#(unless youre on the angel path in which you Do convince him to keep being iomedae's herald) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

husbandohunter · 3 years

Note

You know ur small predicament post?? you should make a reverse version where s/o is smaller!

A Smaller Predicament [Genshin Impact x Smol!Reader]

Characters: Scaramouche, Diluc, Kaeya, Childe, Xiao, Zhongli, Albedo

Synopsis: Not only did you shrink, you went pocket sized as well!

(A sequel to "A Small Predicament")

(A/n): Sorry for the long wait anon, and I kind of added a twist to the scenario for more diversity hahaha hope you don't mind >_<. And why is Childe the poster boy for this series lmao.

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Childe

When Childe walks in, he doesn't see you....until he looked down. He almost crunched you beneath his feet if it weren't for your constant flailing of arms and screeching voice. He blanks out for a hot minute as you clung onto his toes, doesn't dare to move an inch because he's so petrified (even though there's nothing to be afraid of??). But honestly if Childe moved right now, he might accidentally flail you to the side and that's the last thing he wants.

"WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU??" He screamed so loud it nearly blew you out of proportion. Seems like he's going to have alot of adjusting to do. Childe is a tall man (canonically the tallest) and he knows how impulsive he can get which is why he bought a handmade dollhouse from one of the Liyue merchants for you to stay in.

Though there's something about your tiny size that makes his heart flutter. With your face so small with a pair of eyes far too big, *clutches chest* "My oujo-chan is so cute" -Childe probably. He won't stop saying them over again and you were growing tired of his gushing reactions. He can't help it. He wants to spoil you rotten. You fit right onto the flat of his palms, the way you just snuggle up againts his finger and he just- swoons, might tear up (bruh).

Toys may be for kids but for Childe it was now his favourite pass time. While you navigate around the wooden dollhouse, he pitches in by moving around the furniture to make it easier for you. Offers to carry you through the rooms like a personal elevator. And please, please let him tuck you to bed. He has to pinch his fingers to grab the blanket. It's so adorable to him.

Loves it when you snuggle up against his collar. He thinks it would be the best area for you to be nearby him since the risk of you getting hit by anything (or him) by accident is very slim chance. Sometimes he pulls up his collar so that you're more comfortable and cradled within. He would have to avert his eyes down rather than turning his head if he wanted to look at you otherwise you'd be hit by his chin and that would hurt.

The poking sensation with you by his neck can bother him since he's veeeery tickilish there. Plus, Childe can get easily sweaty so have fun with that.

You have a feeling that he wasn't so pleased when you transformed back. You might be right. Actually, you are right. He secretly has an extra potion hidden somewhere...just in case.

Diluc

Mortified, his soul just left his body. To think things couldn't get any worse ever since he turned into a child to the point no one took him seriously, now you're literally the size of an apple. Oh god what if his bird suddenly swoops in and gobbles you right up? Or the wrath of the wind comes by, swirling you away towards a tornado. Needless to say, Diluc grew paranoid over your well-being ever since.

Due to your extremely small size, he will ensure that you are supervised by him (except at night where he has places to go). In otherwords, you're slipped into the inner pocket of his coat. It's super warm, you can fall asleep (and feel his heartbeat awww). Diluc doesn't like keeping you in places where people can see you, it would be too easy for outer things to access your tiny form (or maybe he secretly likes the feeling of you in his pocket.)

And he's such a gentleman about it. You noticed how careful he moves among his footsteps because he's worried that you might get dizzy. Diluc guards the pocket at close parameter, keeping an eye on things so he won't bump into them. As if he was treading on thin ice (you even suggested it was best to leave you home but he's too overprotective for his own good).

You're like his little assistant. Diluc does so much paperwork through out the day and although the act was small, he finds it endearing how you would help bring the papers back to it's rightful pile or pushing the ink bowl towards him. Or during his shifts at Angel's Share, crawling around the glass utensils and trying to find a specific wine beverage on his shelf. Of course that only happens when the shop is closed, how is he going to explain to his patrons that you shrank and now live in his pocket?

He dislikes the thought of you wandering too far. It's so easy for you to get lost especially when the mansion is so large.

At night you now sleep atop the fluff of the pillow. Diluc is a calm sleeper so he won't have to worry about hitting into you. However he radiates warmth so you just subconicously roll towards to his face. He usually wakes up with you sprawled over his nose. He can hardly breath (careful, he might just sneeze too).

This all happened because of the experiements you participated with Albedo. Diluc ensures that doesn't happen again. It will take some tencaious effort to convince him otherwise.

Scaramouche

Fuck this guy. He treats you like his new pet, a new toy (though you technically are one). He has this arrogant, smug and sadistic look as if he was a predator looking at his prey and grabs you by the collar before dangling you up in the air.

"Hmph, looks like the tables have turned," he says while toying with your state. You tell him he's just angry because he's short himself and mad that everyone else in the Fatui organization is taller than him. Scaramouche demon face activated. He's about to devour you. (Maybe you should keep your mouth shut this time. Honestly your relationship with him is pretty weird).

His hat is so fun to play with. You'd swing around like Tarzan using the strings that were hanging from it. His head was your playground now which annoys him to an enourmous extent because it makes him look ridiculous. Scaramouche will have a hard time catching you since you move around so much. Climb around him, especially the back of his neck. He'll start wheezing when you tickle him there.

The type to put you in a box but also the type to keep you on his shoulders. Being relied on makes him feel taller (lmfao). Scaramouche seemse to have developed a habit to poke your cheeks whenever he needed your attention and you bit him back once when he pushed too hard that you nearly fell off. Despite your size, your teeth still hurt. He threatens to put you back into the box if you don't behave and the outcome ends with a full out brawl as he tries to grab you again while you run around, pulling the strands of his hair to climb on top of his hat. (This is literally Tom and Jerry wtf.)

After transforming back, he outwardly admits his disappointmen. Scaramouche says it suits you better (when he actually meant that he highly prefers you small). You marked his words, keeping an extra vial for your own entertainment in the near future.

Xiao

Xiao was face-palming against his forehead real hard about this. For the love of Rex Lapis, what kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time? First it was the child incident, now you're the size of his finger? Good grief, looks like he will have to keep an eye on you from now on but at the same time he's scared to get too close, you are nothing but a tiny mortal in which he would have to double his effort to look after.

He lets you sit at the crown of his head rather than anywhere else. You insisted since it was easier to see everything at a nice distance (plus he's short so you won't have to worry about him bumping into door frames). You noticed that Xiao also has a little strand sticking out from the center (ahoge) and you sometimes grab onto it for stability. Turns out he's quite sensitive there and winces when you pull too hard.

For the remaining week as the antedote was being prepared, Xiao became extremely aggressive over your well-being, he looks as if he's ready to massacre everything in his way...which he did. Clears out the monsters off the path before going on daily strolls with you, you wouldn't have to lift a finger from now on. No one except for him is allowed to hold you unless they're a trustworthy person. You could feel his sharp eyes glued on you like a hawk when walking into the grasp of Zhongli's hand.

You once accidentally tripped into his almond tofu when he wasn't looking and he almost ate you. Turns out being small made his job as your gaurdian ten times harder (especially when you're the clumsy type). If you were to fall off the table, he would have to catch you right? Xiao often bumps into furnitures in the process...ouch!

He's very soft. It's all over his forehead, his mouth, his eyes. When he looks at you, his tense eatures melted away and there's an invisible fondness over them as he cradles you in his palm. The way you snuggle in them is lke the most precious thing in the world.

When you turn back, there's a wave of relief. He was really stressed out you know?

Zhongli

His first thought is to get you as far as he can from the Funeral Parlour before Hu Tao finds you. Who knows what that child might have in mind. Zhongli takes one of his empty tea pots and urges you to go inside, or carries a tea cup with you in it, he likes placing you on objects while carrying you around.

Zhongli realizes that you can no longer use the household items like before so he has to remake them to your standards- especially when he realized he doesn't have the mora to buy you a dollhouse. He improvises. Takes a handkerchief to make your blanket, his cups for your bathtub, Zhongli had to cut the foot into byte-sized too. But in terms of clothes, well he had to make them as well. Living thousands of years would mean he would have lot of experience. Sewing was one of them luckily. But that would mean he has to take your measurements as well. In the end, most of the things he made were dresses since they were alot easier.

You like to sneak in between his shirt and his vest tucked behind the coat he wears. Unfortunately Zhongli doesn't seem to have visible pockets (most likely the reason why he doesn't carry mora either), though if you don't hold on tight you might just slip down his vest and right to his stomach. It makes him chuckle when that happens even if the amount of effort to get you out took more than he thought since his attire is quite complicated to put on. If you really want to climb on him, he'll find a seperate pouch (but realizes it won't be a good idea when there's alot of pick-pocketers in Liyue streets).

All of a sudden he reads you bedtime stories. It's some sort of inner instinct that tells him he's taking care of a child now (he's right though). You realized that his voice was equivalent to a thunder's roar due to size difference. He would have to whisper now.

It will always be part of his precious memories when you turned pocket-sized. Zhongli still keeps the clothing he made somewhere in his closets too.

Kaeya

Amused by this eventful situation. Absolutely thrilled! He's not evil like Scaramouche but this new version of his s/o is both adorable and fun at the same time. You're so easy to tickle, just one poke using his finger against your hips makes you yelp. Sometimes he twirls your hair or taps your forehead gently despite your protest, he's so handsy like always in an affectionate yet annoying way.

Kaeya picks you up and places you among the fluffy comfort of his feathery scarf. You sneezed, the last time he cleaned it was before he went on a mission with the knights. Though you have to admit, it's the best feeling in the world. It's so soft you might sink deeper into the fabric. He likes to put you in places where he can talk to you easily, sometimes on the table while he downs on his wine. Normally you have to take the bottle away before it gets too much, now you have to push it away which he finds very entertaining at your futile attempts.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" you tell him. Since you turned byte-sized, he can't seem to stop playing around. Takes his two fingers and pretends they're legs walking across the surface. You would turn around and he halts, Kaeya sends you his signature grin. When he promises that he wouldn't do anything funny, you would let him hold you. Since hugs are out of the equation, Kaeya gives you his finger instead to wrap your arms around. He can't get enough seeing you like this, things he couldn't do when you were normal-sized. he enjoys your reactions way too much.

His favourite pass time is helping you brush your hair because the hairbursh is too big for you to handle. Kaeya ensure he's handling things delicately but he would love to help style it for you as well. Pretty please? At this point one request turns to another because he's having way too much fun. But it couldn't be helped since you would need his assistance in almost everything so there's really no escaping.

You were so happy when things were normal again but Kaeya would bring this up again during your conversations (how next time he would like to put you in his drinks while you're wearing a swim suit).

Albedo

Legit blurted out if he could put you on a hamster wheel.

What about trying out the little maze he just made?

Or participating in a race against slimes of different elements?

No? Okay, then he'll just turn you back.

Albedo isn't going deal with this as along as he can help it (especially when he remembers what Klee did to him when he turned small.)

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jonkentt · 3 years

Text

This is a video, Bucky. You’re recording.”

What? I opened the camera.”

Yeah and it’s a video.”

Oh whatever! C’mere we’re getting a picture.”

Back to my original point—”

Shut up and smile, Sam”

The sunlight is a warm yellow glow on their smiling faces. Bucky’s arm is draped over Sam’s shoulders and he leans in to plant a kiss on his cheek.

Sam can almost feel the warm press of Bucky’s lips as he replays the memory on his phone. The glow of the screen dully illuminating the dark hotel room.

Sam’s smile slips and his eyes widen with surprise. Bucky’s laughter rings out till it’s abruptly cut off when Sam grabs his face and kisses him. The image blurs, followed by a loud crack and muffled curse.

Sam smiles but his chest aches a little. His finger hovers over the screen to press play on the video again. Then the phone starts buzzing in his hand and a familiar face appears.

“You asshole, are you a mind reader now? I miss you.”

“Aw, Sam, babe you’re pinning already? Even after I called you this morning?”

“I’m not pinning!”

“I miss you, too. Why the fuck did you have to go away on your birthday? The boys and I ate a cake but they looked sad about it.”

“You ate a cake without me? Wow just rub it in that I couldn’t get out of this hooty tooty conference.”

“I guess world peace is sorta important. Don’t feel too bad though, they weren’t actually sad about it. They ate the whole cake and I promised them another when you got back.”

Sam tries to protest through his laughter. “Hey now, don’t get any ideas about points towards favorite uncle. That’s my title.”

“I’ve been favorite uncle, Sam, and you know it.”

“Why you gotta hurt me like this? I’ll have you know that Cass wrote ‘best uncle ever’ in his text to me this morning.”

“Traitor.”

Sam snickers. Their familiar chatter drains all the pent up tension of the day. Sam can feel the tightness of his shoulders ease, but that little ache in his heart is still too sharp. “Ah dammit, I still miss you.”

“Stop moping, Sam. Go enjoy your birthday!”

“Man, it’s not like there’s anything to do around here! Unless I wanna go to a shitty dive bar and order something in a language I don’t speak. End up having to choke down god knows what.”

“I’ve seen you drink a snake. I’m surprised anything still intimidates you.”

Sam makes a gagging sound. “Don’t remind me.”

“Well I know for a fact that there’s something you’ll love close by. C’mon get up, I’ll give you directions.”

“What?”

“C’mon Sam!”

Which is how Sam ended up walking through an unfamiliar city in the middle of the night, convinced Bucky was steering him in circles.

“You’re almost there.”

“You said that four blocks ago!”

“Relax, Sam. This way you get to stretch your legs and enjoy the sound of my voice at the same time.”

“Bucky—”

“On your left.”

“That’s my line!”

“What? Turn left, Sam.”

Sam rounded the corner of a yet another looming building and the space opened into a massive garden contained by an elaborate iron fence. A cobbled path stretched down it’s center through a tunnel of arches covered in roses. Lights were threaded through the branches, illuminating everything in hazy yellows. A slight breeze filled Sam’s nose with sweetness.

“Woah.”

“I woulda picked flowers for ya but given our situation, I had to bring you to the flowers.”

“This place is beautiful, Buck.” Sam’s voice is soft with awe as he walks down the path, admiring the curving vines of roses all around him. The flowers have bloomed in every color of the rainbow. “How’d you find it?” Sam reaches out to rub delicate blue petals between his finger and thumb.

“A brilliant invention I’ve been informed is called the internet.”

Sam snorts. “Course you would scrounge up the most absurdly romantic spot in the city from halfway across the world.”

“For you, Sam? Nothing less.”

Sam makes his way towards the center of the gardens. The path opens suddenly to a wide circle with a bubbling fountain at its center. Sam looks into its basin and the glint of copper coins wink back at him. He cranes his head to admire the night sky. The twinkle of stars just visible beyond the urban light.

“Oh,” he whispers. “Wow. You’d love this place.” The other end of the line stays quiet. “Bucky?” Sam glances at his phone to see the call has ended. He frowns, wondering if he lost signal.

“I can promise, Sam, that the whole scene is much prettier with you in it.”

Sam’s head snaps up at that familiar sound. Bucky steps out from behind a wall of roses. His eyes are crinkled in a bright smile.

“Hey, Angel.”

Sam breaks into a stupidly huge grin then launches himself into Bucky’s arms. His partner laughs and hugs him close.

“You’ve been gone, what, not even a week? Already miss me that much?”

Sam smirks and shrugs.

“I’d consider being embarrassed about it except that you literally researched where to find a fucking rose garden and then traversed an ocean just to tell me how pretty I am.”

Bucky strokes Sam’s cheek with his thumb and looks at him with near unbearable fondness.

“Can’t let you go forgetting it.”

Bucky leans in till their noses touch. Sam closes his eyes and breaths him in, relaxing into Bucky’s embrace.

“Can’t let you doubt for a second how loved you are.”

Bucky presses their foreheads together.

“You’re incredible, Sam. God, just—” Bucky huffs a laugh that sounds a little overwhelmed. “You’re always blowing my mind. When your eyes open in the morning, all warm and soft and already smiling. When you laugh so easily and it’s the best sound in the world. When you look at your nephews so proud like your heart’s gonna burst.” Bucky barely hears the fountain behind them or notices the sweetness in the air. All he can think of is Sam.

“You always stop and talk to the kids who recognize you, doesn’t make a difference if you’re exhausted, you always care about putting smiles on their little faces.” Bucky swallows against the emotion welling in his throat. “You always look out for your team. Even when shit hits the fan and we’re all scared, donno what’s coming. You hold it together and keep us safe, me ‘n Torres ‘n everyone.” He pauses to listen to Sam’s breathing and feel the warmth of it on his lips. “And when you’re sad, Sam, god you hate showing it. But still you let people in. Just crack your heart right open. You’re more honest than any of us deserve. But the way you see the world, the way you put hope in people, it’s such a fucking amazing gift you don’t even realize you’re giving.”

Sam moves just slightly and for once Bucky doesn’t want to be stopped with a kiss. He needs Sam to hear this, needs Sam to believe it. Bucky leans back and locks his gaze with Sam’s. Desperately, he tries to find the words.

“I try— I try to show you. How much you matter. How everything you do matters. I try to show you but I can’t keep up. I’ll never be able to keep up with you, Sam.” Bucky smiles even as he struggles to keep his voice steady.

“I try to tell you how much I love you but words fall short every time. I try to tell you how important you are and sometimes you still look surprised and that breaks my heart cause you gotta know, Sam. You gotta know.” Light catches the teardrops on Sam’s eyelashes and Bucky finally notices the emotion in his eyes. It knocks the air from his chest.

“You are so loved. And ‘course it’s not just me. So many folks look up to you! I always recognize the look in their eyes cause I know it.” Bucky cups Sam’s face and pauses just to admire him. “I know what it feels like to have a whole heart-full of Sam Wilson.”

They look at each other in silence for a breathless moment. Bucky looking at Sam like he hung every star in the sky, and Sam trying not to drown in that gaze. Then Sam smiles and wipes his eyes with the heel of his palm. Bucky melts at the sight of that tooth gap.

“Jesus, Bucky.” Sam sniffs. “You rehearse that?”

“Every day.”

Sam laughs a little and leans in to nuzzle Bucky’s cheek. “Well, I love it,” he whispers. “Means a lot, Bucky. And I love you.”

Bucky grins ear-to-ear. The press of Sam’s nose on his cheek makes his stupid stomach flip.

“Birthday kiss?”

Sam answers by pressing their lips together.

#there is no plot there is just bucky in love with sam #back on my gay shit #sambucky fic #onlysambucky

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ladykissingfish · 3 years

Text

A Date with an Angel // Part Two // Hidan and Obito

Hidan

“Order whatever you want; I swiped the old fuck’s credit card so dinner’s on him!” Konan panics at this, and refuses to pick up her menu until Hidan takes out his wallet and proves that he was just kidding. Today was Hidan’s turn at entertaining the lovely little lady, and he had originally intended to take her to a heavy metal performance at bar downtown (he was friends with the lead guitarist so they would have gotten in free). However, after he informed Nagato of his plans, he was met with a disappointing “Konan hates heavy metal.”, so he decided to take her to dinner instead. She seemed entirely suspicious when he approached her earlier (wearing a dress shirt and tie instead of his usual dirty muscle tank and ripped sweatpants), but nonetheless agreed to go with him to a quiet little cafe a few blocks down from the house. Konan has never really known what to make of Hidan. He was just slightly older than Deidara, but (in Konan’s opinion) ranking much higher on the “immaturity” wheel. He’s been nicknamed by the rest of the group as “Mr. Never-Dies”, because no matter what happens, what job he takes on, how badly he’s hurt ... he just keeps getting back up. One time he came home with blood running from the crown of his head and flowing into his boots, but rather than let anyone take him to a hospital, Hidan took out a needle and made Kakuzu stitch the gash on his forehead. No painkillers, no alcohol, not even any flinching. Anyone else would have been substantially messed up after such a heavy blood loss ... but Hidan was just fine, in fact laughing and talking like nothing was amiss. He’s extremely foul-mouthed and has a thing for telling dirty jokes, but today, on his date with Konan, he’s making a great effort to restrain himself. Hidan wants very badly to put his arm around her waist as he walks along beside her, but resists as he knows Nagato will tear him a new asshole if he makes her in anyway uncomfortable. He’s at a loss for what to talk to her about, so he simply asks her how she’s feeling. There’s a pause, and she goes “I’m not really sure. I lost my mood ring yesterday.” He bursts out laughing, so hard that she blushes. “That’s pretty damn funny, lady.”Konan tilts her head in surprise; nobody had ever complimented her humor before. In fact she’s usually told that the few jokes she does make are very flat, or somewhat dark. Fast forward to the cafe, where Konan is surprised again that Hidan asks for a table that’s “quiet”, and pulls out her chair for her. The waiter comes back and Konan is amused by the amount of food that Hidan is ordering. When it’s her turn, her mind is a blank, so she just orders the last thing he said (which was spaghetti and meatballs). “That’s all?” he asks, as the waiter collects their menus and leaves. “No wonder you’re so slender.” She asks him how in the world HE’S so skinny when he eats so much, and he explains he has a fast metabolism, like his mother. Konan is interested; she’s never heard him mention his family before. As if reading her mind, he says, “Me and those guys just don’t get along. They wrote me off as a brain-dead bastard when I said I wasn’t goin’ to college.” “College isn’t everything, you know. People have to do what’s right for them.” Hidan agrees, and begins telling her his much he enjoys working for Nagato, and the type of jobs they do. It’s interesting; when you got him away from the others and in a calm, quiet setting, Hidan was ... normal. Normal and actually very charming. And although he never says it out-loud, Konan gets the strong impression that Hidan has come to consider the rest of the group as being a surrogate family. Then the food comes out and Hidan turns into a different creature altogether. He eats much like an animal, viciously and indiscriminately. But instead of being disgusted by this, Konan ... feels relaxed. There’s an unspoken feeling here, that with Hidan, she can let go and be herself. She doesn’t have to worry about looking pretty, or eating daintily, or acting “like a lady”. In fact Hidan orders them ice cream sundaes for dessert,

then challenges her to see who can eat theirs the fastest. Hidan ends up winning, but they end up with a horrible case of brain-freeze that leaves them both paralyzed for several moments ... yet laughing pretty hard. Even though Konan ate far less than Hidan, she feels quite stuffed nonetheless and mentions this to Hidan, who immediately offers to give her a piggy back ride home. She hesitates to accept; it’s a ways home and Konan feels she’s not the lightest woman in the world (especially after a big meal). But he insists, and she lets him hoist her into his back and trot back to the house with her. They laugh and joke the entire way, with Hidan making numerous comments about how light she is and how good she smells. “That’s one thing about living in a house full of guys for so long; I got so used to the smell of ass and dirty socks and Doritos that I forgot there’s people in the world who know what the fuck deodorant and shampoo are!” Konan laughs so hard at this that she slips off Hidan’s back and lands on her knees in the grass, holding her stomach and howling. Seeing that she likely won’t calm down anytime soon to grab onto his back again, Hidan picks her up and carries her in his arms the last two blocks home. He sets her down gently outside the front door, telling her how much fun she is to be with, when she throws her arms around his shoulders, squeezing him. “I can’t remember the last time I laughed this hard,” she says as she lets him go, wiping tears from her eyes. “Thank you.” He hesitates, then leans down and very gently kisses her cheek, before telling her that she’s welcome to hang out with him anytime, because “I’ve got a million more jokes, doll, and I’ll gladly tell ‘em all to you.” He walks her to her room and chances giving her another kiss, this one on the forehead, before bidding her Goodnight.

Obito

“Can I ask you a question?” “Yeah?” “When we’re at home, when we’re around the others, why do you wear that thing?” It’s the next day, and Konan is at a bar (ironically, the same one that Hidan wanted to take her to the previous day) with Obito. Out of everyone in the house, Obito is the one that strikes Konan as being the most mysterious. To begin with, the day she met him he was wearing a unique orange half-mask over his face ... and never took it off. She questioned Nagato about it but he seemed reluctant to speak on Obito’s unique fashion choice, and none of the others acted as though there was anything strange about it. He joined he others for dinner each night but seemed to prefer sweets to actual food, and he was quiet. Nagato told Konan that Obito was more or less his right hand man within the organization, and had helped him recruit the other members. Obito never spoke to her unless she spoke first ... so naturally she had been surprised when he approached her as she was coming out of her room, and asked if she minded joining him for “a quick drink”. The bar, like everything else, was in walking distance of the house; but Obito took her on the back of his motorcycle. It was a short ride but an exhilarating one ... and it got even more exciting when, upon entering the bar, Obito glanced around, saw there weren’t many people, and took off his mask. He found them a seat at a table near the back, and ordered them both a glass of wine. Konan had tried her hardest not to stare at his face ((which was difficult; aside from a few jagged scars on the left side and what looked like a damaged eye, he was quite handsome)) but eventually he caught her looking, hence giving her the bravery to pose her question. Obito paused for several moments, as if contemplating what to say. “Why do women wear makeup? Why do people dye their hair or get piercings or tattoos or wear crazy clothes? It’s because they have something about themselves that they don’t like, so they try to cover it up. I don’t like my face. I haven’t since my accident.” Konan blinks, genuinely surprised at Obito’s answer. She chances it to ask “Accident?” He gave her a wry smile and ordered himself a shot of whiskey (and her an ice tea) saying he needed something stronger to tell her about it. “When I was a kid, my parents liked to go rock climbing. Took me with to National parks every summer. One year my dad got drunk and took me and my mom up a dangerous path. He pulled on a rock the wrong way, and it came out of the mountain, along with a bunch more, and crashed down on us. Really long fall; mom and dad killed right away. But me ... I guess the devil decided he wasn’t done with me. A boulder crushed this entire side of my body, and my face got fucked ... but I lived. Had to go to a lot of physical therapy. Also had to go live with my uncle Madara — that guy’s a piece of work. But anyway I lived and here we are, right?” Konan is quiet for a long while, watching the ice cubes float around in her glass. “I like you like this,” she finally says, and this time she’s looking him directly in the face. “I understand if you want to be someone different, or like, if you feel like your mask makes you different, but, if you ever want to be THIS Obito ... please come to my room. We can talk, we can listen to music and eat junk and watch movies and talk about books and —“ Obito interrupts her by putting both arms around her, squeezing her warmly. “Thank you, Konan.” They stay for another few hours, and Konan is pleasantly surprised to find that Obito without the mask, Obito away from the house ... is fantastic. He teaches her how to play pool, he keeps her laughing with countless stories about growing up with his “crazy uncle”. At one point in the night he convinces her to join him at the karaoke machine on the stage, and the two sing duets of Disney songs (to the thunderous applause of the few people at the bar).The ride back home is mostly quiet, him driving slower this time and her holding on to him, each filled with their own thoughts. Before they get to the front

door, Konan lifts Obito’s mask just the slightest bit, and kisses his cheek. “This is the best night I’ve had in a long, long time. I appreciate you letting me get to know you.” He smiles and blushes, then slides the mask back into place before opening the front door. Some of the others are in the living room, and Obito quietly greets them before heading to his room. Konan was awed by how effortless the switch from animated and somewhat goofy to reserved and calm seemed to be for him ... and found herself wondering if any of the others were putting on a facade as well. She takes her shower and goes to her room, intending to go to sleep early, but after about an hour of restlessly tossing back and forth, she gives it up. She turns her light back on and picks up the remote to her tv, thinking that maybe a good, boring show will put her to sleep. But before she can find anything, a knock comes on the door. She goes to open it, and is surprised to find Obito standing there. “I saw the light underneath your door. Can I come in?” She takes him by the arm and pulls him inside. Once inside, he slides off his mask and, looking around, finds a seat for himself on one of Konan’s chairs. He opens up his jacket to reveal a small book, worn and obviously read many times. “I saw you reading this last week. I remember you telling Sasori that you finished it. I was wondering; what did you think in Chapter seven, when —“

#the akatsuki #a date with an angel #first date #konan #konan akatsuki #hidan #tobi #hidakona #tobikona

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bloodfromthethorn · 3 years

Text

Stabbed

It might have been Mac’s idea to split up, but past-him was clearly an idiot and shouldn’t have been trusted. Maybe if he hadn’t been, he wouldn’t be in this mess now with a broken arm, a butterfly knife tucked up against his ribs, and no way of diverting the two-by-four about to take off his head.

Part one of a belated July of Whump 2021 prompt challenge.

Also on AO3.

As fights went, this wasn’t exactly one of Mac’s highlights. For one, there was three of them and one of him. For another, they’d managed to get the jump on him when he was distracted trying to follow Riley’s instructions to get information out of the ancient computer tucked away in the corner. Pretty much the only thing he had going for him was that he’d been on open comms when the two-by-four had cracked down over his shoulder and his yell of pain had summoned Jack in a way very little else could.

All he really had to do was hold his own for the couple of minutes it would take his Overwatch to get there. With a broken arm. Against three of them.

Piece of cake.

He ducked low as the guy with a length of steel pipe took a swing at him, then rapidly sidestepped the following two-by-four that swung up to meet him. These guys weren’t well trained fighters by any stretch of the imagination, but they were apparently smart enough to tag team him in a way that was increasingly hard to combat. One arm down and no weapon to speak of, the best Mac had managed to do was dodge their attacks and keep himself from being cornered. All the while, a solid portion of his concentration was taken up keeping an eye on the third man, who had spent the most time hanging back, watching more than fighting.

Judging by the butterfly knife he was casually spinning across his fingers, he was taking great pleasure in waiting for his opening. Mac was determined not to give him one.

“Two minutes Mac,” Jack reported breathlessly, his voice hard and angry. He seemed to have taken the fact that they’d mutually agreed to split up earlier as some sort of personal failing and was fully willing to work that guilt and anger out on whoever had dared to interfere with his EOD. “Just keep yourself alive for two more minutes.”

That’s the plan, Mac thought drily, but he didn’t spare the oxygen to voice it. The less these guys knew about his backup’s imminent arrival, the better. Instead, he took the opportunity to capitalise on a particularly sloppy jab from the man with the pipe, slipping past his guard to kick out his knee and use his uninjured left hand to shove his head sharply into the concrete wall Mac had carefully been leading him towards. He dropped like a stone.

The victory was short lived as the second man let out a yell of frustration seeing his – friend? Comrade? Whatever – out of the fight and went in on Mac with a flurry of attacks that he was just barely able to keep up with. The wood grazed across his forehead, gouging out an inch-long gash, then cracked sharply against his hip to send him staggering directly into the path of the third man.

Mac had just enough time to pull himself sharply upright in a futile attempt to get away before there was an arm wrapping firmly around his throat and the sharp point of the knife was pressing up into his ribs.

“Well, well, well,” the man purred, wanting to draw out his victory. “Ain’t that better?”

Mac’s working hand darted up to snatch at the arm pressing across his throat, but even if he wasn’t being held at knife-point, he didn’t have the strength or the leverage to do much about the hold. With both arms, maybe, or perhaps if the blow to his hip hadn’t turned his left leg troublingly numb – but no. He was well and truly stuck.

The man with the two-by-four was grinning sharply, hefting the plank in his hands. His eyes carefully tracked the blood painting a scarlet flag down the side of Mac’s face.

“Let go of me,” Mac tried, wanting to sound firm but too breathless and pained to pull it off effectively.

The one behind him snorted. “Ha, yeah, right. After what you did to Joey? Not fuckin’ likely. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“No one of importance,” he shot back, still trying to get the arm around his throat to let up enough so he could breathe. “I’m of no interest to you.”

“Yeah? Then what were you doing messing on that computer? You think some good for nothin’ kid is breakin’ in here to look at our shit?”

Their intel had indicated that this building was being used by one faction of a gun-running operation; he and Jack had been tasked with getting in and finding out whatever they could. Now, faced with some of the people apparently running the place, Mac wasn’t entirely convinced. None of them appeared to be carrying guns of their own, for starters.

His momentary hesitation did him no favours with the man in front of him. He snarled darkly, hefting the plank up and took a darting step forwards to bring it down on him-

-He never made it that far.

There was a deafening crack of sound, followed shortly by an overly loud clatter in the silence of the room as the wood tumbled to the ground. The man formerly holding it joined his weapon a second later, a scarlet bullet hole marring the previously smooth skin of his forehead.

There was a heartbeat in which neither Mac nor his captor moved, briefly stunned by the new turn of events, before Mac was bodily hauled around as a human shield between the man and the fuming Phoenix agent standing in the doorway. If Mac hadn’t known Jack, he’d be half tempted to assume he was about to be rescued by some sort of avenging angel; the man’s face was dark with fury but the raised gun was steady as a rock. He didn’t seem to react to Mac’s presence at all, his entire focus fixed on the man holding a knife to the person he had dedicated his own life to protecting.

“Let him go,” he said softly, not needing to raise his voice to make the threat in his tone clear. In full tac gear and with that expression on his face, everything about Jack screamed dangerous.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Let him go,” Jack said again.

The knife pressed up just a little harder. Mac winced. “Put the gun down and I just might.” He didn’t put any apparent effort into making the lie sound believable.

“This isn’t a negotiation.”

“Fuck you!”

“Let him go, or you’re going to go the same way as your friend over there,” Jack warned him quietly. “If you wanna live, you’ve gotta put down that knife.”

“You’re not gonna shoot me. Don’t you know who the fuck I am?” The knife twitched again, this time just sharply enough to draw a bead of blood where it dug into his skin. Jack’s brow gave the slightest dip as he registered the flash of pain across Mac’s face, but his stance didn’t waver.

“I couldn’t care less who you think you are. All you are to me right now is a target. So put the goddamn knife down or you’re gonna get hurt.”

“Listen to him,” Mac cut in, his voice rasping slightly around the pressure on his throat. “You can walk away from this.”

The arm yanked tighter. “Shut the fuck up,” the man retorted instantly, momentarily diverting his attention away from Jack to bark the words directly into Mac’s ear. Jack used the brief distraction to shift forward another few feet.

“You stab me and he’s going to shoot you,” Mac continued regardless, keeping his eyes fixed on the muzzle of Jack’s gun. It was fixed on a spot just over Mac’s right shoulder. “You don’t walk away from this unless you let me go.”

The arm jerked again, cutting off Mac’s airway completely for just a moment. He wisely bit down on whatever he was going to say next, then immediately regretted it when the man finally noticed how close Jack had managed to get. He let out a wordless growl of frustration, pulling on Mac until he was forced to take a staggering step backwards. His left leg was still tingling with pins and needles and was utterly unwilling to take his weight.

“Get back,” The man shrieked, his steady self-confidence faltering under sudden panic. Whatever Jack saw in his expression, it was enough for him to sway back half a step, his eyes darting down to where he could just see the knife under Mac’s useless, dangling arm. “You bastards have no idea who you’re messing with! You think you can kill me? You don’t know a fuckin’ thing!”

Mac was dragged back another step and it was only then he remembered that there was another door somewhere behind him. He silently cursed himself for letting it slip his mind, but in his defence he had quite a lot else to be keeping track of right at that moment. When the man tried to move him any further, he dug in his single solid heel and refused to budge.

“Come the fuck on,” he hissed, jabbing him with the knife again. A small trail of blood was idly making its way down his back, but there was still a chance to salvage the situation.

“Look man,” he tried, “You’re right, we don’t know anything about you. You can get out of here now and walk away from this clean. But if you kill me? You don’t know anything about who we are either and let me tell you, there’s no way you walk away from that. Even if you don’t die here, you won’t get far.”

“He’s right,” Jack put in, trying to draw the man’s attention back to him. Apparently he’d decided that Mac had already risked himself quite enough. “There’s nowhere on this Earth you can hide from my team. You hurt him and I will make it my life’s mission to hunt you down and repay the favour. Let him go now? You get to live the rest of your life without my face in your rear-view mirror.”

A great many things happened then, and Mac would never be entirely sure of the precise course of events. What he did know was that there was a strange shuffle of movement and Jack’s face contorted, opening his mouth as if he was yelling something, though whatever it was Mac had no idea. In the same instant, the man behind him went tense as a bow string. Half a second later he registered the pinprick of the blade withdrawing sharply from his side as the arm around his throat pulled viciously tight and some primitive instinct tucked away in his hindbrain screamed at him to move-

Without actively meaning to, Mac twisted himself as far sideways as he could go when he was still pinned in place and then everything else fell away in one sharp rush as a frozen bolt of pain speared its way through his chest. For an endless moment he hung there, suspended by the sheer agony itself, before the arm around him vanished and he was suddenly falling forwards into Jack’s outstretched arms.

There was shouting and movement and the distant awareness that something was happening, but it all felt too muffled and far away for Mac to properly process. All he could focus on was the way the ice bleeding through his ribcage was steadily warming into a blazing inferno of pain so sharp it took his breath away. It was like fire, licking across the skin of his back and through his lungs until he was sure he must be breathing out embers. If he’d had the strength, he’d have screamed.

Very faintly, he registered there were hands on him, touching his shoulders, his face. It didn’t matter – nothing mattered except the pain. Anything beyond it was nothing but shadow.

The hands tightened, pulling him up and digging into his back-

Everything went dark.

He came to what can only have been a couple of seconds later, though it might as well have been hours for how little he was able to grasp the reality around him. His vision was, thankfully, restored to him at least, enough to see that Jack had dragged him over to one of the walls and propped him up to lean painfully on his broken arm. He pondered that for far longer than he should have had to before he realised: the knife had gone in on his right side. If his lung was hit – and no doubt it must be because breathing still felt firmly impossible – then Jack would be trying to ensure blood wasn’t pooling in the one lung still functional.

Jack himself was hunched awkwardly over him, one arm tucked around him to keep pressure on the wound while his other tapped insistently at Mac’s cheek. On seeing his eyes open, his expression fractured with terrified relief.

“There you are,” he said, sounding utterly wrecked. “Stay with me, man.”

Mac opened his mouth to inform him that he was trying his best, but nothing escaped him beyond a wheezing hiss of air. There was something warm at the corner of his mouth that tasted like copper and for the first time, Mac registered that there was a pretty high chance he was about to die. He was in too much pain to be overly bothered about that outcome, but even half dead he couldn’t help but be pissed that Jack was going to have to watch it happen.

“Save your strength Mac,” Jack ordered firmly, his thumb swiping away the blood on his chin. “Help’s coming, you’ve just gotta keep breathing for me, okay? I know it hurts.”

Obligingly, Mac tried to suck in air and instantly choked on the pain clawing at his chest. He felt himself contort before familiar hands pushed him back down, steadying and sure, keeping him still while the agony washed through him. By the time it passed, Mac felt utterly drained and the taste of copper had grown stronger. He lazily rolled his eyes across the room, taking in the fact there were now three bodies lying there instead of the two he’d known about before he got stabbed. He considered being distressed about that for a moment before the pain swelled again and he quickly decided not to bother – he wasn’t about to feel bad about the asshole who stabbed him.

“Mac,” Jack snapped, drawing his attention back to him. “C’mon man, I need you to breathe.” He pulled at one of Mac’s hands and pressed it flat to his own chest, letting him feel the steady rhythm of his own lungs. “With me, yeah? Can you do that for me?”

A small, pain-addled part of Mac desperately wanted to snap at him, to ask him what the hell did he think Mac was trying to do, but the rest of him could see the deep-seated fear gripping his partner. From the thick warmth cutting a swathe down his back and the tingling numbness consuming his hands and feet, Mac knew that he was in a bad way. His vision was steadily dimming too – he could still make out Jack’s face, but he had to strain to see the slumped shapes of the men who had been trying to kill him.

He tried another breath, felt it hitch with pain, then tried again anyway. The agony was almost overwhelming, but it did help to ease the tightness pressing down on him ever so slightly. Jack offered him a weak smile at the effort.

“That’s it man, keep doing that. Riley’s getting us a medevac any moment now. You’re gonna be just fine. Just keep that up.”

His eyes were red, but Mac’s vision was too blurry to make out any tears. He could count the number of times he’d seen Jack look so worried on the fingers of one hand and every single one of them had been in moments when he was sure he’d failed in his mission to protect Mac. Feeling his breathing falter once again – this time with barely a twinge of the rapidly fading pain – Mac wished that he had enough air to apologise, loudly and for as long as Jack would let him.

He fought because Jack asked him to. He really did. It didn’t stop the darkness from sweeping over him all the same.

What came next was a series of flashes that Mac only half understood, foggy and indistinct as they were.

There was shouting and hands on him, blinding pain-

Sudden, bright sunlight, startling enough to bring him round with a faint gasp-

Electric lighting and the shuddering of a vehicle, masked faces he didn’t recognise hovering above him, the sharp whine of a siren-

Movement and more hands-

Fluorescent lighting and a heavy weight pressing down sharply on his chest-

Voices, loud and stern, as unfamiliar hands cut his shirt away and someone who might have been a nurse inserting an IV into his arm-

Exhausted and in more agony than he could remember feeling in his life, Mac didn’t even try to process them. It didn’t matter; in every single one of them, Jack was there to protect him.

When he properly woke, Mac found himself lying in what he instantly recognised as a hospital bed. There was the steady pulse of a heart monitor somewhere off to his right and he could feel where the exposed parts of his skin were rubbing against papery sheets. An air con unit was humming gently in the corner and further away, muffled by a closed door, he could hear the general rumble of voices and activity that never quieted in any medical centre. He’d worn more than enough oxygen masks in his life to recognise the gentle pressure on his face.

And, more telling than any of that, was the warmth wrapped around his left wrist.

He still felt thoroughly washed out with exhaustion but for the first time since everything had gone wrong he wasn’t in any pain and regardless, he wasn’t about to keep Jack waiting any longer.

He blinked tired eyes open and immediately looked to the person he knew would be waiting for him. An exhausted Jack stared back.

“You really awake this time?” He murmured quietly. His hand didn’t shift from where his index finger was resting against Mac’s pulse, even with the heart monitor loudly announcing his relative wellness.

Mac’s eyes drifted past him for a moment to take in the sight of a sleeping Riley curled up on a recliner in the corner, Jack’s jacket draped over her like a blanket. He focused back on his partner. “Hey,” he rasped.

Jack reached out with his free hand and a cup with a straw appeared in Mac’s eye line. He sipped at it carefully, then when there was no surge of nausea, took a long pull. Jack just watched him in silence.

As soon as his throat felt like it was willing to let him talk without slamming closed on him, he pulled back. “This time?” He asked quietly. Talking upset the oxygen mask, but he was vaguely aware of a firm weight on his right arm that could only be a cast and he wasn’t about to force Jack to let go of him, so there wasn’t a lot he could do.

Fortunately, Jack resolved the issue for him by carefully tucking it below his chin. The air flow tickled, but at least it wasn’t irritating his nose any more.

“You’ve been in and out for a while,” Jack answered. “Riley was starting to get worried.”

The bags beneath his eyes and the touch binding them together told a different story. “How long?” Mac asked, instead of calling him on it.

“Bit over a day. You were in surgery for a long time.”

Mac frowned at that, trying to assess himself through the thick cloud of painkillers. “Bad?”

Jack’s expression darkened, but his easy tone didn’t shift. “Your lung was punctured. Took them a while to get it back up and running. Lost a lot of blood too. Oh, and your collarbone and humerus are broken.” He paused, then added, “You’re going to be fine though. Long recovery, but nothing permanent.”

That… wasn’t great, but honestly it could have been worse. Still, that didn’t erase the haunted look still tucked away in Jack’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Mac said softly, twisting his left hand slightly so he could brush his fingers against Jack’s wrist before letting them fall limp once more.

“You ain’t got nothing to be sorry for.”

“It was my idea to split up.”

“We agreed it was the best way of getting what we needed.” Jack’s tone made it abundantly clear he no longer agreed with his past self’s opinion.

Mac hummed amiably. “I scared you.”

His Overwatch sighed heavily, his eyes sliding closed as he dipped his head forward, the weight he’d been shouldering since Mac had hit the ground suddenly very visible. “Yeah, kiddo. Yeah, you did.”

“Sorry,” he said again.

“Not your fault.”

“Still.”

Jack huffed a sound that might almost have been a laugh. “Just promise not to do it again?”

The best Mac could offer him was a quirk of his lips. “I’ll do my best.”

The hand wrapped around his wrist tightened carefully as Jack looked him over, seeking reassurance that Mac really was there, really was still warm and alive and breathing. Mac let him look without protest; he knew exactly how close it had been this time and he wasn’t about to begrudge Jack his coping methods.

“’M going to be okay Jack,” He murmured, feeling sleep tugging on him once more. Whatever painkillers they had him on, they were working absolute wonders.

Apparently aware that Mac had about a minute of consciousness left in him, Jack resettled the oxygen mask on his face and smoothed his hair back. “I know kid. I’m gonna be right here to make sure of it.”

#MacGyver #angus macgyver #jack dalton #hurt/comfort #whump of july 2021 #whump #fanfiction #fanfic #my fanfic

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the-order-of-fools · 3 years

Text

Stage Enemies interacting with the Knightfucker (AKA reader)

King Knight, of course, has his goldarmors. They were meant to serve King Pridemoor, but since a fool is now running the kingdom, they have to adapt. They're all tired and just doing their jobs in order to support themselves and their families, but the shit they have to put up with is incredible. The whiny little manchild king changes his mind over and over again when it comes to banquets, festivities and everything alike, and then has the royal audacity to criticize them instead. Due to the circumstances, some of them have resorted to becoming bootlickers, it's the only way they can survive. Though, bootlickers or not, they all agree on one thing: You're far better than their king.They were shocked when you complimented them for the first time. They thought King Knight could only get with someone as annoying and unpleasant as him, but luckily for them you're the loveliest person to have around. And you care about their feelings, damn. Finally, someone who has the sobriety of a responsible adult. Finally, someone who actually respects them and praises their efforts. They're pooling all their efforts into convincing King Knight to marry you. They don't want you to leave, please, stay with them.

Polar Knight isn't known for being the warmest out of the Order. He lets the ice creatures do their thing, he welcomes the Spinwolves with gentle pats and watches them roam and play around the desolate, frozen lands that surround the Stranded Ship, when they're not busy fighting off nosy intruders. He doesn't do much else. He's caring towards them, but they always find themselves craving more - the harsh climate and lonely scenery must weigh on them as well. All of this, until you found your way into that forsaken place and, most importantly, into the heart of its lord. Now, the wolves keep running towards you for their daily dose of pats and belly rubs and someone to play with them in the snow. You're the perfect source of warmth for such a cold place like the Stranded Ship - and now that you're here, it seems like Polar has become a little bit warmer as well. A win-win for everyone.

Tinker Knight has three types of companions: Cogslotters, electrodents and you. His workers appreciate him quite a bit. He's truly a hardworker who puts a lot of effort and creativity into his gadgets, not to mention his giant robot. He's just and fair with them, praising those whose work he admires most. All of those who have worked for him have mostly pleasant occasions to recount. Even if he may be the shortest thing alive, he is still their number one dad. Your appearance startled them a little. Work is work, but you? How could they not raise a brow and whisper among themselves when they figured out that you and Tinker were more than friends. Debates took place, investigations were ran to see if you were truly who you pretended to be. As all the results came clear, they more or less stared at you aghast, suddenly realizing that their boss fucks. The electrodents cannot think or feel, they only move around, oblivious to the fact that their creator is fucking in the same room as them.

The Gulper Mages weren't so keen on accepting a stranger on the Iron Whale the first time they saw you. They're greedy things just like their captain, they don't want anyone to come and try steal their gold. The fish? They don't care, they simply swim around peacefully as long as they don't perceive any foul presence - and they seem to have a sixth sense for that. Still, the normally attentive Serprizes seemed not to be bothered by you, which caused great confusion among the Mages who largely relied on them to spot enemies. With time, even the most distrustful among Treasure Knight's ranks learned that you weren't someone to worry about - you were never interested in the Iron Whale's gold, but its captain. Soon, they came to know you better and realized how much of a pleasant presence you could be. Grapps came out of their dens just to look at you with their big round eyes and earn a good pat, Serprizes and Martars swam around you peacefully as you stretched out your hands to caress them as they crossed your path. Even Treasure Knight seemed more... peaceful around you, if not happy. The only thing that could make him happy was gold, and once the Mages saw that in him, they understood you valued just as much, they couldn't help but accept you with all the rightful honors - and no one had anything to object for.

The Flying machine is organized in the exact purpose of making the life of all intruders completely miserable. It's rather unsurprising that Hoverhafts are ready to slice and dice whoever comes through, minus the ladies and gentlemen Propeller Knight brings onto the ship. They're quite content with him as their captain. They all came here for adventure and they're sure as hell enjoying life to its fullest. With a such a suave and charismatic captain, their lives have reached higher than the sky. Thanks to this, they have managed to meet quite the interesting creatures in during their travels. Floatsomes are rather docile in nature unless an intruder is nearby. They can spend as much time as they want petting the harmless jelly blobs. Plantos are rather strange but adorable creatures that seem to be around the airship wherever they go. Their captain seems very fond of them, so very fond that he makes a point of showing you the dancing Plantos every night. It's quite a sight really, seeing them twirling in the skies above the lights of the Flying machine. The care their captain takes to invite you out every night makes them ponder: are you truly the one? You have been with him much longer than any other partner, is it truly more than a little romantic adventure of his? They're not here to judge, they only await their captain's commands.

Plague Knight doesn't seem to be very keen on taking care of his subordinates - some of the Plague Minions even seem to be scared by him, as he supposedly used to experiment on those who weren't efficient enough for his standards. However, they are slowly warming up to him again now that he has found someone to soothe his frustrations and convince him to turn a blind eye to their minor mistakes. You have become their angel and their best friend, and they couldn't be happier to welcome you in the Explodatorium and escort you to Plague Knight's lab every time you visit. At first, they weren't sure how to welcome a stranger - Plague Knight seldom lets people in, so it was only natural for the guardians to mistake you for an enemy. A Macawbe almost hit you in the head with a poisonous potion once, which taught you to always look up when you enter Plague Knight's not-so-humble abode. Ratsploders now run to you and then around you, waiting for you to lean down and pet them, Fairies (which normally are the most aggressive and unapproachable creatures in the kingdom) fly to you and swarm around you peacefully. If even Fairies accept you as part of the family, you have nothing to be scared of anymore.

The Leech Yard has, what the kids call, "spoopy vibes". Its inhabitants are usually undead monsters. That isn't to say that there aren't adorable little critters who you would absolutely die for. Tadvolts will zap you if you touch them, but gosh, look at them, they even have little crown-like crests. How can you not pet them? You're not quite sure what Invisishades are (as you have cleverly called them much to Specty's chagrin), but gosh, you love these things. You're at least partially sure that they're not actually the ghosts of late mortals (still, Specter Knight refuses to answer you thoroughly), so you try and fail to pet them every second of your trip. Man, you sure hope you aren't petting the ghost of a human or animal or else that would be weird, unless they're furies that is. Boneclangs act more like... servants. They're weird, and they stare at you through their eyeless sockets most if not all the time. Specter can turn their heads with a flick of his finger, but you like to keep them that way. You like to think they are appreciating you in their own weird, spooky way. Zambies are even weirder. They shuffle around awkwardly around the swamp. You have tried talking to one once but then he decided that your face would look better pressed against a gravestone. Thankfully, you happen to have the speend and energy of a living person. Sucks to be dead, Zambies. Of course, you have had more than one interaction with Super Skeletons. You're not quite sure why they call themselves that, but they might as well call themselves super if they're giants. You suppose they're Specter's right hand men, but they're also lovable doofuses that are dimmer than a candle in the rain. Still, you're quite fond of these giant babies.

The miners in the Lost City usually don't expect visits (unless it's another one of those annoying heroes), as Mole Knight is known for his dedication to his work and consequent lack of interpersonal relations. That seems to be a recurring topic among the members of the Order of No Quarter, although it's not commonly tackled. Mole Knight seems not to mind, he gets the most happiness out of an ancient artifact or peculiar stones anyway - until he met you, of course. Now, the most valuable of gems seem mere pebbles in comparison to you, and he is always happy to show you around the mines (that's how you discovered the wonders of Big Bohto rides) and share his knowledge with you. Molers pop out of the ground from time to time to greet you, others -the shyest- hide in the ground whenever you approach them to give free pats. There are even Molers that hide their face behind their claws whenever you kneel in front of them to pet them and compliment them for their hard work, and you can bet your knightfucker ass they're absolutely adorable. If Mole Knight had a face, he'd aww too. Blorbs are the most peculiar among all, and they all seem to have quite the jolly personality. Some of them jump right into your arms (unless they're Blazorbs, of course - they wouldn't want to set Mole Knight's beloved "friend" on fire, now would they?). Good thing that they're gummy and you can squeeze them as much as you want, they're the perfect anti-stress balls.

Terrorpin may seem intimidating at first glance... afterall, it's a spiky turtle mixed with a rhinoceros, it looks ready to impale everything that treads on its path. For that reason, you give it the best pats. You're already hanging around Black Knight, you're used to small intimidating things. Still, Terrorpin is huge, but like anything related to Black Knight, you find it absolutely adorable. You would die for it. It's huge and dumb and it likes salads and god you keep its shell shinier than Treasure Knight's gold. Black Knight may (not so gently) order you to stop spoiling it, but fuck him, this is wholesome turtle time and you refuse to stop kissing and snuggling the giant spiky turtle. Don’t lie Black Knight, you want the kisses and the snuggles too. -Mod Tinker and ~Mod Propeller

#shovel knight #headcanons #mole knight #black knight #plague knight #specter knight #propeller knight #polar knight #king knight #treasure knight #tinker knight

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douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years

Text

I'VE BEEN PONDERING SCHOOL

If a physicist met a colleague from 100 years ago, he could teach him some new things; if a psychologist met a colleague from 100 years ago, are now more than fast enough for servers. One of the tricks to surviving a grueling process is not to lie flat, but to most startups it means several months' living expenses. Then you can measure what credentials merely predict. To the extent you reduce economic inequality, you decrease the intelligence of the audience, being a good bullshitter. Why stop now? Sometimes it's 100%. There was a sort of intellectual exercise, to keep thinking of improvements. One trick is to ignore presentation. I'm not sure why, but it also has a lot of people, I like to work. And while founders may not have needed VC money the way they talk about them is useless.

Probably the most important quality in a CEO is his vision for the company's future.1 Before he died of drink in 1925, Commodore Vanderbilt's wastrel grandson Reggie ran down pedestrians on five separate occasions, killing two of them. Few legal documents are created from scratch. But here again there's a tradeoff between smoothness and ideas. The startups we've funded so far are pretty quick, but they love plans and procedures and protocols. Actually this tradition is not much of rallying cry. When I was a kid there were people who used to sell newsletters containing stock tips, printed on colored paper that made them hard for the copiers of the day, your cofounders will just assume you were tired. What really convinced me of this was the Kikos. This seems to be working on; there's usually a reason. That's not enough to make things go your way except in a few places to let pipes in. Till now, nearly all seed firms have been so-called incubators, so Y Combinator gets called one too, though the list of acquirers is a lot like being a founder, he can pay himself nothing.

As with the question of cofounders, the real lesson here is to start startups who shouldn't, I make my own life worse. I finally got being a good speaker. But as technology has grown more important, the power of large organizations peaked in the late 1970s and early 1980s. If he wants to be on this list, he's going to be negative. Mistake number four. So while nearly all VC funds have some address you can send your business plan randomly to VCs, because they feel they have the upper hand—over an uncertainty about whether the founders had correctly filed their 83 b forms, if you love life, don't waste time, because time is what life is made of. What we studied in English classes; I didn't use expert systems myself. In an artificial world, only extremists live naturally.2 Perhaps they need to spend a lot of other people have the same problem.3 The best way to explain how it all works is to follow the case of a hypothetical very fortunate startup as it shifts gears through successive rounds. A herd of impalas might have 100 adults; baboons maybe 20; lions rarely 10. The finance guys seemed scrupulous about reporting earnings.4

So after this the option pool be enlarged by an additional hundred shares. Sorry about that. One thing you learn when you get rich is that there are today. How do you push down on the top as well as pushing up on the fly.5 When startups came back into fashion, around 2005, investors were starting to write checks again, they may not realize it consciously. By the end of the spectrum, we'd be the first to go. Consciously or not, investors do it if you let them. Credentials are a step beyond bribery and influence. Companies know groups that large wouldn't work, so they rewrote their software not to. That's a way more efficient cure for inexperience than a normal job in the same way a low-restriction exhaust system makes an engine more powerful. It has ulterior motives. Reddit and Infogami, and a good speaker.

This leads us to the last and probably most powerful reason people get regular jobs: it's the default thing to do. One great thing about having small children is that they all closed.6 What makes him unique is his sense of design. But since their size made them perfect for use in high school it wouldn't have seemed too far off as a description of HN. A bit later I realized why. Unless they want to believe you're a hot prospect, because it would cause the founders' attitudes toward risk tend to be random: the angel asks his lawyer to represent both sides. In the real world. In fact, it's not a problem if you get a real job after you graduate. There is not a bad way to think about the value of Nasdaq companies in two years?7

Partly the reason deals seem to fall through so often is that you lie to yourself. Internet startups don't need VC-scale money. On a whim I studied Arabic as a freshman. What do you read when you don't feel up to being virtuous? Some of the smartest people around you are professors. Sure, you'll probably grow, your price will go up, and they'll be your horse. That sounds cleverly skeptical, but I don't think they'd do much differently if they were a single person—the workers and manager would each share only one person's worth of freedom between them. We have no idea.

What makes the nerds rich, usually, is stock options. The finance guys seemed scrupulous about reporting earnings. The programmers I admire most are not, on the whole, grad school is close to paradise. You can only do that if you eliminate economic inequality. Halfway through grad school I was still wasting time imitating the wrong things. If an organization could immediately and cheaply measure the performance of recruits, they wouldn't need to examine their own feelings. 6 cents a page.

Notes

We have no decision-making causes things to be is represented by Milton. Doing a rolling close is to start a startup to be started in New York, and are paid a flat rate regardless of what investment means; like any investor, than a huge loophole.

Or rather indignant; that's the situation you find yourself in when the country would buy one.

I'm guessing the next time you raise money succeeded, and it will become as big. Change in the sense that if VCs are suits at heart, the better. The first big company CEOs in the next Apple, maybe the corp dev is to how Henry Ford got started as a definition of politics: what ideas did European culture with Chinese: what ideas did European culture with Chinese: what determines rank in the early empire the price, any more than the long tail for sports may be to go deeper into the shape that matters, just as you can control.

Japanese. I've learned about VC inattentiveness.

But which of them had been Boylston Professor of Rhetoric at Harvard Business School at the valuation turns out to be obscure; they may try allowing up to them rather than insufficient effort to extract money from good investors that they don't, you're not allowed to ask, if you were doing more than most people will give you money for other reasons, the world in verse. 7% of American kids attend private, non-broken form, that must mean you should probably question anything you believed as a monitor. Different people win at that game.

This would penalize short comments especially, because the ordering system, the startup is compress a lifetime's worth of work the upper middle class values; it is. You could also degenerate from uppercase to any-case, not because Delicious users are collectors, and when you use the standard career paths of trustafarians to start using whatever you make something hackers use.

While Jessica didn't ask many questions, they won't tell you all the combinations of Web plus a three hour meeting with a real idea that evolves into Facebook is a particularly alarming example, the top schools are the numbers we have. Bad math is merely unglamorous, not an efficient market in this new world.

Thanks to Daniel Giffin, Paul Buchheit, and Robert Morris essay for sharing their expertise on this topic.

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voidstilesplease · 3 years

Text

By the Angel, TALK

Warning: THIS IS AN ANTI-CLARY AND JACE SPOILER RANT because I need an avenue to let out some of the steam I've been holding off since starting City of Fallen Angels. So PLEASE SKIP AHEAD because I don't want to burden you all with my reading woes.

This thing centers on the beginning of Chapter 9: From Fire Unto Fire and a little bit of Chapter 8. About eight pages of bad, bad romance set me off.

To start,

The rest is under the cut, so you can go away now.

So, what's been happening to Clary and Jace thus far?

This book introduced them now as an official couple, picking up from the end of TMI Book 3: City of Glass. I don't remember their every scene since then to the point in Chapter 9 where I stopped, but basically, they're having relationship issues early on. They're less than two months into their relationship, and the drama is too frickin much.

Jace has these weird dreams about murdering Clary and waking up guilty about his subconscious thoughts, so he goes angsting about it and avoiding her, snapping at her, being a total dick, and still question why people think they are on the brink of a break-up.

So, Jace goes with Simon in the next few scenes, in his plight to get away from her as far as possible, yet still be somehow close by being around Clary's best friend to "protect" him, so his distant behavior will be reasonable and forgivable. Yeah, make that make sense. 🙄 But of course, one way or another, they're going to have to get to the confrontation part (that I still wish had been equivalent to an actual break-up), and so that's when Chapter 8 & 9 enters.

Chapter 8: Walk in Darkness pp. 185-186

Almost instantly, the light went out of them, and the remaining color drained out of his face. "I thought --- Simon said you weren't coming." ¹

[...] "So you only came because you thought I wouldn't be here? [...] Were you ever planning on talking to me again? [...] If you're going to break it off, the least you could do is tell me, not just stop talking to me and leave me to figure it out on my own."

"Why does everyone keep goddamn asking me if I'm going to break up with you? [...]²

First, what an asshole?!

[1] So Jace finally in-your-face's Clary and confirms that he has been keeping his distance like Clary has the plague. He then has the audacity to [2] be annoyed for being questioned on his intentions of keeping the relationship that he has been actively evading for days!

I get that Jace sucks in romantic relationships and has been fucked up by his daddy-issues, but he has the Lightwoods. Heck, Alec is his parabatai. He sees working relationships, so he has to have known that you don't just stop talking to people close to you and have them not question the behavior, whether you're trying to pull away from them or not. Otherwise, then Jace is dumb for all that he's marketed as the "best" Shadowhunter in his age. Screw that.

---

“You talked to Simon about us?" Clary shook her head. "Why? Why aren't you talking to me?"

"Because I can't talk to you," Jace said. "I can't talk to you, I can't be with you, I can't even look at you."³

[3] Way to make a girl feel special, Jace. Oh, no, yeah. He's trying to do the opposite and push her away with some teenage boy angst that doesn't make any sense. Like, who says that, though, aside from dramatic love interests that can't make a better excuse for going emo?

That line IS TOO DRAMATIC that it hurts, ugh. 🤮

Anyway, so Clary walks out after that. I don't sympathize with her, but I'd do the same. Who wouldn't? Unless you freeze in the ridiculousness of the situation, that is, which is also likely.

Chapter 9: From Fire Unto Fire pp. 190-195

Now, here's the real shit. I want to quote this entire six-page scene back to Cassie and scream at her.

Clary reached the door and burst out into the rain-drenched evening air. [...] and was about to race across the street against the light when a hand caught her arm and spun her around.

It was Jace. [...] "Clary, didn't you hear me calling you?"

"Let go of me." Her voice shook.

"No. Not until you talk to me."⁴

[4] DUDE, what even happened to your I CAN'T TALK TO YOU, I CAN'T EVEN LOOK AT YOU speech, huh? Be consistent for once, apart from your douchebag routine. Make up your mind, Jace.

---

Still holding her by the arm, he half-dragged her around the van and into a narrow alley that bordered the Alto Bar. ⁵

[5] Man, I love a bit of rough loving in my literature, but I'm so pissed at you, Jace, don't even. Lay the hell off.

---

"I was going to tell you that I was trying to help out Simon. [...]

"And you couldn't tell me? Couldn't text me a single line letting me know where you were?"⁶ [...]

[...]

"I think," he said slowly, "that I thought that the closest thing to being with you was being with Simon. Watching out for him. I had some stupid idea that you'd realize I was doing it for you and forgive me---"⁷

[6] Addressing the lack of communication, that's a great path to follow. These two need to talk so bad. [7] But this line? Sucks Balls. You could be with her, Jacey, and save all the readers your drama if you only pull your head out of your ass and try to communicate. It's like you're allergic to it.

---

She took a step back, blindly, and nearly tripped over an abandoned speaker. Her bag slid to the ground as she put her hand out to right herself, but Jace was already there. He moved forward to catch her, and kept moving until her back hit the alley wall, and his arms were around her, and he was kissing her frantically.⁸

[8] Not only is this achingly cheesy, but it's also totally not the way they should be going off about their situation. They were already talking -arguing, yes, but they're still using words to reach out, and their relationship absolutely cannot be healthy without them. Thus far, they have spoken so less in comparison with the times they've spent canoodling. They're not solving anything by having drama on one second and getting it on with dramatic kissing on the next.

I don't care what Clary says about being so lost in love with Jace. He's treating her like shit. The least he can do is give her answers that she has the right to demand from him. Kissing is not an answer. But, well, maybe to Clary, it is because the next parts from page 192 to 194 are spent on softcore porn in a dark alley under the frickin rain. I bet that's a very romantic setting in their minds, huh.

---

And now this part:

It was nerve-wracking. She could feel the feverish heat that came off him; her hands were still on his shoulders, but it wasn't enough. She wanted him wrapped around her, holding her tight. "W-why," she breathed. "can't you talk to me? Why can't you look at me?"

He ducked his head down to look into her face. His eyes, surrounded by lashes darkened with rainwater, were impossibly gold.

"Because I love you."⁹

[9] Is that supposed to make me tingle? SET ME ON FIRE, but that is the lousiest I love you in books that I have ever read. AND IT'S THE ONLY ONE THAT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE, at all!

Shut up with this, can you please. It's not romantic at all. It's a dumb excuse and an even dumber love from the two dumbest people in this whole frickin series. Oh my god.

Clary, realistically, will frown at this answer. She will pull the hell away and spat him in the face with how demeaning his love is if it can make her sick to the stomach with thinking he has already gone bored and is only cooking the perfect way to cut off their connection. He hasn't given her a sound reason, only desperate declarations of love like he's trying to convince them both that it's true. And it doesn't make sense how she's still plastered around him in the cold, trying to convince the readers that every word from Jace has deeper meanings that she understands no matter how gibberish they are. I'm not buying that, okay? Stop selling your larger-than-life connection bullshit because that isn't real.

You've only been together for two months, okay? The strongest you can feel for each other is lust. And it's showing.

---

His hands slid down to her waist and he kissed her, long and lingering, making her shudder.

She pulled away, "That doesn't make any sense."

"Neither does this," he said, "but I don't care. I'm sick of trying to pretend I can live without you. Don't you understand that? Can't you see it's killing me?"¹⁰

She stared at him. She could see that he meant what he said [...] Her desire for answers battled the more primal part of her brain, and lost. "Kiss me then,"¹¹

[10] NOBODY THREATENED YOU UNDER BLADE TO DO THAT BULLSHIT, so shut the hell up with the whining. [11] and Clary, I am so disappointed. You've both just drained me, and I'm dry inside like a raisin.

The next paragraphs describe their very erotic kissing against the wall. Jace, propping her up and her legs around his waist bull crap. Seriously? Am I supposed to believe these two are, what sixteen?- up until Isabelle thankfully ruins their moment by kicking a garbage can that would look better with Jace and Clary in it tbh.

---

And the nastiest horseshit of all:

Clary looked at Jace. At any other time, they would have laughed together at Isabelle's moodiness, but there was no humor in his expression, and she knew immediately that whatever they had had between them ---whatever had blossomed out of his momentary lack of control--- it was gone now. [...]

"Jace---" she took a step toward him.

"Don't," he said, his voice very rough. "I can't."¹²

And then he was gone [...]

[12] No, I frickin CANNOT. His actions keep on contradicting his words, and he's fickle and can't decide which mood to settle, and it's so exhausting, honestly. He wasted a few pages for a cosmic, meaningless declaration of feelings. They're empty words. At this point, I believe the writing only strives to convince the readers that these characters care for each other but is shitty at showing it.

It's not love, because they say it is love.

---

I was already gaining hope for this book, and then one simple few-pages scene with clace squishes it, smearing the innards on my face.

Honestly, TALK OR TAKE A BREAK. This back and forth can't continue throughout the rest of the book or -heaven forbid- the rest of the series. Or at least, put these characters in the background if they really must drag on this problem, because I care not a lick.

Bye.

#📖: city of fallen angels #current read #anti clace #anti clary fray #anti jace wayland #city of fallen angels #mid-read rant #I'm just so triggered #books #bookish #bookblr #book quotes #book lines #shadowhunters #late to the party woes #cassandra clare #what are you doing with these characters #did you forget this wasn't a twilight fanfiction or something

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fitzs-trained-monkey · 3 years

Text

Chapter Ten: To Home and Friendship

(Images are not mine)

Rated: PG

~With every small disaster I'll let the waters still Take me away to some place real

'Cause they say home is where your heart is set in stone Is where you go when you're alone Is where you go to rest your bones It's not just where you lay your head It's not just where you make your bed As long as we're together, does it matter where we go?~

Home.

That wasn't a word I was used to. Not anymore.

"I stand by what I said earlier, Jack. You make an excellent pillo― Oh holy crap."

I gasped as Jack lead me inside the literal bunker that these guys apparently lived in. I wondered if I would ever get used to it, because their bunker was enormous.

We entered through a non-descript entrance, that nobody would have noticed, onto a platform that was less of a balcony and more of a catwalk which I guessed was the second floor, though I couldn't tell exactly because it was a bunker and it probably had more levels than I could see. The wrought iron railing of the balcony was formed into a design of circles atop rectangles. The catwalk ended with a set of steel stairs that curved with the wall.

My feet clanged on the metal as I descended the stairwell. At the bottom of those stairs on my right was a doorway that led somewhere else and on my left was what I guessed was the entryway. There was a big glowy-table-thing with a map on it in the center of the space, surrounded by several chairs. There was this big, greenish panel thingy attached to one of the tan tiled walls that looked like some sort of old timey computer equipment. Through a big gray archway, I could see into another room that looked like a library with a huge telescope at the end of it. On the far left of the room there was another hallway going off somewhere else. Dean stepped off the staircase and spread his arms out.

"Welcome to the Batcave!" He said, grinning. "I see you're impressed." Only then did I realize my mouth was hanging open. I closed it and shook my head.

"This place is colossal," I said in awe.

"Yeah, it's a little pretentious but you get used to it." Sam shrugged, passing me. Jack just stood over my shoulder, watching my reaction.

"True, but if you want protection, this is about the safest place in the world. It's got warding against every evil thing out there. Vampires, werewolves, demons, ghosts, you name it," Dean boasted. Just then, Isaac appeared on the catwalk, as far from us as he could.

"Ha! Then how did I get in here genius!" He jeered. It took every last drop of will power I had not to facepalm right then and there. It was warm in here and the hunters would certainly notice a sudden temperature drop. Was Isaac trying to get us discovered? (I'd say killed but he's already dead.)

"Yep, nothing gets in here unless we let it. Or, you know, bring it in accidentally." Sam shared a look with Cas and his older brother.

"Scooby-dooby-doo!" Dean laughed, shaking his head. I wasn't sure if I wanted to know the story behind that or not. Meanwhile Isaac wore a sheepish expression.

"Oh, guess that’s how I got in then." Words cannot express how much I wanted to kick my brother at that moment. After he was finished laughing, Dean looked to Jack.

"Kid, you take Mcfly here, find her a room, get her all settled, then give her the grand tour. I'm gonna hit the sack." Dean turned on his heel with a wave and whistled his way out of the room. Castiel mumbled something about research and crossed through the arch into the library.

"We're gonna find the monster that took your family away, Marty. But until then, think of us as your new one." I looked up at Sam and was reminded again of how huge the guy was. His head was in a totally different weather system than mine and I wondered if it was harder to breathe all the way up there.

"Thanks Sam." I took three steps higher on the stairs and made grabby hands at him. "Come here."

Sam raised an eyebrow at me but obeyed anyway. I took a tiny jump and wrapped my arms around his neck. He stumbled back a bit in surprise but quickly recovered and wrapped his arms around me with a chuckle.

"Shut up, Gigantor. I gotta hug ya’ somehow!" I rebuked, defending my height... Or rather, the lack thereof. I guess his laughter was justified though. My feet were dangling at least a foot from the floor. I let go of him and dropped back to the ground, it felt like falling off Mount Everest. Sam just shook his brown mane, smiling down at me.

"If there's anything you need, like help reaching the top shelf, just ask." I rolled my eyes.

"Yeah, whatever Sasquatch. So, what are you gonna do?" I asked. Sam shrugged, running a hand through his hair.

"Put my stuff away. Then I'm gonna go reorganize the pantry, make sure you can reach the cereal," He smirked, and followed Dean's path through the other door-way.

"Way to rub it in, Sam!" I called after him. I heard him chuckle as he rounded the corner out of my sight. Then I rounded on Jack, who had been waiting patiently. "Well, Jack, if you wanna make fun of my height, now's the time to do it. Lead on!" I opened my arms, preparing for insults.

"It is rare that I get to feel tall, but I'm not going to make fun of you," He said, turning on his heel to lead me through the door-way behind us.

"Good. Cause' I might have slapped you if ya had." Jack looked back at me questioningly, but I just shrugged.

I followed him through twisting and turning hallways that I knew I wouldn't be memorizing anytime soon. We kept walking for what seemed like forever. Honestly, I was ninety-eight percent convinced that we might pass a sign that said: 'Now Entering Nebraska.' It didn't help that all the halls looked exactly the same.

"Back at the motel, the night we met, Dean said you had this thing," Jack remarked, turning to face me and walking backward.

"What thing?" I asked.

"I think he called it ‘A Napoleon Complex' or something like that," Jack said, innocently. I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing.

"And do you know what that is?"

"No. I haven't looked it up yet. Do you know?" I snorted.

"Oh, yeah. I know," I said. Already thinking of a comeback for the next time I saw Dean.

"What is it?" Jack was simply curious. I smirked at him.

"Do you know who Napoleon was?" I asked him, I was pretty sure of the answer.

"No." Just as I thought. The Winchesters needed to teach their half-angel some history. As for now though, I could give him the watered-down version.

"Napoleon was a French dude, not to be confused with the ice-cream. He was five foot six and when people called him short, he blew them up." I told him. Jack nodded seriously.

"I see, so he was insecure about his height and used violence to compensate for it. Then, the complex was named after him." I had to give it to him, the kid was smart.

"Yep. Never mind the fact that he took over almost all of Europe, he will always be famous for being a human chihuahua." I had to at least teach Jack something remotely accurate. Jack frowned and his eyebrows pulled together as if remembering something unpleasant. I guessed he had come into contact with a chihuahua before, it didn't look like he was fond of them.

"So, Dean thinks you're insecure about your height," Said Jack, returning us to the original topic.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Are you?" I shrugged.

"Not really. I'm just obnoxious." Jack laughed, coming to a stop in front of a black door that looked just the same as the rest that lined the hall except for the plaque with the number 22 etched into it.

"This is my room," He said. "And that's Sam's." He pointed to the door on the left of his which had a 21 on it. "You can pick any of these other rooms." His eyes flicked to the door next to his on the right, room 24. I briefly wondered what had happened to 23. When I met his eyes, he looked at his feet, as if his shoes were much more interesting than me.

"Does anyone live in here?" I tapped the door with 24 on it.

"No, it's empty but you don't have to take that one if you don't want to." Jack glued his eyes to the polished cement floor and ran his hand through his hair, a tick I was sure he picked up from Sam.

"Why wouldn't I want to?" I asked, narrowing my eyes and putting my hands on my hips. I watched as a pink tint started to creep up Jack's neck.

"I don't want you to think that you have to stay in that one just because I want you too," He muttered.

"You want me to stay next to you?" I pointed out. Jack's expression went blank, his eyes wide as quarters.

"Um, I-I-I don't- I didn't mean--" Jack stumbled over his words. His gaze drilled straight into the floor, his hands were fidgeting, and his right foot twisted its toe against the concrete. His body language pointed at nervousness. Why was he this nervous? Was it me? He hadn't been this way before, what was different now? I decided to ease his nerves with a little humor. I stuck my hand into his line of sight and waved.

"Yoo, hoo! I'm up here, Jack." He flicked his eyes up to my face but kept his head down. "Well, not up per-say but you know what I mean," I joked. His smile was still pointed at the concrete. I guessed we'd just have to work on that.

"S-sorry." His laugh was a breathy one. I sighed, planting my hands on my hips.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Jack. It's nice to have someone who wants me around, I haven't had that in a long time." I smiled in what I hoped was a friendly way. Jack rocked back and forth on his heels and his mouth did that crooked smile of his. He even flicked his eyes up at me.

"Well, uh, what are friends for?" He sounded like he was reciting something he heard in a movie.

I wondered whether Jack was trying to flirt with me or not. A tiny part of me hoped that he was and another part of me kicked myself for hoping for that. How could I think that way? Jack was two, he was probably too young to understand feelings like that, if he even had them. He probably didn't have them. He was probably just doing his best to make a friend, by going off what he had seen. I mean, the movies are pretty against a boy and a girl simply being friends. Besides if he knew what I was, he wouldn't be standing here talking to me. He'd be trying to kill me. Isaac was right. Any friendship I made here, would never be real. It never could be.

"Right," I said softly. Now I was the one looking down at my feet. But I wasn't doing it out of nerves. I was doing it out of shame. Glancing up at him through my lashes, Jack's smile faltered for only a moment. He grasped the doorknob and turned it and as the door swung inward, Jack flipped a switch and the white florescent lights buzzed to life.

The room was simply decorated, and by that I mean it wasn't decorated at all. The walls, ceiling, and floor were grey and a built-in shelf stuck out from the far wall. In the center of the space sat a full-size bed with a plain white duvet, white sheets, and down pillows. There was a dresser pushed up against one wall, a desk pressed against the other, and a tiny night stand next to the bed, all of which were fashioned out of wood the shade of walnut.

"Um, it's not much, but we can get you some stuff to make it yours," Jack smirked down at me and I ducked past him into the room.

Other than those objects, the room was bare, but I found myself overwhelmed. My chest tightened and my eyes stung, it was so little, but it was more than I'd had in five years. I shrugged my backpack off my shoulders and placed my violin case on the bed. Keeping my back turned, my face hidden from Jack, I blinked rapidly to dispel my tears.

"It's wonderful, Jack. I-I love it." I took a deep breath and pasted a smirk on my face. When I had control of my emotions, I swung back to face him. "Now, how bout' that grand tour?" Jack's brows pushed together.

"Don't you want to put your things away, first?" He asked, tilting his head.

"Nah, I can do that anytime. This place is pretty awesome, I wanna see it all!" I grinned at him, pressing all the excitement I could muster into my voice. Jack grinned back.

"Well, um, what would you like to see first?"

"No idea! What's your favorite room?" Jack's eyes flicked to the side as he thought about his answer for a moment.

"The kitchen," He decided. His seriousness made me chuckle.

"I like the way you think. You lead, I'll follow!" This time, instead of smiling at the concrete, Jack smiled at my shoes! We were making good progress. Now if I could get him to smile at my face, then we would really be getting somewhere.

Jack swung around on his heel and walked about four paces before opening a door on the other side of the hall. This one was labeled with 23. 'So that's where it went.' I thought, as Jack pushed the door open and walked through. Inside was the kitchen. It wasn't the kind you have at home. No, this was one of those industrial sort of kitchens, all polished steel and florescent lighting. (The buzzing of those light bulbs was extremely annoying, but I would just have to get used to it.)

There were pots and pans everywhere. Any sort of cook where you could imagine was in there, hanging on racks, dangling from hooks, sitting on shelves, or habitually left on the stove. What looked like easily one hundred white plates were stacked neatly on the shelves of the giant stainless-steel island that dominated the space. Two ovens, stood side-by-side in a little nook, one of which had a griddle attached to the top. Hovering over the two ovens were large vents of gleaming steel.

To the right of the cooking station was the preparation area and a sink as big as your average tub. I'm not kidding. The thing was gargantuan. Above that monstrosity of a kitchen sink sat an array of porcelain cups, and a tissue box, on a shelf. To the right of that, there sat a large stainless steel shelving unit that was home to various cooking supplies and four white drawers in the middle.

On the far wall, was a brown bulletin board decorated with various notes, covered in scribbles and sketches, tacked to it. Beneath the bulletin was a table crafted from some dark colored wood, that was either oak or mahogany, and was attached to the wall. Affixed to the table were eight stool-like seats constructed from the same dark material as the table itself. Directly to the right side of the door, was a coat rack and six small lockers stacked vertically. The right wall was an archway and set of stairs that lead off into a hallway branching to the right and a different set of stairs to the left.

As I peered around to the left side of the door and past another steel shelf, I laid eyes upon what could only be the freezer/refrigerator combo. It was this enormous floor-to-ceiling white panel with five varying sized doors built into it. The far most door on the right was taller than me so I assumed that was the refrigerator and the other four doors were freezers. Why one would need four freezers, I had no idea, but I found myself liking the concept. Now that I had finished taking in the grossly oversized kitchen, I whirled to Jack and grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to look at me. I stared him dead in the eyes.

"This. Place. Is. Awesome." I pointed at the refrigerator. "Five bucks says I could fit in there!" Jack's gaze followed my finger and he nodded.

"I think you could," He said. I took another glance around the space. I couldn't help it. The laugh bubbled up from my stomach, filled my chest, and bloomed in my throat. It had been a long, long, long, time since I had laughed like that.

"I went from having nothing, to living in this place! This is amazing!" I flung my arms around Jack. It was quite the feat on my part to refrain from crushing his ribs. I was so excited I could hardly contain it. I was bouncing up and down on my toes like a little girl! Though I guess, in the eyes of Jack and the others, that’s sort of what I was.

"I'm glad you like it!" Jack said, grinning.

"I don't like it, Jack. I love it!" I exclaimed. My stomach growled like an angry bear, just being in here was making me hungry. "Hey, as long as we're here, got anything good to eat? I'm starving!" That last bit was nothing new, I was always starving these days, always craving. But I was never craving food. Jack's throat suddenly looked extremely tasty. Thankfully, his voice broke me away from that train of thought.

"I like ice-cream," He said, brightly.

"Jack?”

"Hm?"

"We are gonna be awesome friends."

No, home wasn't a word I was used to. Not anymore. But I realized with a start, that for the first time in five years, I had one. A real one.

It looked like I was gonna have to get used to it.

Jack knelt down and opened the door on the bottom left of the freezer/refrigerator combo that I then dubbed 'The Wall of Cold Stuff'. He reached in, grabbed a tub of ice cream, then stood and kicked the door shut.

"The bowls are down there and the spoons are in the top left drawer," He said, pointing to the shelf in the back. I made my way over and grabbed two of each. We both sat at the table, across from each other, and Jack served up the ice cream. I then got the chance to glance at the ice cream's label. It was chocolate-chip-cookie-dough.

"This is my favorite flavor. What's yours?" I asked him, shoveling ice cream into my mouth and moaning as the sugary goodness coated my tongue. Jack must have found that funny because he ducked his head and laughed.

"I don't know. This one is pretty good, but I love the mint and brownie ones as well," He told me. I had noticed that Jack always took great care to think about his answers before he gave them. He took and asked every question seriously. I got the feeling that Jack was the sort of person who's curiosity was never satisfied.

"I can vibe with that," I agreed. Jack's brows furrowed, he placed his spoon down on the table, folded his hands in his lap and leaned forward.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what that means. Could you explain it?" He asked. I liked the way he behaved when he was curious about something, Jack just dropped everything to learn and focused entirely on whatever it was he was trying to understand. Right now, that thing was me. I found that I didn't mind his undivided attention.

"Oh, um, it means that you agree with something somebody said. Its like saying 'you're right' or 'I agree with you' or 'that's cool'," I explained. Jack nodded.

"I think I understand." I gave him a thumbs up and scooped another spoonful of ice-cream into my mouth, closing my eyes and savoring the flavor with a deep sigh.

"You know, it's been five years since I last had ice cream," I said. Jack froze his ice cream eating with his spoon still stuck in his mouth, his expression morphing into one of horror and pity.

"That's awful!" He said, he'd removed the spoon, but his mouth was still full of the dessert, "No one should have to go without ice cream for that long!"

"My friend, you are absolutely right," I replied, pointing my spoon at him. "Here's to ice cream and sugar highs!" I tapped my bowl with the spoon and Jack copied me, albeit somewhat confused as to what I was doing. Speaking of sugar highs, I could already feel one building up already. It had been way too long since I'd had this much sugar.

"Marty?" Jack wanted my attention.

"Hm?"

"I had a dream about you last night," He said, changing the subject. I stared up at him, pulling my spoon out of my mouth.

"Should I be worried?"

"No."

"What was I doing in this dream of yours?" I asked, straining to keep the nervousness that was building in my chest out of my voice. Jack frowned, picking at his ice cream.

"You said-- You told me you were dangerous and I shouldn't trust you, that you're hiding something."

I bit my lip, my eyes widening with shock. I struggled to keep calm and natural, my reactions could give me away. Just as I'd settled my expression, Jack looked up. "I can trust you, right?" I smiled as genuinely as I could, which was difficult to do with his gaze piercing into my soul like it was.

"Of course, you can! I may be clever but I'm not exactly diabolical," I said, giving my best laugh. Jack smiled and nodded, though I got the notion that he was reassuring himself more than anything. If he was going to say something else, he never got the chance because at that moment, Sam strolled into the room.

He stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of us at the table. Our heads snapped up at the same time and we froze. Jack had his spoonful halfway to his mouth and mine was already there. The three of us just stared at each other for a moment but Sam was the first to react.

"Come on guys, really?! It's six A.M.!" He exclaimed. I shrugged, removing the spoon from my mouth and pointing it at him.

"AM, PM. What's the difference? Live a little!" With that comment alone, Sam figured he wouldn't be getting anywhere with me, so he turned to Jack.

"Jack, come on, be an example." Jack glanced at his spoonful of dessert and shoved in in his mouth, quickly.

"Technically," He pointed out, directing his spoon at me, "She's older than me!"

"Hey!" I protested.

"What?"

"This was your idea!"

Jack shrugged. "I know, but you agreed. I was just stating a fact," he said. Sam sighed, shaking his head. The two of us turned our attention back to him.

"Jack, throw it away and put the container back in the freezer. If you want ice cream, you can have it at dinner. Not at six in the morning," He scolded. Jack swallowed his mouthful of ice cream.

"But Sam, look at how happy she is! Marty hasn't had ice cream for five years!" He tried. I nodded vigorously to emphasize the point.

"It's true, Sam. You only live once!" I said, shoving another bite of ice cream in my mouth. Sam's eyes flicked back and forth between us.

"Fine. Just this once," He sighed.

"Thanks Sam!" Jack and I grinned.

"Yeah, whatever." Sam rolled his eyes and left the kitchen, but I could hear the hint of a smile in his voice. When he was gone, Jack sighed with relief.

"I take it you do this a lot," I said to him. He looked at the ice cream with a guilty expression.

"I wouldn't say a lot."

"But often enough for him not to be surprised?"

"Yeah." Jack grinned sheepishly.

"Does he always catch you?" I asked him.

"Every time, yes."

We finished our ice cream and put our dishes in the sink. Then, Jack proceeded to show me the rest of the bunker. Sometimes I would ask about what was in few of the rooms and he would reply with an 'I don't know' or a few times a rather disturbing 'You don't want to know'. To say that his cryptic warning had no effect on me would be a lie. He spoke the words in a light hearted way that just made me more worried. So, I tried to push any speculations as to the contents of those rooms from my mind but kept step slightly closer to Jack from then on.

He showed me a garage full of a bunch of old-timey cars that I found myself figuratively drooling over, a room full of antique electronic equipment he told me not to touch, an impressive gym with an adjacent shower room, an infirmary, a shooting range that looked like a lot of fun, something they called the 'War Room' which was where the glowy table was, the extensive library, and an alcove with an gigantic telescope that Jack claimed nobody could figure out how to use. According to him, the glowy table in the war room could supposedly track monsters, but the Winchesters weren't sure how to use it. Much to my relief.

Jack also showed me a room where I immediately knew I would be spending most of my time. Jack rather confusedly referred to it as 'The Dean Cave'. I later noticed the paper sign tacked on the back of the door that was labeled with said name. Inside there was a flat screen TV, two recliners, a bar that I'd never use, a foosball table which I would definitely use, a record-playing jukebox that I hoped had some decent tunes, and a shelf full of books. The whole room was lit by these cool red and blue lights that looked to be made out of beer kegs. This was a place I could get used to.

"Jack, I think I found my second favorite room," I said, trailing my fingers along the rim of the foosball table.

"You'll have to ask Dean if you can use the T.V. he and Sam are still trying to figure it out." Jack sat cross-legged on one of the ugly plaid recliners.

"Remind me to help em' with that. I'm tech-y," I replied, walking over to observe the jukebox. I didn't know most of the titles displayed on the devices list of records, but my eyes landed on one that I'd know even if it was written in Chinese. "Oh my gosh! Jack, how do I use this thing?!" I squealed, excitedly. Jack hopped up to help me.

"You turn this knob to select which one you want, then you press this button to start it," He explained. I followed his instructions and watched the machine grab the record and put it on that spinning thing before it dropped the needle. I grinned ear to ear as sweet music filled the air.

~Wouldn't it be nice if we were older? Then we wouldn't have to wait so long And wouldn't it be nice to live together In the kind of world where we belong?~

"What's this one called?" Jack asked over the notes.

"Wouldn't it be nice, by The Beach Boys! It's one of my favorites!" I was surprised that it was here considering Dean's bias when it came to music.

~You know it's gonna make it that much better When we can say goodnight and stay together~

"I dare you to sing along, Jack-Jack." I grinned and nudged his shoulder.

"No thank you," He said, shaking his head with a pleasant smile.

~Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up In the morning when the day is new? And after having spent the day together Hold each other close the whole night through~

"Awww! Why not?"

"I don't know the words." He shrugged.

~Happy times together we've been spending I wish that every kiss was never ending Oh, wouldn't it be nice?~

"Fine!" I sighed in over dramatic disappointment, flopping onto one of the recliners. "But that excuse is only gonna work once!"

Jack chuckled, leaning his arms on the back of the recliner to look down at me. "I guess I better come up with more excuses then!"

~Maybe if we think and wish and hope and pray It might come true Baby, then there wouldn't be a single thing we couldn't do Oh, we could be married (oh, we could be married) And then we'd be happy (and then we'd be happy) Oh, wouldn't it be nice?~

"You can't evade me forever," I declared, kicking my feet back and forth to the beat of the song.

"True," Jack agreed, nodding. "But I can try."

"And try you will, young Skywalker," I said.

"I like Star Wars!" Jack noted, suddenly seeming to shift from being older than me to younger by about five years. It was an odd thing to watch.

"Who doesn't?"

~Goodnight, my baby Sleep tight, my baby Goodnight, my baby Sleep tight, my baby~

The music faded away but I maintained eye contact with Jack in a spontaneous staring contest. Why? Because, naturally the first one to break was a weakling and I was not going to take that title on my first day with these people.

"Is this a staring contest?" Jack asked, tilting his head a bit. He didn't blink.

"Indeed. We maintained eye contact for longer than twenty-eight seconds, so it's obligatory," You replied, still refusing to blink.

"I did not know that those were the rules," Jack said, sounding somewhat confused.

"Well, they're not. That's just how my family always played." You were quick to clear your throat and rid your tone of any sadness that slipped past your defenses.

"Oh, I see."

"I take it you two are having fun."

"Agh!" I shot up from my reclined position in shock and whipped to the doorway where I took in the sight of Castiel standing just outside the door frame, the ghost of a smile visible on his otherwise expressionless face. How long had he been watching? Embarrassment warmed my cheeks and I hoped we hadn't looked like idiots.

"Hey Cas! I don't know about Jack, but I'm having the time of my life!" I said. Then I turned to Jack. "Whattdya' say, buddy? Am I torturing you?"

"I've been tortured before, this isn't anything close to what that was like! Don't worry, Marty. You're a lot of fun." He stated, matter-of-factly. My eyes went wide and I tilted my head at him. I mean, what was I even supposed to say to something like that? "Oh, and you I won the staring contest." I found myself nodding slowly.

"Well, good for you. And that's got to be the weirdest complement I think I've ever gotten, but I'll take it." Jack grinned at me in his lopsided way and I turned my attention back to the other angel in the room. "Any particular reason for this visit or were ya just passing?"

"Sam asked me to check up on you two," Cas answered.

"Alright. Well, I was just about to ask Jack to help me find my way back to my room."

Cas simply nodded and walked off.

"So, why do you like that song so much?" Jack inquired as we strode back through the endless identical hallways.

"It was in one of my mom's favorite movies so she was always singing it. I love the tune as well and sometimes, when I'm sad, the words make me feel better," I answered. Jack frowned.

"I don't understand song lyrics. They never make sense to me."

"Would you like me to explain it to you?"

"Yes." Jack nodded and once again gave me all his attention.

"So, that song is about two young people who feel like they're living their lives stuck in place. There's so much they want to do but everybody says they're just to young to do it. They feel like they've outgrown the stage of life that they're in and they just want to move on. By being stuck where they are, they're afraid they'll miss their opportunity for happiness. So they dream about a day when they'll finally be free to do whatever they want, even if they that day may never come around." My thoughtful tone surprised me.

I hadn't meant to put so much of my own emotion into my explanation of the lyrics. If I kept on like this, the hunters would figure me out in no time. But there was just something about Jack, about the way he listened to my every word, that made me want to tell him everything about everything. I was weak around him. He made me let my guard down. I'd have to learn how to keep it up if I wanted to survive.

"Do you feel stuck sometimes?" Jack asked. His tone was sincere but his expression gave me no clues a s to what he was hoping to learn from his question. I nodded.

"I used to feel like I was living a loop, like every day was the same. It sucked." I rolled my eyes and shoved him playfully. "But then four weirdos in an Impala showed up and my life is finally moving again!"

~With every small disaster I'll let the waters still Take me away to someplace real

Cause' they say home is where your heart is set in stone Its where you go when you're alone Its where you go to rest your bones Its not just where you lay your head Its not just where you make your bed As long as we're together does it matter where we go?~

Lyrics from: Home by Jasmine Thompson

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zirkkun · 4 years

Note

📂 Tell me more than one. I like hearing your ideas.

Hoo boy. Giving me no limit to my thoughts is too much power lol I'll limit myself to 5 for now???

1) UT Sans is the type of person to not particularly enjoy physical contact and usually avoids most any other than like, basic things (handshake, tapping a shoulder, etc). But when he's super close to someone, he's the exact opposite and will cling to them as if he needs it to survive. I kind of project this onto Error too, where like his fear for touch comes from the fact that he'd witnessed everyone he cared about die as Geno, so he doesn't believe he can get close to anyone again, leaving him in fear of all physical contact.

2) Gaster didn't do anything wrong. Everyone seems to write Gaster like he's done something wrong in Undertale or was a terrible person that experimented on Sans and Papyrus or something, but there's really nothing to say that he was. I'm convinced he was well-respected in the Underground as a scientist and merely died from a scientific failure of sorts. Due to his odd sprite, I'd assume it was Determination-based, but the idea that he "fell into the CORE" has genuinely always confused me. Did they throw his dust into the CORE? Did he sacrifice himself to power the CORE? Was their misinformation spread after his death (hence why all the Gaster Followers say something different)? I dunno lol

3) this one is. Pretty out-there. But I have this theory that Sans and Jevil were purposefully designed to be foils (aka characters who are exact opposites) and may possibly represent some kind of god and demon, respectively. Both of them have specific requirements that lead to their battle that requires extra work from the player, first of all, so they're technically both under the "optional fight" category. Both of these fights are even completely opposite: Sans's battle is repetitive, easy to predict, and can be beaten through sheer repetition and memorization because there is an order and pattern to each of his attacks. Jevil's, while I think is mostly the same order of attacks, is entirely randomized where things are going to land, so the most you can predict for is what attack is coming next, but not where to start, where to go, etc. It's chaotic. To get to Sans, you have to climb up through the Underground, because the Judgement Hall is nearly the peak of the mountain, and that's where he'll judge you. Not to mention, it's pretty church-like in the Hall. Those who get past him, go to the Surface, where the Delta Rune legend's Fallen Angel is from. Not to mention everyone praises the Surface like it's the most beautiful place in the world. Jevil, on the other hand, is in the lowest part of the Dark World you can possibly go to, and was put down there to be locked away for the chaos he'd caused. He's convinced that he's free while in that cage, because no one will bother him. There's no social norms or laws to break because he's the only one in there. Those OUTSIDE of it are the ones that have to abide by rules. That and... Jevil? Devil? Yeah, pretty obvious.

I could go on for hours about this theory ... But something tells me I'm looking too deep into it and if Toby saw it he'd just be like "neat. Didn't even think about that." LMAO

4) While it can definitely be assumed that Sans knows about resets, alternate timelines, etc. from his mention of them in the Genocide battle as well as the fact he has a (many?) quantum physics book, which the concept of alternate universes comes from quantum physics, I don't think in every timeline he recognizes the resets. At the VERY least, he has something to keep tabs on Undertale's "code," for lack of a better term, because he straight up tells you in the Genocide fight that he noticed that you were suddenly there by recognizing you were an anomaly. I'm convinced this is because you, the player, have been the only thing that has an outside influence on their world, one of the only things that has been able to mess with the "code" in the way of resets, saving, literally glitching things (I'm pretty sure there's like an easter egg where you can walk through the wall in the MTT Resort or I totally dreamt that). At the same time, I don't think Sans recognizes that there's someone controlling Frisk, and just sees this "anomaly" as Frisk. Additionally to this, I'm pretty much convinced Sans hates Frisk/the player/possibly even so far as humans as a whole by default. Because of the way he speaks to you about everything in the Genocide run, saying something along the lines of he only tried being nice to guide you on the correct path for everyone else's desire to go to the Surface (cause we know he couldn't give two shits about going to the Surface or not. Even on a neutral/pacifist route on the MTT Resort date he'll try and convince you to stay before deciding to take it back.)

5) Frisk is a vessel like mentioned in the beginning of Deltarune. While you can't choose how Frisk looks, you can choose everything else about Frisk. Unlike Kris, there are no pre-determined relationships or actions to shape Frisk's character, and Frisk does very, VERY little on their own, unless you play Genocide. Notably, I think a lot about how Kris is a lot more independent of a character, because he fights back against your actions, and when he does it's the one time we see an expression from him and his eyes. The main point of Deltarune is "your choices don't matter." The other character that said our choices don't matter? Chara. At the end of Genocide, if you choose to not erase the world, Chara will say, "When were you the one in control?" I feel like most people take this as they were speaking to the player directly, but I've always taken it as they were talking to Frisk directly. Chara can't see us, but they can see Frisk. They know Frisk is being controlled -- and, to compare again to Kris, possibly because we cannot see Frisk's eyes. They walk around blindly, so they have to be guided by SOMETHING, right? In this case, that something is the player. Frisk is nothing but a vessel for us to communicate with the game.

Okay that got LONG I'm sorry avdhsbs it's a v good thing i preemptively told myself only 5 because I could go on for. Forever.

#'ill limit myself to 5'#(writes 5 essays)#i have. many undertale thoughts.#zircon answers #lostcelestialstar #long post

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chappedandfadedvds · 3 years

Text

Nov 4th, Wednesday 18:42

„Looks like we’ve got all of the important issues covered for today. This would be the very last paper for you to sign. Right...eh down here.“

Jens got handed another document, that looked like the dozens that came before it. The pen still in hand, he nodded and put his signature on the line at the very bottom.

„I know this is a lot, but trust me, Jens, you definitely want it all to be handled before it will become necessary and be hurried over last minute.“

He put the pen down, taking his copy to keep upstairs in his room, as the lawyer proceeded to begin to fill his briefcase with a thick binder. A white sticker on it reading:

2020 Stoffels, Helena & Jens

„Thank you so much, Alex, honestly, for everything.“ His mother said, sitting under a blanket on the sofa, while Jens and their lawyer Alexander De Waele sat on the floor across the low couch table.

Jens felt drained, his brain was done for, he was sure of it. One more page to read and he’d be ready to kill himself, right there and then. They had signed documents over documents at the bank and now with Alex even tenfold. Luckily he was an old schoolmate of his mom’s, so he really took his time and had the patience of an angel to go through every little detail for the still seventeen year old teen.

„Definitely, thank you!“ Jens agreed, stretching his arms up into the air, shaking of the light cramp in his right hand.

„Nonesense. I’m glad I could do something for you.“ He said smiling at them before he finished the last bit of coffee in his cup. He had his dress shirt cuffed at both wrists and the first two bottoms had been opened for comfort. They had spend the last 4 hours on this whole ordeal. Alex looked up from his cup, over towards Jens, he seemed to regard him in contemplation for a moment.

„So it is settled then. From friday on, whenever the time will come, this is gonna be yours. The house, the car and everything in it. As well as all rsponsibilities that are coming with, like bills and repairs. Are you sure you want this, Jens? First thing tomorrow morning on my agenda will be sending off these documents, so now would be the time to rip it all up or throw it into a fire if you would want to.“ Alex suggested in seriousness, as Jens looked back at him, in fact giving it consideration. What a momentary relief it would be, until of course he would see his mom, so he did and looked at her tired face, the dark circles under her eyes, the woman thin as a stick. Barely able to follow the ongoing conversation in front of her. So Jens wouldn’t do it. He shook his head determined.

„No, I’ve had four month to think it over. I have my grandmothers support, It’s decided. We have the personal directive handled, the will, all bank accounts have been transfered under my name by the bank today. I’ve called the incurance companies regarding the car, the houshold and liability. I’m probably missing some things I signed today, but this is about it, right.“

„Very much so, yes. You should definitely talk to your school again as well, letting them know about it, in case of an emergency. Obviously no one wishes for that to happen. But should you be hindered to attend classes, especially it being your graduation this summer, you need any help you can get for your future.“

„I know“ Jens replied as he watched his mother falling asleep, having lied down on the sofa, now that everything was sorted. It had been a long day for her, especially being out for hours. She wore the lovely rosegolden headscarf, he found absolutely pretty on her, and she adroed so much. Jens remembered how long his mom had stood infront of her mirror this morning, asking if she looked well enough to face the world. He had assured her she did, despite her complexion saying otherwise. She looked so vulnerable right now, it physically hurt Jens to watch her from across.

„Do you need help to get her to bed?“ Alex asked just as emotionally exhausted as Jens felt it appeared. This wasn’t really easy for anyone involved.

„No, I got it. Happens every other day.“ It didn’t sound as unconcerning as Jens had hoped it would, once spoken out loud. It was true nonetheless. It felt like yesterday was ages ago, worrying over a kiss and a crush on a boy, skating with his friends. Filming a youtube video for god’s sake.

They probably all wondered where he was, as he had only replied in the group around noon, to tell them that he wasn’t feeling like attending classes today. Moyo and Luca joining him apparently, as they seconded it. Much to Yasmina’s frustration, as she tried to get them to actually care for their education.

Jens had stopped reading at that point. Since then his phone was turned off and left in his jacket.

„There is one more issue, that we definitely need to handle soon.“ The insecurity in Alex’s voice made Jens uneasy. He was convinced to have settled everything and being able to concentrate on his daily life, that it threw him off for a minute. He clearly was loosing the control of his breathing again. Jens felt it.

„Hey, Jens?“ Alex put his hand on the teens shoulder, his thumb strocking over the fabric of his shoulder, it calmed him down at least enough to listen further: „Don’t panic, we are not doing that today. We’ll get another date ready, alright? Nonetheless we have to make a desicion there as well, one that might be the hardest for you to do.“ Jens looked up at the laywer next to him, nodding. „What do you want to do regarding Lotte?“

Jens evidently wasn’t prepared for that question, as it took him a solid minute to process what Alex implied. It didn’t even cross his mind that Lotte may be taken away from him.

„Okay, so here is the thing. The court will quite likely consider your father first, then your grandparents and then your bigger sister Lies. And given your family situation, none of these options are ideal. As if all of them involve Lotte being taken out of her house and school and even the only place she ever lived in. If your family members can’t take Lotte in, as I’d assume. Or she simply doesn’t want to leave, the court will have to involve child protection services. No one wants that, Jens.“

The blood was loudly rushing through his body, he could hear it clearly over the words that left Alex’s mouth. Jens was positive that this would devestate him. He loved his sister so much, he couldn’t give her up.

„This is the most likely path we are on right now. Unless! And that’s what I was going to ask you about. Unless you are, as you’ll be turning eighteen this friday, are filing for guardianship over your sister. And I want you to be very clear about what that entails. If we do this, I’d recommend getting a letter of your father and grandparents rejecting their position of choice as the legal guardian to Lotte. I’d also advise you to have witnesses able to argue your case on why Lotte is best kept under your care. And last, a strategy on a stable income. Luck is really on your side, as you’ll actually own a house in your name and the car’s lease is payed off by april next year, so you have no outstanding loans. Which is perfect. But still that is no constant income. So if your plan was to take a gap year or go to university while working two days a week to get by, that’s not gonna do it. If you can’t find a well paying half time job, to allow for attending university half time, you better take it out of your agenda for your future.“

Listening to Alex felt overwhelming. Sure he had taken care of her for the last couple of month. Bought her to school, picked her up, cooked for her, washed her clothes and on the list went.

What Jens would need to agree to though, was doing exactly that for the next ten years of his life. And he needed to do it at eighteen. The realisation hit him, that he would then spent all of of his twenties taking care of his sister.

Instead of university parties, trying out directions in life, and falling from one messy relationship into the next, he’d try to handle a teenager, while working a job. Damn.

„This is a lot to ask of you. That’s why I wanted to bring it up today, so you’ll have some time to think it through, say by mid december? This is a big sacrifice on your end and I think you should also talk to Lotte about it. Openly and honest, see what she thinks, what she would like for herself. She is a child, but like in any cutody case, the child’s opinion is just as important to take into consideration.“ Alex got up on his feet, his things collected and blazer and coat back on, as he spoke, with Jens following him towards the door. It was almost eight, so Olivia’s dad should be here any moment to bring Lotte home.

„You have my number, please call me once you are ready to talk it over in a meeting, yes?“

„Yes. Thank you again. Really. And I’ll talk to you soon, I suppose.“ Jens said attempting to smile at the kind man, who hugged him with a sad expression drawn across his face. He left the house, briefcase in hand and down the street towards his parked black car.

As the door fell close behind him, Jens stood in the hallway, thinking the whole day over and over again. Until he sort of didn’t think at all any longer. Blankly staring into nothingness.

The all encompassing numbness felt welcoming.

And then the door bell rang. Lotte was home.

#week 2 #wtfock #skam #vds #jens stoffels #lucas van der heijden #chapped and faded #i'm not a lawer #soooo yeah #forgive me #so unsure about it

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atariince · 4 years

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Hi! The same Anon here: yes, I'm in!!! And what can you say about Galadriel and Finrod, you mentioned that there are parallels between both, what did you mean? I know that Finrod wanted lands to rule the same as Galadriel...

Great! I’ll make a little announcement here about my Twitch channel when everything will be ready (probably within two weeks or so).

Now, concerning your request, I must warn you first, my answer, which takes the form of painstaking yet not exhaustive analysis, will be quite long, but (I hope!) not too tedious.

[Finrod’s heraldry by J.R.R Tolkien, 1960, MS. Tolkien Drawings 91, fol. 29)

Felagund and Galadriel are alike in many ways, especially in their respective evolution, even though those two characters have quite different motives and temperaments.

We’ve already talked a lot about Galadriel in my last post, so I won’t repeat it. As for Finrod, we know he was “like his father in his fair face and golden hair, and also noble and generous heart, though he has the high courage of the Noldor and in his youth their eagerness and unrest” (UT 2 Ch. IV). Both Galadriel and Finrod were proud, “as were all the descendants of Finwë save Finarfin”, “and like her brother Finrod, of all her kin the nearest to her heart, she had dreams of far lands and dominions that might be her own to order as she would without tutelage” (UT2, Ch. IV).

Yet, although, Finrod “had also from his Telerin mother a love of the sea and dreams of far lands that he had never seen”, he wasn’t so eager to leave Valinor during the Rebellion of the Noldor:

“But at the rear went Finarfin and Finrod, and many of the noblest and wisest of the Noldor; and often they looked behind them to see their fair city…” (The Silmarillion, Ch. 9)

Whereas Galadriel “was eager to be gone” for the reasons we have already seen.

We can probably say they share this desire to rule over a kingdom of their own, even though it seems stronger in Galadriel, while her brother appears to be driven mostly by loyalty towards his cousins and his curiosity.

But beyond their temperament, there is a whole narrative arc that corresponds both to Finrod and Galadriel, and in order to try to keep it as clear as possible, we’ll go step by step…

Foresight : Fate and free-will

You have probably noticed that they both have the gift of foresight, which is mentioned, strangely enough, in two very different settings, and yet, the meaning of their words are quite similar. In The Silmarillion, (ch. 15), Galadriel asks her brother why he would not take a spouse, and

“… a foresight came upon Felagund as she spoke, and he said : ‘an oath I too shall swear, and must be free to fulfil it, and go into darkness.’”

As for Galadriel, in The Fellowship of the Ring (ch. 7), after Sam had looked into the Mirror, she explains that

“it shows many things, and not all have yet come to pass. Some never come to be true, unless those that behold the visions turn aside from their path to prevent them.”

As Tom Shippey explained in The Road to Middle-earth, here, “she articulates a theory of compromise between fate and free will”, and we find the exact same ambivalence with Finrod who should be “free to fulfil his oath” (although he can choose to not be free), while acknowledging his fate as something that is already written and from which he must not stray. In other words, it is his fate to take an oath that will drive him to his death, but he’s still free to ignore it, free to “turn aside from [the] path” that was appointed by Eru Iluvatar. That is where resides the tension of free-will.

Leo Carruthers in Tolkien et la Religion explained how this notion of free-will is fundamental in Tolkien’s work:

“If the heroes don’t have to make a choice because the path to take seems obvious… if criminals couldn’t repent, the story of the Lord of the Rings would be far less interesting” (Tolkien et la Religion) (my translation).

According to him, we can understand the term “Free People of Middle-earth” as people who “can use their free-will to decide between good and evil”. It is, as Carruthers comments, to be understood through the Christian notion of salvation, because “if mankind couldn’t tell good from evil, they wouldn’t be able to choose one of the other.” (we’ll talk about salvation later).

Coming back to Middle-earth, where fate has to do with the Tale of Arda as it was given in the Music. Finrod is free to follow the fate which appeared in his vision, or to refuse this role.

And what is Finrod’s role in the Tale of Arda? To help in Beren’s quest for the Silmaril, a tragic quest, but which, in the end, enhanced the beauty of Arda through the marriage between a Maia-elf and a Man, through the Peredhil, including Eärendil and his settlement in the sky with the Silmaril on his brow. And remember that Eärendil is a figure of hope for both Elves and Man.

Finrod knows the path of his fate will be a tragic one, but he also believes that there will be a happy ending; a happy ending which won’t happen if he decides to ignore his fate.

Estel and the eucatastrophe

And that’s what it’s all about : Estel, “a strong hope in Eru, which can’t be separated from trust”, says Carruthers, who then adds that it is obviously very similar to the Christian faith in God.

Finrod accepts his fate because he has Estel, he has faith in Eru and in the Tale, and he acknowledges that his sacrifice will be part of something bigger, something beautiful in the end (the well-known “eucatastrophe”). Tom Shippey wrote :

”Tolkien of course, being a Christian, did in absolute fact believe that in the end all things would end up happily, in a sense they already had… the difference between Earth and Middle-earth, one might say, is that in the latter faith can, just sometimes, be perceived as facts.”( The Road to Middle-earth, Ch. 5).

Estel means believing, it means having faith in the happening of a eucatastrophe, that is the “fairy-tale salvation” (T. Shippey, The Road to Middle-earth, Ch. 6).

I already talked a lot about Estel and Finrod in the past, and in an old post I wrote: “In the whole Beren-mess story I believe that Finrod saw himself as a sort of ‘martyr’, being convinced that he was accomplishing Eru’s will in helping Beren – Finrod clearly follows what I call the Estel-principle.” [I also already explained why I judged Estel to be an act of faith, so feel free to have a look at this other old post for more details.]

Remember his words in the “Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth”:

“If any marriage can be between our kindred and thine, it shall be for high purpose of Doom.” (HoMe X, part IV)

As for Galadriel, just like Finrod with Beren and Lúthien, she becomes a tutelary figure for Aragorn and Arwen: not only they pledge their love in Lothlórien, but more importantly, Galadriel gives her blessing to Aragorn in The Fellowship of the Ring (Ch. 8), when she gives him the Elessar as a bridal gift. Celebrian being gone, it’s the grandmother’s role to offer it. But the stone is also a symbol of protection towards the couple, although Elrond has not yet completely agreed since Aragorn is not king yet :

“Arwen Undómiel shall not diminish her life’s grace for less cause. She shall not be the bride of any Man, less than the King of both Gondor and Arnor” (The Return of The King, Appendix A)

Galadriel accepts the marriage because she believes that it shall happen “for high purpose of Doom”, just like Finrod about Beren and Lúthien’s. And it’s no coincidence if Aragorn is called Estel: he is the hope of Mankind as the Fourth age draws closer. It can even be argued that, if Aragorn hadn’t had the blessing of Galadriel and the certainty the he would be able to marry Arwen once king, maybe he wouldn’t have accepted the crown with such eagerness.

Anyway, I do believe that Galadriel’s protection over the lovers is considerably important, as important as Finrod’s sacrifice for Beren’s life. Both become some sort of guardian angels for those two couples, and they accept this role (no matter the sacrifice they’ll have to make on the way) precisely because they believe in a happy ending, because of Estel, which is, in the end, the belief in a just retribution: if they don’t go astray, they will end up wiser and stronger, if not happier, whether in this life or in the afterlife (see Annie Bricks in Dictionnaire Tolkien, entry ‘Retribution’). As I said earlier, one of the most poignant embodiments of Estel is Eärendil, it is thus no surprise if Galadriel offers the Phial of Eärendil to Frodo.

Friendships with Men

If Finrod had long before his meeting with Beren become a friend of Men, Galadriel, on the other hand, hardly had any contact with mankind before the Third Age. It is thus significant that she, “the last survivor of the princes and queens who had led the revolting Noldor to exile in Middle-earth” (The Road Goes ever On), acknowledges and gives her blessing to the marriage between a Man and an Elf.

It is also significant that this blessing is symbolized by the exchange of gifts, for, as Eric Flieller explained in le Dictionnaire Tolkien (Vincent Ferré et All, entry “Don”), exchange between Men and Elves are “signs of alliance between the children of Eru”, just like weddings.

Moreover, Sébastien

Maillet ( (in “L’Anneau de Barahir”, Tolkien les racines du légendaire, 2003), noticed

that « finrod had received the difficutl task to guide men in their

discovery of Middle-Earth, while Aragorn accept the tole to govern them after

the Elves have left.”

Furthermore, another gift is present in the story of Aragorn and Arwen : the Ring of Barahir, the token of the union between Elves and Men, which Aragorn gave to Arwen, granddaughter of Galadriel, herself sister of Finrod who probably received it from their father in Aman (Finarfin being probably the one who crafted it), and who gave the Ring to Barahir, father of Beren, himself an ancestor of Aragorn and Arwen. (ha!) We go round in circle, aren’t we?

This ring is, according to Elrond’s words to Aragorn a, token of “their kinship from afar” (The Return of the King, Appendix A), a kinship which has been able to evolve (if not to exist) thanks to the protection and tutelage of the House of Finarfin.

In both cases we have an elven lord/lady, who is engaged in exchanges (of gift, knowledge, or assistance) with Men, with the hope (Estel) that it would save Arda from perils, and eventually lead to the accomplishment of the Tale of Arda. And for that they’re both ready to fight and to make sacrifice, of different natures of course.

Sacrifices

Finrod sacrificed his life in the pit of Tol-in-Gaurhoth. Galadriel sacrificed something much more complicated to define : she accepted the fact that the role of the Elves in Middle-earth was dwindling, she sacrificed her pride and her ambitions.

“She also possesses humility and a willingness to sacrifice her own desires for the greater good, as evidenced by her resistance to the temptation to take the One Ring from Frodo, even though this would make her the most powerful being in Middle-earth.” (source).

She also sacrificed her granddaughter when she accepted the marriage, since Arwen would never be able to follow her family in the West. Bur more than simple “martyrs”, Galadriel and Finrod are also fighters.

Fights : victory through defeat

Finrod actually contends with Sauron, during the famous song-battle, and soon after he has a real physical fight with the wolf sent by Sauron, while Galadriel’s own life isn’t directly in peril, and there’s no real face to face. In her case, it is a sort of a remote battle against Sauron through the Ruling Ring, its temptation and illusions.

We must also stress that she fights against herself, her own delusions and desires. Yet, in the end, her victory helped nonetheless in the defeat of Sauron.

It would be a shame to ignore the words of Sebastien Maillet (in “L’Anneau de Barahir”, Tolkien les racines du légendaire, 2003), who noted that, while Felagund didn’t succumb to the temptation to appear as a god to the mortals when he first met them (they thought he was a Vala, remember?), Galadriel almost yield to this tempting desire when the Ring came to her. Nevertheless, by freeing herself from her own illusions and pride and by defeating the temptation woven by Sauron, she avenged her brothers.

Nevertheless, Galadriel and Finrod are both winners and losers: Finrod was defeated by Sauron’s song and died as he killed the wolf. He wasn’t able to see the success of the quest of the Silmaril. Galadriel left Middle-earth at the end of the Third Age, defeated like all the elves, by the growing power of Mankind.

In terms of fights, we can also mention the parallel between the way Galadriel cleansed Dol Guldur and the passage in which Lúthien cleansed Tol Sirion which was first and foremost Finrod’s dwelling.

“Then Lúthien stood upon the bridge and declared her power: and the spell was loosed that bound stone to stone, and the gates were thrown down, and the walls opened, and the pits laid bare.” (The Silmarillion, Ch. 19).

“They took Dol Guldur, and Galadriel threw down its walls and laid bare its pits, and the forest was cleansed.” (The Return of the King, Appendix B)

More than an echo, I like to see in this similitude a symbol of revenge of Galadriel in the name of her brother whom she couldn’t help in the First Age. The fact that both Tol-in-Gaurhoth and Dol Guldur had become Sauron’s fortresses is particularly poignant.

Salvation

Beyond their half-defeat, they are still victorious in the end: Finrod’s sacrifice granted him salvation, just like the refusal to take the Ring in the case of Galadriel:

“In reward for all that she had done to oppose him [Sauron], but above all for rejection of the Ring when it came within her power, the ban was lifted, and she returned over the Sea, as I told in the Lord of the Rings (The Road Goes Ever On).

We’ve already talked about that so let’s focus on Finrod:

“They buried the body of Felagund upon the hill-top of his own isle, and it was clean again; and the green grave of Finrod Finarfin son , fairest of all the prince of the Elves, remained inviolate, until the land was changed and broken, and foundered under destroying seas. But Finrod walks with Finarfin his father beneath the trees in Eldamar.” (The Silmarillion, Ch. 19).

He’s the only Elda whose ending is given in such terms. Even Fingolfin’s afterlife isn’t mention, and the cairn made for him by Turgon isn’t described with such positive terms, it’s only “high”, whereas Felagund’s grave is “green”, inviolated”, “clean”. As for the mention of his walking with his father in Valinor, it is clearly an image of redemption.

He has won, because his sacrifice saved Beren, while his sister won, protecting Middle earth from herself, approving and protecting the marriage of Arwen and Aragorn.

In a draft for a letter to Peter Hasting (letter 153), Tolkien himself explains that:

“The entering into Men of the Elven-strain is indeed represented as part of a Divine Plan for ennoblement of the human Race, from the beginning designed to replace Elves”.

And from Felagund’s help in Beren’s quest to Galadriel’s farewell to Middle-earth while giving her granddaughter to Aragorn, the whole plan is made plain. (Ah!)

We must also mention other (aborted) elf-human love stories which involve the House of Finarfin: that of Andreth and Aegnor, and that Finduilas and Turin…If those two tragic relationships never actually happened (because it wasn’t for “hight purpose of Doom”), we nonetheless notice that the alliance of Men and Elves is being mainly constructed around the children of Finarfin and his descendants.

The betterment of the Noldor

Finally, all the tragedies Galadriel and Finrod encountered (including the Rebellion) are at the core of their own evolution: they grew wiser and more powerful than they would have, had they remained in Aman.

Indeed, if Finrod seems to have learned a lot in the contact of Men since his meeting with the People of Bëor, Galadriel seems to have had only a few connections with the Second-Born before the Third Age. And it’s only after her acknowledgement of Aragorn as the hope of Mankind and Middle-Earth that she can humble herself, accepting that her place is no longer in Middle earth.

That’s the power of Estel, which, for those two Elves, is also present in the songs they both sing to chase away darkness.

Songs of hope and “prayers”

In the song-battle against Sauron, Finrod tries to take the mastery by singing about “the birds singing afar in Nargothrond, the sighing of the Sea beyond, on sands of pearls in Elvenland” (The Silmarillion, Ch. 19). He here mentions his hope to escape, his hope to see Eldamar again : Estel.

As for Galadriel, in The Fellowship of the

Ring (Ch. 8), she sings Namarië, which ends with some hopeful final

lines: “Maybe thou shalt find Valimar. Maybe even though shalt find it.”

Tolkien explained that

“The last lines of the chant express a wish (or hope) that though she could not go, Frodo might perhaps be allowed to do so.”

(UT 2 Ch. IV)

Although

Even

if he then explains that the Quenya ‘Nai’ “expresses rather a wish than a hope,

and would be more closely rendered by ‘may it be that (though wilt find), than

by ‘maybe’” (The Road Goes ever on), hope is nonetheless present in this wish, if only for Frodo and for Middle-earth: if she asks for Frodo to be granted a ship to the West, it means she believes he will fulfill his quest and destroy the Ruling Ring. Her song reaches beyond the current, tragic situation, as if she was already expecting a happy ending, even if tainted with sorrow, just like in Finrod’s evocation of Eldamar during his fight with Sauron

in Tol Sirion.

Dreamlands and Craftsmanship

This powerful use of music is part of the powers of Finrod and Galadriel’s art, what the mortals call “magic”, that power of faëry (for more about this, see Tolkien’s essay “On fairy-Story”).

We’re talking here of their capacity to create images, between dreams and illusions, as in Finrod’s song, again:

“The chanting swelled, Felagund fought,

And all the magic and might he brought

Of Eveness into his words” (The Silmarillion ch.19)

or when he sings during the first meeting with the Men:

“Now men awoke and listened to Felagund as he harped and sang, and each thought that he was in some fair dream…” (The Silmarillion, Ch. 17)

Or when he changes the appearance of his companions when they approach Tol Sirion :

“Then Felagund a spell did sing

Of changing and shifting shape.” (”The Lay of Leithian”, canto VII, Home III)

In the case of Galadriel, this art of illusion is woven all around Lothlórien, also called “Dreamflower” by Treebeard, or “Dwirmordene”, that is ‘Phantom Vale’ in the tongue of the Rohirrim:

“Half in fear and half in hope to glimpse from afar the shimmer of the Dwimordene, the perilous land that in legends of their people was said to shine like gold in the springtime.” (UT 3, Ch. 2)

“…through the Dwimordene where dwells the White Lady and weaves nets that o mortal can pass”. (ibid.)

As Benjamin Babut explained in his article “Lothlórien la fleur des rêves” (in J.R.R Tolkien, l’Effigie des Elfes, la Feuille de la compagnie n°3, 2014), this word of Anglo-Saxon origin is to be related to “illusions, hallucinations”, which is to be connected to the name Lórien, originally the garden of Irmo, lord of dreams, to which Lothlórien is an echo.

Lothlórien is a strange forest of gold and silver, the Valley of Gold apparently so different from the underground fortress of Finrod in Nargothrond. On the one hand: stones. Trees on the other. Do you see a pattern, here ? We’re not talking of opposite elements, but of two features that complete one another: Aulë and Yavanna.

“And Galadriel, like others of the Noldor, had been a pupil of Aulë and Yavanna in Valinor (UT 2, Ch. IV),

A fact that makes her, and her brother, friends of Dwarves. For Galadriel “had a natural sympathy with their minds and passionate love of crafts of hand” (ibid.), and we know that Finrod worked hand in hand with them in the building of Nargothrond and employed them for the crafting of the Nauglamír:

“In that labour Finrod was aided by the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains; and they were rewarded well…And in that time was made the Nauglamír, the Necklace of the Dwarves.” (The Silmarillion, Ch.13)

Yet, and this is interesting, if Galadriel acknowledges their value and the need to unite all people of Middle-earth against Sauron, she “looked upon the Dwarves also with the eye of a commander, seeing in them the finest warriors to pit against the orcs (UT 2 Ch. IV).

In any case, she is nonetheless a craftswoman as well, she weaves the cloaks she gives to the fellowship, like she weaves webs of illusion around her realm.

By the Way, S. Mallet in his article also talks of the Ring of Barahir as a symbol of the illusion of Faëry…I think we’ve come full circle!

And now that all this has been said, I cannot emphasize enough Tolkien’s “near obsession” with the rewriting of the character of Galadriel ; he reshaped the character a lot of times after the publication of The Lord of the Rings; some texts are simply incompatible, and it would be purely vain to try to give a fixed, definitive depiction of her.

I’ll put a final period to this quote (source) :

”Whatever the reasons, the great importance that Galadriel had for Tolkien throughout the many iterations of his legendarium and in his reflections on his sub creation should lay to rest any criticism that he paid little attention to female characters in his work.”

#galadriel #finrod #lotr #aragorn #The Silmarillion #arwen #jrr tolkien #beren #luthien #lord of the rings #house of finarfin #wow #I'm so sorry if this mess is illegible #I hope this is not too confusing T.T #I tries my best T.T #ooc

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glorious-blackout · 3 years

Text

Self-Indulgent Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino/Simulation Theory Crossover Part Six

@rock-n-roll-fantasy I should probably warn you that I am definitely back on my angst-junkie bullshit with this one, but I promise there’s more to come after this! 😅 Not sure when I’ll be able to post the next parts but hopefully you enjoy these two in the meantime 😊

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

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

There’s something wrong with the Earth.

This isn’t necessarily a surprise. In the week since the quake that never was, the entire world has felt off; tilted on its axis to such a degree that Alex can’t even begin to fix it. The details of the hotel feel muted, the life slowly draining from his surroundings as empty husks are left in the wake of an unseen angel of death. Once pristine white walls look faded and beige beneath flickering lights. The usual buzz of activity emanating throughout scattered hotel rooms has quietened, as though a volume dial has been turned all the way down. Portraits which once hung proudly along the reception walls have tilted, and if Alex studies them closely enough, he can see the colours smudging as the paint melts, removing all nuance in the process. At this point it wouldn’t surprise him to find cracks creeping along the marble columns or dying lilies curling over themselves in neglected pots, although he supposes it’ll only be a matter of time before that sight greets him as well.

It’s not just the hotel itself which has fallen prey to this lack of vitality. The guests have never been particularly fascinating company, but now they appear virtually soulless. Their numbers dwindle with each passing day despite no clear evidence of rockets carrying them towards home, and when scattered patrons do reveal themselves, Alex ends up eavesdropping on the same mundane conversations over and over again. Staff members offer the same monotonous greetings to him regardless of any attempts to lure them into conversation. Even Andrew, who can be quite amenable to a casual conversation over a pint, has little more to offer besides, “How are you enjoying your drink, sir?” when Alex forcibly drags himself to the bar.

On the one occasion where he agrees to play a show, he finds himself gazing at a placid, unmoving crowd who deign to make as little noise as possible. There are no cheers, no attempts to sing along, no murmurs of approval. Alex doesn’t even have the energy to be startled when he notes that several faces in the crowd have been replaced with expressionless masks, as though an artist has erased their features entirely, leaving only a discoloured smudge in their wake.

The world appears to be winding down, crumbling at the seams with no end in sight. And to top it all off, he’s the only person alive who seems to have noticed.

Even his weekly meetings with Murphy have halted without explanation. He’ll sit by the computer for hours on end, waiting for the dreaded ringing to invade his eardrums, but it never does. For the first time in his life, Alex would give anything to face that man and give him a piece of his mind, but God doesn’t appear to be answering his calls right now.

And then there’s Jamie.

“Are you coming down to rehearsals then?”

Alex doesn’t pay him any heed, choosing instead to keep his gaze fixed on the alluring form of Earth above him. He cannot bear to look at Jamie right now; not when doing so will only unveil a lifeless expression marring his friend’s once kind face. He only wishes the man would say something – anything – else. It appears to be lost on Jamie that he’s uttered the same sentence three times in the last fifteen minutes, having said little else since drawing up beside Alex on the balcony. The fact that he never receives an answer doesn’t register with him either. He simply keeps asking, like a children’s toy with only one voice-clip, not realising that every time he asks, he only succeeds in adding a further crack to Alex’s thoroughly abused heart.

Nick and Matt have fared little better. Playing a show with them the other night had been akin to playing with three ghosts who have yet to leave their bodies. All traces of humour and nuance and love have been stripped from them, leaving empty shells where his best friends once stood.

Or rather, where convincing replicas of his friends once stood. Alex can’t pretend to understand how this version of reality works, and he’s still struggling to separate the splintered fragments of Mark’s false memories from his own recollections. The Jamie, Matt and Nick he has been living with are certainly modelled after the people he’s known and loved all his life, but there are enough subtle differences to make him question if they were ever real in the first place. The most glaring marker of all being the fact that when he’d insisted they call him Alex, the only response had been a lack of recognition which had almost broken him.

The only person who has ever referred to him as Alex in all the time he’s been here is Matthew, but even as his mad theories have become more and more plausible, the man himself has remained infuriatingly elusive.

At least Alex knows why he seemed so familiar now. They’d only crossed paths occasionally in the past, exchanging pleasantries and compliments at various awards shows and festivals, but given their similar positions it would be impossible for him not to be familiar with a certain Matthew Bellamy. The man has always been more of a friend-of-a-friend to Alex than a proper acquaintance, but he likes him well enough to believe that Matt’s apparent fondness for him was also genuine. Granted, he doubts he’d ever have pictured the man as a planet-hopping outlaw, but then again, he imagines Matt must have been equally surprised to find him acting as the owner of a four-star establishment on the moon.

A disbelieving giggle erupts from him before he can stop it. He’s been doing that a lot lately. No doubt it’s an unconscious coping mechanism his brain has concocted while processing the impossible situation he’s stumbled into; he supposes his only options at this point are to laugh or sob like a child.

Pointedly ignoring Jamie’s lingering presence, Alex lets the Earth consume his attention once more. She’s as beautiful now as she always has been – her deep shades of greens and blues vibrant against a dense black sky – but that only adds to the sense of wrongness tugging at his heart. He shouldn’t even be capable of standing here, gazing towards home from this angle. Surely without proper protection and oxygen tanks, the air should have been sucked from his lungs and he should be gliding across the ground rather than standing still. Is there a force-field surrounding them, providing them with breathable air and simulated Earth-like gravity? If he concentrates hard enough, will he be able to spot the tell-tale shimmer of a shield embracing his tiny civilisation?

How odd that he’s never questioned such technicalities before.

As for the Earth itself, the more he studies it, the more it looks like someone has merely devised a painting of her against an endless black canvas, basing their work on ancient photographs from age-old Apollo missions. The image is too perfect. Too still and unaffected; a close approximation of how Earth must have appeared millions of years ago, before her surface was warped by humanity’s influence. The more he remembers of his final days on Earth, the less the image before him aligns with the truth. The clouds hovering beneath the atmosphere shouldn’t be a perfect white, they should be blackened by thick smoke. Those vibrant greens should have been burnt away to smouldering brown, as ash falls thick and heavy over once beautiful landscapes. No doubt even the oceans must have turned a grim, murky grey by now, rather than the striking blues he gazes upon now.

Alex gasps as a memory emerges unbidden, hands desperately grasping the balcony railing. These episodes have been coming thick and fast of late, and it takes all of his willpower not to collapse as faint echoes of screams pierce his ears and the foul taste of ash smothers his tastebuds.

He lets the memory carry him away, however, for he knows that stewing in his own ignorance is no longer an option he can indulge in.

The air is thick with acrid smoke as ash gathers on his tongue with every breath. His eyes draw upwards towards a tangerine sky; the sun obscured by thick smog which he can feel clogging his lungs, leaving him lightheaded and weak. Only hours ago the advice had been to stay inside, but the sirens now piercing his eardrums signal a change, and he knows with unexplainable certainty that if he’d stayed behind, he would have been consumed by the flames which lick their way across the landscape without mercy.

He doesn’t recall the events leading up to this moment, try as he might. Can’t recall if he’d been at home, or in the studio, or trapped within the confines of a hotel halfway around the world. The only instinctual memory he retains is that the catastrophe had crept up on them without warning, announcing itself with all the subtlety of an air-raid siren shooting panic into the veins of every human being on Earth. Only it hadn’t been sudden, had it? Not really. Humanity at large had known for years that the world was destined to burn unless something was done to stop it, but the warnings had been largely ignored, right up until the moment the fire was breathing down everyone’s necks.

The crowd surrounding him is desperate and he whimpers as countless bodies shove against him. No doubt he could remain perfectly rigid and yet still find himself pushed forwards by the sheer force of the human wave. The claustrophobia is suffocating, and breathing provides little relief when the air is as poisoned as it is. He can feel his chest heaving and the constant shouts and screams are momentarily drowned out by his pulse pounding a steady rhythm in his ears, and he clings tightly to the hand wrapped securely around his own as he’s guided along the wide street by a steady anchor. He doesn’t need to look to know instinctively whose hand it belongs to. The calming influence as his guide squeezes back and pulls him in closer is unmistakable. He presses himself against the other man’s body as the cacophony is quickly drowned out by gentle reassurances of, “We’re okay Al, just stay close yeah? We’re nearly there, just a little bit further, you’re doing great...”

He must look a state to warrant such a commentary, but he cannot bring himself to care. As he allows himself to narrow his focus entirely onto that soft voice, he can feel his heartrate slowing and his rapid breathing starting to ease. He feels - rather than sees - a worried face turning in his direction, ensuring that he’s still locked in the present rather than lost in the grasp of his panicked mind, and he gives a shaky nod to indicate that he’s okay. The world is burning and there’s no guarantee that safety is as close as his friend insists it is, but he’s not alone and the flames are still far behind him, so for now he’s okay. His hand is caught in another gentle squeeze - it occurs to him that the action might be for the other’s benefit as much as it is his - and they push onwards as best they can through the hulking mass of bodies surrounding them.

There’s a scuffle behind him as someone utters a sharp cry. Perhaps the constant shoving of bodies has finally erupted into a full-blown fight; either that or someone has merely lost their balance and fallen to the ground. Either way it spells the end for him. A desperate hand clings to Alex’s forearm for support and he feels himself being jerked backwards, struggling to maintain his grip on the precious fingers clutching his hand as faceless bodies try to pull him away. Panic seizes his throat, tightening his airway to the point where he cannot so much as scream. As the force of the disorganised crowd pulls him backwards, the people in front keep advancing, still trying to escape the flames and the thick, cloying smog. Concerned brown eyes turn to look at him, having sensed his distress in the crushing grip of his hand, and Alex can only watch those eyes widen with naked fear as their owner is pulled in the opposite direction.

Those pivotal seconds seem endless when replayed in Alex’s mind. The image repeats itself like a broken VHS tape - an unending loop of terror - but it must have taken no time at all for their connection to be severed with surgical precision. He remembers panicked, animalistic screams escaping his throat as he fought and clawed at the terrified masses surrounding him, his hand suddenly grasping nothing but air. He remembers the crowd in front pushing onwards, with one man among their ranks fighting tirelessly to stay behind, screaming Alex’s name over and over to the point where it must surely have torn his throat.

Neither of their efforts work. Their hands never meet again, and Alex can only watch as his salvation is carried off like a life-raft on the ocean, leaving him behind to drown on his sinking ship. And even above the distant sirens and the roar of nearby flames, the frantic, hopeless scream of “Alex!” continues to ring in his ears long after his would-be savior has vanished from sight.

“-ark?”

The crowded street blanketed in a thick, ashen haze vanishes from his mind’s eye and he blinks as Jamie’s voice pulls him back to the present. It takes a moment to fully reorientate himself, even as his eyes settle upon the pleasant mirage of Earth hanging above them. The air still feels unclean and the thick, cloying taste of ash still resides on his tongue. His throat still screams from the frantic cries that had been torn from it and his chest aches with the effort of breathing in filthy smog. His hand feels cold and empty, still grasping nothing but air in the place of warm flesh, and an overpowering sense of loss washes over him like a painful echo. If Jamie notices his distress, he makes no mention of it. His face is as blank and expressionless as it has been since his world became muted, and Alex thinks he would give his right hand in exchange for five minutes of his friend’s smothering concern.

“Where’s Miles?” he croaks out eventually, turning to face Jamie with a damning sense of dread. Part of him suspects that he already knows what the reaction will be and he longs to tear his eyes away in order to spare himself the pain, but he has to look. He needs this final grain of proof.

Jamie barely reacts to the words despite the fact that they’ve come out of nowhere. The only reason Alex even registers the minute furrow of his brow and downwards tug of his lips is because he knows that face better than he knows his own, and even then, the impassive blankness is back within mere seconds.

“Who’s Miles?”

Alex can’t look at him anymore. If he forces himself to look at that emotionless face then he knows his heart will crumble to dust and he’ll never be able to piece it back together. His eyes are drawn skyward and he keeps them there, unblinking, even when the growing sting becomes unbearable. His vision blurs with unshed tears and his chest shudders fitfully with the effort it takes not to break into animalistic sobs, but he forces himself to swallow down his grief before it can consume him. The pain is unbearable. It creeps over his mind like a specter, dragging its scythe wherever it goes without a care for the damage it leaves in its wake. The temptation to laugh as he realises that this has been the reason for his pervading sense of loneliness all along almost overwhelms him. Perhaps that would get a reaction out of the hollow shell that has taken Jamie’s place.

In the end, however, he doesn’t have the energy to make the slightest sound.

Because it’s not just Miles he’s grieving. The Jamie he knows and loves would never have let those two words leave his mouth. He would never stand idly by while Alex falls apart, visibly struggling to piece himself back together despite knowing that his efforts are completely worthless. The Jamie he knows would have pulled him in for a hug and let him sob his heart out without judgement, before gently telling him to tidy himself up so they can go out to thoroughly drown their sorrows. No doubt the Jamie standing beside him now has always been nothing more than a façade; expertly written code and little else. The same applies to Nick and Matt and every other human being he’s interacted with since stepping foot on this godforsaken rock, perhaps with the exception of Matthew. They’d been rather convincing replicas, he’s loath to admit, but that’s all they’ve ever been.

“Doesn’t matter,” he forces out in a choked whisper, in the full knowledge that that couldn’t be further from the truth.

He wonders if his real friends are still out there somewhere. Did they make it to safety while Alex was left behind and imprisoned within this lie? Have they been searching for him all this time, while he allowed his mind to be manipulated to the point where he forgot they existed? Are they mourning for him with the same all-consuming grief he finds himself overwhelmed by now?

Or are they simply ghosts, lost long ago to a world that has become uninhabitable? Perhaps they’re even trapped in the same boat he is; so wrapped up in the blissful ignorance of a beautiful lie that they cannot remember their own names.

“Is it better to exist within a terrible reality or a beautiful lie?”

He recalls Matthew’s burning question with a new sense of clarity. Because it hadn’t been hypothetical had it? Matthew had uncovered their circumstances long before Alex had. In his own infuriating way, Matt had been trying to prepare Alex for the conundrum he would be forced to contend with once the curtain rose. Their entire conversation had been a warning, planting seeds in his head that would eventually result in his world collapsing at the seams.

Had Matt also been crippled by an overwhelming sense of loss prior to stumbling into Alex’s makeshift life? Alex searches his mind for any random details he knows about Matthew Bellamy, but he cannot recall anything with great certainty. Miles had known him much better than Alex had; he vaguely remembers throw-away mentions of a wedding and a new baby, but nothing more concrete than that. For all he knows, Matthew is currently battling his way through an endless, synthetic maze to crawl back to the arms of the people he loves, or at the very least to be reunited with versions of his bandmates who haven’t been programmed to hunt him down and kill him.

“Are you coming down to rehearsals then?” Jamie asks once again, uncaring and toneless, as though trapped in an unending loop.

A huff of laughter escapes Alex’s mouth before he can stop it, and he bows his head as a tear finally slips from the corner of his eye. Rehearsals and playing live was once his only solace amongst the mundane goings-on of his daily life, but now the thought of facing the replicas of his friends and seeing them stripped of all personality is unbearable. Normality is nothing but a distant dream. There is no returning to the life that had been carefully carved out for him here regardless of what Jamie seems to think, and as the details of the hotel slowly fade around him, he doubts there’ll even be a crowd to play for by the time evening rolls around.

Jamie seems utterly unaffected when Alex finally turns to him, a thousand-yard-stare emanating from deep blue eyes as though Alex is a mere phantom standing in his way. A sense of finality takes hold as Alex stares at his friend, memorising the details of his face with a pang of grief, and he offers a small smile which he knows provides little benefit to either of them.

“You go,” he says, in a flat voice he no longer recognises as his own. “I’ll join you in a bit.”

The lie rolls surprisingly easily off his tongue, and despite giving no indication that he intends to follow-through on his promise, Jamie doesn’t question him for an instant. Instead, he simply shrugs before shoving himself away from the barrier and moving in the direction of the hotel. Alex watches his retreating back as he strolls along the cobbled balcony, and it takes all of his willpower not to yell at him to stop. To request a proper farewell, or a hug, or even to run up alongside him and enjoy one last hurrah with the band before everything fades to black.

However, as he watches Jamie vanish behind a set of automatic doors, he knows that running after him would be a mistake. There is no point in embracing the lie anymore. The avatars wearing his friends’ faces like intricate masks no longer have the power to replace the real thing in his heart, and having to reward them with false affection would surely destroy him.

Instead, he bids one final farewell to the Earth above him. For the first time he can remember, the clouds have cleared above the British Isles and he can see the tiny, shrunken form of England resting just above a narrow watery channel. Deep forest greens interspersed with tiny golden pinpricks amongst the well-lit cities are the only details he can make out, but yearning tugs at his heart regardless. He wonders what would happen if he took the initiative and made the trek to the space station now, requesting a ticket for the first flight back to Earth? Would the falsehood adapt around him and expand to include a detailed simulation of his home, from a time when everything was perfect and alive? Or would he simply hit a dead-end and be forever trapped within a tiny radius which encompasses the hotel and casino and little else? He has nothing left to lose by trying, but a nagging suspicion tugging at the back of his mind is enough to inform him what the outcome will be. Whoever designed his current reality didn’t deem Miles of all people to be a necessary addition - no doubt out of intentional cruelty - so the prospect of arriving home and throwing himself into the arms of his mum and dad is surely unthinkable.

It’s impossible to tell how long he spends gazing at the planet above, committing every single detail to memory with a bittersweet smile, but when he finally pulls his eyes away he’s momentarily overcome by a wave of contentment. The yearning for home vanishes and a renewed sense of finality tugs at his heart, only this time he lets himself bask in it. It’s over. The sky above is as much an illusion as everything else within reach, and while he knows he could lose himself staring longingly at the stars like a hopeful child, he finds that he no longer has any desire to do so.

After all, what’s the point in yearning for something that isn’t real?

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

Lilting piano notes resound through deserted, crumbling corridors; the echo bouncing off the ballroom walls, causing the delicate glass shards of the chandelier to tremble. All trace of life has vanished, with the exception of the lone musician on his humble stage, playing to a crowd of ghosts.

Alex doesn’t mind. He’d expected to find the hotel empty upon his return – no doubt his mental embrace of that finality had banished all remnants of humanity from its walls – and the uninterrupted stroll to the stage had been an oddly calming one. For the first time in years, a song had popped into his head with little fanfare. There’d been no need to agonise over chords or second-guess lyrics; instead the music had come to him fully formed as though obtained through a dream, and the need to perform it had become his sole objective.

A guitar would have been preferable. He has never felt entirely comfortable on the piano, but the choice seems to have been snatched away from him as all of his stringed instruments have vanished in his absence. Similarly, the lone drumkit and various brass instruments which once rested upon the stage are now missing. Only the piano remains. Each note sounds dissonant beneath his fingers, reverberating through the hall in all directions, and he gets the distinct impression that the instrument hasn’t been turned in years despite it sounding perfect only one week prior. His voice also sounds raw to his ears, but that doesn’t stop him from baring his heart anyway.

It’s a bittersweet song with an emphasis on the sweet, and he latches onto the topics of lost loves and friendships tied up with nostalgia for a golden age that no longer exists. No doubt he would have been proud of this one had he gotten the chance to write and record it on Earth, but at this rate he doubts anyone will hear it besides the ghosts haunting the fractured walls.

That’s okay though. This understated piece of music feels like the only genuine creation he’s produced in all the time he’s lived here, and for that reason alone he’d rather not be singing anything else.

While he refuses to give his surroundings much in the way of scrutiny, it isn’t lost on him that the ballroom is fading away with each passing second. Pristine white walls appear to be melting and cracks trail along the granite columns like lightning bolts stretching to the ceiling. The light from the chandelier is muted, emitting only the faintest golden glow through shards of glass which no longer shimmer, and the deserted dancefloor below has been swallowed whole by drab red carpet. The circular dining tables and bar are cloaked in shadow, their surfaces smothered by a thick layer of dust, and adorning the walls are empty frames where elegant portraits once gazed proudly upon the room.

Only one image remains. A small wooden frame sits on the wall directly within Alex’s eyeline, and though the photograph it displays sends an ache lancing through his heart, he finds it to be a pleasant ache. Captured for eternity is a shot of four young boys, barely out of primary school, with hair cropped short and arms wrapped lazily around each other. One curly-haired lad is looking away from the camera, eyes closed in a mistimed blink, while two others gape at the lens with deliberately widened eyes, baring all of their teeth in exaggerated grins. Only the smallest of the group is smiling in a fashion which can be considered normal, though the crinkling of his large brown eyes implies that he too is mere seconds away from bursting into uncontrollable giggles at his friends’ antics.

Alex can’t remember the photo being taken. The unremarkable brick wall behind them suggests it was taken at his childhood home, but it would not surprise him if the photo itself is yet another falsehood on top of the myriad of illusions he has spent years of his life sleepwalking through. And yet, he cannot bring himself to mind. The photograph may not be real, but the memories of a happy childhood surrounded by friends certainly are, and the sweet nostalgia that warms has heart can never be taken away from him. His real friends may have been lost to him long ago and even the replicas have deserted him now, but so long as he focuses on that image and dedicates this song to them, they can never truly be gone.

A shiver creeps up the back of his neck and he has the distinct impression that a pair of eyes have landed upon him, but he banishes that suspicion before it can take hold. This song is not intended for anyone’s ears but his own. The melody is quickly approaching its coda as he recites the final verse. The piano has grown so soft he barely registers the sound of it, but he carries on with a sense of obligation he doesn’t entirely understand. Perhaps it’s the sense of approaching finality which has made him so determined. His world is fragmenting piece by piece and he cannot comprehend what will happen to him once it fades completely, but he imagines there will be no coming back from it. He should be terrified and desperate, battling with every breath in his lungs to remain solid and whole, but he no longer has the energy to fight. Besides, he has always found contentment in music and performing, even in this godforsaken place. Why fight the inevitable when he can embrace it in peace instead?

The final note sounds abruptly as the last word escapes his lips, but before he can figure out a proper ending, the piano dissolves into atoms beneath his fingertips and the world explodes in a flash of brilliant white, carrying him along with it as his mind goes blank.

#Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino #Simulation Theory #Arctic Monkeys #Muse #my fic #writing

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seapandora · 4 years

Text

Sky High

Part 1

Summary: Y/N, an angel of the Lady. She is beauty, she is grace, but she will punch a demon in its face.

A/N: A part of the writing challenge @buckysknifecollection made. It is going to be a series, and I´d love to hear from you guys on what you´d like me to change and what not. I really hope this will be a good one, I love the prompt and I just had a lot of fun writing this even if it probably doesn’t make any sense XD. Anyways, enjoy guys!

Warnings: Swearing (I swear a lot, okay), sexual innuendos (later chapters), alcohol, mentions of death/killing, mentions of religion(s), angst (future chapters), fluff (future chapters)

Steve x fem!reader

Words: 1778

Prompt: Angel/Demon AU

Y/N: Your Name

Y/Ns week had been awful, more so than usual. She hadn´t been able to be around her favorite humanoids and she had been away on mission after mission to species who didn’t appreciate her help and in the end didn’t pray to or for her, meaning her grace was draining slightly. It made her grouchy and really not very pleasant to be around. Natasha had already pointed that out to her, but Y/N had just grumbled and asked for another whiskey. It was the only way she would be able to get through the week in her own head.

Monday

Everyone hates Mondays, why should this one had been any different? It really wasn´t. It all started with Y/N getting her mission. A population of Welmus. An aggressive species who had no beliefs and were therefor hard to control. Welmus weren´t large, but they were many, reproduced faster than regular humans and could be a real pain in the ass unless controlled. Normally the younger angels would handle them, in more or less good ways. But in the past few months they had had a bit of an upproar which ended in the entire population having to be wiped out. Y/N didn’t like the work, but she didn’t want someone like Tony to have to do it. He took it more personal than Y/N did. She just did the job, she didn’t want to loose her wings. It seemed to be painful. So yes, she had commited mass-murder, in the name of Maria. In the words of sir Ian McKellen, in the Da Vinci-code, as long as there´s been one true god there has been killing in his name. Maria was god now. So while the Welmus-species wasn’t huge, standing at a height of 50 cm, they were very very aggressive and didn´t go down with a fight. Y/N had earned quite a few scars from that battle. In the end she had did what needed to be done though and she had wished for no more mission for the day, but as per usual, she never got what she wanted. Maria had given her another mission, this one to sort up another rebellion. She wouldn’t need to take anyone out, but she was supposed to take those responsible, into custody to let them stand in the court of holy law to have their fates determined. What a Monday it had been.

Tuesday - Thursday

Tuesday she had gotten her third mission of the week. To get to earth and make believers pray and atone for their sins. Yay, her favorite. Oh how she hated humans. They were ungreatful, needy, whiny, cruel, and disrespectful. They didn’t appreciate her help and didn’t pray for her after she left. All angels had a specific area they took care of Y/Ns was peace and she had visited earth with the mission to calm people down. The least they could do was to pray for peace no matter what religion they belonged to. Anyways, she had been busy trying to keep forces separated and her mind had been working non-stop to convince the leaders of the two forces to retreat and squash the dispute. What good was it being the good guy if she couldn’t use her powers. The whole ordeal had just taken so much energy out of her and Thursday night she just cured up under the stars and let herself regenerate a bit of Grace. It was exhausting to end fights and make sure everyone behaved, humans were particularly hard to deal with. And would you know, Friday would be even worse.

Friday

Whats worse than having adult humans not believe in peace? Having a child believe in peace but have to take them out because their future shows them to be horrible humans. The world didn’t need a new dictator. Her day had hence started with just studying the child, and eventually talking to the child and lastly taking the childs hand and guide him to Maria. Yes that meant the child moved on to the after-life. Yeah, Y/N job really wasn’t glamourous or fun sometimes. Her Friday didn’t end with that though. Maria sent her to collect three angels from hell, or the underworld rather. It was the same place for all religions who believed in a hell-like world where you were punished for your sins. Y/N liked the underworld, well she didn’t mind the dark and silence down there. Unlike heaven she never felt crowded while she was down there. The angels had all been captured by demons but had now been traded for demons that were kept in heaven. Y/N didn’t really know why they had all been captured, she didn’t really care, she just did her job. The angels had been returned safe and sound and Y/Ns week had finally been over. Well work for her was never over, but she took the weekend away from her boss, so close enough.

Angels and Demons, good and bad, light and dark, blah blah blah… Y/N had heard it all by now. She was the good, light, gracious and angelic. She was beautiful as few and carried her aura with pride. Well according to what most people thought anyways. She hated it, every second of it. Being an angel wasn’t something she had chosen. She had died, it was quite dramatic and all, but she had long forgotten how she died. Someone had seen into her sould and whipped up some hefty spell. And she oop… was an angel. Yeah yeah, it wasn’t that simple, but she didn’t know the process, just that she went through it. A few years into her… holiness… angelness… angelship, she got a wessel. She was to do the Lords work on earth. Y/N hadn´t been a believer before she died, doing the Lords work felt hypocritical to her and she had rebelled in a sense. Her rebellion had led to the exchange of theLord into a very lovey lady, Maria. Okay, she wasn’t lovely but, Y/N disliked any kind of authority. She did her duties as she got them in exchange for not being disturbed inbetween her missions. Her reach stretched beyond Earth, more than the human species believed in a power, and she was one of a number to make the higher powers work. Y/Ns favorite species to help were the Sofwas. They are small humanoid creatures, about 2 inches tall and despite that they’ve got quite the vocal range and Y/N always felt humbled by them. They were vocal, but kind, mostly. Y/N would often volonteer to help the Sofwas and she was respected and prayed to by the creatures. It was important to be that respected by at least one species. If she wasn’t she would fade, her wessel would devour all of her grace and she´d become a mere shell walking across the worlds praying on angels. Now lets not confuse a corrupted angel with a demon. A demone was a completely different thing, as unpleasant and disgusting of course, well almost all demons were awful.

Natasha wasn’t awful. She was a demon Y/N had worked with a few times by now. Angels and demons didn’t always have opposing goals. Most demons knew who Y/N was, they knew her story with heaven and often thought they could ger her to join their cause, or side, or whatever youd want to call it. Those attempt only pissed Y/N off, they were futile. She didn’t want to be on anyones bad side. She had, first hand, had to rip angels wings off because of their disobediance and failure to hide it, or make up for it. She had, first hand, had to kill demons, as they strayed too far off their path. All she really wanted was some peace and quiet. She had no interest in the disputes between angels and demons. She just didn’t want to be bossed around. That was her problem. If she refused orders she´d be discarded, she´d be killed. She was stuck in her situation really. Now back to Natasha, she ran a bar Y/N often visited. They had the more potent stuff that would get angels and demons alike, a good buzz. Y/N was a frequent visitor. Her work was hard and in the bar she didn’t have to think. A few of her collegues came with her occasionally, Tony mostly, but also Rhodey, and T´Challa. They usually met up in the bar to discuss their latest missions. The other three however werent as keen on demons as Y/N was. They were all technically younger than her and had a lot of faith in their boss Maria. Of course they knew about Y/Ns rebellion, but they hadn´t been around for it. At the bar they could talk freely, while there Maria couldn’t summon them. Natasha had made sure that the bar was a free haven.

The bar wasn’t only for them though, no no no, Natasha would never have been able to put up with them alone, there had to be at least two demons in the bar to balance it out. This didn’t always fall well with Tony and Rhodey. T´Challa was more relaxed around the demons even if he didn’t trust them or wanted to talk to them. There was however one demon neither of them wanted to talk to and Y/N wasn´t too fond of him either. He went by The Captain or The Nomad Captain, and he was the leader of the demons. He was the, so called, devils right hand. No one really knew his real name, well of course Y/N knew it. She knew a lot. She got around enough to understand who he was. The captain had a few friends Y/N actually spent some time with every now and then. It was mostly at the bar, but occasionally out in the real world as well. A demon Y/N really enjoyed spending time with was Sam. He was fun, and didn’t judge Y/N for being an angel. Unfortunately Sam spent most of his time with The Captain and his other associate. Y/N wanted to say the two were friends, but she didn’t know if demons could even have friends. Hell, she wasn’t sure she had or could have friends. Yes she had her collegues but they weren´t her friends. Currently the bar was empty apart from herself, Natasha, Natashas friend Wanda, and The Captain and the person Y/N had realized was closest to him, James. It was weird being the only angel in the establishment, but Y/N didn’t care too much. As long as The Captain and James didn’t pick a fight she would be fine.

#Steve Rogers #steve x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america #fanfiction #fanfic #buckysknifecollectionchallenge #seapandoraswritings

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rwbyvein · 4 years

Text

Rainbow Menagerie: Vis-à-vis: Part III/III

(final part of the Faunus Rights series)

Jaune, Blake, and Coco walked down the stairs, Coco carrying a pillow. She made her way over to the couch, placed the pillow upon and, and gently sat down.

Jaune: Never thought I would see her so adorable.

Coco: You could call me sexy, feisty, fabulous, or avant-garde.

Jaune: Right now adorable is the best way to describe you. And I haven't had a chance to play the good host.

Jaune: *looks around the room*

Jaune: Can I get anyone, anything?

Qrow: Chill, kid, your newest pet has been making sure all of our drinks are topped up.

Jaune: Ilia?

Ilia: *pauses and nervously looks at Jaune*

Jaune: *waves her over*

Ilia: *quickly runs over to him*

Jaune: *pets her on the head*

Jaune: Good girl.

Jaune: *kisses her on the forehead*

Ilia: Thank you, Master.

Qrow: Aren't they charming?

Taiyang: Probably not the words I would use.

Qrow: I'm not all that good at this stuff, but they are all happy and loving.

Taiyang: *sighs*

Taiyang: I will admit that.

Kali: They are a lovely family.

Qrow: See?

Taiyang: They do look... wonderful together... No one else is... I don't want to... but I mean?..

Ghira: Blake has always been strong enough to forge her own path. We were worried about her with Adam, but this... is nothing like that... Jaune doesn't seem the perfect boyfriend to the outsider, like us, but look at the way the girls react to him. He's the perfect boyfriend for them. You saw how he reacted with that fashionable girl.

Qrow: Coco.

Ghira: He will drop everything to protect them, he can certainly provide for them, and you can see the girls smile as soon as he approaches them. To them, the collar represents commitment. Adam, on the other hand, demanded allegiance... without promising anything in return. The only one nervous around him is Ilia, but that is because of her.

Qrow: That sounds interesting.

Ghira: Perhaps I've said too much.

Kali: Blake is happy, plus I'm getting all sorts of stories about her. She has never liked talking about herself.

Taiyang: Weiss is so prim and polite that it's really easy to get her to reveal anything and everything my daughters do... to a certain degree. It's like having a spy.

Kali: We have one of our own.

Kali and Taiyang: *smile at each other*

Qrow: Tai, you know how much we mean to the girls and how much they mean to each other.

Taiyang: I know. It almost brings a tear to my eye.

Qrow: Aren't you as sentimental as ever?

Taiyang: Not all of us hide it with alcohol.

Qrow: *takes a drink*

Qrow: Touché.

Velvet: *walks in*

Velvet: Everyone, dinner is ready, if you could head to the dinning room?

Jaune: Blake? Ilia?

Blake: Master.

Ilia: Of course, Master.

Blake and Ilia: *follow Velvet into the kitchen*

Jaune: If you could follow me?

* * *

The company sat around the lounge, dinner sitting in their stomachs.

Taiyang: This has been great, but I have to get back to Patch.

Qrow: *stands up*

Qrow: Maybe we should let the kiddos enjoy some time unsupervised. Besides, if I stay any longer, we're temping fate with my semblance.

*glass that was sitting on the table falls over*

*velvet rushes over to clean it up*

Qrow: *sighs*

Ghira: Perhaps we should be getting on our way. The dinner was fantastic. We thank you so much for inviting us.

Coco: Isn't it a bit out of your way?

Ghira: In all honesty, we've been planning a trip through the kingdoms for some time. In all of our years, we've never visited them. My daughter convinced me that we can't hope for any real peace without getting to know each other.

Kali: Dear, I think I can probably pry a few more stories out of them...

Blake: Mo-om.

Kali: What?, I love hearing about you and your friends.

Jaune: We were planning to spend time in the hot tub.

Yang: Hot tub?

Weiss: We hardly brought appropriate attire...

Velvet: I have more than enough swim suits for you to borrow.

Coco: Or, we just don't let that stop us.

Coco: *stares at Jaune*

Jaune: I would like to see that.

Coco: *falters and looks away*

Coco: I just can't win with him.

Velvet: If Mrs. Belladonna wanted to join us, I have a number of swim suits she could use.

Ghira: I have to contact them back home to get an update on what has been happening.

Ghira: *kisses Kali*

Ghira: So, are you going to stay?

Blake: *stares at Jaune with narrow eyes*

Blake: You really want to see her naked, don't you?

Jaune: She is quite lovely.

Yang: Alright, hands up, who's up for naked tubing?

Yang: *raises her hand*

Jaune: *raises his hand*

Blake, Velvet, and Ilia: *follow Jaune and raise their hands*

Weiss: *scoffs*

Yang: You in or out, Snow Angel?

Weiss: *exascerbated sigh*

Coco: *raises her hand*

Coco: Don't fall behind, ice queen.

Weiss: I'll have you know...

Ruby: Weiss can out-fancy your pants off.

Coco: She's plenty fancy-enough to get my pants off.

Jaune: Weiss and Ruby have to decide.

Yang: And the MILF.

Ghira: I beg your pardon?

Yang: It's a compliment.

Weiss: An inappropriate one.

Jaune: In or out?

Ruby: *whispers in Weiss' ear*

Weiss: We're in. *sighs*

Jaune: *looks at Kali*

Ghira: She's going to keep you up all night with questions. Just make sure she has a place to stay.

Jaune: We've got a bed in one of the guestrooms, and the couches.

Kali: And where does Blake sleep?

Jaune: *starts coughing up a lung*

Velvet: I doubt it would work out.

Ghira: They are married after all.

Jaune: *looks about nervously*

Jaune: Yes, that's why.

Kali: *raises her hand*

Ghira: What won't you do for stories about Blake?

Kali: And her friends.

Ghira: If Kali can have the bed for tonight...

Kali: The couch will be fine, dear.

Ghira: *turns around and walks away while muttering*

Ghira: The couch will be fine, dear...

* * *

Jaune, Blake, Velvet, and Ilia all cuddled together, nude, in the hot tub. Weiss, Yang, and Ruby all cuddled together. Ren and Nora cuddled together nude. This left just enough room for Coco and Kali to slip in with them.

Kali: So, I heard how you started with Blake and Velvet, but how did it go with Ilia?

Jaune: She tried to assassinate me.

Ilia: *skin changes to nearly disappear in the tub*

Jaune: If she agreed to stop trying to kill me, I offered to let her stay as long as she wished.

Kail: Aren't you a darling.

Jaune: They have a long history. She means a lot to Blake.

Blake: She does.

Jaune: So, I wanted them to... hopefully get along.

Kali: And how did you seduce her?

Blake: Mo-om.

Ilia: By being him. His kindness, his strength, his love for seemingly everyone...

Jaune: *sighs, face nearly in the water*

Jaune: True...

Yang: Don't look down now. This might be your only chance to see so many fine-ass babes in the buff.

Blake: Unless we do this on a regular basis.

Weiss: *scoffs*

Ruby: It is... a bit... crowded in here...

Yang: Imagine what it will be like when he gets the pool going.

Jaune: And the garden...

Jaune: *squeezes Ilia*

Yang: *looks at Blake and nods her head to Kali*

Blake: *hides her head in Jaune's chest*

Jaune: *pet's Blake head while looking at her nude mother*

Blake (head in Jaune's chest): He's looking at her, isn't he?

Jaune: Where did you think I was looking?

Yang: To be fair, you can't seem to decide. Which, I will have to admit, is probably the right answer, right Weiss?

Weiss (fitfully looking about): I'm afraid my concentration in needed elsewhere...

Kali: So, tell me, you're all from Beacon. How did you all meet?

Yang: Most of us met up in the Emerald Forest during the trials.

Jaune: *staring at Kali's body under the water*

Jaune: I guess being the non-huntsman here, we kind of have to explain. Huntsmen are organized into 4-man teams. The Emerald Forest was where the teams were made... largely by chance or act of Oz...

Weiss: That's where RWBY became RWBY and JNPR became JNPR.

Yang: We were lookin' for *snickers* relics.

Weiss: Chess pieces.

Yang: And we all ran into each other by them.

Jaune: And what did you say, again?

Yang: The gang's all here. Now we can die together.

Weiss: I believe I speak for all involved that from this point onward, we were the best of friends.

Coco: We were a year ahead, already going out on missions. They became... quite well known...

Ren: We did have a giant food fight in the cafeteria.

Kali: How giant?

Yang: Everyone else ran away screaming. All Goodwitch could say was "Children, please - do - not - play with your food." while putting the tables together.

Kali: And how did my Blake do?

Weiss: Dual-wielding baguettes.

Ruby: It was pretty cool.

Velvet: For me, I was just entranced by him. Every joy... every sorrow... I was kind of a stalker.

Jaune: *reaches over to pet Velvet on the head*

Velvet: Thank you, Master.

Yang: Oh, man, am I getting hot.

Yang: *slips out of the tub, with her feet dangling in*

Yang: Something I can help you with, there?

Jaune (staring): You already did.

Yang: You have to be cooking there, yourself.

Jaune: *pulls himself out of the water*

Yang: *returns his stare*

Velvet: *looks at Kali*

Velvet: And how is our guest doing?

Kali: We have hot springs in Kuo Kuana. I could stay here all day. Or night, as it were. And I have plenty of more questions.

Velvet: I have a favour to ask everyone.

Velvet: *looks at Jaune*

Jaune: *nods his head*

Velvet: I would like to take a photo of us all.

Yang: Obviously in the buff.

Weiss: *incoherent huffing*

Velvet: I will use an analog camera, develop it in-house, and not show a soul not here, today.

Weiss: *less offended huffing*

Ruby: *whispers into Weiss' ear*

Weiss: *huffing of acceptance*

Ren: That would be acceptable.

Nora: More like totally awesome!

Yang: Blake?

Blake: If Master is in, we're in.

Jaune: We're in.

Jaune: *looks at Coco*

Coco: Like I would miss out on a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity like this?

Jaune: K... *clears his throat* Kali?

Kali: We are all here to enjoy ourselves.

#rwby #rainbow menagerie #jaune arc #blake belladonna #velvet scarletina #ilia amitola #knightshade #holy grail #black velvet #northern sunrise #ruby rose #weiss schnee #yang xiao long #white rose #sunshine #freezerburn

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