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inbarfink · 8 months

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When talking about the distinction between Simon Petrikov and the Ice King, it’s important to remember that originally, the Crown wasn’t trying to turn Simon into Ice King -

It was trying to turn him into this guy.

At the time, the Ice Crown - or rather the Wishing Crown - was programmed with Gunther’s wish to become Evergreen. So everything related to making the current wearer like Evergreen is a very direct result of the Crown’s Magic. The physical changes -

And the obsession with the name ‘Gunther’ -

And maybe some of the irritability and anger issues -

That is something the Crown is very directly forcing unto its current wielder.

But everything else?

Ice King, personality-wise, was not much like Evergreen at all, or even like Gunther's view of him. And Ice Finn of the Farmworld Universe was also pretty different from the both of them.

At the time, I remember people assumed Ice Finn’s behavior is more indicative of what the Crown is actually trying to do with its wielders. That Ice King is so different because of Simon’s subconscious resistance against the Crown - while Finn’s much younger and dumber brain is a lot susceptible to the Curse’s influence to become some sort of mad world-conquering emperor of ice and snow.

But, with the context of the Crown’s actual backstory. That doesn’t seem very likely anymore. I think what’s actually happening there is that the Crown is just trying to make its wielder an Ice Wizard on par with Evergreen (who was the Actual Goddam Ice Elemental) and that means pumping the wielder’s brain so full of Magic, Madness and Sadness to a level that is bound to overwhelm anyone.

And Simon’s and Farmworld Finn’s very different behaviors after putting on the crown is indicative, more than anything, of how their psyche reacts to Madness and Sadness in general. You know, Finn has a very proactive and kinda aggressive personality - and you add Crown-induced-Madness-and-Sadness and a compulsion to use Ice Magic as much as possible and you get all of…. this

Meanwhile, for Simon, the compulsions of the Crown originally filtered exclusively via the language of protection

As his madness always manifested as romantic obsession

And using goofy humor to try and deny the pain he’s going through

Because that’s how Simon’s mind specifically reacts to being flooded with so much Madness and Sadness.

That’s why there’s so many parallels between Ice King and the sort of mistakes and screwed-up stuff Simon does right now! He’s even kidnapping people again!

Because the Madness and Sadness of Ice King might’ve been induced by the Crown, but now Simon has plenty of personal home-grown Madness and Sadness inside him - and it’s no surprise that Curse-Induced or not, his mind reacts to it in a sorta-similar way. (Although obviously not as intensely, again, there was a LOT of MMS in the Ice Crown).

Now as for Ice Thing, and the fact that he seems to be actually rather well-adjusted under effects of his version of the Wishing Crown. I mean... not by the time of the 1000+ Era, but that’s literally eons in the future and also maybe more Gibbon’s fault. Even if the Crown will eventually take some sort of toll on him, for now he seems to be doing pretty well considering his wish. I mean, there's still some sort of Loss of Identity stuff going on

But everything we've seen of Ice Thing (in the present day, at least) shows him as a friendly and cheerful individual that gets along well with others. A far cry from how maladjusted every single wielder of the Ice Crown acted.

At the very least, if there's any notable amount of Sadness in him, we really haven't seen it yet.

There might be several factors here:

First things first, I should acknowledge the possibility that it’s just that Orgalorg’s eldritch brain is better at intaking all that MMS juice. That could play a part, but I think it’s probably more important, at least thematically, to look at the distinction between ‘I wish to be Evergreen’ and ‘I wish to be Ice King’.

First in the sense that while Ice King was occasionally mean to Gunter at times - he was generally much kinder than Evergreen ever was for ‘his’ Gunther. So, like, pretty much the one Personality Flaw of Ice King that you can directly link to the Ice Crown’s attempt to mimic Evergreen is the occasional anger issues.

And how they relate to Gunther’s view of Evergreen, so grumpy and controlling and constantly saying ‘NO!’

(Both Finn and Simon’s demonstrable not-crown-induced trauma responses can make them pretty short-tempered as well. So I’m not going to say this is purely the effects of the Crown. It still probably plays some sort of factor at why the wielder of the Ice Crown is Like That).

And that is not a factor in how Gunter views Ice King. For him, Ice King was a doting and loving father figure - so if the Crown was ever trying to implement any sort of specific negative personality traits, this is absolutely no longer a factor. Because the original Ice Crown was a reflection of Evergreen’s abuse, and now Ice Thing is a reflection of Ice King’s fatherly love.

Which is, itself, probably an echo or remnant of Simon’s own strong parental instincts.

Secondly, while the Crown was trying to make the Ice King just as powerful as Evergreen…. Ice King was obviously not as powerful as Evergreen. Because he was already a second-rate copy of the Ice Elemental’s power, and because Ice King was often just too doofy to use his powers correctly and probably because some remnant of Simon’s original sensible self is subconsciously holding his powers back.

Either way, being ‘like Ice King’ as Gunter sees him requires less Magic than being ‘like Evergreen’ as Gunther saw him - and therefore less Madness and Sadness. Leading to the wearer or, um, the eater being a lot more well-adjusted from the get-go.

And I think that the implication that Ice Thing has fused with the Crown, so there's never going to be another poor sap who puts on the Crown and gets Ice King'd. But if there is one somehow... at least the process is going to be less mentally detrimental that time around?

Maybe one day Simon could look back and appreciate how much he (or Ice King, or both of them, or however you want to look at the situation) is responsible for basically neutralizing the Crown that ruined his life in the first place.

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red-riding-wood · 2 months

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Yellow Light

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x F!Reader

Summary: Jonathan is your guide as you escape Arkham Asylum.

Based off the song "Yellow Light" by Of Monsters and Men (original version here and acoustic version here). This song is really special to me and helped me brave my heart surgery in August. A lot of this fic is a projection of my own experiences, trauma, and health issues over the past several years -- but Arkham can represent absolutely anything you want it to that you or the character is trying to escape.

Song lyrics are in bold.

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, depictions of PTSD (hospital trauma specifically), drug addiction/use, psychosis, hallucinations, fear of death, blood.

Will also use similar themes to my upcoming series "Darkness Until Dawn" and OC Cassie Hart but this is a standalone x reader fic.

I also feel like Crane might come across a bit OOC in this fic because he's in an established relationship with the reader and he's in a comforting role, but I promise I have some very fucked-up stuff for him coming up where he's an absolute menace.

WC: 3309

Sounds of Hell threaded themselves into the night air. Howling, bleating, baying down the streets. Whispering thoughts of death into your ears. Thoughts that formed into icy talons that raked down your spine, that stirred goosebumps along the bare flesh of your arms. That froze you in place, your heart slamming against your ribs as they tethered you to the cold concrete like vines.

Frantic looks cast to your left, to your right, you turned, stumbling over your own feet as you whirled, the darkness of each alleyway sinking into your soul. Staring back at you as if to say, you cannot escape me.

I’m looking for a place to start. Everything feels so different now.

Which way was out? Which way was back there? Back to the dingy halls of Arkham, the acrid stench of spoiled cafeteria food, the howling of patients that still seemed to echo back to you from the alleys.

The maw of a great beast parted, razors of teeth glinting silver in the dark, stretching from one brick wall to another. Hurtling towards you, wisps of black smoke emerging from the darkness and curling round you like hissing tongues. The roar started as a peal of thunder, and ended as a shockwave, razor teeth shattering into glass as the beast collided against your skull. Dizzying waves sent the world spinning, brought you to your knees before the Devil himself.

She’s good as dead.

The beast’s maw burned hot as hellfire, breathing smoke into your aching lungs, ripples of molten lava racing beneath your skin. Teeth tore into your shoulder as your hand met the ground, shaking fingers settling into the grooves of the concrete like cold tiles. Death’s talons wrapped around your throat as a cry twisted from your larynx, pointed nails morphing to scalpels and tearing down your sternum, splitting open your ribs and baring your bleeding heart.

Crimson freckled the concrete, splatters of your blood landing hot and thick against the back of your hand as cold washed over each limb, the darkness creeping in from the corners of the alleys. You reached your free hand to your forehead, and nearly cried out again in pain, but you couldn’t speak; something sharp wedged itself between your fingers, something sticky attaching webs of hair against your clammy palm.

Your hand came away with a shard of glass protruding from the stretch of skin between your fingers, red dribbling down flesh too pale to be living.

Your stomach buckled, and you curled in on yourself, eyes rolling to the back of your throbbing skull and voices pouring in like a tide.

Get back here! She’s running. Running away. Where does she think she’s going? She’s not going anywhere. She can’t escape us. You can’t escape us.

Patients rattled the bars of their cages, threw themselves against their padded walls. Screeched warnings and mournful wails and haunted cries into the stale air of the hospital, into the icy chill of night.

Fingers seized into talons as they closed around your ears, attempting to block out the noise as it built into a terrifying crescendo, wails and whispers melding together as if the darkness were mocking you but the chill that swathed your impotent form reminded you of your isolation.

GET OUT! your lips parted to say but fell silent upon the words of the damned. Let me go. Let me go, let me go.

Warmth brushed your shoulder, and you blinked saline from your eyes, streaking salt down your lip, dampened hair falling over blurry vision as you looked up to the hand held to you in the darkness. The white cuff of a shirt disappearing beneath a black suit.

Just grab hold of my hand. I will lead you through this wonderland.

And his voice, soft and warm and human, cut through the noise. Hollowed a path through the tunnel of voices and breathed life into lungs that gasped for air. Sent a tremble of fear through death’s icy talons and made the demons crawl back into the earth.

I’m here, he said.

You couldn’t straighten your claw-like grip as it brushed the warmth of his hand, but his fingers entwined in yours and the glass split his palm and bled over your knuckles and he pulled, your shoulder screaming in pain and your legs wobbly beneath you, but you stood.

Your fingers balled into a fist, the touch of his hand dissolving like a pill in water, like sutures that held you to together for one moment only to leave you in pieces, scarred and bruised and broken. For a moment, you thought you’d fall again.

Faintly, a glow emerged from the blackness, silhouetting the lazy fall of a feather, so tranquil in contrast to the tendrils of ink black that writhed in your peripheral. You swiped a hand out to the feather, its softness akin to his hand, but the voices hissed at you to look up.

The jagged peaks of the skyscrapers groaned above, folding in across the dim sky and curling into black tides that came crashing around you as pressure mounted in your skull.

The darkness devoured you.

Water up to my knees. But sharks are swimming in the sea.

The ocean came flooding in around you, dampness seeping into the cuffs of your trousers, rising as the blackness pressed in around you. Ahead, the light glinted yellow, casting a thin line of white against the waves. The feather bobbed along the surface, chased by current that now buffeted the backs of your knees.

One foot placed before the other, you waded through the water, each step weighing heavier than the last. Each time, the light ahead grew just a little brighter, though the sides of your vision darker.

Wretched creatures began to emerge from the darkness, hissing and snarling and reaching for you in tendrils of smoke and ink. Gravity began to pull you downward, the current guiding you forwards as the alleyway morphed into a tunnel, and the voices of the underworld rang louder in your skull as you descended into the bowels of the city.

She’s heading into the darkness. The rot.

A giggle, echoing against the walls of the chamber that reeked of all things barren and desolate. Her mind’s a disease.

The reach of death grew thick here, in twisted ropes and vines that swallowed the arched ceiling, that bore down on you like snakes and streaked through the sea like eels of tar, the water itself no longer seeming so heavy in comparison as they engulfed each limb. Tightening. Shuddering.

She can’t get very far. She’s killing herself.

She has to. She has to live.

The voices were starting to argue.

Some were even voices you knew; they came to you past the iron bars nestled into pockets of your memories, depressions in the walls – people you’d known in that awful place cried out to you, cursed you, their faces fuzzy but still recognisable even in the darkness. Fellow souls trapped in the place that knew not of the sun’s warmth against your skin or the whistle of freedom through the wind.

Look. Look, girl.

Your brow furrowed, and your eyes scanned the darkness. With each face they landed on, the symphony of wails seemed to spike in volume along to the frantic thud of your heart, the little weaving line of a monitor etching itself across your mind’s eye.

Not there. No, not there.

Can’t she feel it?

It’s too late. The rot has her.

Soon it will reach her soul.

Your heart came lurching to a burning throat as the waters stirred and a creature emerged from their murky depths, slivers of metal protruding from its back before it disappeared, for half a moment resembling the wicked tips of syringes that still pricked your swiftly numbing skin.

Tearing your hands from the water, you froze, paralysis seeping in to every pore.

Ink tendrils snaked across the pallor of your flesh. From your fingertips to your elbows, the rot had taken you. It tightened round your forearm, your fingers turning completely numb.

You screamed.

Shhhhh, he soothed. Just come to me, darling. I’ll make it all better.

“JONATHAN!” Your mangled cry turned into something intelligible, the name sweet like honey on your tongue despite the bitterness of bile at the back of your throat.

Just follow my yellow light. And ignore all those big warning signs.

You began to slosh through the water, seeking him out in a frenzy, your teeth gritting as the walls of your skull began to cave in, as the rot spread to your shoulders and turned the water to pitch.

And at last, you saw him. Like the feather, silhouetted by the light, but unmistakably him. He paused, looking over his shoulder, strands of his black hair wisping this way and that. His face was shadowed, the sockets of his eyes black. The frames of his glasses glinted silver in the dark, like the teeth, the scalpels.

And he disappeared round the corner that twisted, walls shifting and shuddering as if forming a maze for a path.

Death’s icy fingers pried their way beneath your skin as the cold seeped past your blood and bones and settled somewhere deep inside the dwindling warmth of your soul. Freed from the water at last, you turned the corner and raised a rot-wreathed hand to the light fractured by a criss-cross pattern that reminded you of the bars of the asylum’s gate.

And the damp air became dry and musty, and the sewers morphed into dingy halls, alabaster wallpaper peeling back to reveal the black rot. Your pace quickened as these walls closed in, groaning with curses of the damned.

Just a little farther, the soothing, slightly-lilted baritones of his voice encouraged you on, but every turn you made down the narrowing halls, he managed to evade you, disappearing just out of reach. At the end of each hallway, what must’ve been a sewer drain and not a gate yawned from the blackness, little pockets of light stretching wider with each turn.

The feather crunched beneath your toes.

Fingers wrapped around the bars of the gate, and the hinges squealed as it swung open, your feet slotting into indentations along the walls as you desperately attempted to pull yourself up.

Warmth made you shiver in your cold sweat, and whispers funnelled into thin threads and lay buried beneath the ground as his hand met yours. In the faint glimmer of the light, you witnessed the rot dissipate, chased away by his touch. Purified.

“Jonathan,” you breathed, pulled flush to his chest, the mint of his breath raking across your lashes and the familiarity of his musk inhaled deeply through flared nostrils. You buried your face in his wrinkled tie and dress shirt and sobbed, your tears still tasting like saline. You savoured this moment, trembling beneath his touch, his hand petting the back of your dampened hair. You pulled away only as he hissed in pain.

“Jonathan, I’m scared,” you whimpered, guilty that you had seemed to wound him but caring only for sanctuary in this moment in which you knew nothing but fear. “Please don’t leave me. I’m so, so scared.”

“I know you are,” he said, squeezing your shoulder. “But you have to keep going.”

“Where? Where are you taking me?” You stared into the hollows of his eyes, still pitch black past the glint of those silver frames. Why couldn’t you properly see him? Could he see you? Was he just another shadow, a trick of light on the wall?

Somewhere deep in the dark, a howling beast hears us talk.

Sirens wailed from the alley behind, and your blood ran cold. Jonathan stepped away, his touch tearing from yours almost painfully. Like he’d left the shards of glass in your palms.

“Don’t let them take me!” You pleaded, stumbling forward through the darkness. “I can’t go back! I can’t! COME BACK!”

She’s so afraid. So pathetic. She can’t do this without him.

The light grew in intensity, tinted more gold now than yellow, bathing the walls in a soft glow as they drew impossibly close, tapering the air in your lungs, building the pressure against your temples until your shoulders sagged under the weight of fatigue and white-hot fire cleaved your skull in two.

Jonathan paused, and turned. “Close your eyes,” he told you. “It’s not so dark here when you embrace it.”

I dare you to close your eyes. And see all the colours in disguise.

“NO!” You screeched, afraid that if you so much as blinked, he’d disappear, and you’d be lost to the darkness forever. You lurched forward on your heel, wedging yourself between the shuddering walls that closed in around you, following the same – and only path – he had taken. Turning sideways, you gulped in a breath of air, fingers scraping madly against the brick walls as the tide beginning to pool again round your ankles. The sky collapsed, pinning you, forcing your only breath from your lungs and snapping your ribs around your stuttering heart.

She’s gone. She won’t make it. She can’t reach him.

The air grew stuffy, stale. Your own breath bounced off the walls and flushed your cold, tear-streaked cheeks.

“Just trust me,” Jonathan said. “Just let go.”

Running into the night. The earth is shaking and I see a light.

With the darkness claiming you and the ground beneath you quaking with wrath, the howls of the damned echoing through a familiar hall, the world swaying on its axis, you had no choice but to suffocate your fear, to shutter your eyes closed on the light that seeped through the crack in the walls, warm against your skin in the cold dread of night.

She’s giving up.

She’s fighting.

She wants to die.

She wants to live.

The yellow-gold exploded across the backs of your eyelids, streaking like fireworks along the pitch black. Your skull still throbbed in pain, and your lips parted, the sound of a window banging against old hinges as death whispered to you through the alleys, the sewers, the hallways.

Next time.

Jonathan’s touch met your clammy palm, and the world fell silent, the walls disappearing around you and the emptiness of air spilling around your limbs.

I’m here, he reminded you.

The light is blinding my eyes, as the soft walls eat us alive.

Your eyelids peeled back to reveal the checkered, rose pattern of your wallpaper, the bright fluorescents of the bathroom, the blue eyes that bore into your own past silver frames. Slivers of ice encroaching on ink black pupils, cold and calculating yet echoing a familiar warmth.

He loosened the makeshift tourniquet from your arm, pins and needles racing from your fingertips to your elbow. A syringe of your favourite poison lay on the bathroom tile, beige powder swirling in a sea of saline.

“Come back to me. Come back to me, please,” he begged, as if for this moment alone, he allowed himself to believe in the higher power you knew he cursed.

Water seeped into your clothing like the sea of pitch, spilling from the bathtub that you had left on. It carried little rivulets of crimson around a minefield of glass. He didn’t seem very concerned with turning it off right now, despite always bitching at you about saving electricity or water. His eyes were on you, and only you.

“Jonathan,” you mumbled weakly, though you thought you screamed; your eyelids fluttered and your heart pounded faster in your chest as the darkness threatened to spill across your vision again. Your nails dug past the fabric of his suit, gripping his arm tight so that he could never let you go.

“I’m here,” he breathed, and reached his other hand around your neck to cup your head, to bring you forward. You glimpsed the white ceramic of the bathroom sink, bloodied where you’d tried to steady yourself with your hand after you’d bashed your skull against the mirror – your ineffectual attempt to cast the demons out. Glass shards lay scattered against the tile. Fragments of your broken reflection.

You still remembered the haunted look you’d hoped to banish from your eyes.

“You have to get your head out of that place,” he murmured against your scalp, his fingers bloody and sticky as he brushed shards of glass from your hair, seemingly immune to the pain. “You’re not in hospital anymore. You’re here. With me. You have to come back to me.”

Your lower lip trembled. “I can’t escape them,” you admitted, voice a mere whimper. “I can’t escape it. You’re here to take me back, aren’t you? You’re gonna lock me up.”

For a moment, you really thought that he might; his palm still rested, warm and bleeding, against your cheek, but his cold blue eyes studied you not as his lover but as his patient, assessing your condition. He sighed, as if disappointed. Shame crawled its way beneath your skin like the cockroaches that had infested the asylum’s lower wards. You had always been so desperate for his approval, he rarely saw this side of you since your rehabilitation. It wasn’t until slivers of ice shattered into twin pools of blue fire that relief began to seep into you, slow and warm but whelming.

“No. No, I’m not,” he said, voice gentle, soothing. Blue eyes glanced to your head again. “Though, you are showing symptoms of a concussion…”

Your heart sped in your chest, and the icy talons of death speared your soul, the darkness hedging the borders of your vision. Innerved by your fear, you reached for the bottle of tiny white pills that lay open, haphazard next to you. But the warmth of his hand left your face, and your fingers clenched around nothing. In a blur of movement, Jonathan threw the bottle at the toilet and it clattered against the back of the seat. You jolted, gasping, wincing as the jagged teeth of the beast sliced through your clothing.

“You prescribed me those,” you told him. “They’re supposed to make me better. You said so yourself.”

“I’ll fill you a new prescription tomorrow. Taper you off. They were no good for you,” he said, and laced his fingers through the bloodied locks of your hair. Pulled your forehead to his so that your breaths became one, and the demons in your skull grew muffled, and his warmth chased away the icy touch of death.

“What am I gonna do?” you whimpered, sobbing, hands grasping feebly at whatever you could grab hold of – his sleeve, his tie, his collar. You felt as if your soul, your mind, were laying in fragments around you like the glass, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t piece them back together. “I just want to be free. I just want to be okay.”

“I know.” He inhaled, closing his eyes, and his grip tightened on your hair, scalp stinging slightly at the almost needy action. Like in this moment he was more afraid of losing you than you were him.

Even he thinks she’s a lost cause.

And Jonathan was never one to utter false truths; because you knew this about him, his silence unnerved you. But finally, after what could’ve been hours or minutes of your pitiful sobbing and the endless drone of the tub, the trickling of water against the tile, he said,

“I’ll be right here, darling. All you need to do is take my hand.” The warmth of his palm slotted into your own, and you wove your fingers so tight that your knuckles turned white around the blood that trickled down both your wrists from the jagged glass that barbed your flesh. A seal. A pact.

“I will see you through this,” he said. “All of it. I promise.”

MASTERLIST • REQUEST

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#jonathan crane #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane x you #scarecrow x reader #jonathan crane angst #jonathan crane imagines #jonathan crane fanfic #jonathan crane fic #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy #nolanverse #arkham #the dark knight #dc #batman #s: yellow light

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kyuushi · 4 months

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I present (🎁) the character relationship chart from the first official fanbook! Big thanks to Pancake from the Kyuushi Discord server for the scans 🫶

The translation, cleaning, and typesetting were all done by me so please forgive any messiness & mistakes. But I'm always very open to feedback so feel free to reach out, especially if you notice tl issues!

Please don't repost the image around. You can just share the link to this post! (If I end up needing to make corrections, I will cry if an old incorrect version is floating around somewhere!!)

↓Some extra notes below the cut↓

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I originally wanted to post this along with a more accessible version (aka text version) but unfortunately that would be a ton of extra work and I have other projects I'd like to spend my time on instead. I'm also not really knowledgeable about that stuff to begin with so I'm not sure what kind of format would be best for screen readers or other accessibility aids. If anyone else would like to take up the mantle and create a text version, please message me!

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Translation Notes:

Mippiki: Written "３人と１匹" but read as "みっぴき," this word is very important to the Kyuushi fandom! It describes the main characters living in the office- Rona, Draluc, Hinaichi, and John. "Mi" comes from 3 and "ippiki" is how you would count 1 small animal, an armadillo in this case.

Sagyou's "hah? to respect ratio": The "hah?" here is like an exasperated sound he's making. In Japanese it was one of these babies: ぁ゙. So his frustration to respect ratio is 9 to 1.

Calling someone a typhoon/hurricane: I think this is probably self explanatory but since I don't think this is a common expression in English, I'll explain a bit. Basically it's likening someone to the chaos and power of a storm.

Shot's "filthy cool": In Japanese this is "ヨゴレかっこいい." I can't find instances of this phrase being used outside of Kyuushi so this seems to be a Bonnoki original? I've seen others tl this some different ways but I tried to make it sound kinda cool in English, though it also kinda makes no sense lol, sorry.

Tabiko being in the "vampires" section: Just in case anyone is confused, Tabiko is definitely a human. I think there just wasn't space to stick her anywhere else.

Manner calling Satetsu "big bro": "兄イ" in Japanese. I think most people recognize words like "onii-san" and "aniki" at this point but I'm not sure about just "anii" (also big brother) so I decided to tl it here. As you may have guessed, this is not him literally trying to adopt Satetsu as his brother, but rather a term of respect (albeit a teasing one). Satetsu is uncomfortable being called this, mostly because it reminds him of his embarrassing delinquent past.

Nagiri's nickname for John: I chose to keep this as "Maru" ("丸," literally "circle") just because I think it sounds like a cute nickname lol.

Fiasco calling Manner "spoiled rich boy": Originally "ボンボン" in Japanese. You might have heard a character called "bon" or even this kinda insulting version, "bonbon," before. It describes a young man from a rich family. I added "spoiled" because I thought it sounded too much like a complement just to call him "genius rich boy," even with "damn" in front 😂

Nuyan: John's "nu" combined with a dog's "wan" (bark). Remember that time Yomo hypnotized John into acting like a dog? That John never fully recovered from? Yeah.

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As I said please do let me know if you spot any mistakes or have any questions or comments. You can even ask if you're just confused about who certain characters are or what the relationship arrow is indicating! Kyuushi has a ton of characters and they can be difficult to keep track of, especially for the English fandom which doesn't have access to all the materials.

Thanks if you actually read all of these walls of text 🫡

#kyuuketsuki sugu shinu #kyuushi #the vampire dies in no time #tvdint #my translation #i spent 329084092 hours on dis guys pls pray for me #cleaning is so not my forte #i never want to see a checkered or polka dotted bg again in my LIFE #*looks at second fanbook relationship chart which has huge polka dotted section* meep #meant to post this yesterday on xmas day but i got a migraine so umm better late than never amirite

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meraki-yao · 7 months

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RWRB Cut Scene: Texas Campfire Scene

Partly in honour of today being the anniversary of Alex's speech, here's a ramble about another deleted scene: the Campfire scene

This promo still of the scene is the cover picture of the movie on prime

In the final cut of the movie, namely the released version that we got, we get the campfire scene as part of a montage in the speech, but unlike running through the V&A as the sun rises or the forest kiss, I don't think this scene was originally shot as a montage, but as a full scene that got cut for some reason

Henry's Instagram account posted a photo of him from that scene, and he credited Nora as the photographer, so I'm guessing Nora was in this scene. This also suggests that this is an ensemble scene, which might be part of the reason it was cut, but also means it would have been a longer scene, I'm guessing 2.5-4 minutes. (which, AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH) also Henry posted this the same time Alex posted a photos from the karaoke bar, so I think that counts as confirmation that the campfire is part of the Texas holiday

We don't actually have any context about this scene other than it's most likely part of the Texas holiday: Is this the equivalent scene of the gang in the books chilling when June plays the guitar and Henry and Alex make out (P256-257 of the original print, where "Alex is so in love that he can die" came from, and Holy fuck does Taylor bring that single line to life)? Are they having a barbecue? Or is this just a campfire? We don't actually know at all

Date wise I'm curious: the final release of the movie almost made it seem like it was literally two days: day 1: arrival -> volleyball -> hammock reading -> night at the bar ; day 2: conversation with dad -> Lake -> Henry runs away. Given the campfire is also a night scene, I think this means there's an extra day in the holiday sequence

I can't find the GIF for the montage used in this scene in the speech, but God I love that moment. It's almost like the reverse of the Paris pillow talk: this time Henry's talking about something he's passionate about, and Alex listens

Actually on that note, I wonder if that's the reason it was cut: maybe they tried out two different scenarios of Alex's "God I love him" epiphany, one here and one during the karaoke, and decided that the karaoke worked better for whatever reason. Just a guess, but either way I do really, really want to see this scene

I wonder what Henry/Nick is saying in the scene. He looks so happy talking about whatever it is. If I'm right about this being a full scene, then it's most likely scripted lines, but I could be wrong, which in that case, there's also the possibility of that being Nick ad-libbing in character or ... just Nick, which... is a whole other kind of ... wow. Either way, I really want to hear what he's saying

I swear sometimes I wanna grab Henry by the shoulders and shake him because HOW DID YOU NOT REALIZE HE LOVES YOU TOO??? Oh my God, Taylor's fucking performance, the man is drinking in every sight and sound of Henry like a man lost in a desert. He looks like he's two seconds away from proposing on the spot. I look at how Alex looks at Henry and I want to cry from the sheer amount of love there is in his eyes. What the fuck.

Although I'm confident that we're getting more content including deleted scenes in the future, even just from a studio profit perspective, I'm not confident in them releasing everything we want, and so here I am once again screaming for another deleted scene and a DVD with everything

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrb movie #firstprince #taylor zakhar perez #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #henry hanover stuart fox #nicholas galitzine #rwrb thoughts #rwrb bts #rwrb behind the scene #rwrb deleted scenes #rwrb rambles #my rwrb list #i don't know how many more scenes I can make lists of #because we literally don't have context for so many of them #so damn it prime #dvd when

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mellowcherryblossomblaze · 1 month

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More Than Anything (Trolls Version)

(AKA what happens when you listen to the Trolls: Band Together and Hazbin Hotel soundtracks back-to-back. Also, I recommend keeping tissues nearby and reading this in a secluded area, as chances are you WILL cry while reading this, continue at your own risk.)

(So for context, Branch and John Dory are stuck together in a cave somewhere, and Branch is on the verge of a breakdown due to the stress of his brothers returning to his life, and John Dory possibly moving to the village permanently.)

Branch: You all remember when

We tried this all before

Our mistakes were too hard to repair

And in the end

I could lose it all again

So how do I know it’s worth fighting for?

More than anything

I’m scared of being lonely more than anything…

John Dory: Branch, you don’t need to be worried anymore- -

Branch: I’m ALWAYS worried! You know why? Because at any moment, something’s gonna snap, or I’m gonna snap, and you guys will freak out and leave and I’ll never see you again! I know that’s gonna happen eventually, I just…don’t want it to be because of me this time.

John Dory: Branch…

When we were young, I didn’t really know you at all

‘Cause you were still so small

But I’d hear you singing from right down the hall

(A flashback shows a teenage John Dory working on writing a song, only to be distracted by something from outside the room. He peeked his head out and could vaguely see baby Branch in his room, singing happily while playing with his toy Croco. John Dory chuckled fondly at the scene.)

Sometimes, you tried to join the show

You danced so happily

It filled my aching heart with glee

(A different flashback showed BroZone during one of their concerts, about halfway through a song. Branch is seen eagerly watching from backstage, before sprinting out to join them, having become accustomed to most of their dance routines since his brothers rehearse in the house so often. His older brothers paused their routine in shock, including John Dory, who had been struggling to keep up his tired, fake smile throughout the song. But the smile became genuine as he hoisted his baby brother up and hugged him tightly, the others joining in soon after.)

So in the end

It’s the view I had of you

That showed me trolls could find hope anywhere

(Another flashback skipped ahead a couple of years, when John Dory had originally returned from his hike on the Neverglade Trail, only to find nothing, as the Pop Trolls had been captured by the Bergens and taken to Bergen Town. But John Dory didn’t even know the Bergens existed back then, so he was left with no clue as to any of there whereabouts, including what remained of his family. He then pulled out a photo from his hair of him and Branch, the baby grinning as John Dory put a pair of sunglasses on him. Somehow, looking at this fueled John Dory with a renewed determination, as he then adjusted his goggles before setting off into the forest to continue searching.)

More than anything

I want to help our family more than anything…

(Sadly, John Dory was never able to find the other Pop Trolls, as they wouldn’t escape and flee even further into the part of the woods that would become their new home for another year or so. But by then, John Dory had given up his search and returned to the Neverglades, never finding a trace of his youngest brothers’ survival…until he heard a story on the radio about two Pop Trolls stopping what had become known as the “Rock-Apocalypse.” John Dory knows he messed up, he knows the way he treated Branch after their first reunion was wrong, but he wants to make up for it by being there for his baby brother when he needed him the most. Thankfully, it seemed like he and Branch were getting through to each other for the first time and finally getting to know the brother they knew the least about. Ironically though, it seems that they might be the most similar ones)

John Dory: I’ve been dying to find out who you are

Branch: I’ve been waiting, wanting the same thing!

John Dory: Nice to know that branches don’t fall far

Branch: Took you a while

John Dory: I’ve missed that smile

Both: All that I’m hoping

Now that my eyes are open

Is that we can start again

Not be pulled apart again

‘Cause in the end

You’re a part of who I am

John Dory: I’ll be by your side, whatever lies in store!

Branch: And who could ask for more?

John Dory: More than anything

Branch: More than anything

John Dory: More than anything!

Branch: More than anything!

Both: I’m grateful you’re my brother more than anything!

More than anything…

#trolls #trolls band together #trolls 3 #trolls fandom #branch #john dory #brozone #hazbin hotel #more than anything

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frracturedjaw · 1 year

Note

Had it some time in my head

Reader comforting Michael while he's struggling with his emotions and stuff (either version is fine)

I believe Loomis never actually gave him any emotional support resulting in what we have of our guy

warning(s): canon-typical violence, questionable relationship dynamics, michael beats the shit out of u 🤷

a/n: i’m a rz myers fan, but i wanted to take a swing at writing smth for the original guy :)

for once, it isn’t blood. whatever he’s staining the front of your shirt with isn’t blood. he’s shuddering and digging his nails into your back, but he isn’t bleeding. at least there’s that.

“Michael, what is it?” you ask, trying to coax him into looking at you. you don’t really expect an answer, you know better than that, but something is clearly wrong. his face still buried against your chest, he exhales slow and deep. his next breath in is almost a whine. you’re beginning to think you’re wrong about the blood.

then he raises his head. tears. he’s crying. his eyes are ringed in read and his nose is dripping. you move to wipe his face with your shirt, and the noise he makes is comparable to a snarl.

the wall comes up behind your head hard, and his hands encircle your neck, thumbs pressed into your windpipe. you can feel it creak under the pressure. you gurgle something that was meant to be his name, but he doesn’t hear it.

your kicking and flailing does little but put dents in the drywall. his hands only seem to push tighter, and white speckles begin to flicker in your vision. you plant your knee squarely into his gut and push, but it does nothing. he’s unwavering. until he isn’t.

it takes a moment for it to occur to you that you’ve been dropped. you crumple against the wall, taking deep grating gulps of air. michael has shrank away, folded over on the floor in front of you.

“fuck, michael!” you can’t help but gasp out, halfway between exasperated and terrified. you’d almost begun to forget he’s still a killer. you receive only a broken grunt in response.

when you raise your eyes, you see a version of michael that nobody has seen in a very long time. he has one fist knotted into his hair, the other wrapped around himself so tight you can see the veins standing out of his arm. you can hear the quiet pat-pat of tears hitting the floor if you listen hard over the thundering of your pulse. you can only think to gather yourself up against the wall and hold very still. and hope that that is enough.

he’s angry. angrier than he’s ever been before. he was born without ties, those tethers between people that keep them from detaching from everyone entirely. no impulse to connect, to savor or seek, to hold or keep. and what has he done? he’s gone out and found someone to tether himself to. something— no, someone worth losing. and he is furious for what he has lost in doing so. he wants to crush out this thing tying him down.

keeping still was not enough. you hear the howl rip from his throat for only a split second before he’s on top of you again, dragging his nails across your skin, biting, beating. you cry out, because it’s all you can do. you cry out and wonder if this was the point all along.

as much as he is angry, he is terrified of who he would be without you. he’d gone on so long without an ounce of humanity. he’s still unsure how you managed to worm your way in. how you convinced him to allow you to hold him, how you fed him and washed him, how you looked at him and saw something worth pitying. he laments losing the untethered way he’d lived, but knowing you’d be with him through the change might make it worth it. just might.

“i’m sorry- mic—“ his knuckles collide with your teeth. “michael,” you continue. “i wish it could—“

you finally manage to wrench him still enough to meet his eyes. he doesn’t look away. his fist hovers just long enough for you to get it out. “i’m sorry. i wish it could have turned out differently for you.”

for him. you want it to turn out differently for him. not for you. you didn’t even care that he was spilling your blood all over the floor of your own house, you were just upset that you couldn’t have helped more.

the shape of haddonfield collapses in your lap. he curls up like a scared child and pressed your bloodied hand against his cheek. you smooth your thumb across his face and let him weep, even as your eye swells shut.

#slasher x reader #slasher fanfiction #slashers x reader #michael myers #michael myers x reader #slashers

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midnightmissionarchives · 1 month

Text

Werewolf by Night Issue 32

Encryption status: decrypted

Opening files...

Alright first up we have the OG, the first appearance of the man we've come to know as Moon Knight. I'd like to start here so that we an see how he's grown and changed and developed over the years. Future files will probably skip around depending on which ones get decrypted first.

Anyway!

Honestly, not a bad read. Gives a little glimpse into Jack Russell and what life is like for him, but also provides us with essentially a rough draft for Marc (Mark) Spector and the character they were trying to develop. There are definitely some differences with how this version of Moon Knight is introduced, but that's the fun part!

This issue starts off with a bang! Literally. The werewolf and Moon Knight are duking it out in a New York alley.

Earlier, Jack had been on a trip with his best friend and unfortunately the full moon had other plans. Jack's friend jumped in the way as Jack went to attack a young girl named Buttons (files are unclear if that is the girls actual name or if it's a nickname). This tragically led to his friend ending up in critical condition in the hospital with doctors unsure if he'll pull through or if he'll stay in the coma. Guilt ridden and angry Jack punches the wall, which didn't help ease his lover, Topaz, or his sister's worried minds, before he leaves the hospital to go home to see his step father.

Now enters The Moon Knight. Or...more accurately Mr. Spector.

Minor detail, but one that I find humorous. The writers and editors couldn't seem to decide how to spell his first name, either with a K or a C because we see it both ways within issues 32 and 33.

Now as you can see, he might be wearing all white, but he was all about the green, taking the suit and rolling with it. Also worth noting that $10k back in 1975 is really close to $60k today. So when some weirdo "committee" asks you to put on a costume and call yourself some silly name all for $10k...you don't really say no.

This is a very different origin story than what we've come to know about this character. This version is not tied to any vengeful moon god or ancient order or anything mystical. He was just some gun for hire given an outfit and told to pretend. Very interesting origin. Could you imagine if they had kept with that?

So Marc dons the silvery/white suit and introduces himself to Jack as Moon Knight. Shortly after, the full moon works its magic on Jack causing him to flee as he transforms into the wolf causing Marc to pursue.

While Marc's name may have been inconsistent (as well as his feelings towards his hero name), one other character has been consistent since the beginning and that's...

Jean-Paul "Frenchie" Duchamp

Yes, faithful congregation, Frenchie has been with Marc since the very beginning. Now that's a good friend.

Now we come back to the present with the fight in the alley. A crowd watches as a werewolf and some guy in a white costume tussle in an alley. The crowd stands and watches the fight for a good while before being struck with the realization...

I'm just imagining these people literally standing there slack-jawed at the fantastical brawl happening before them and this guy just suddenly comes back to consciousness like he had been woken up from a trance.

Anyway.

Jack puts up a good fight, despite his hurt hand, but Moon Knight wins out in the end thanks to his arsenal of silver weaponry, armor specifically designed to fight werewolves, and his incredible resume of skills.

The issue comes to a close as the police arrive and Moon Knight is dragging an unconscious werewolf towards the rope latter of the helicopter because, as Marc so eloquently put it,

"Payday's just around the corner, and I'd rather kill this hairy monster----than let those cops cut me off from my bread."

Yes, Marc Spector said "I'm getting that bread." I love how phrases make their way back into social vocabulary.

This is a far cry from the Moon Knight we've come to know. What he stands for, who he is, his motivations, just a different person. But, getting to know this version of the man only helps us to understand and appreciate how far he's come. This Marc is laying down the foundation for every iteration after him. He might not be the mystically endowed Fist of Vengeance, but he's no wimp either. Strength, agility, skill, marksmanship, you name it this guy has it in spades. And he would need it in order to hold his own with a werewolf who has inhuman strength and speed. The way the wolf (regrettably) cuts down his friend and really anyone who stands in way show just how powerful he is in this form, but he didn't seem to be a match for Moon Knight (who admittedly had a slight advantage with those silver weapons). Granted he did get a few good hits in, but Marc wasn't down for long. Would things have been different if the wolf's hand wasn't broken? Probably not. It might have gone on a little longer, but Moon Knight would have still come out on top, but who knows!

Thank you for joining me as we dive into the archives. This is the first file we're uncovering from the archives so I hope you enjoyed the read.

#moon knight #marvel comics #marvel #werewolf by night #jack russell #midnight mission archives

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disneyparksattractionstournament · 7 months

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Favorite Disney Parks Attraction Showdown: Round 3 - Group A

Videos and propaganda under the cut!

MuppetVision 3D: Disneyland, WDW Hollywood Studios

Propaganda:

"Muppets!!! We love the Muppets!!! And also the last thing Jim Henson worked on!!!"

youtube

It's a Small World: (Any version/park!): Disneyland, WDW Magic Kingdom, Tokyo Disneyland,Disneyland Paris, Hong Kong Disneyland)

Propaganda:

"it's a small world" is one of the oldest rides still standing today, and I think it's for good reason. It might not be as thrilling as expedition everest or as flashy as the haunted mansion, but it has a distinct charm that has people coming back year after year. The design of the ride itself - inspired by Mary Blair - is whimsical without being garish; the gold and white of Disneyland Anaheim is reminiscent of their early classic films, while the colorful geometric shapes in Tokyo Disneyland are fun and funky. It's one of the few rides with installations in every park. The propulsion system created for it would go on to be used in later rides like pirates of the caribbean, so if you're a fan of the latter, you have the former to thank for that. You either love or hate the infamous song, but there's no denying that it's catchy. What's more, I think what really keeps people coming back is it's message. "it's a small world'' emphasizes unity, but it also celebrates the diversity and uniqueness of cultures around the world. It's not "you and I are both the same", it's "you and I might be different, but at the end of the day we both laugh and cry and have hopes and fears and many more similarities than what our geography and government tries to say". Sure, it might be corny, but it's not like anyone goes to Disney to get away from this type of cheesy shmaltziness."

"Taken from Escape From Vault Disney podcast, but, three women and a stoner were the main artists and I think that's important. Adding to that, the song is good and no I don't care if it's annoying. Listen to the original version, it's freaking beautiful. Mary Blair art is cute and charming and the whole attraction just looks like kids coloring and drawing and singing and being friends!!! The adult chorus in the finale room is like the parents joining in and spending time with their children and encouraging their kids to respect each other and don't judge people. But also it's like those kids are adults now and refuse to let negativity win and they see the beauty and kindness in people and dang it, that's what being human is about!!!! Be kind to others and accept and help people because we got one earth people!!! And it has just one moon and one golden sun!!! Also the clock has a name. His name is Glockenspiel and he's just a happy guy I love him. Also inspired the boss in Epic Mickey and that boss theme is so good omg"

"it's stuck in your head now isn't it"

"the song may be annoying. it may be creepy. it might, despite its intentions, come off as kind of xenophobic. but, goddamn, it's one of the few good memories i have from my disneyland trips as a child"

Video is of Disneyland, but any version/your fav for the poll!

youtube

#disney parks #disney parks attractions tournament #poll #disney #disney world #tournament poll #disneyland #round 3 #muppets #hollywood studios #muppetvision #small world #wdw #Youtube

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yuurei20 · 9 months

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How is the English version of Twisted Wonderland Different? (Deuce)

While Deuce will sometimes use “Housewarden Rosehearts” on EN, it is the one and only way that he ever refers to Riddle in the original game (Riddle is called something different by every member of Heartslabyul's main cast).

Due to language restrictions this might be just impossible to portray, but for those who may be interested: Deuce refers to every 2nd- and 3rd-year student as "last-name-senpai," and only first names for his fellow 1st-years.

(There are two exceptions of which I am aware: when Jamil gives him an egg sandwich during New Year's and he changes from "Viper-senpai" to "Jamil-senpai" just once during the conversation, and in Book 2 when he calls Ruggie "Ruggie" instead of "Bucchi-senpai," presumably because he has been spooked after watching Ruggie nearly die. All of Deuce's honorifics have been collected here.)

Deuce being hard working is an important part of the character, which doesn't really mesh with his line of "Maybe we'll get to go home early" during the New Year's event.

That also isn't what he said: his original line is saying that they might get to go back inside the store.

While Trey and Epel may have toxic masculinity-related hang-ups Deuce does not, though he claims he does in Book 5 (we've never seen any examples of such opinions from him, so it is possible that he was lying to support Epel).

It is one of many examples in the game of what is called a "gap" in Japanese: the difference between what you expect and reality.

Deuce being considerate and thoughtful despite his violent past is one of many “gaps” about the characters in the game, much like Epel’s physical appearance and that contrast to his own violent tendencies.

As Deuce is a former delinquent one might expect outdated ideas about gender roles from him, but he hasn't any, which is why he was willing to volunteer for ballet lessons in Book 5 and why he didn’t understand Trey’s embarrassment during the Wish Upon a Star event.

When Sebek mocks him for crying when possessed by a ghost, his English-language line is “I'm sure it was a...manly sort of sniveling!,” but that is out of character for Deuce based on what we’ve seen of him.

It is also not what he originally said. His actual line is, “Saying ‘pathetic’ is going too far!”

#twstdialogue #twisted wonderland #Deuce Spade #twst translations

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justmenoworries · 5 months

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Lore Olympus Episode 254 Spoilers

So, Apollo succesfully poisoned Zeus and, through a series of extremely convenient coincidences, has managed to get Eros and Psyche, the only two deities who know it was him, out of the way for now.

Does he...

A) ...keep away from the scene of the crime, so as to not be associated or draw suspicion onto himself

B) ...pretend to not know what Zeus is afflicted with and call emergency services together with Hebe to feign being a worried son so that he's less likely to be suspected by the authorities

or C) ...unecessarily frame someone else with no solid evidence whatsoever and call not medical services or the police, but the media, in the process getting as many eyes on him as possible which is the last thing a murderer should want?

If you picked anything other than C), congratulations.

Not only do you still have some good faith left for this comic, you're also a better writer than RS. (Not that the last one is a high bar to cross.)

So Apollo wants to frame someone else for his crime. Well luckily for him, there is already an established deity among the cast who doesn't get along with Zeus, has expressed the desire to overthrow him multiple times and is known for having a bad temper as well as having a grudge against hi-

It's Hebe.

He chooses to frame Hebe.

You know, one of the few gods on Olympus who has absolutely no reason to want Zeus dead and gone.

Just... why?

Ares was right fucking there!

If you absolutely needed to frame someone (which, just as a side note, you absolutely didn't) why not choose the war deity who everyone knows gets regularly banished to the Mortal Relam because of how much he doesn't get along with Zeus???

I mean, the best explanation I can think of is that this is supposed to reference how Hebe lost her position as cupbearer of the gods because of Apollo in one version of the myths, but if that is the case... wow, that's an extremely contrived and clumsy way to incorporate that into LO.

So, Persephone's deal with Erebus somehow altered her powers and now she can no longer make plants grow and only causes cold and decay whenever she tries.

And the winter that was essentially Demeter's power play in the original myth is now not only given to Persie but made into a terrible consequence of wanting power for herself. To save everybody she loved, might I add.

So empowering.

So feminist.

And as always when Persie screws up, she does what she does best:

Cry foul and beg someone else to fix it, then throw a tantrum when said someone else actually does try just that.

RS really misses no chance to try and villainize Demeter. Even if Demeter is absolutely, completely, undeniably in the right, she always has to be the eeevil mother-in-law making Hades feel bad.

And that's no different here.

Demeter is right, this is Hades' fault.

If he'd kept his damn mouth shut about the pomegranates or at least elaborated on the price one has to pay to get the Underworld's power, maybe his noveau riche wife wouldn't currently be killing all life in the Mortal Realm.

And the way he doesn't even try to dissuade Persie from "helping" and just watches as she keeps making everything worse because "lulz, I'm not gonna be a controlling husband and stop my wife from killing people".

But hey, this is the same guy who rewarded Persie with sex for breaking and entering and making death threats against a nymph. At least we're keeping it in-character. /s

Oh look, Persie has conveniently passed out from the strain so she won't have to deal with the direct consequences of her actions.

Wonder what kind of deus ex machina will absolve her of all responsibility this time.

#lore olympus critical #lo critical #anti lore olympus

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brunhielda · 3 months

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Haveing one of those days where I’m not in pain but I am just all out of sorts. So what do I spend my Sunday doing?

Watching multiple versions of Treasure Island. Obviously.

First Treasure Planet, then Muppets, because again, most fun, obviously.

Although, side note: as someone who has seen more adaptations and read the book, Muppets might be one of the most faithful adaptions I’ve seen. Because Muppets- they value that good literature 📚👍

It is hitting me this time around that many of the adaptation changes in any media version have to do with culture, and what makes sense to the intended audience.

In the book:

Jim is like 12/13, maybe even younger.

Sure, his dad is dead, but it’s more of prerequisite to needing the income from going to sea than it is a a main character trait. It is not implied he needs a father figure. It is simply understood, in a British way, that men will influence him as a young man going off into the world to learn. There is a lot of comparing the different types of men he meets and deciding for himself what makes a man, but it is not about father figures, just observation and lessons along the way.

Jim never really trusts John. Even as he learns useful skills from him, he is cautious and wary, and as soon as they confirm John is a pirate, Jim’s attitude is very “I knew it!” And “Finally, here it is. Here we go.”

As soon as John is a pirate, he is evil. It is never implied he is anything better than the devil figure whispering charm in your ear. His one single redeeming quality is that he actually does like Jim. That doesn’t make him special. Jim is the youngest cabin boy and the ship mascot. Everyone likes Jim. The question remains- is this character willing to kill a child anyways? In the end John isn’t, and it’s a surprise. Him getting away at the end still has that feeling of the noted enemy getting away at the end of an episode of a super hero show- “Another day- Jim Hawkins!”

In any American adaptation:

We age Jim up. I will say, again, Muppets are more faithful here. Still, every adaptation makes it more ok for him to go to sea. Jim in Treasure Planet is a troubled teen who needs to prove himself. Jim in Muppets is an orphan with nothing to tie him to land. We as Americans don’t like the idea of a Mother sending her son to sea for months to earn income, so that’s not what happens.

A boy needs a father. In the US it is expected that a father teaches thier son all the things that make them a man. Boarding school is last resort rather than expected. So of COURSE Jim is taken in by John- he was missing a father in his life. It is a main character point of the story. The comparison of different men becomes more emotional than intellectual.

This shifts the tone of the story so much. Original book is very much “kid character off on an adventure.” He’s clever, thoughtful, and important to everyone. He gets himself into trouble, but he gets himself out of it, and saves the day multiple times- not just at the end to show growth. It’s personal fantasy for rambunctious little boys. But the family friendly versions written by Americans? The kid is a kid, and it’s about him learning to lean on the right adults and build self confidence. If he’s great right off the bat- where is the story? Well, the original story is a little boy proving to the adults he can do stuff, which is a completely different view of how growing up is supposed to work.

John is so much more sympathetic. You actively root for him to do the right thing and be a good man, despite his love of gold. In Treasure Planet he is mostly a scallywag, and he builds a real bond that makes you cry. In Muppets the ending feels like Jim has won over John’s worldview. You WANT him to be good.

Why? Because Americans have a much different relationship with pirates. Pirates won our wars and built our port towns. They were the first sparks of rebellion against the structure of the British society. They are freedom- in all its worst chaotic ways and best democratic equality ways.

Pirates are chaos- They are clever, disruptive, and write thier own rules. How your society relates to chaos will inform your view of pirates. Often in American story’s- Errol Flynn, Pirates of the Carribean, ect- they are the chaotic hero against the oppressive structure, akin to Robin Hood or Bug Bunny. We do love our conmen.

Meanwhile, British society is built on the idea that structure and bureaucracy keeps things running and people from falling to the wayside. Pirates cause battles and destroy innocent port towns. They disrupt trade routes and people go hungry.

Neither view is wrong, but focus on different aspects of a complex group of people of a very vast spectrum.

It is an interesting intellectual excercise to pull pirate depictions apart. 🧐 Perhaps someday I’ll have a whole thing on that.

I think what I get from this analysis of “Treasure Island” in general is that I want a TV show. Not because you get more info from the book, but because the book is very serial, with many smaller adventures, and you could get more of that feeling of the kid hero solving problems and proving themselves to everyone, while also possibly exploring some of the emotional aspects that we have come to expect out of John Silver and Jim’s relationship with him.

For a modern example- it’s why Percy Jackson works so much better as a show than a movie. Even if they had done the movie well, the show still would have been better, because the book is episodic like that.

A show could also actually portray the Doctor, Trelany, and the Captain the way they should be done. In the original book, they are a wonderful trio akin to Star Trek’s Bones, Spock and Kirk. Only imagine all of Kirk’s charm and daring with none of his brain in Trelany, the Doctor being later Spock with all his intelligence and warmth, and the Captain as a very practical, very firm, often grumpy Bones. Obviously the Doctor and the Captain spend far too much time reigning Trelany in 😂.

Like, I get why two out of three of these guys get squashed together into one character in adaptations- that’s a lot of characters for a movie. But a tv show could be really fun. And the fact that you have these three on one side, with John Silver on the other, as the angels and much louder more charming devil on Jim’s shoulders, fighting for his heart and mind, is amazing. Intrigueing. Dynamic.

The fact that evil can be one charming clever guy, while good is so difficult and complex it need three entirely different guys to portray it is one of the best parts of this story and it is NEVER explored in on screen adaptations.

Finally, it’s a minor note, but Ben coming out of nowhere would stop feeling disruptive. It’s just another episode with another aspect of this treasure hunt to focus on, not some random character out of nowhere. I did appreciate how the Muppets solved that. Picture in the Captain’s quarters and suddenly the appearance on “Ben” is cheered, lol.

Also- could I have a version, of any media, where it is blatant that the Pirates need this kid’s help because he can read? It is such a huge “learning to read is important” moment in literature, and I think I’ve seen it in like one version? Maybe? I think it’s in the Disney live action?

I really like the “Jim knows machines” from Treasure Planet, but it does steal that moment, and in the Muppets, who you think would run with this, it is more about his compass than his reading skills.

Reading lets you have adventures, both imaginative and literal, and I want that to be important in this story. It doesn’t need to be a big hokey moral lesson, but if it was just more obvious, kiddos would make that connection themselves. Sorry- Librarian bias here, but I want it back.

Anyways, I could do with a tv with different seasons just being different classical children’s literature. Most of them were serial, and would lend to that structure really well. We could explore more classical aspects of the story while keeping the bits we tacked on in later adaptations.

Could be fun 🤷🏻‍♀️

#treasure island #the muppets #muppet treasure island #treasure planet #adaptations #robert louis stevenson #media analysis #American vs British #I want a tv show #someone make this happen

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in-newjersey · 1 year

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On similar topics to the prior, I also like to point out that subtle differences in line delivery - again, something more or less up to the performer/director - can completely change ways that that suggests characterization

Let's explore pieces from Michael in the Bathroom and the prior scene:

"Did you ever wonder what it's doing inside you?" - this is how George often said it, and can be taken multiple ways. Obviously, the next line suggests that Jeremy took it as 'he's not worthy for it hence Michael is jealous' whereas, as we know, Michael is trying to say that this can't be its intended use to just end up in a random high schooler

"Did you ever wonder what it's doing inside you?" - saw a community theater production on youtube where the Michael actor emphasised 'doing,' which COMPLETELY shifts the meaning. This implies that Michael is first and foremost worrying about the purpose of the SQUIPs, and the way it's changing Jeremy from the inside. Jeremy's next line, therefore, suggests that instead Michael is jealous of the ways he's personally improving (social standing, posture, skills etc)

Right there - a pair of lines from which a lot of analyses hinge on interpretting the cracks in their friendship - one choice of word emphasis can fundamentally re-direct what it says about the way the character works on the inside

Another more general example (going to keep using MITB because it's The Song), how the actor's voice and gesturing in the song change things.

George in Two River, while certainly heartbroken, certainly came across a lot less timid and anxious than Broadway. On the Broadway recording, the tempo is a little slower (and plays back and forth), he's using more head-voice than chest voice (so less 'angry' and forceful), and in some ways his voice is a lot smoother than Two River. This is the same actor only a few years apart, who originated the character, and already two different productions make Michael seem pretty different, especially how one might intuit things about the character

The biggest, most obvious example out there is the VERY early demo with Will Roland as Michael, where the delivery is completely different. He's sad, sure, but it's a lot more bitter and sarcastic than heartbroken and panicky. The only main musical difference is that it's in a lower key; the rest of it is how the actor chooses to pronounce and intone things, and it feels like a completely different song.

There are some other productions out there with various other takes: I saw a cabaret-style version where the singer decided to make MITB a comedic(?) number, which, while weird and (imo) kind of missing the point, was totally possible; the audience was laughing along. Then you have the Australian production, where the actor decided to have MITB come off as a furious number, almost yelling with how hard he was using chest-voice throughout. Then you have that one large-scale youth production (I forget the company name), where the actor went a little closer to Two-River George for general delivery, but leaned into just full-on ugly crying through the end of the song, which again, changed how the whole thing came off (this is honestly how I personally like to perform it, but again, I don't think that would work for every actor/production)

(there are also, of course - and no disrespect intended, acting skills vary - quite a few high-school productions online where the singer is really just doing his best to make it through and hit the notes, and that's fair too, it's a challenging song for an inexperienced singer)

Anyway, as a followup to how wide a range of character traits are up to the actor, even the same script can be turned and interpretted quite differently! This isn't even getting into non-verbal ways you can have characters interact that might suggest completely different interpretations

#be more chill #michael in the bathroom #Theater Opinions TM #soliloquy #why not I'll let that be the tag I stick on my Treatises #bmc

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the-emeralds-incorrect · 4 months

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Barty Crouch Jr — name & origins

In spite of what one might believe, Barty Crouch Jr did not really hate his name.

His relationship with his father, Bartemius Crouch Sr, had never been good in any capacity. He never was deluded into thinking his father loved him. During his formative years, at first he tried to get his father to at least like him, but he gave up on that around his eight birthday.

Bartemius Crouch Sr had never seen Barty as anything more than an extension of himself. A legacy, a heir, his flesh and blood.

From what Barty has heard from his mama’s stories, his father’s reaction to her pregnancy had been relatively pleased. The problems started after his birth — after it became clear children need care, love. He also knew about her insistency on taking care of him by herself, of becoming a stay-at-home mom had been home of her last acts of resistance, of protecting him from his father’s treatment. An offer she extended upon finding a few weeks old Barty, Imperioused not to cry and hungry after a few hours she slept through, hours in which his father was supposed to watch him.

An extension of himself, in perhaps his most glaring display of egoism Bartemius Crouch Sr gifted his own name to.

All of which should reasonably, given Barty’s character, result in him absolutely despising the name. That was not fully the case.

He wasn’t sure why that was. Maybe it was because there was always a disconnect between ‘Bartemius’ — the father, and ‘Barty’ — the son. Barty couldn’t stand to be referred by his full name; all of his friends were familiar with his plan to legally change it to the shortened version when he turns seventeen.

Maybe it related to the way his mama’s voice, soft and gentle, well known and bringing a sense of security he could never find anywhere else, called out for him. The moments in which she looked beautiful and happy, out of the house, out of the country when they visited her family, babcię i dziadka, where they called him ‘Bartek’ and they could walk down the streets of Poland, so different than London, the city where he grew up.

Wizarding Poland was a complete mess. With the muggle wars, Nazis and currently reigning Soviets with their communism, the Iron Curtain breaking Europe into two, the population was not having a great time. Wizards had it better than muggles — the government rules allowed for Portkeys to be more available, and many were able to protect themselves from the bombings using spells and wards. Nonetheless, it didn’t erase the poverty. Barty remembered the shock the first time when he walked into a store with mama, and there was nothing on the shelves.

Wizards in Poland lived much closer with the muggles, he came to realize. They had an equivalent of the Statue of Secrecy, obviously, but the circumstances brought them together, in contrast to the separated state England unknowingly lived in. Wizarding Poland could never be nearly as removed from Muggle Poland, because Polish people were trying to simply survive and preserve their identity through over a century of their country being erased from the maps and the country being divided between Germany, Russia and Austria.

Wizards adapted to survive. Pure bloods overcame their prejudice to keep their history. The fight for freedom wasn’t over, but Barty knew they would never return to Britain’s levels of separation.

(Both of the sides of his family were Light, but Bartemius Crouch Sr could never deign himself to think about muggles as equals. It was reflected in the way he talked about them. Never with outright discrimination, but instead perpetuating the stereotypes and disrespect towards them. )

Barty loved it. It was the home London never was, with the Ministry of Magic so close, with the house he grew up in always at the back of his mind whenever he was walking the streets. He was sad every time they had to go back.

Barty loved his name, too. Not Bartemius, not Crouch (Jr). But just ‘Barty’. ‘Bartek’. He might’ve liked having his mother’s last name, too, but now, there’s no sense in changing it.

(He’ll be taking his husband’s one, after all.)

#harry potter #hp #marauders #marauders era #slytherin skittles #the emeralds #dead gay wizards #barty crouch jr #polish barty crouch jr #Evan’s character rants #my take on Barty’s family #and kinda on wizarding Poland #bartylus #very slight but it’s here #I wrote this during class

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nerevar-quote-and-star · 4 months

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For the story ideas folder "You Drew Stars Around My Scars" have definitely caught my eye!

Also hope you are doing good, Elm!

First of all, Crys, hiiiiiii! I'm doing okay! I hope you're well! ✨ Second, I just want to thank you for asking about "You Drew Stars Around My Scars" and to apologize for the person I'm about to become.

Are you ready for it?

"You Drew Stars Around My Scars" is a The Elder Scrolls V/Baldur's Gate 3 crossover that will likely never see the light of day for several factors, such as the number of WIPs I have, my original novel, school, and, oh, the fact that I've never played BG3 My MacBook Air cannot handle those demands. DESPITE THE EXTENUATING CIRCUMSTANCES!, I just think the game is neat and have been sucked into it in part by Astarion. Mostly Astarion . . . okay, entirely.

Background information: Ever since I started writing Keeping Count, I knew Bishop was lifted from Neverwinter Nights and that it was a D&D-based game. And I guess that's why someone mentioned Astarion as a palette cleanser to me a few months ago, shared universe and all. And my initial perception of the character was so cool that I vaguely entertained an alternative Keeping Count where Astarion shows up, seduces Leara from Bishop, and probably sexy stabs Bishop or something. And then I didn't really think about it again. For months.

Then my brain went back to it and Astarion and BG3 and I cried a bit when I realized that my laptop couldn't play the game. I'm fine. And you know what? @cosmermaid is right: Leara deserves a better companion than freaking Bishop. Also please forgive my minimal BG3/D&D knowledge, 95% of which I've absorbed since like last Monday ish.

SO! "You Drew Stars Around My Scars" features Leara getting picked up by the Mind Flayer ship post-Sovngarde and taken via dimensional travel to Faerûn where, following the crash, she joins the usual party on a quest to get rid of the parasites. This Leara is very specifically taken after the planned Chapter 15 of Keeping Count for Reasons. Can Leara use magic in Faerûn since she's not able to draw it from Aetherius? No idea. Can she Dragon Shout? Also no idea. Transdimensional magic mechanics are weird. Regardless, Leara probably mentions something about being Dragonborn and gets weird and confused looks because her definition of Dragonborn is totally different from that in the Forgotten Realms. Linearly, I have no idea what would happen, but overall, Leara and Astarion both suffer trauma from following people who hurt them and they have complicated relationships with sex. They could have what could be a very cathartic relationship. Or I think so, anyway. Also, I kinda want to know if vampires react differently to the Dragonblood.

Symbolism in the story could heavily involve stars and light. Leara means "Light of the Sea" while Astarion means "Little Star". Leara is dependent on the stars for her magic but she's lost them, while Astarion wants to walk in the light even after the parasite is gone. There's no balance and it has to be found. They're both so cold and have lived in the shadows for a long time. There are dark versions of themselves they don't want to be anymore.

There's the possibility that, given her background in the Blades and Dominion, Leara might see through Astarion's mask in Act I. But she'd end up helping Astarion (and probably not giving on that she's on to him until later) because she's a bleeding heart. Two other very important things about this underwhelming but brain-rotting story: First, Astarion wouldn't ascend. We would need a Leara Disapproves sticker because she would not be for Astarion doing that. The second thing is, well, since motherhood is an extremely important part of Leara's character, I did pick out a name for a possible child. If Leara and Astarion had a daughter, her name would be Ilmarien, derived from Quenya, Ilmarë, meaning “starlight”.

Because after all this time, Tolkien elves still make the most sense to me.

#i am not tagging his character in this because I am too embarrassed #it is taking all my willpower to tell myself that sharing this is okay and that I'm not being too much or annoying #it's okay i felt the same way when I was fixated on legolas and loki as a teen I just figured i'd have outgrown it oh well #oc: leara roseblade #azura's ask box

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