realms it protected safe, and that was where he and Thor had been, subduing marauders on Vanaheim, listening to whispers of an event called a Convergence was impending, a cataclysmic occurrence that had them all on edge.

It felt as though his very bones rattled as he trudged across the roof of the Avengers Tower beside Thor, like his skin was stretched too taut over the excruciating ache of his muscles. As they came into the hanger, they both looked around, used to having at least one member of the Avengers greet them after their excursions off world.

Despite being used to being treated with distrust and trepidation, the bitter sting of their rebuke still penetrated the fatigued miasma clouding Loki’s brain.

He’d managed to convince one Midgardian that he was not the nemesis that all perceived him to be, that it was an illusion he portrayed to hide the crippling weakness he felt. This one Midgardian had seen through Thanos’s manipulations of his mind, had shattered the deception he shrouded himself in. It was Anthony he looked around for now, bewildered as he was met with nothing but silence, not even JARVIS speaking to them.

‘Is Earth under attack?’ Thor questioned, wiping the grime from his eyes as he frowned, moving towards one of the huge windows. Loki reformed his daggers as he took a step forward, ears straining to hear, his body sluggish and unwilling to cooperate.

The door at the far end of the room creaked open, and Loki teleported beside it in an instant, flinging it open and pointing his dagger at their enemy.

‘Pepper?’ Lowering his dagger, he immediately noticed she looked as tired, if not more so than the both of them. Her usually glossy hair was dull and frazzled, wisping around her face in auburn tufts, her eyes encircled with grey smudges.

‘What has happened?’ he asked, his words curt despite how he’d promised Anthony he would respect this mortal. It was an easy promise to keep, treating the two people Anthony treasured above all with care. Loki genuinely liked Pepper, her attitude, her bravery, her fiery temper. He and Rhodes tolerated each other, their mutual like for Anthony the only thing stopping them from attacking each other, settling instead for snide comments.

‘It’s Tony, he…he’s been really sick, Loki,’ Pepper gasped, her lower lip trembling as she swayed into him.

‘Where is he?’ Loki demanded, catching her by her shoulders. It was as though his body had been invigorated with lust for battle, any fatigue he’d felt moments ago burned away. Instead of the adrenaline he usually felt under such circumstances, his body felt cold, terror seeping down the back of his throat, stroking its clammy fingers across his skin.

Why wasn’t I here?

‘He’s in his room now-’

‘Where was he before?’ Thor asked before Loki could even put words to the thoughts scattering in his mind, the guilt webbing in his lungs, tugging at him with every breath.

‘The medical bay downstairs…JARVIS has the most extensive anatomy files because of the arc reactor and-’

‘Thor, look after her for me,’ Loki ordered, teleporting away despite them calling after him.

Anthony was huddled in his bed, the numerous blankets piled on him quivering as he trembled. The sickly scent spiraling in tendrils through the air made Loki recoil. This…was not something he was comfortable with. He’d never cared about another enough to warrant any actions of concern from him, had never been able to see past his own arrogance and selfishness to consider others.

‘An…Tony?’ he called, scared at what he was going to find, at how sick his mortal was. He’d seen Tony sick before, seen him with what they called a cold, all snuffy nosed and demanding and clingy. This silent, still, Anthony frightened him. What ailed him so? What illness had made Pepper look like a shadow of herself? Why had he needed to go down to the medical bay? Loki had seen Anthony after a battle, had seen him spit venom at any who dared suggest he seek medical help when he was injured, only allowing Loki to tend to his wounds hours later when the pain had grown too much to bear. Even then, he’d pretended it was for his own sake, that he was the one who couldn’t bear to see Anthony in pain.

He took a step backwards, wanting to flee, wanting to escape the fear plucking at him. He’d been in countless battles, fought with odds against him, had stood and waited for punishment by his father. This, seeing someone he had grown to care about like this…why was this affecting him so?

Anthony had reached out a hand in friendship despite all the atrocities he had committed in both Midgard and Jotunheim, the countless lives he had taken and lasting repercussions, Anthony Stark had given him a home, a means to make penance for those he had wronged. He hadn’t forgiven him, not straight away, that had taken time and trust to develop between them.

It was that belief in him, an emotion that so few beings were unwilling to extend to him which made Loki fall in love with the Midgardian, a feeling he had not given life with his words yet. It was this unnamed feeling which made him shove all his selfish fears aside.

Anthony needed him.

‘Anthony?’ he called again, peeling back the covers, his breath hitching at the sheer heat radiating from the man.

‘Hey,’ his voice cracked, his lungs rattling as he drew in a breath, hands tightening from where they were wrapped around himself in a pitiful hug.

‘What…what happened, should you even be here?’ Loki asked, dropping to his knees by the side of the bed, his hands hovering over Anthony’s body, uncertain, scared to touch this fragile creature.

Anthony rolled over in bed, and Loki was horrified at the sunken look to his skin, the waxy grey pallor, the red-rimmed eyes.

‘Oh, beloved,’ Loki breathed out, his hand stroking through clumped together hair.

‘Not a pretty sight,’ Anthony wheezed out. ‘You should’ve seen me a few weeks ago.’

Weeks? He’d left him behind in a worse condition than this for weeks?

‘How did your health deteriorate so fast? You weren’t in this condition when I…’ Loki’s eyes narrowed when Anthony’s gaze dropped, one of his tells when he wasn’t telling the entire truth. ‘You were ill when I left.’ Loki didn’t phrase it as a question.

‘Honestly, Lokes, don’t-’ Anthony’s protest was cut off with a wracking cough, the sheer force of it scaring Loki, sweeping aside whatever anger that had been beginning to build a few moments ago.

‘Why did you not tell me? If I had known-’

‘Thor needed you,’ Anthony said weakly, sagging back into his pillow. ‘Besides, this isn’t…this isn’t what we do.’ He closed his eyes as if the mere act of breathing pained him.

He was correct in his assumptions. They laughed, talked, had sex…keeping everything light and frothy and pleasurable, avoiding anything that encompassed feelings, vulnerabilities, neither wanting to be beholden to the other. It was a foolish act on Loki’s behalf, wanting to keep a distance from attachments, fearful of what Anthony could mean to him.

‘Move aside,’ Loki commanded, shrugging off his cape and unfastening his arm bracers.

‘Loki, what?’

‘Unless me joining you is going to impede your recovery in any way?’ Loki hesitated, suppressing his smirk at Anthony’s interested, fatigued gaze on his now naked torso. Lying beside his mortal, Loki gathered him in his arms, arranging them so he was on his back, Anthony half on top of him, his head on his shoulder.

‘Listen to me,’ Loki whispered, the words delicate, but infused with such meaning that it made them hang thickly between them. This was a precipice on which he stood, a moment he had read about in countless epic sagas. The hero baring the depths of their love after a heroic deed, or a noble act of self-sacrifice… not holding a sickly mortal. ‘I am not…not very good at this,’ Loki finished, his voice trailing off pathetically.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,’ Anthony said instead, wriggling his body closer, enjoying the cooler feel of Loki’s skin. ‘I’m a shitty patient, and I didn’t want you to see me like this.’

That Loki could understand. Only his mother dared to face his wrath when he had been sick, her gentle hands and calming voice the only things he would tolerate. But there was a deeper meaning behind Anthony’s reasoning too, the unwillingness to reveal a weakness, the fear of being abandoned.

‘I am not angry you did not tell me. I am infuriated with myself for not recognizing the signs of your ailment, of leaving you behind for such a long period of time when I know you do not like seeking help.’

‘Then what-’

Loki clutched his mortal closer, resting one hand on his brow to both to measure Anthony’s temperature and to cool him down.

‘I have never felt this way towards another being, mortal or not. I am sorry that you felt as though you could not tell me you were unwell, that I acted as though my intentions towards you were not serious. You plague my waking thoughts, my unconscious dreams, beloved, there is none I would rather be with.’

Rather than receiving a heartfelt confirmation of Anthony’s own feelings, the mortal stiffened in his grip, his rattling breathing halting. Fearful his illness had gotten worse, Loki rose a little from his waist so he could look down, confused at the angry frown Anthony was displaying.

‘Anthony-’

‘This is going to keep happening,’ he interrupted with a snap. ‘My insides are completely wrecked, my lungs, heart… Christ my liver…they’re all damaged and I’m not as young as I once was. I don’t know about you, but this is a wakeup call for why we shouldn’t be fooling around…let alone catching feelings for me.’

‘It is not for you to tell me my feelings are wrong,’ Loki admonished gently.

‘Loki, look at me. I’m a mess. I got a simple cold and it morphed into pneumonia. I might be out of the medical bay, but it’ll take weeks to-’

‘More of a mess than I am? Loki, the God of Mischief who manipulated my brother into going to war with my birth world, who allowed myself to be manipulated by Thanos-’

‘Loki you were tortured…’

‘And I threw you from a window, killed innocent people.’

Anthony didn’t answer that.

‘I know my actions of New York were not wholly my own, that I agreed to invade under duress, that my thoughts were not my own. Anthony, those thoughts were not just placed there by Thanos. I had always regarded Midgard as a lesser race. Those emotions might have been warped and heightened, but they were my own. I tricked my brother into a war against Jotunheim because I was jealous of the attention my father bestowed on him. These are not trivial things to be forgiven. They are sins I will atone for the rest of my life, and still, you found a way to love me.’

Anthony’s breathing hitched, turning into a cough, and Loki ran a comforting hand over his back to calm him.

‘I care not if your body is injured, that you are more susceptible to illness. It does not make you weaker in my mind, it highlights the battles you have endured, the strength it takes for you to continue living,’ Loki told him, lifting a hand to place it over Anthony’s arc reactor, protecting it. Despite his earlier fears earlier, the words he spoke were the truth, and it pained him that he had waited so long to tell him.

Even as he held his sick mortal close, wishing he could create a spell to eradicate any vestiges of this illness, Loki was plotting. He wouldn’t let Anthony be snatched from him by something trivial like time or illness. Technically he needed his father’s permission for his plan, but he knew his mother would see his way of thinking, would be happy he had found another to share his life with.

‘Feels like you’ve been shortchanged here,’ Anthony grumbled, settling his head back down against his shoulder.

‘I’m not sure what that means, but it sounds like you are degrading yourself after I’ve confessed my feelings for you. This is meant to be a momentous occasion and-’

He laughed as Anthony silenced him with a hand over his mouth.

‘Alright, alright, you’re lucky, I’m a peach, I get it.’ Anthony burrowed closer, his sweat-slick hands wrapping around Loki’s middle.

‘Next time, promise me you will tell me if you are feeling unwell.’

‘You had to go- ‘

‘Nothing is more important to me than you. Father and Thor can protect Asgard. We have an army for that reason. I will always fight for Asgard, for its people, but not if you need me.’

Anthony squeezed him close, his legs twitching as he drew closer to sleep.

‘Thank you.’ Loki felt the words formed against his skin rather than hearing them, and he smiled, holding Anthony closer.

‘I love you too,’ he whispered when he was moments from sleep, and Loki didn’t respond, knowing his beloved needed rest, that he would be here to watch over him while he slept.

#writing prompt #fanfic prompt #thanks for the prompt!#thanks for the ask!#frostiron #tony x loki #tony stark #mcu loki #sick fic

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odi-et-amo85 · 2 years

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edit: All of these are my personal viewing experiences. I tried my best to be polite about them, but please don’t be rude when my opinions aren’t the same as yours. 🙏

I know that someone (might have been a mutual) tagged me in this, but the tag didn’t work. Yet I saw my url and thought by myself, “I should remember this.” 😬 Yet a week has passed (of me postponing and not being sure whether I could fill out the whole thing), and now I have forgotten who the kind person was who selected me for this challenge. Whoever you are, kob khun ka. 💚 So, here we go:

1. Your all time favourite bl and why: This has to be A Tale of 1,000 Stars; I cannot explain exactly what it is that makes it so unforgettable for me. Perhaps it’s because it was my very first BL. But whatever it is, the entire atmosphere around it makes it my all time fave: the unconventional story, the characters, the underlying message, the location, the humour, the metaphors (hornbills my beloved 🥰). Whenever I feel gloomy I go back to AToTS, and I use the OST as my goodnight music. In short, this one has a special place in my heart.

2. That one bl that scarred you for life: That would have to be Until We Meet Again. No hate, because overall I like the show quite a lot. (Cute main couple, lovely second couple, I could see the structure of the script was pretty well constructed. What rubbed me the wrong way was the way UWMA handled KornIn’s suicide. Suicide is already a very heavy subject, and the reason for it in UWMA is even more heartbreaking. On top of that the explicit manner in which the suicide scene was filmed. My criticism is not intended as a conservative stance against any “taboo” or “contentious” subject. (For heaven’s sake, ≈ 90% of my tv experience consists of lgbtqa+ content!) But I do think that as a show runner you should pay a lot of attention to how (segments of) your production may come across. Especially whenever you include events in your script that either show people affected by some kind of mental illness (and yes, I think feeling so despairing that you think taking your own life is the only option left for you qualifies) or the serious problems members from the lgbtqa+ community encounter (in this case parental homophobia so severe that it drives both sons to do the unthinkable). I think media should first and foremost be entertaining. Not the cause of many triggers and ripped open wounds. You may call me a nitpicker for this, but I think UWMA could have done better in this respect. Finally, what bothered me were the “flashback” scenes in which Dean and Pharm were confronted with vivid memories of a trauma that wasn’t even their own. Truly, I get the concept of Until We Meet Again. And I can certainly appreciate that idea. But I think the same effect could have been achieved with a less intense visualisation of something so psychologically taxing as suicide.

3. Is there any bl that made you feel very single: I am actually single 😂, but if I’m honest, I don’t mind it one bit. In fact, in this stage of my life, I like being on my own. So I can’t name a show here; for the simple reason that I don’t have any negative feelings about being single. 🤷‍♀️

4. If you could change one thing from a bl, which one would it be? I would probably get rid of a couple of side-plots in Oxygen, so that Phu and Kao could get a proper development of their love story. I really liked their dynamics and I thought the idea of genuinely having to winning someone’s trust –rather than “just” winning someone’s heart– was a very original plot. Phu had serious issues with bonding with anyone, not just Kao, and the plot that we saw depicted revolved wholly around Phu trying to open up, and Kao attempting to win Phu’s trust. That was beautiful to see, but I would have loved to see them really get together at some point. Maybe this series just deserves a season 2 🤔, or they should have made PhuKao’s subplot less complicated. Anyhow, this was just a waste of potential.

5. That one bl you detest (don’t hold back): Obviously I could’ve gone for really problematic shows like TharnType. But that would be a choice of which I didn’t really expect a lot to begin with. So instead my answer would be this… Please, please promise you won’t all desert me for this. 🙀 Here we go: Make It Right. BAM, there you have it. And the reason…apart from the (ususal) cringe expressions and inappropriate sex jokes, it’s a pretty small segment of the entire show. But it’s the scene where Frame “overpowers” (sorry I don’t know how else to describe it than that) Book on the bed and tries to kiss him. Book clearly isn’t into it, and objects, but to no avail. A sort of intense house track starts playing and it’s clearly implied they take things to the next level. Curiously, “the day after,” everything seems to be quite okay. But the whole scene leading up to this is just very very problematic and borderline assault to me. What frustrates me the most about this, is that in the remainder of MIR Book and Frame are an adorable couple. It’s touching to see how patient Book is with Frame when the Frame gets depressed. But the aforementioned thing just ruins it all for me. As for the other couples, they were fine I guess but not very impressionable to me. I think the premise of this bl show was good, but the execution made it a disappointing experience for me.

6. Your top 5: 1.) Not Me; 2.) My Engineer; 3.) He’s Coming to Me; 4.) Ingredients; 5.) Dark Blue Kiss

7. That trashy bl that you lowkey like: 2 Moons 2 (I don’t whether this generally considered “trashy”, but it’s my guilty pleasure 🤭)

8. Your favourite Korean bl (it’s important we know): That has to be You Make Me Dance. ☺️ I have a huge weakness for dance combined with romance in tv series. Must be some kind of adolescent nostalgia… 🥲 Why that is, you can read here.

9. But also your top 3 for kbls: Honestly, YMMD is the only Korean BL I ever watched! 🙈 So, I am going to cheat and answer with a top 3 non-Thai BLs. 🤫 1.) Utsukushii Kare 🇯🇵; 2.) Papa & Daddy 🇹🇼; 3.) Mr. Cinderella 🇻🇳

10. Season 2? Which One? Oh, definitely My Engineer (but I’m pretty sure we’re not going to get it rip 😢)

11. A bunch of dramas will air soon. Which ones are you most excited for? Between Us (don’t know whether this is a 2nd season or a parallel story) – Moonlight Chicken & Cupid’s Last Wish (bc EarthMix 😸, but I feel more confident about the former one) – Never Let Me Go (I have a very strong feeling this one is either going to be legendary good or legendary trash 👀) – Check Out (I will be honest, this one is not necessarily about the plot 🙆‍♀️)

12. Tag them! Please only do it if you want to, no pressure! Tbh, I think the vast majority of my bl mutuals has already done this. But if you haven’t, please consider yourself tagged! 😘

@thequeenofsastiel (bc I’d like to hear more of your opinions 🙂)

@onstoryladders (so you have someone who tagged you <3)

@noxclara (so you’ll watch more bl 😌)

@ghosttotheparty (bc you’re awesome and I just wanted to tag you ^^ -> and perhaps a new interest of yours will emerge 😉)

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

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Chasing Providence {Dimitrescu/OC} Pt 1

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Pairings: TBA, at minimum platonic House Dimitrescu/OC, with some wlw side characters (also original, but not the focus of the story) Rating: T for mild violence and possibly triggering content Warnings: A character briefly threatens suicide as a means of prolonging a conversation (i.e. saying "if you don't listen, I'll ___") Additionally, this contains spoilers for Resident Evil 8. Summary: Months after being infected with a mysterious virus, investigative journalist Avaskian Caldwell is left with no choice: Xe has to get help, one way or another, from whatever remains of the Umbrella Corporation could be trusted. Or, perhaps, from the very person who started it all... Along the way xe'll have to get along with vampires, fight off would be hunters, befriend a hoard of cultists, all while performing the duties of an everyday servant. There's nothing xe won't try as xe's forced to chase providence. Notes: While this chapter features a somewhat talkative Ava, xe's normally selectively mute, and will be for the entire rest of the story.

1: Blood Runs Thick

“This can’t be it. No fucking way, bruv, are you sure you got the address right?” The journalist asked, eyes narrowed as xe stared out into the distant hills. One hand held a phone, currently without any signal, while the other kept a tentative grip on the van’s door handle. To their side was the driver, a middle-aged man with relatively little patience. When he replied, it was in a language the journalist didn’t speak, but could clearly understand as a swirl of profanity. “Alright, alright, I get it. Not like I could afford to pay you to take me back, anyway… I’ll just, uh, be going then. Try to have a nice day, eh, you old chap?” With that said xe opened the door, hopping out rather eagerly. After tucking xer phone into xer pocket, xe quickly gathered xer bags from the trunk, half expecting the man to drive off before xe had a chance.

Surprisingly, he stayed all the way until the journalist gave two hard pats to the van’s side. Then he practically slammed the gas pedal, speeding off in a whirling cloud of dust and kicked up rocks, promptly sending xer into a coughing fit. Curse these feeble lungs, xe thought, scowling. Absent-mindedly xe put a hand to xer throat, silently checking if xer, ahem, ‘wounds’ were still covered. Once satisfied, xe turned to the long, winding path into the village. Was this truly where the ever-elusive “Miranda” could be found? What in the blazes of hell was a scientist like herself doing here, in a mostly empty stretch of Romania? The thought sent a rush of anxiety to the journalist’s chest, as xe wondered if this “Miranda” would even consider helping xer. Xe hoped that, at the least, xer unique case would get her attention.

In the end, it took xer twice as long as expected to reach the village proper. There were no signs along the path, nor signs of life, other than countless dead birds, hung like falling leaves from every tree. Once, a display this gnarly would have made bile rise up in xer throat. But these days? After everything xe had researched? This was no hell, not when compared to the bombed ruin that was Raccoon City. Yet xe still cut xer hand when hopping the barbed wire fence, as if once again a rookie, too desperate for the truth to see the proper world. Fresh blood dropped onto the snow, but xe allowed xerself no wince nor complaint, instead focused on the figures moving in the distance. Strangers. Nay, sources. Someone would know something about the mysterious Miranda, even if they didn’t realize it.

So the journalist made haste, approaching as casually as xe could, considering the heavy traveler’s bag on xer shoulders, and the sturdy cane xe walked with. It was the latter that caught people’s attention first, as it click click clicked against the stone path. Before long there were several pairs of eyes on the journalist, some of them bearing thinly veiled hostility, others filled with nervousness.

“Who are you?” A man growls, stepping in front of a woman (his daughter, based on similar features, age difference) as he does. One of his fingers jabs into xer chest, daring them to take another move, carrying an unspoken threat within it. For a few seconds xe simply smiles at the man. Somewhat amused, xe hoped that xer natural charm would win the day, despite a quick glance telling them that most of these strangers were armed.

“I’m a journalist-” xe started to say, until the others moved their hands towards their holsters- “or at least I was, once. But I come asking for assistance, kindness from my fellow humans,” xe said, gesturing widely with xer arms. This made the others present pause, though the journalist wasn’t immediately sure that xe hadn’t just misspoken. Romanian was not xer first language. Or xer second, come to think of it. Oddly enough, however, it had clicked rather quickly in xer brain, as if xe had always been meant to speak it. “You may call me Avaskian Caldwell. Or just Ava, or just Kian, or just Vas, depending on your mood. Ah, but that hardly matters. I am here… to find a woman. Someone I have heard much about, a, how do you say… ‘marvel’ of science? They tell me she is called ‘Miranda’. Have I come to the-” xe do not get to finish that sentence. Before xe can understand what’s happening, someone has grabbed xer by the throat, attempting to life xer into the air.

For once in xer life, xe’s glad for the ‘extra insulation’.

“Fuck you, outsider, you don’t deserve to taint her name with your foul tongue!” The man shouts, squeezing xer throat, urged on by the jeering crowd. A smarter person would have been rather concerned at that point. But the journalist- Ava, as xe said- was not known for xer cleverness. That did not, however, stop xer from exhibiting cleverness. Taking advantage of xer ridiculous arm joints (which may or may not be doubled, possibly merely weird as fuck), xe reached into xer bag, ignoring the crowd’s scared reaction, retrieving an evidence bag. Inside of it: several broken vials, each marked with a symbol of terror. This is not a place of honor the symbol screamed. To the villagers, it meant something else, something older. To Ava? It meant the prophet of death, it meant Umbrella.

“I come bearing the sign of your village. I come bearing the scars of your Goddess,” Ava proclaims, raising the bag into the air. As soon as xe does, xe is released, the man scrambling backwards. Others turn away, some leaving, a handful gathering to pray. ‘Twas an odd display, but one that Ava preferred over a public execution. Only one person dares to approach: A woman, likely mid thirties, with dark eyes and darker hair. There’s a clear caution in her movements, as if it was taking all of her courage to not flee. “Do you perhaps know how I may reach Miranda? I am in dire need of her knowledge.” At this, the woman flinches, though her gaze lingers on Ava’s throat. It’s then that the journalist realizes xer collar was undone, exposing xer strange, ever-bleeding wound. The stranger does not speak until xe has covered the deformity.

“One does not simply reach Mother Miranda. But there are ways to get her attention, to ask for a, hmm, blessing,” she explains. With a sigh of relief, Ava starts to celebrate, eager to find a cure for what ailed xer. But the woman wasn’t done speaking, and her next words cut a thick line through xer hope. “It may take a few weeks, maybe less, but we can ensure your prayers are heard. Mother Miranda always rewards the faithful. Even those who start out as outsiders. In the end, all are welcome here, if they keep the faith in our Mother.”

“No, no, that won’t do!” Ava snaps, far harsher than intended. The woman flinches again, and xe starts to pace back and forth, trying to release xer pent up energy. “There has to be another way. Faster, more direct. I don’t-... I might not have time to wait. Please, please, anything you can do to help, even if it’s just pointing me in the right direction…” A gulp, eyes shining with unshed tears, a quiver of the lower lip. Falsehoods alike, directed for an honest purpose. Miranda was xer only hope for information- and, perhaps, for salvation. But the latter had never been Ava’s true priority.

“There might be one way, but it is dangerous. You’d be more likely to die on the path than reach your goal, if I am honest. Yet… if there is anyone in all the village who can grant you the audience you seek, it would be one of the four lords. If you are certain-” the woman could only watch as Ava nodded furiously, silently begging- “so be it. Follow me, but do not say I did not warn you. I do not want your spirit coming to haunt me for my act of pity.”

—————————

“An unexpected guest? How… delightful. Do tell me why you even bothered to drag this miscreant before me, Cynthia?” Lady Alcina Dimitrescu asked, with a scowl, staring down at the fragile human in question. Of all the things she had expected to find, once her head servant called her, this was not one of them. An intruder would have been more likely. Perhaps even more fun, if Alcina felt like letting her daughters join in the resulting feast. But this ‘thing’ was hardly worth her time. They were short, although admittedly somewhat plump, with a scent that implied illness. For once, she could not pinpoint the exact disease by smell alone. Not that she cared, really. ‘Twas simply… interesting.

“Please, allow me to introduce myself. You may call me Avaskian Caldwell, and I come with an… offer. With mutual benefits, I assure you, Lady Dimitrescu,” the journalist answered, giving a deep bow. Despite xer manners, Alcina seemed unimpressed, even irritated by the display. Still, she gestured with her right hand, encouraging xer to get on with it. “I am in need of a meeting, specifically one with the much beloved, dearly respected Mother Miranda. In exchange, I offer two things: The sweat of my brow, and the blood in my veins.” Much to xer displeasure, Alcina replied with loud laughter before fixing xer with a hard stare.

“Pray tell, little thing, what makes you think I won’t simply take your blood now, hmm?” She muses, cackling again, ignoring the way her servant flinched at the sound. But Ava did not waiver, instead simply reaching into xer sleeve. Slowly xe pulled out something metallic, speaking firmly as xe did.

“For one, Mother Miranda would certainly dislike losing out on this opportunity,” xe started to say, unable to stop xerself from smirking. Then the knife fully exited xer sleeve, dancing in the light, before pressing against xer own throat. It was certainly a unique threat. Instantly Alcina rises to her feet, only pausing when she realizes that she wasn’t the one in danger. “Secondly, my blood is worth more if I am alive. You see, I have a wretched ‘condition’, which does a handful of lovely, lovely, life-threatening things to this poor vessel of mine. But someone as intelligent as yourself could find plenty of use for my so-called ‘illness’. If you give me a chance to explain, that is.” Though she does not sit back down, or even nod, it quickly becomes clear that Alcina did not intend to interrupt. Yet. “Grand, grand! I do appreciate it, my Lady. Now, let me just grab the research I brought with me…”

Never once lowering the knife from xer throat, Ava digs into xer bag, forced to briefly clip xer cane to xer belt. Then xe retrieves a closed manilla folder, carefully handing it to the giantess in front of xer. Wordlessly Alcina accepts the item, opening it to peruse its contents, only pausing to put on a pair of reading glasses. A minute of quiet passes before Ava continues xer explanation.

“I heal faster than anyone else on your staff, guaranteed. Hell, I cut my hand down in the village, on some damned wire, and the wound has already closed back up, good as new. That means, of course, that if someone were to let’s say… remove some of my blood, well, it wouldn’t take too long for me to get more, now would it? Obviously there has to be some biological counter, some form of payment for my ability. The rule of equivalent exchange, and all that, yes? As it stands… I eat an extra slice of bread a day. That’s it. Nothing bad enough to cancel out the boon of my blood. My… extensive reservoir of blood. Interesting, yes?” Ava says, still as charming as ever, despite the indescribable terror in xer chest. If there was one thing that xe had learned as a journalist, it was how to hide xer fear. Which was plenty useful, in the current situation, especially when Alcina flips a page to reveal the one downside to xer condition.

“Don’t tell me you came all this way to try and deceive me. Here I was, beginning to think something of you, and you hand me a sheet that says it clear as candlelight: Your blood is dirty. Infected. I won’t be drinking it anytime soon, nor would I even consider allowing it to be used for my family’s wine!” Alcina is essentially yelling at this point. But Ava only takes a step forward, smile present but trembling, and gestures for her to turn the page. With narrowed eyes she does, quickly reading through the notes. Once, then a pause, then once more. Finally she closes the folder, setting it down upon her desk. “Fascinating. You are indeed a… unique case. I cannot guarantee you a meeting with Mother Miranda, and even if I do, it will be because of your condition. She will use you, as is her divine right to do, likely without ever once considering attempting to cure you. But if you are determined to meet her, well,” Alcina leans in with her own grin, sending chills down Ava’s spine, “I will not stop you. Here’s hoping you manage to give me plenty of blood before you ‘expire’. Cynthia, show her to the servants’ quarters. I expect her to be working by tomorrow morning. Dismissed.”

Although Ava could not help but twitch at the Lady’s choice of pronouns, xe had expected this. Eventually xe would explain the indefinite nature of xer gender. Or perhaps xe was doomed to die a horrific, tragic death long before xe ever had the opportunity. Either way, xe could not help but feel a small sense of elation, pleased to have made some progress towards xer goal. Three steps forward and two steps back was still, cumulatively, a step forward. In time, xe would likely come to regret this series of choices. But who among us could say they held no regrets at all? And if, in the end, this storyteller came away with one hell of a story… wouldn’t that outweigh the regret? Even if Ava did not know it, xe would one day learn a valuable lesson from the strange family xe now worked for: Blood of the covenant is thicker than water of the womb. Oh, and what a lovely covenant it would be.

#avaskian caldwell #alcina dimitrescu #maiden cynthia #resident evil: village #resident evil oc #j has ocs #oh hoo hoo hoo #come and get your first real glimpse of ava #yes they talk in this one #you'll understand later

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words-writ-in-starlight · 4 years

Note

Untamed TAZ Balance AU? Don't have to write anything, just consider that (is Wen Ning Lucretia in this or is he too nice for that)

NHS IS LUCRETIA, NHS IS ABSOLUTELY LUCRETIA, I HAVE THOUGHTS, my girlfriend yelled at me for these thoughts. Hell this got long, I’ve literally been saving it in my drafts until Tumblr fixed the Read More issue.

WWX is Taako, JC is Magnus, WQ is Merle, JYL is in the umbrella (became a lich to keep her brother from doing it), WN is the Red Robe (became a lich because he thought it seemed reasonable), NHS is Lucretia, XXC is Davenport, LWJ and LXC are mutually Kravitz (LXC sets his bro up with the death criminal wizard), Wen Zhuliu is John Vore, LSZ is Angus but also a baby Reaper

ONE

So Wei Wuxian isn’t really a wizard, is the thing. Like, he does the wizard magic, and apparently he has strong Wizard Vibes because wherever he travels, people ask him if he can solve their magical bullshit problems, but he’s, like, barely a wizard. He’s an inventor, technically, except that a few years back some stuff went explosively awry while he worked with this traveling show and–yeah. So he’s working as a wizard because, hey, he can cast Magic Missile and he needs to eat and he’s an Evocation specialist, anyway, so it’s not like he’s out here making food from rocks. He’s hired on with a couple other random jackasses, a fighter who took a dislike to Wei Wuxian right off the bat and a cleric with a bad temper and an itchy Sacred Flame finger, and they’re doing a job for some dwarf, or whatever. The dwarf has a guy hired on as muscle, but he doesn’t look like much, all wide eyes and baby face. He calls himself Qionglin, no last name, and stares at Wen Qing like he’s never seen a cleric before, and Jiang Cheng spends the entire trip to Phandolin messing with his whip, which is the stupidest weapon Wei Wuxian has ever seen.

Well, then everything immediately goes horribly wrong, though, and turns out that Jiang Cheng is pretty okay with that whip. Qionglin (Wei Wuxian spoke to the man all of one time, but he was sweet, if a little awkward) gets himself kidnapped by a bunch of goblins, and their employer is gods-know-where with whatever a Black Spider is, and suddenly this very boring escort mission is a very not boring rescue mission.

There’s a skeleton in the cave. Wei Wuxian takes an umbrella from it, and it crumbles into dust beneath its red robe. There’s a very annoyed man with a sword who calls himself Song Lan and speaks in static, and he’s somehow not the weirdest part of this whole day.

Phandolin doesn’t survive its brush with the Zidian Gauntlet, and neither does Qionglin. Wen Qing screams when he dies, and Wei Wuxian grabs her under the arms with Jiang Cheng and books it for the empty well in Song Lan’s wake, and they just hide.

And then they go to the goddamn moon, apparently.

TWO

The goddamn moon is run by an older man with hair still a glossy black, toying with a beautifully painted white fan in his hand. He calls himself the Director and–after some testing–hires them more or less on the spot. Something flickers over his face when Wen Qing, bemused by her own upset, makes an offhand mention of a man named Qionglin who died when the Gauntlet brought down so much lightning that it turned Phandolin into black glass. But it’s not Wei Wuxian’s problem, so he doesn’t worry himself over it too much. He takes the payment offered to him by the Director’s aide, a blindfolded, stunningly handsome man in Bureau blue and white who rests his hand on his own chest and says “Xiao Xingchen” and not another word.

The Bureau is–weird. They’ve got a giant jellyfish and a store run by–something Wei Wuxian Does Not Trust and a dorm. Wei Wuxian laughs and kicks Jiang Cheng cheerfully in the ankle and says “Just like college, huh?” and Jiang Cheng gives him a dark look and snaps “I never went to college.”

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian says, blinking. “Me neither.”

Whatever. They go on a train adventure and there’s a kid, a kid who blinks and stares at Wei Wuxian like he’s seen a goddamn ghost and immediately walks up to introduce himself as Lan Sizhui, boy detective.

Wei Wuxian fucking loves this kid. He’s not sure why this wide-eyed fifteen-year-old latched onto him so hard, but he’s smart, funny, loyal, and extremely easy to pick on. 13/10 child rating, in Wei Wuxian’s book.

(Sizhui, for his part, more or less kicks down the door to his father’s offices in the Astral Plane the second the Reclaimers are gone and shouts “I HAVE A LEAD ON WHAT HAPPENED TO THE WORLD.”)

(His father, Lan Wangji, the Grim Reaper, is very interested to hear all about it–especially when his son casually name-drops three of the biggest bounties that the Raven King, his adoptive elder brother, has ever sent him after, with the exception of that absolutely insufferably sweet-tempered lich Wen Ning.)

THREE

So…the Crystal Kingdom.

Is it Wei Wuxian’s finest hour, shouting obscure tentacle-related threats at the second crystal construct they’ve seen in the past twenty minutes? No, probably not. But it’s been a stressful day, they’re already down one Regulator and Song Lan is fuck-knows-where with Mianmian and, again, this is the second menacing crystal construct they’ve seen in twenty minutes. Or maybe it’s the same one?

Whatever, doesn’t matter. They’re here to hunt down Meng Yao, a scientist who’s been dicking around with some seriously ill-advised necromancy and also the Philosopher’s Stone, and a crystal construct or two isn’t going to stop them.

Wei Wuxian actually physically cannot help himself, though, when the Reapers appear in the mirror, a matched set of beautiful men, and he grins broadly at the one glaring at him most viciously. They get let go on a technicality, along with a conduit still containing Meng Shi’s memory of a vision beyond the cosmos, and Meng Yao leaves with his life and not much more.

Later, Lan Wangji is absolutely betrayed by the realization that his brother willfully set him up to be the primary go-between for the completely breathtaking deeply irritating wizard-by-way-of-death-criminal. And that’s before the whole lich revelation. (He does get a kiss, though, after he watches his brother pulled under by the Hunger. That’s nice. He hopes Wei Wuxian will mitigate the death crimes now that they’re dating.)

FOUR

The seven Relics are as follows:

The Zidian Gauntlet, which can generate a lightning blast so powerful that it can obliterate an entire city. (Jiang Cheng–he watched the others try to lay in protections, try to make their Relics harmless, and he knew it wouldn’t work. All the Gauntlet does is damage. It can melt a city down to black glass, but it can’t be twisted, it can’t be made into any more of a nightmare than it already is. He’s a fighter. He knows all about damage, knew all about what he was making. That doesn’t mean it didn’t kill him by inches to watch it leave a path of destruction–so much that his beloved jiejie tried to seal it away.)

The Oculus, which can make any construct real. (Xiao Xingchen–Nie Huaisang didn’t take everything. He doesn’t remember the mission, or his own past. Something strange got confused in the process, and he lost most of his speech. But he remembers how to fight, handles his sword as cleanly and effectively as ever, and he remembers that he doesn’t think much of Nie Huaisang’s combat skills. Or maybe it’s just really obvious that Nie Huaisang isn’t much of a fighter. Regardless, Xiao Xingchen insisted on accompanying him, before–before. Then they went into the Felicity Wilds, and…Xue Yang is honestly delighted. He’s never managed to ruin someone so badly on the way into Wonderland before. It’s just a shame that Nie Huaisang sent Xiao Xingchen away before they reached the doors.)

The Healer’s Sash, which can manipulate natural forces like the wind, the tides, and tectonic plates just as easily as it can manipulate a heartbeat or a pair of lungs. (Wen Qing–she prays to Pelor, the Dawnfather, the healer and Lord of Light, but she’s long since lost her faith in him as anything but a contracted boss. It’s a shock to everyone including her when she’s granted a right arm made of glass and magic after losing it. She was so determined to make a Relic that could be used for good, but–well. She supposes she should have known better.)

The Philosopher’s Stone, which can more or less transform anything into anything. (Jiang Yanli–she’s a Transmutation wizard, she’s been feeding the crew of the Starblaster for a hundred years on whatever she can pull together. If the right person found the Stone, it would have ended world hunger. The wrong person found the stone. Jiang Yanli tried her damnedest to hunt it down, but she found the Gauntlet first, and, well–she already became a lich to stop one younger brother from doing it. It’s not a struggle to decide that she’s going to take responsibility for saving Jiang Cheng from his own guilt. Then things go horribly wrong, and she spends the next twelve years in an umbrella.)

The Temporal Chalice, which offers complete control over time. (Wen Ning–he was a strict scholar until his sister was contacted about the IPRE’s creation, but he always did want to travel, and his theories about bonds were too good for Xiao Xingchen to pass up having on his crew. Everything he’s done since they lost their home system has been about trying not to leave his family, about trying for second chances, he became a lich for them, he’s done everything to stay with them, of course his Relic is a second chance generator.)

The Animus Flute, which offers control over the spirits of the dead and, in the hands of a sufficiently competent expert, the living. (Wei Wuxian–he’s watched his brother, his sister, his friends, die so many times. He’s terrified of immortality, but he’s most terrified of being alone. He meant to make something that could keep the dead present, so that they would never have to fear being left behind again. Watching it rip Jiang Cheng’s soul clean out of his body in Xue Yang’s hands is the worst thing Wei Wuxian can remember, even after everything is over.)

The Bulwark, which Nie Huaisang never did explain to anyone, but took the shape of a hand-painted fan. (Nie Huaisang lost the only person who mattered to him when the Hunger ate their home, and then as he slowly, painstakingly, rebuilt something like a family, he had to watch them suffer and die for a hundred years. And then he watched them win, and grieve like dying all over again for the winning. He’s sorry they suffered for his actions. He’s not sorry for what he did.)

FIVE

Wen Zhuliu didn’t mean to make his whole plane give up. But he had spent his whole life being used, and it all just seemed so pointless. It all just seemed so pointless. There was always someone stronger, always something bigger, always a rule he couldn’t break, always something, and he started talking, started telling people as much, and--

Wen Qing is about the farthest thing in the fucking world from a peacemaker by nature, if you ask her, but she’s a healer first, last, and most of all. And, she thinks as she watches the sun sink with a very tired man crumbling away at her side, she might be the only person in the worlds who ever noticed that Wen Zhuliu needed a healer.

(They aren’t from the same plane, but--some of the others have found distant family, on their new home. It’s an unanswerable question, if they might have been family, a few dimensions removed. Wen Ning still thinks about it.)

#the untamed #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #taz balance #taz au #starlight writes stuff #*sprints into the room with this au multiple months late and completely out of breath* H E R E #this has been languishing in my drafts for. mm. ever.#i don't even remotely remember enough of my original thoughts about it to provide a lot of tags #but i do have a case for why wzl is john vore (and it's NOT just that i think he's interesting)#i could've made jgy the hunger BUT the plot of taz requires some...reconciliatory ending structure?#and honestly nhs still being something of a puppet master means that i couldn't justify that with jgy #i needed a villain less close to nhs' heart. so i thought about xue yang but i like him as the wonderland lich TOO MUCH.#so instead i thought about who i should make the parlay person--first instincts were jyl and wn because they're Nice #but then i decided that i didn't actually need Nice nearly so much as i needed Invested #and by god can wen qing Invest #so okay--if she was going to do the parlay then i didn't need someone who could be talked around i needed someone who needed a healer #so: wen zhuliu #i don't have to justify myself to you fools #also jgy is always everyone's biggest bad so he can let someone else have a turn #jyl develops a crush on a completely socially awkward rogue from inside an umbrella by the way!#pour one out for jzx because he is NOT equipped for an ethereal woman of violet fire to blush at him #a queue we will keep and our honor someday avenge #thishazeleyeddemon #asked and answered

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ineloqueent · 3 years

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hi tina 💞 not sure how easy this is, since my astrophysics knowledge is nearing -273 *C, but you could do mutuals as astronomical sights? comets, planets, galaxies etc... sorry if not!! 💖✨

anna! and anon! you’ve given me a wonderful chance to ramble about space. you may come to regret it, however...

if i’ve forgotten you, please do not take it personally! i didn’t mean to. my mind is just but a glorified puddle :)

@archaicmusings — vega

vega is the brightest star in the constellation lyra, and happens to be my favourite star. don’t ask me why vega is my favourite star, or why lyra is my favourite constellation, because i haven’t got a coherent answer for you. i’ve just always been drawn to them. a bit like cal, really. i feel like we’ve known each other for far longer than just four months, and she’s so lovely that i’m fairly sure i could say anything to her and she’d just accept me for whatever rubbish i’m rambling about this time. and, in the depressing year that’s been 2020, cal has been a bright star.

@drivenbybri — halley’s comet

honestly, is there anything more iconic than halley’s comet? there can’t be much. probably the best known comet of all time, halley’s comet is a short-period comet (and if you’ve read starstruck, you know how much i prefer short-period comets to those long-period comets with their damned 200-year perihelions, even if certain people suggest that this makes them quite special), meaning that it is visible from earth every 75-ish years. halley’s comet last made an appearance in the lovely year of 1986, and will thus appear next in 2061 (i’m so excited for my 59-year-old self!!!). halley’s comet, though well-known, is still a rare breed, so to speak. it is rare, and extraordinarily beautiful that a comet appears to a human twice within their lifetime. sofie is rare, just like halley’s comet, and equally beautiful, both in heart and with that lovely curly hair of hers. i’m honoured to know her, just as i shall be honoured to see halley’s comet one day.

@brianmays-hair — cassiopeia a

cassiopeia a (or rather, the remnant of cassiopeia a) was a supernova within the constellation of cassiopeia. for those of you who do not obsess over interstellar matter the way that i do, supernovae are explosions of massive stars, or white dwarfs drawn to nuclear fusion, within their final stages of life. not much is known about how these explosions necessarily take place, and nasa has only caught on video one such explosion, back in 2016. the most commonly presented image of the remnant of cassiopeia a is a false-colour image, composed with three different wavebands of light. it is, as you can see, very beautiful. supernovae radiate energy and light throughout the cosmos during their existence, and thus having a great effect on the space surrounding them. i therefore liken jess to cassiopeia a because she has a brilliant personality, vibrant and inspiring, which comes across especially in her writing. but of course, the beauty of cassiopeia a has nothing on her.

@deacyblues — sirius

as far as we humans and the scientists among us know, sirius is the brightest star in the observable universe. housed within the constellation of canis major, sirius has always been monumentally important in terms of navigation, since ancient times. i tell pearl this all the time, but truly, i mean it; her outlook on life is inspiring, how she never fails to be positive even in times of great trouble. like sirius, pearl is a light, ever-present within the mindset of living for today, ever-determined, and unfailingly kind.

@joemazzmatazz — black hole

please let me explain before this gets taken the wrong way: I LOVE BLACK HOLES. i specifically want to study black holes, whenever i get the chance to specialise within astrophysics. they fascinate me to no end, with a kind of allure that only the mysterious can hold. furthermore, black holes may be the key to understanding the universe; if we understand black holes, we will be able to make headway on other matter, such as dark matter, and dark energy, the latter of which makes up the majority of the observable universe, and will lead us to astronomical (if you’ll pardon the ill-worded expression, and the unintentional pun) conclusions concerning both the beginning of our universe, and the eventual end. regan, just like a black hole, is a wealth of information, especially concerning the knowledge she harbours about disney, and the business management sector of it. it’s quite truly inspirational.

@im-an-adult-ish — the milky way

ah yes, the milky way. home to all of us. and that is the essence of my explanation here. meredith has such a friendly way about her, and she’s the kind of person you can easily turn to and feel welcomed. a bit like our little corner of the universe <3

@almightygwil — the sun

i think this is probably self-explanatory, if a bit repetitive, but ellie is a ray of sunshine. but perhaps that sells her a little short, because ellie is just so genuinely lovely that she must herself be the sun. her writing talent astounds me (you could say it blinds me, ha ha), and she never fails to be somehow both sweet and very chaotic at the same time. it’s very admirable (and certainly relatable, on the chaotic front). the sun itself, if we think about the surface and the fusion that takes place there, is both the sweetest sight ever seen, and quite chaotic, so i think it fitting that ellie is the sun.

@hijackmy-heart — callisto

callisto is one of jupiter’s moons, and my favourite, because it looks like a piece of the night sky decided to curl up into a ball. i don’t know nat too well, but i know that she’s gorgeous, like callisto, and loves roger taylor. let me explain. jupiter, in roman mythology, is the god of the sky and of thunder. in norse mythology, thor is the equivalent of jupiter, and to me, roger has always had a bit of that typical scandinavian look going, with the blonde hair and blue eyes (not to say that all scandis look like this, but he fits the stereotype :)). nat loves roger, and callisto orbits jupiter, so there you have it.

@six-bloodyminutes — the moon

the moon has a serenity about it, and mo has a knack for telling quite wild things with a most casual air. for instance, according to my sources, when a certain dorm room caught fire (?). mo thus bears this serenity, akin to the serenity i associate with the moon, with equal grace and chaos.

@dancingdiscofloof — pluto

pluto! the not-planet-oh-wait-maybe-it’s-a-planet-jk-jk-unless..? i still think that pluto should be considered a planet, despite the many arguments against the poor sod. pluto was once a planet, and should therefore have remained a planet, for the plain and simple fact that taking away its planethood was like giving a person a present, and then taking it back immediately afterward. anyway. i’m rambling. i also do not know rove very well, but i know that she’s kind, and, judging by the memes she shares, both of ryan gosling and tom hanks, that she is quirky— a bit like our beloved pluto.

@imcompletelylost — aurora borealis/aurora australis

also known as the northern lights/the southern lights, the polar lights, the merry dancers, the fox fires, or swarms of luminous herring (you can thank my ancestors, followers of norse mythology, for that one), the aurora is an astronomical phenomenon precipitated by the complete ring of light surrounding the poles, “which at its brightest has a distinctively green tint” (may, brian, et al. the cosmic tourist. carlton books, 2016.). yes i just made a citation from one of brian’s books. don’t worry about it. anyway, particles emitted from our sun are caught by the magnetic fields of earth’s poles, and thus produce this ethereal effect. but you know what the aurora has always reminded me of? disco lights. and libby is noting if not the queen of disco. oh, and, libby’s makeup talents? the aurora could never.

@aprilaady — butterfly nebula

the butterfly nebula is incredibly beautiful. but also, depending on from which angle it is beheld, it looks quite different. dor will surprise you, in the loveliest way possible (and sometimes the funniest) with a kind word or a joke, or even just a relatable comment. she has so many talents, being rivetingly smart within so many fields, especially the sciences, and in this, conveys multitudes, like the butterfly nebula. one might say her soul is painted like the wings of butterflies...

@doing-albri — solar eclipse

the alignment of the sun, moon, and earth. difficult to see, especially in totality, if you continually live in the same place. but there’s something magical in that alignment, i think. something quite poetic. it’s partially in the name ‘eclipse’ and partially in the nickname— a “ring of fire.” i saw the solar eclipse in august of 2018, and looking up at it, i was quite awestruck. you’re not supposed to stare directly at solar eclipses, because despite the moon overshadowing the sun, you can still damage your eyes significantly by looking at them. vi is so bright, both in her attitude and in her intelligence, and thus i’ve chosen the solar eclipse for her. also, when a solar eclipse occurs, using a piece of cardboard with a hole (or generally any thick-radius circular object with an opening), you can recreate the phenomenon on another surface, resulting in beautiful patterns and light-art, which i think speaks to vi’s eye for aesthetics.

@imalososos — meteor shower

meteor showers are perhaps some of the most beautiful phenomena i have ever seen. back in the summer of 2016, i stayed up all night to watch the perseids rush across the sky, and i was not disappointed, by any means. within the early hours of the 12th of august, an estimated 80 meteors darted across the heavens each hour. meteors, in essence, are clusters of mineral, usually debris from comets, which enter the atmosphere of a planet, and thus seem to shoot across the sky. now, you may be wondering, what’s the bloody blooming difference between meteoroids, meteors, and meteorites, and why are we talking about meteors in particular? well, meteoroids are cosmic debris that have not yet entered an atmosphere; as soon as a piece of cosmic debris enters a planet’s atmosphere, it is classified as a meteor. as for meteorites, nothing is a meteorite unless it strikes the ground. anyway. you didn’t come here for my science ramblings. meteors are also called ‘shooting stars,’ and let’s be honest, they’re space’s idea of art. streaks of light across the sky? sounds like a painting to me, and darya, among many other things, is an artist— and a brilliant one, at that. so i think it very fitting to describe her as the art of the universe <3

@mazzell-ro — saturn

i! love! saturn!!! being the only planet in our solar system with highly visible rings, it just stands out to me. it’s absolutely gorgeous, and an object of much inspiration to me, when i was little and decided that space was absolutely something i wanted to see. i could write an eight-verse song about saturn, i love it so much, and honestly, i think ro could write one too; she’s an excellent musician. but aside from its lovely rings, saturn is unique because its composition, in the ratio of its gases, would allow the planet to float in water. ro is uniquely wonderful, and her writing!!!!!!!! makes me so soft and happy and makes me want to give her the word. quite how i feel when i look up at saturn.

@mistiermistshazierdays — zodiacal light

you may recognise this term as brian’s speciality from when he was studying astrophysics. but what is it? zodiacal light is that strange triangle of light that appears glowing in the sky after twilight and before dawn, and is the subject of much earth-based astrophotography. extraordinarily beautiful, scientists are still not entirely sure what the phenomenon is, but most research and practical experiments are in favour of zodiacal light being sunlight reflected off of cosmic dust (also known as stardust!). now, if my knowledge of ancient greece and its mythology serves me, the name phoebe comes from phoebus, and (thank you google) means ‘bright.’ zodical light… bright… phoebe… you might say it’s a match made in the heavens. quite literally if we’re talking space. phoebe, you kind soul, you are stardust.

@speciallyred — andromeda galaxy

and last, but certainly not least, dear anna. i name thee the andromeda galaxy, partially for your own name, and partially for its poetic beauty. andromeda, the neighbour galaxy of our deal ol’ milky way, is actually about 2.5 million lightyears (15 trillion miles, 22.5 trillion km) away from us, here on earth. call me vain for the number of times i’ve described the beauty of space throughout this rather extended exposition, but andromeda is startlingly beautiful. one reason for this objective beauty is that andromeda is estimated to be home to roughly double the number of stars within our own galaxy. anna is one of the most talented poets i have ever come across, hands down, and what be the food of poetry, if not the stars?

#happy christmas to those who celebrate it!!!#mutuals tag #space

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gamersucklet · 3 years

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Tagged by @sapphirewolf100 !!

why did you choose your url?

There's this photo of a sucklet with a gaming headset and I just Love it like..me too buddy

any side blogs? if you have them name them and why you have them.

I have a Lot but I'm mostly active on @mercenaryjanedoe @illidaricore and @officialmorro (TF2, wow, and ninjago respectively)

how long have you been on tumblr?

I think I first joined like..2015? idfk LOL but I remade bc tumblr blurred me and wouldn't undo it so I was like well I want a fresh blog anyway

do you have a queue tag?

it's just "q" but I never queue shit really so!

why did you start your blog in the first place?

my og blog was really just birds and jjba content but now you get my special mental illness live feed

why did you choose your icon/pfp?

I made it! edward elric is bi fuck yeah

why did you choose your header?

funny :] kin moment. self love win.

what’s your post with the most notes?

across all my blogs it'd be that spell your url with your eyes closed post on my old old jjba rp blog but here I think probably the it's a girl meme from when my lovely state was being gender revealed as on fire

how many mutuals do you have?

do people count mutuals???? a lot probably bc I just follow ppl I see in my notes but ??

how many followers do you have?

I don't feel like looking but I think like. 390?

how many people do you follow?

yet again don't wanna look but A Lot. like obnoxiously high

have you ever made a shitpost?

my entire blog

how often do you use tumblr each day?

it really depends how busy and depressed I am like if I'm in my room all day with no will to do something better I'll be refreshing my dash over and over. if I'm inactive that's usually a good sign tbh

did you have a fight/argument with another blog once? who won?

I've had some discourse arguments but nothing big really

how do you feel about ‘you need to reblog this’ posts?

shut up LOL I get it some of the posts are really important but oh my fucking god that's the most annoying thing on the planet

do you like tag games?

yeah!! I'm just bad at actually doing them but I enjoy reading through whatever I wa stagged in :]

do you like ask games?

yes! I don't reblog them a lot though

which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

I think both roxy and finn are kinda large blogs but I generally don't pay attention or care

do you have a crush on a mutual?

@sketchedgazin beloved

tags?

the girl reading this. I hate tagging ppl I am Anxious! literally anyone can just be like haha yeah tagged by gamersucklet ^w^ that's fine

#portal of truth #long post #thank u sapphire!!!!

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brakingpoint · 3 years

Text

tagged by @allgaslynobrakes to do this lil tag game! (actually it's a big tag game so i'm putting it under a cut)

1. Why did you choose your url? wanted to start an f1 blog, was absolutely spiralling over drive to survive season 2 episode 10 aka the 35 minutes of television that cured all my mental illnesses. gaslypodium felt like a fitting encapsulation of my brand

2. Any side blogs? this is a sideblog! my main is @lonelyroommp3 and i also have a woefully undercurated ~aesthetic~ blog (there is no coherent aesthetic to it it's just nice pictures) @messiaens

3. How long have you been on tumblr? i've been on this blog since january but my main dates from november 2012 and prior to that i lurked a lot starting in like, 2011 when all my irls got into tumblr but i thought my parents wouldn't let me make an account lol. basically i have long term tumblr poisoning

4. Do you have a queue tag? nope i think i've only even used the queue function once... u get my posts when they hit my silly little brain my beloveds<3

5. Why did you start your blog on the first place? main blog was because i wanted to make friends with my favourite les mis blogs that i'd been sending anons to for several months ahahahaha... i made this blog because i was getting super into f1 but i knew that i was gonna be liveblogging a ton so doing it all on main would be absolutely infuriating to people on main who followed me for like, musical theatre or whatever so i thought i should bite the bullet and actually make a sideblog. this is the first time i've actually had a fandom specific sideblog btw!! normally i am just a multifandom mess

6. Why did you choose your icon/pfp? pierre looks pretty in it <3

7. Why did you choose your header ? i didn't have a good header for AGES and then dts season 3 dropped and that shot of pierre with the confetti on the monza podium just HIT me and i was like ah... i can make a blog theme out of this

8. What’s your post with the most notes ? i have no clue on this blog but on main i have a couple of 100k+ note posts knocking about. i think THE most popular was a post i made in like 2013 about people changing the pronouns on song covers i think that one made it to like 300k for some reason

9. How many mutuals do you have ? no idea! tbh i don't put a huge amount of stock in mutual follows anyway esp because i am very very bad at remembering to check my follower list and follow people back. so if i've never followed you back it's nothing personal and we can still be besties!!

10. How many followers do you have ? about 280 on here, just over 4000 on main 🥴

11. How many people do you follow ? about 650ish? a lot of them are inactive blogs from 2013 though lol

12. Have you ever made a shit post? everything i make is a shitpost don't worry

13. How often do you use tumblr a day? too much omg. i basically quit using every other social media (i lurk on insta but never post anymore) late last year so this is Thee hub for all my horrible little thoughts and posts

14. Did you ever have a fight/argument with another blog? not on this blog bc honestly i try to keep my f1 posting relatively drama free but omg i have had some legendary beefs on main

15. How do you feel about the “you need to reblog” posts ? used to be really anxious about the bad luck type ones but now i'm getting a lot better at ignoring them guilt free. if it's one of those "i see you scrolling past this >:( your stance on social issues is solely determined by whether or not you reblog MY post >:(" type deals then honey i am already 5 miles down my dash away from it<3

16. Do you like tag games ? i love them!! i'm always really bad at tagging people though because i'm always like omg nooo we're not besties enough to tag yet they're gonna think i'm weeeeeird

17. Do you like ask games ? in theory but i always forget to keep answering them halfway through esp if they're ones where my reply takes any kind of effort sorry :((

18. Which of your mutuals do you think is mutual famous? i have no idea what this means i think i am out of touch with the youth

19. Do you have a mutual crush? does it count if im mutuals with my girlfriend

20. Tags ? no pressure tags & sorry if you've already done it!! @schwarzevulkan @limp-wrist-max @maxricciardo

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joeinfurnari · 4 years

Text

My Dinner with Andre

My Dinner with Andre might be one of the most difficult movies for many viewers to watch. The artsy crowd would call it minimalist while the more lowbrow among us would say it’s boring! There’s just so little to it that there is a valid case for both. The story is simply a struggling young playwright, Wally agrees to meet an acquaintance, Andre, for dinner at a nice restaurant in decaying New York city and conversation ensues. The end. But like so many things in life, My Dinner with Andre gives you so much more if you really listen closely. I recently watched it again and I forgot just how great it is and how it continues to speak to us today.

It’s so stark and unapologetic about being without plot that it’s become the subject of many pop culture parodies. I know there is a Simpson’s reference to it but I most enjoyed the episode of Community that spoofs it. You may think that this comes from a place of common dislike for the movie but it’s actually the opposite. The parodies just prove how influential and beloved it is. Why? For me, the appeal is the conversation itself. It’s been celebrated for being a complete fiction that does a great job at coming across as a documentary but that’s just appreciation on a formal level. It’s not just that they had a conversation that’s important, it’s what they talk about that matters. The content of that discussion is so important, the writers and filmmaker felt it merited being the subject of a film without any distraction. To say that Louis Malle created My Dinner with Andre for the iconoclasm alone, misses the point.

The two men seated at dinner are artists/playwrights and catch up on the long period since they last encountered each other. They’re not really friends and Wally even debates cancelling the dinner before ultimately opting to go. He’s a working writer and artist making ends meet in New York City while Andre has had a long hiatus from creative life spent on travel and self examination. Wally confirms their community speculation that Andre has money that allows his adventures. Andre at first spends dominates the conversation with anecdotes about mutual acquaintances and talks about some of the retreats and workshops he’s attended recently. Andre has dropped out of the arts and has been on a personal quest to find himself after becoming disillusioned with his life.

In the time since they last spoke Andre describes a crisis in his creative life. He left the theater and traveled to Poland where he spent time with strangers in the woods creating experimental theater. He didn’t speak or understand Polish and they didn’t understand English but the time spent together was transformative. What began for him as creative exploration in the woods forced him to act as himself and in so doing he was forced to examine his life and how he acts when he plays himself:

So, you follow the same law of improvisation…which is that you do whatever your impulse, as the character, tells you to do…but in this case, you are the character. So there's no imaginary situation to hide behind…and there's no other person to hide behind. What you're doing, in fact, is you're asking those same questions…that Stanislavsky said the actor should constantly ask himself as a character:

Who am I? Why am I here? Where do I come from, and where am I going?

But instead of applying them to a role, you apply them to yourself.

Andre tells more stories of his spiritual and creative adventures. For him, his journey to this dinner has been full of magic, mystery, serendipity and travel to exotic locations including India and even a Saharan Oasis. The restaurant is quite nice but it is still remarkably banal compared to Andre’s monstrous hallucinations and descriptions of his process of personal exploration. It culminates in a description of being buried alive in Montauk, NY. From that point on, Andre becomes surprised by his own reactions to things in his life. He even begins to look at himself and the sort of person who would spend his time the way he has. People in his life who he called friends, repulse him. Figures on television appear to be objectively horrible people. He says,

And I suddenly had this feeling I was just as creepy as they were…and that my whole life had been a sham…

…

I mean, I really feel that I'm just washed up, wiped out. I feel I've just squandered my life.

Moments later he goes on to say,

Well, you know, I may be in a very emotional state right now, Wally.…but since I've come back home I've just been finding the world we're living in…more and more upsetting.

It’s as though Andre has a new perception of the world that is in stark contrast to his former self. He’s alone in this perspective until he sees a woman working in the theater who recognizes the trouble on his face. Where everyone else he encountered commented on how great he looked, this woman somehow knew by looking at him, the emotional state he was in. Because of this woman’s recent loss of her mother, she was able to see him clearly. Andre says,

She didn't know anything about what I'd been going through. But the other people, what they saw was this tan, or this shirt…or the fact that the shirt goes well with the tan.

So they said, " Gee, you look wonderful." Now, they're living in an insane dreamworld.

They're not looking.

That seems very strange to me. Right, because they just didn'ts ee anything, somehow.…except, uh, the few little things that they wanted to see.

All of this has resonated with me very personally. I similarly feel as though my perspective on the world has shifted and it has made me incompatible with things as they are and people who aren’t looking. It’s as though my prior life was a dream, honestly. When I think of how I thought about the world and other people for most of my life, I also hate that prior self. I agree with Andre that that earlier version of myself inhabited an insane dreamworld. Andre describes it using the example of his dying mother. Although she was terminally ill and appeared only minutes away from death, the specialist was beaming at all the progress she was making. For this doctor, he had so narrowed his goals/perception to her arm that any healing on that front was cause for celebration. Insane.

I mean, we're just walking around in some kind of fog. I think we're all in a trance. We're walking around like zombies. I don't…I don't think we're even aware of ourselves or our own reaction to things.

We…We're just going around all day like unconscious machines…and meanwhile there's all of this rage and worry and uneasiness…just building up and building up inside us.

And later, Andre continues to describe this state of mind:

Isn't it amazing how often a doctor…will live up to our expectation of how a doctor should look? When you see a terrorist on television, he looks just like a terrorist. I mean, we live in a world in which fathers…or single people, or artists…are all trying to live up to someone's fantasy…of how a father, or a single person,or an artist should look and behave.

They all act as if they know exactly how they ought to conduct themselves…at every single moment…and they all seem totally self-confident.

For two men involved in theater, they are approaching the idea that who we fashion ourselves to be, is selected from clearly defined character behaviors and appearance. For an actor, it must be disturbing for there to be no leap between the actor and the character. Why is it that someone who adopts the role of artist in real life, chooses to look like what we expect? As average people in our world, we’re acting our roles as they have been defined for us by someone else. This should be alarming to everyone and not just Andre and Wally.

I mean, we just put no value at all on perceiving reality. I mean, on the contrary, this incredible emphasis that we all place now.…on our so-called careers…automatically makes perceiving reality a very low priority…because if your life is organized around trying to be successful in a career…well, it just doesn't matter what you perceive or what you experience. You can really sort of shut your mind off for years ahead, in a way. You can sort of turn on the automatic pilot.

How many of us are doing this right now? I did it for many years, always overlooking the here and now for some future reward that all of it was building towards. I also think if your focus is on a career, it’s less on the experience and wisdom needed to fully embody that role. This is why this is such a great film. It may not wow you with realistic explosions but it challenges you to question your view on your life and your world. You shouldn’t be content with the way things are. If you are, you are part of a very fortunate few and you may be overlooking much of the world to do so.

people's concentration is on their goals.…in their life they just live each moment by habit.

…

And if you're just operating by habit…then you're not really living. I mean, you know, in Sanskrit, the root of the verb " to be".…is the same as " to grow" or " to make grow. "

This is something I think about a lot. I live as a cartoonist dedicated to writing and drawing and designing and promoting and tweeting and posting and editing etc. in a driving need to produce, produce, produce. Am I really living? I don’t think so. It’s okay to admit it. This wasn’t a world of my creation but if I’m alive and active in it, I can change it. This film gave me a way to understand the things that I’ve gone through over the last few years. Without art, I wouldn’t have evidence that others have been where I stand. I feel less alone and more hopeful.

Wally talks about the need for escapism and comfort from art against the harsh reality of every day life. The choice is to create art that is comforting but for all its warmth, fails to acknowledge reality and might contribute to a collective disengaging with reality and most importantly, each other.

…we're starving because we're so cut off from contact with reality…that we're not getting any real sustenance,'cause we don't see the world. We don't see ourselves. We don't see how our actions affect other people.

This is heady stuff, for sure. All of this is to get us thinking about the nature of our lives and really see the things we’ve chosen for ourselves. To truly be free is to be able to think outside the characters and roles defined for us…even the ones we think we chose but didn’t create. Only by looking at ourselves honestly and as objectively as possible can we see how far from our own humanity we have come. Andre went through a personal crisis in which he went through a dramatization of his own death and rebirth. The fresh eyes this has given him as illuminated a very dark reality. There are no fancy distractions in this film because it is a battle cry for humanity’s future. Under the guise of a polite conversation about things most average people would discount as having no bearing on reality is actually about a fundamental reality that has changed without our conscious consent. His advise:

Get out of here.

…

the 1960s.…represented the last burst of the human being before he was extinguished…and that this is the beginning of the rest of the future, now…and that from now on there'll simply be all these robots walking around…feeling nothing, thinking nothing. And there'll be nobody left almost to remind them.…that there once was a species called a human being…with feelings and thoughts…and that history and memory are right now being erased…and soon nobody will really remember.…that life existed on the planet.

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