#is to immediate suggest the mute character isn’t human instead

[ladyofthenoodle]

there’s something that really rubs me the wrong way with sentimonster gorilla theories and au now. the idea used to not bother me so much but after the huge backlash over the idea that adrien could be one, people positing that the gorilla is the real sentimonster seems extra fucked up??? like “oh no my fav can’t be a sentimonster because then he’s not human, let’s make the mute character a sentimonster instead, that’s fine” like i’m sorry but that’s a little bit fucked up???

#yes the gorilla is a side character at best and adrien is a lead #BUT i’m still side eyeing anyone whose kneejerk response to the idea that their fav might not be human #is to immediate suggest the mute character isn’t human instead #‘but it makes sense for gabriel to create someone who can’t talk back—‘ yeah yeah that’s all true #that doesn’t mean your reactions to sentiadrien vs sentigorilla are above questioning #not sure why i picked this hill to die on tonight #definitely not trying to start any sentiadrien debating here. this is strictly sentigorilla discourse. #noodling

[theoriginalladya]

Lá Breithe Shona Duit

On AO3 over here

Characters:  Commander Caleb Shepard, Kaidan Alenko (mshenko)

Summary:   War is hell, there's no way around it, and Commander Caleb Shepard is well aware of the toll it can take on him and his crew. Shore leave is supposed to be a chance to catch a second wind, find a bit of reprieve ... unless you are the First Human Spectre and your boyfriend the Second Human Spectre ...

Note:  I wrote this for N7 day but several friends were looking for something fluffy to enjoy so I decided to post it a few days early instead.  Enjoy some birthday shenanigans for Commander Caleb Shepard.

“Commander, do you have a moment?”

Though they are docked at the Citadel, the Normandy’s CIC is as busy as ever.  There is always a duty watch, of course, but ever since the attempt by Shepard’s clone and Brooks to steal the ship, it’s doubled in strength when they are in port. Today, Caleb is halfway around the galaxy map opposite Traynor’s station when she hails him.  His reaction is immediate, and he turns on his heel to walk back over even though he isn’t technically on duty himself.  “What do you need, Traynor?”

“Sir, Major Alenko asked me to give you a message.”

A soft sigh filters through his lips as he fights the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration.  Of late, and despite their best efforts, finding any free time to spend together is a challenge, even if only for an hour or two.  The demands of the war are ever present and ongoing.  This last stretch, however, has been worse than most, and he and the rest of the crew are in desperate need of a break.

The promise of shore leave was just that, a promise. Their current plan centers on meeting the apartment and spending an afternoon watching a movie, complete with popcorn.  However, it now appears as if duty calls instead.  He mutters a soft curse beneath his breath in Irish then asks, “What’s the message?”

The corner of one of her lips is tucked between her teeth as she shifts nervously on her feet.  Mentally, he grumbles to himself.  If she’s nervous, that means his temper is showing and not just a little.  Considering how things have been going of late, this isn’t really a surprise, but that doesn’t change the fact he needs to do something about it now.  Of course, that is the whole point of shore leave … and it’s pointless to take it out on Traynor when it isn’t in any way her fault.  

Caleb forces himself to take a slow, deep breath, releasing his frustrations with it as he exhales.  After three tries, Traynor appears to relax.

“I was asked to inform you he was unexpectedly called to the Spectre office and will meet you there,” she informs him.

The Spectre office?  Perhaps the situation isn’t as bad as he thinks?  “Thanks, Traynor.”  He pats her on the shoulder and starts off again, pausing only to call back over his shoulder, “Make sure you get off this ship for a while … and that’s an order!”

She grins back at him and salutes smartly.  “Yes, sir!”

His journey to the Spectre office doesn’t take long.  There is a skycab stand a short distance from the docking bay and in under ten minutes he’s hustling up the steps past Bailey’s office.  He’s half-tempted to stop in and speak with the man, but thinks better of it.  The Normandy is only docked for three days this time and he has other plans.  He can catch up with Bailey later.  The door beyond Bailey’s opens into the Spectre office and Caleb enters the moment he’s cleared past security.  Inside, he nods at the pair of turian agents standing near the firing range and murmurs a greeting to the salarian at the nearby terminal.  It takes three more steps in to realize no one else is around.  Pinching the bridge of his nose, he counts to ten. Twice.

“Greetings, commander,” the salarian returns.  “If you are looking for Major Alenko, he left here about fifteen minutes ago.”

Fifteen minutes ago?  He wasn’t even off the Normandy then.  “Did he say where he was headed?”

The salarian’s head bobs up and down once.  “Kithoi Ward,” he explains.  “Said his presence was requested by the director of the sensory gallery there.”

“The sensory gallery?”  Caleb frowns.  He isn’t familiar with any place like that, though he does recognize the name of the ward itself.  

Eyes lighting up with enthusiasm, the salarian adds, “Have you not been there?  It is most definitely worth a visit!  Experiencing smell as if you are an elcor?  Acute hearing like a drell?  If you have ever wondered what it is like for a turian in the rain …?”

Across the room, the two turians stop speaking and clear their throats.  Loudly.

The salarian follows suit, if a bit sheepishly by comparison.  “Ah, ahem. Yes.  Well, it is definitely worth a visit at least once,” he concludes before turning away.

Caleb watches him go; for a brief moment, he cannot help but wonder if he hasn’t entered some sort of alternate reality.  Why the hell is Kaidan at a sensory gallery, of all places?

He takes a moment to use the terminal to locate the name of the gallery then exits the office.  Finding a skycab proves to be too much of a challenge on the embassy level, so he hops onto the lift and heads down to the docking bay again where he finds one with relative ease.  Kithoi Ward takes a while to get to, but the driver assures him they are familiar with the destination, and some forty-five minutes after leaving the Spectre office, he finally arrives.  

Caleb isn’t certain what to expect from the place; galleries and art displays aren’t really his sort of thing, but the building itself appears relatively normal from the outside.  He knows nothing about architecture, but it’s pleasing enough to look at and he jogs up the steps, entering the main lobby where he is met almost immediately by an elegant, light violet colored asari clad in flowing blue and red silk robes.

“Commander Shepard?”  

Caleb nods, accepting the hand she extends in a subtly graceful movement.  

“A pleasure, commander.  I am Dr. Ailne T’easan, the director of this gallery.”

Releasing her hand, he looks around the lobby where they stand.  For the moment, aside from the two of them the place is empty.  “I was asked to meet Spectre Kaidan Alenko here.  Have you seen him, director?”

She smiles apologetically.  “He was here, yes, commander.  Spectre Alenko assisted us with our issue, but was called away on another assignment just a few minutes ago.”  Turning, she leads him deeper inside the main hall of the building.  

Caleb follows – what else can he do at this point?  The hall is large with an open floor plan with décor that is muted and minimalistic so as not to detract from the various displays. At the far end of the room, he notices several seats that look to be similar to the entertainment center on the Normandy and frowns.  Tilting his chin in that direction, he asks, “What’s this?”

Dr. T’easan smiles and leads him over.  “Are you familiar with our purpose, commander?”

“You provide sensory experiences of the various races in the galaxy.”  He nods at the display.  “Which one is that?”  He has a guess, based off what the salarian Spectre mentioned, but it’s only a guess.

“This is our drell display,” she replies.  She takes a moment to open one of the seats and gestures toward it.  “We all know the drell have eidetic memory, but were you aware that their acute sense of hearing allows them to hear certain sounds that others cannot?  At ranges that are impossible for other races? That is why we have this display.  Would you like to try it?”

He lifts a hand, quickly but politely declining.  “Some other time, perhaps, doctor.  Right now I need to find Spectre Alenko.”  

It’s then that he notices a nearby arching doorway that leads out of the main hall.  It is also currently blocked off.  With a frown, he asks, “What happened here?”

“Ah.  Yes. We had a … security issue, shall we say?”  Her lips thin a little as they press together.  “Some of the information obtained is of a rather sensitive nature, so you will excuse me if I do not go into detail.  Suffice it to say, Spectre Alenko was able to determine the nature of the … issue for us.  It appears to be an internal matter that we will follow up on ourselves.”

That, at least, is a relief but does little to get him on his way to finding out where Kaidan went.  “Did Spectre Alenko mention where he was heading, by any chance?”

Dr. T’easan leads him back to the main lobby and, to his surprise replies, “He did, as a matter of fact.  He was headed to the Dilinaga  Concert Hall in Tayseri Ward.  As I understand it, there have been reports of strange happenings there.”

“Strange happenings?” he echoes.  “What does that mean?”

She shrugs.  “I’m sorry, commander, I have no idea.”

Caleb runs a hand through his hair, using the moment to conceal his frustration.  “Thank you, doctor.  I will see if I can’t catch up with him there.”  

He turns toward the exit, but before he makes it through the door, she calls out, “Commander, wait!”  She hurries over, something thin and flat in her hand that she gives to him. “Spectre Alenko accidentally dropped this as he was leaving.  Can you get it back to him for me, please?”

What she hands him is a sealed envelope slightly larger than his hand which he tucks away into his jacket pocket.  “I will make sure he gets it.  Thank you.”

The skycab is gone at this point, but he finds another one down the street and makes arrangements for the driver to wait for him at the next stop.  Tayseri Ward takes a while to reach in heavy Citadel traffic, but eventually the driver deposits him in front of the concert hall.  Caleb has a vague recollection of Bailey informing him that it took severe damage when Sovereign was destroyed.  On the other hand, over his most recent visits the local news outlets suggest it is about to re-open.  As he steps out of the cab, it is impossible to miss the sleek lines of the marbled stone architecture that gives it a dramatic look.  Out front of the main doors, a stature of who he presumes is Matriarch Dilinaga herself stands invitingly.  He pauses for just a moment to take in the image – the matriarch’s name is familiar enough to him – then starts climbing the stairs.

At the large, heavy doors, he is met by an elegant asari whose lithe grace of movement reminds him a bit of Samara, and certainly seems appropriate to someone associated with a concert hall.  “You are commander Shepard?” she asks.

He nods.  No handshake this time, but even with the door mostly closed between them, everything about her exudes politeness and respect.  “I am.  I was told I could meet Spectre Alenko here?”

She shakes her head.  “I apologize, commander.  He just left. He did, however, ask me to give this to you.”  

Doing his best to hide his disappointment, Caleb accepts a second envelope, approximately the same size as the one from Dr. T’easan. He frowns at it, but for the moment just slips it into his pocket with the other.  “Thank you.  Did he say where he was going when he left?”

“No, I am sorry.”

Caleb nods his thanks and starts down the stairs.  He is half tempted to message Kaidan in an attempt to figure out where the hell he is now, but before he can pull up his omni-tool, a call comes in.  

“Commander?” a very familiar voice asks.

“Dr. Chakwas?”

“Commander, I hope you might be able to assist me,” the doctor said.  “I am supposed to meet a colleague of mine at the Alliance R&D department I used to work at in Shalta Ward, but something has come up and I cannot leave the Normandy as scheduled.  My colleague has some information that may prove vital to the war effort, and it is vital that I get it.”

Caleb sighs, already sensing where this conversation is headed.  “Let me guess, you’d like for me to go and pick it up?”

“Would you, please?  I would consider it a personal favor.”

Though frustration eats away deep inside, he manages a soft chuckle.  If there is anyone on the Normandy he will assist, no questions asked, it’s the doctor.  She’s saved his sorry ass far too many times over the years.  “Of course I will, doctor.  Consider it done.”

A beep at his wrist indicates she has sent the address and the name of the contact.  “I appreciate your help, commander.  Just bring it to the medbay whenever you return to the ship.”

The call ends and Caleb ducks back into the skycab, sharing their next destination and making arrangements for the driver to wait yet again. Shalta Ward isn’t too far away, and when they pull up Caleb can see someone standing just outside the doors. “Wait here for me,” he instructs the driver then ducks out.

“Commander Shepard?”

“Dr. Renfro?”  Caleb hustles over in less than a dozen steps.  “I understand you have something for Dr. Chakwas?”

The man looks to be nearing middle age – Caleb pegs him about seventy or so – with mostly white hair that is thinning on top.  He wears a uniform similar to that he found Dr. Chakwas wearing when she worked here; white with red trim, the Alliance Research & Development labs uniform known galaxy-wide.  

“Yes, Dr. William Renfro,” he says, extending his hand. “Thank you so much for coming, commander.  As I understand it, these developments could serve you well out in the field during this war.”  

He hands over three datapads.  On the top, there is a small envelope.  Frowning, Caleb notices his name on it.  “Doctor …?”

“Sorry, commander, need to run!”  Renfro turns.  “Thanks again!”

He disappears inside the building before Caleb can protest. Without any other recourse, he walks back to the cab and tugs the envelope free of the datapads, tucking it into his pocket with the other two.  

“Where to, sir?” the driver asks as he gets inside the skycab again.

“Presidium Embassies,” he decides.  Sighing, he tilts his head back on the seat, closes his eyes and tries to reign in the growing irritation.  It isn’t the driver’s fault he’s spent the better part of the afternoon chasing after a dream.

Of course, stating his destination and actually arriving there are two completely different things.  Along the way, the driver receives a traffic update and reroutes them to the Commons due to an accident between here and there.  That at least gives Caleb a physical outlet for his aggravation as he hoofs it the rest of the way.  Thankfully, the elevators aren’t too busy, and he finally catches one to the Embassies after only a ten minute wait.  

He walks past Bailey’s office again, no desire to stop in this time, and is just inputting his access code to the Spectre office when he hears someone call his name.

“Commander Shepard?”

He takes a half second to close his eyes, swallow back frustration and count to twenty.  It won’t do anyone any good to yell at a councilor, now will it?  Only then does he turn around, a smile plastered on his lips.  He hopes it reaches his eyes.  “Councilor Tevos.”

“Commander.  I wonder if I might have a moment of your time?”

“Of course, councilor.”  He clears the partially input ID from the door and follows her down the hall in the direction of her office.  “How can I be of assistance?”

She lifts her hand and it is then that he notices the datapad she carries.  “I have here a list of several locations containing stores that Admiral Hackett might find … useful,” she explains.  “I cannot vouch for their current state, however, as of six months ago they were still intact.”  She hands the pad over to him.  “I hope they will be of some help to your Crucible project.”

Caleb takes a moment to read through the list.  “If even half of these are viable, they will be of great help,” he assures her.  Lifting his head, his smile is more genuine this time.  “This is a great help.  Go raibh maith agat.”**

“Good.”  She hesitates briefly before handing over another item he didn’t see.  Like the other three in his pocket, it is another envelope of approximately the same size.  “I was also asked to give you this,” she explains.  There is a sparkle of mischief in her eyes; as unexpected as the envelope is. “I hope it is as useful.”  Without another word, she turns into her office leaving him standing alone outside the door.

Caleb stares at the envelope in his hands, dumbfounded. It takes him a moment to collect himself enough to tuck it away with the others, but by then, things are starting to make a bit more sense.  Turning back in the direction of the elevators, he summons Kaidan over comms.

It isn’t long before the second human Spectre responds. “There you are.  What’s taking you so long?  We were supposed to meet like three hours ago.”

Caleb sighs, ignoring the question.  “Where are you right now?”

“At the apartment.  Where else would I be?”

Caleb makes it onto the lift this time without issue and heads for the nearest skycab stand.  “Don’t you dare go anywhere.  I’m on my way.”

Kaidan’s laughter is a balm to Caleb’s frustration.  “I don’t know where you think I’ll go, but I’ll be here.”

Somehow, Caleb coaxes the skycab driver into fighting his way through the increasingly heavy traffic as they near the Silversun Strip with the promise of a double fare plus a hefty tip.  To his surprise, they arrive within fifteen minutes.  By now, of course, he has a very good idea that he’s been had, and the minute he walks inside and he catches the delicious aromas emanating from the kitchen, he confirms it.

Caleb pauses at the entrance to the kitchen, leaning his hip against the wall and folding his arms across his chest.  Kaidan stands at the stove, his focus on the pots and pans in front of him.  After a minute or two, he looks over.  It’s impossible to miss the mischievous smile that reaches the whiskey colored eyes.  “Did you really have to send me all over the damned Citadel like that?” Caleb asks.

Kaidan laughs softly; that marvelous, deep rumble that leaves Caleb’s belly aflutter every single time he hears it.  “I needed time to make dinner,” he argues before flashing a wider grin.  “And you needed to work up an appetite.”

Pushing away from the wall, Caleb wanders over to join him. He pauses at the refrigerator to pull out two bottles of beer which he opens, setting one within easy reach for Kaidan while keeping the other for himself. Moving to glance over Kaidan’s shoulder at the various pots and pans on the stovetop, he takes a long pull.  He’s earned it today.  “Around you,” he muses thoughtfully, “that is never an issue.  So, what’s for dinner?”

Still grinning, Kaidan reaches over and turns off the device. “Go sit down and you’ll find out.”  

Before Caleb can turn away, however, he sneaks a quick kiss to Kaidan’s cheek.  “Sounds promising.”

Dinner turns out to be quite good.  Steaks, twice baked potatoes, some green vegetable that Caleb isn’t familiar with but has hints of an onion-y taste.  When they finish, he rises to clear the table, but Kaidan pushes him back into his seat.  “I’ve got this,” he insists.  “You just sit there.”

Caleb isn’t in the mood to argue, but he is curious. “So, are you going to tell me what’s been going on all day?  Why you sent me on some wild goose chase across half the Citadel?”

As Kaidan returns, it’s impossible to miss the smile on his lips, the sultry look in his eyes or the confident swagger in his step. Caleb’s hand stops with his beer halfway to his lips, his mouth having gone completely dry – there is something about that saunter, the angle of sway, or maybe just the hint of suggestion; whatever it is, it’s as effective as molten lava and leaves him just as melted inside.  The hint of laughter in his eyes tells Caleb that Kaidan knows exactly what he’s doing, too.

Kaidan collects the rest of the dishes, pausing to brush a tantalizing kiss across Caleb’s lips in the process.  Unable to resist, Shepard slides a hand through his hair and holds him close, unwilling to be teased without some sort of compensation after the day’s adventures specifically for Kaidan’s amusement. When he finally pulls back, that deep rumbling chuckle returns as he murmurs, “Why don’t you tell me?”

Caleb has to catch his breath and blink a few times before he can think straight.  “Tell you … what?”

“What you found.”

Found?  His hand drifts to the pocket of his jacket where he retrieves the envelopes he collected earlier.  In all honesty, he’s forgotten about them, but now that Kaidan mentions it, his curiosity returns.  While Kaidan focuses on heating water for tea, Caleb notices the knowing smile on his lips.  Lifting the envelopes, he waves them in the air between them.  “You did this?”

The corner of Kaidan’s lips twitch.  “Isn’t that the point of a hunt, sealgaire?”

The use of his old Reds name isn’t a surprise; he’s told that story to Kaidan and other crew members of the Normandy numerous times over the years, but this is the first time Kaidan has ever called him by it.  He takes the envelopes and slides his finger beneath the seal, opening them one at a time in no particular order.  “I thought the point was ….”

His voice trails off as the contents of the first envelope slides out onto the table and comes to rest in front of him.  It isn’t so much what it is that leaves him reeling, but what it represents.

The King of Clubs.

Caleb’s eyes dart over to Kaidan.  From the very first time they met, though it took Caleb a long time to realize it, this has been Kaidan’s card in his readings.  Not once has it ever faltered.  Caleb’s heart quickens in his chest.  Kaidan looks over, smile still in place.  “Well?”

Caleb opens the next one.

The Joker.

His mouth goes completely dry.

The third envelop produces yet another card.  

The Nine of Clubs.

He nearly chokes and his eyes close for a long minute. Beside him, a mug of steaming tea comes to rest within reach, and he takes it, carefully taking a sip.  “Go raibh maith agat, mo ghrá.”**

Kaidan slides into the empty seat and remains silent but watchful.  

Caleb’s hand trembles a little as he lifts the last envelope. Carefully, he opens the flap, and a fourth card falls out on top of the previous three.

The Ace of Hearts.

With precise care, Caleb straightens the cards, setting them out in the order he opened them.  To most people, they are incomplete; part of a much larger whole. With a full deck, they can be used to entertain.  But Kaidan knows him well enough now to understand they have a far greater significance to him, specifically.  Without them, he feels … naked.  Disconnected. Lost.  With them, he has an anchor to his past, to the beliefs that made him who he is.

His original deck, the one given him by Saoirse, was destroyed when the SR1 went down.  Two years later, once he had the SR2 under his command and during their first trip to the Citadel, he’d dragged Garrus and Mordin through the lower Wards hunting down a replacement deck that satisfied him for such use.  Though these four cards are not from this second deck, it doesn’t matter.  

Covering his face with his hands, Caleb takes a few minutes to wrap his head around what lies before him.  They are more than cards, more than a prediction, more than simply his lover and best friend’s attempt to entertain him.  As desperate as this war has become, as near as they might be to its end, there is one thing that Caleb will not look at; apparently, Kaidan will.  These four cards represent a future; for him, for them, he isn’t certain, but the fact that Kaidan, who is well aware of Caleb’s avoidance of the issue, is willing to take that risk leaves Shepard’s head spinning.

Several minutes pass in silence.  He reaches for the tea again, and this time as he drinks, he notices the flavor.  Setting the mug aside again, he lays his hand out, palm up and open.  Inviting.  It takes less than a second for Kaidan to cover it with his, at which point Caleb closes his hand around it.  “Why?” The question is a simple one, but the answer eludes him.  He can think of any number of reasons, but none satisfy him.  He wants, needs, to hear it from Kaidan himself.

Kaidan lifts their joined hands and presses a soft kiss to the back of Caleb’s.  “Happy birthday.”

That isn’t what Caleb expects.  “Birthday?”  He glances across the room at the monitor on the wall that also shows the date and time. Sure enough …   “Well, damn,” he replies, laughing in bemusement.  If only Anderson could see this.  Whoever would have thought that made up birthday would survive a test of persistence by my boyfriend?  “I didn’t realize …”  

“I did, that’s all that matters.”  Kaidan’s hand squeezes.  “So, how do you say it?  In Irish, I mean?”

Still slightly bewildered by it all, he responds, “Lá breithe shona duit.”

After three tries at getting it right, Kaidan shakes his head and gives up.  “That’s a bit more challenging that sláinte.”  Changing the conversation, he nods at the four cards in front of Caleb and sips at his drink.  “Tell me about them.”

Before he does that, Caleb decides he needs an answer. “In order to do that, I need to know how you selected them.”

Shrugging, Kaidan replies, “I remember what you once told me and Ash; real cards are better than an omni-tool program for something like this. So, I purchased a deck, shuffled them for a while, cut it, then I picked the top four.”

“Did you look at them?”

Kaidan shakes his head.  “No.  I sealed them into the envelopes before I could.”

Caleb’s hand begins to shake again, noticeable as he releases his hold on Kaidan’s.  Slowly, he moves the cards around then lifts the King of Clubs and turns it toward Kaidan. “This is your card.  You know that, right?”

Kaidan looks at it then looks back at Caleb.  “I’ve seen it in your spreads, yes.”

“Aye, but not exactly what I mean.”  He sets the card down, taps it with his index finger.  “This card represents an honest, affectionate, generous dark haired man,” he explains.  He knows the descriptions from memory, understands all the subtleties involved with each one.  He’s known for a long time now that the King of Clubs is Kaidan’s card, and he’s a little surprised Kaidan hasn’t made that same connection before now.

“Is that how you see me?”

He reaches over to brush his knuckles gently along Kaidan’s cheek.  “From the moment we met.”

Kaidan laughs softly, covering Caleb’s hand with his own and holding it in place.  “Somehow, I doubt that.  You were unconscious at the time, as I recall.”

When he pulls back, Caleb shakes his head.  “I did a reading that night,” he admits.  “On Akuze, before the thresher maws hit.  This,” he lifts the King again, “was my future card.”

Kaidan reaches over and takes the card from him, staring at it.  “Seriously?”

Caleb doesn’t reply; it’s rhetorical anyway.  Instead, he reaches for the second card.  The Joker.  “I know we both can think of a variation of this card,” he says with a chuckle, “but honestly, it is a card of new developments, of risk.  Fresh starts and new beginnings.”

“Fresh starts and new beginnings?”  Kaidan holds his mug between both hands just in front of his lips. “I think I like the sound of that.”

Caleb smiles over at him.  “As do I.”

“It certainly describes us.”

Caleb twirls the card between his long fingers out of habit, but his eyes are only on Kaidan.  “Indeed, it does.”

Kaidan is the first to break the look, eyes drifting back to his tea.  “What’s the next card?”

Caleb lifts the third one.  “Nine of Clubs.”  His smile curves into a smirk.  His voice drops an octave as he murmurs, “You are going to love this.  This card represents achievement.”

Kaidan frowns in confusion.  “Which you’ve done.”

Caleb huffs softly but continues, “A new lover or admirer.” When Kaidan opens his mouth to say something, Caleb reaches back over and uses his index finger to silence him. “And finally, it’s a warning not to be stubborn.”

Kaidan grins with an I told you so sort of look, but he doesn’t say anything or even laugh, much to Caleb’s relief.  

“And the last one?”

Lifting the card, he taps it against his chin, design outward so Kaidan can see it.  “The Ace of Hearts.  This one is pretty simple to understand.  Love, joy, friendship.  A home. Also, the beginning of a new romance.” He lays the card down next to the others and stares at the four for a minute.  “You really didn’t look at them beforehand?”

Shrugging, Kaidan counters, “Would it have done any good? The only one of those I sort of recognize is the King of Clubs, and I certainly don’t understand your hidden meanings in them.”

There is more than enough truth in that statement, and Caleb doesn’t think he’s lying.  “Where is the rest of the deck?”

Kaidan nods across the room at one of the drawers. “Hid it in there so you wouldn’t see it.”

Releasing their hands, Caleb retrieves the cards, but he doesn’t place the four back with them just yet.  Instead, he sets them aside and faces Kaidan.  “Go raibh maith agat, mo shíorghra.”**

“That’s a new one.”

“All I said was thank you,” Caleb explains, deliberately evading the comment.  Kaidan is right; Mo shíorghra, is new, but that doesn’t make it any less true.

“Another endearment?”

Heat fills Caleb’s cheeks as he nods.  “I will explain later,” he finally hedges.  “It’s complicated … I’m not sure there is an equivalent in English.”  It’s a boldfaced lie, but he’s not quite ready to share it.  Sometimes the head needs to catch up to the heart.  “What I was trying to say was, thank you for this.” He gestures at the cards, the kitchen. “For all of it.  This may be the first time my birthday has actually … meant something.”

“Surely you’ve celebrated it before?”

Sighing, Caleb shakes his head.  “You have to understand, when I was taken in by Ned and Nan, I remembered nothing.  Only my name: Caleb.”  He fishes under his collar and retrieves his dog tags, turning it so Kaidan can see his name and birthdate clearly.  “This,” he continues, jabbing his thumb at the date, “is made up.  April 11?  The day I literally ran into Ned and he took me home.  The year?  A guess based off his and Athair’s thoughts as to how old I am.”  He shrugs.  “It works, but it’s never been anything I worried about celebrating before. It just hasn’t been worth it.”

Kaidan finishes off his tea and gets to his feet.  When he reaches out a hand, Caleb takes it and follows.  Standing there, in the middle of the kitchen, Kaidan slides his arms around his waist and pulls him close for a quick kiss before leading him out of the kitchen and toward the stairs.  “Let’s see if we can’t change that, hmm …?”  

  ~~~~~~~~~

 ** Lá breithe shona duit = Happy Birthday 

** Go raibh maith agat = thank you

**Mo shíorghra = my eternal love

#Lá breithe shona duit #ladya writes #Caleb Shepard #kaidan alenko #mshenko #fluff #birthday shenanigans #N7 Day #when the muses attack #OTP: Brothers in Arms #Irish #Irish language #my Irish Shepard #mass effect #mass effect fanfiction

[insanityclause]

Guillermo Del Toro is no stranger to widespread acclaim, especially from his ride or die legion of fans. Pan’s Labyrinth, the Hellboy duology, the list of genre-bending, timeless masterworks goes on. Coming off his 2 Oscar wins for The Shape of Water in 2018, and moving into finally releasing his animated Pinocchio film from the pits of development hell along with an adaption of Nightmare Alley next year, this couldn’t be a more thriving time for the Mexican auteur. Though amongst all the praise and glory, something has still felt missing these last handful of years. Besides his Oscar-winning film, Del Toro’s works prior to the 2010s are what generally buzz conversations of his genius. Those aforementioned films did, after all, skyrocket his name to fame. His titles from the last decade, however, are just as crucial to the Del Toro canon and emphasize his greater influence as a filmmaker. One, in particular, has seemingly gotten by in its young life at the hands of few. But now that Crimson Peak has officially turned 5, it’s time to turn that few into many.

Del Toro’s trifecta of the 2010s (not counting his work on television) stand out vastly from one another. Pacific Rim, Crimson Peak, and The Shape of Water: all love letters penned from the ‘nichest’ corners of his mind. These 3 arguably boast more diversity in genre than Del Toro’s 5 films of the 2000s (3 comic-book adaptations and 2 Spanish-set fantasies). Not a criticism, as established, those films now flaunt an immovable place within the cultural zeitgeist. Though with a career notoriously marked by a slew of unrealized projects (more on this later), it’s not often recognized how the ideas that did make the cut still lead a crystal clear trajectory in Del Toro’s growth as a storyteller. In the eyes of many, Del Toro pulls ideas out of a hat and gambles on which one actually sees the light of day. Humorous sure, but this is far from the truth.

Each Del Toro project feels like a pivotal step for what would come later, take his work on Trollhunters paving the way for his upcoming first animated feature for instance. Despite this trajectory, Crimson Peak feels criminally unsung 5 years later. Pacific Rim continued its life with a sequel and more planned spin-offs. The Shape of Water literally set a new bar for the Academy. This leaves Crimson Peak feeling like the pushed aside middle child of this trio. This isn’t a call for a sequel, and ‘underrated’ gets tossed around very loosely in modern film discussion. But for cinema as quintessential as Crimson Peak, it just doesn’t feel like it gets enough recognition – especially when the current film industry is seeing less big-budget, R-rated projects heavily steeped in genre.

You can easily trace Crimson Peak‘s short-lived spotlight back to its marketing. The timely October release and scare-heavy trailers sold a classic ‘Haunted House’ horror, when in reality, Del Toro’s film is a Gothic Romance. Set in the early 1900s, an aspiring American writer, Edith Cushing (Mia Wasikowska), is swept away by a promising English baronet, Thomas Sharpe (Tom Hiddleston). They discover true love and marry, leading the young newlywed to her husband’s decaying mansion in the English hills. The age-old manor is slowly, but surely, sinking in red clay – the very source of Sharpe’s wealth. Here Edith is forced to live with her new sister-in-law, Lucille Sharpe (Jessica Chastain), a reserved yet commanding force who works to hide the true nature of the house and its endless secrets. Mystery lingers as untamed lust, envy and greed unfold between the mansion walls, not leaving enough room for the restless red-colored spirits who haunt them. When it snows on this cursed hill, the clay surfaces, making it seem as if the land bleeds. Given more than just red clay rises from beneath, a deeper meaning is given to the place locals call ‘Crimson Peak’.

Just like the clay at the center of its mystery, Crimson Peak is an amalgamation, but of genre. It would be novice to expect anything less from Del Toro. The Gothic elements call back to many classic tales, such as Alfred Hitchcock’s adaption of Rebecca and, of course, Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre. On the horror side, homage is paid to Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining and Jack Clayton’s The Innocents. It’s a devilish blend that only this filmmaker could pull off so beautifully. And oh is Crimson Peak so god damn gorgeous. To contrast common period pieces that go for muted or sepia-toned color palettes, Del Toro turns the saturation on high. The result is an eye-popping picture that heightens the core emotions at play: fear, pain, and more importantly, love. Simply mesmerizing, avid fans will be quick to recognize the same shades of golden yellows, sea greens, and ruby reds found in Del Toro’s other works. It feels right at home in his filmography visually, while packing its own unique punch.

Red, a color mainly associated with passion, here instead intricately represents endless bloodshed. A twist that would suggest Crimson Peak is just as equal a horror film as it is a love story. Regardless of what might have been initially marketed to audiences in 2015, this film is a Gothic Romance from start to finish. Del Toro himself made this distinction clear to the studio from the get-go and repeatedly draws the line whenever given the chance. Yet, much like the rest of his repertoire, Crimson Peak utilizes horror not as a means to an end, but as a means for introspection. Yes, there are classic horror conventions such as jump scares, but it couldn’t be more obvious that Crimson Peak isn’t trying to evoke the same kind of high and dry fear other films heavily rely on. Del Toro is actively trying to get under your skin to achieve a hell of a cathartic viewing experience.

The ghosts of our past and how we let them define us is a core theme in Crimson Peak. The film opens on a flashback in which Edith is visited by the charcoal black ghost of her recently deceased mother. The nature of this visit sets the groundwork for the rest of the narrative. Mother Ghost, dreadful in appearance, doesn’t necessarily come to haunt her child, but to warn her. “Beware of Crimson Peak,” she says. The way Edith takes in this otherworldly occurrence, and those that follow, sets her apart from everyone else in the film. Wherein others flee from or lock away the ghosts of their past, she learns how to wear them on her sleeves – reaching out to the dead multiple times in the story, each attempt more confident than the last. Not too dissimilar from what Del Toro was playing with before, Jaeger pilots confronting past trauma in their quest to defeat Kaiju. At the same time, the transformation that occurs in Crimson Peak when neglected demons consume you from the inside – humans becoming the true monsters of their supernatural tales – would only be amplified in Del Toro’s next film.

Every minute detail coincides with this strategized, therapeutic use of horror. And to the everyday moviegoer trained by common tropes, Crimson Peak is quite deceptive. Just like Mother Ghost at the beginning of the film, the red spirits never manifest with the intent to cause physical harm, but instead to give messages and guide. Red clay seeps down the walls and the mansion ‘breathes’ as the country winds burst in. The house feels alive in the most cinematic sense possible, but the case as to it being ‘horrifying’ is not so black and white. Expertly designed to every inch, there is plenty of beauty to be found in the manor. Much of it has just been corrupted by a debauched affair – keeping this story rooted as a Gothic Romance. Subversion has always been the name of Del Toro’s game, and it’s within Crimson Peak that he uses it to mix genre so well while still staying true to his vision.

Though Crimson Peak saw Del Toro take subversion to a new level, notably with his main character. This film is a key chapter in his overarching legacy; not the first of his works to be lead by a defiant woman, but the first to have the female hero entangled in an unabashed love story. Effortlessly played by the brilliant Mia Wasikowska, the not so damsel in distress at the center of Crimson Peak is one of the most significant characters of Del Toro’s career. In discussing Gothic Romance with The Mary Sue in 2015, Del Toro explains: “This is quintessentially a female genre, that was written with characters that were very complex, very strong. I wanted to make a movie in which to some degree I recuperated and, maybe if possible, enhanced all that.” And enhanced he did for every central male character acts in more distress than Edith ever does, even when she is literally at the edge of death. A more than welcome change of pace that makes for a more resonating film.

Edith’s willingness to tackle the unknown is captivating and her vigor inspiring. But she isn’t absolved of frailty. For someone who comes to terms with facing the dead, her sheer vulnerability to heartbreak and suffering brings great humanity to the role. Hardly recognized, but Edith is one of Del Toro’s most self-reflective protagonists. A marginalized writer, inspired by the great Mary Shelley no less, in the midst of drafting her magnum opus, she immediately faces backlash from her novel’s inclusion of the paranormal. “It’s not [a ghost story]. It’s more a story with a ghost in it. The ghost is just a metaphor… for the past,” she says – giving Crimson Peak a rare Del Toro tongue-in-cheek quality that he utilizes until the credits roll. Meta enough given that the crimson ghosts Edith later encounters are, in fact, echoes of the past, but when looking back on the public’s initial perception of the film, it creates a charming, albeit ironic, wit only found here.

Additionally, when tracing back to Crimson Peak‘s pre-production days, you’ll find something even more profound. Penned by Del Toro and an old collaborator, screenwriter Matthew Robbins; this was the first script completed after the release of Pan’s Labyrinth in 2006. The two first worked together an entire decade earlier on Mimic, which has now gone down as the only film Del Toro has truly lost to studio interference. Del Toro was supposed to direct Crimson Peak in the late 2000s, but along came Hellboy II and his involvement in launching The Hobbit (another R.I.P). Through this hectic time, Del Toro would reunite with Robbins in writing 2010’s Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark, directed by Troy Nixey. However, the two also spent time together writing something else: an adaptation of H.P. Lovecraft’s At the Mountains of Madness.

For those unfamiliar, At the Mountains of Madness is by far one of, if not, the most tragic of this filmmaker’s unrealized projects. After spending years trying to get this dream off the ground, Del Toro had the following to say to Empire in 2010: “It doesn’t look like I can do it. It’s very difficult for the studios to take the step of doing a period-set, R-rated, tentpole movie with a tough ending and no love story.” The payoff of Crimson Peak being a period-set, R-rated, tentpole film only 5 years after that statement couldn’t be sweeter. In the film, Edith is told to insert a love story for the better of her novel. Del Toro is obviously commenting on expectations tied to gender here, but you can’t help but wonder if he’s also referring to one of the biggest thorns in his own writing career – one that also ties back to writing partner Matthew Robbins.

When faced with the question, Del Toro has consistently said that all of his films carry an inherent Mexican touch just from the utter fact that they come from him, and Crimson Peak is no different. Whether if deriving from his personal experiences with tackling genre, both on and off paper, or from actual events tied to his life – Del Toro reimagines two separate ghostly encounters experienced by him and his mother through Edith – this film beams with the very essence of Del Toro’s soul. Perhaps most personified when the marginalized writer gets bloody and fights back with nothing but her pen, a visual that cements this as an important stepping stone in his career. It’s a fascinating through-line, connecting to very different segments of his canon while still defining a clear path. The mending of our wounds and subversion of gender roles is continued from Pacific Rim, while setting a bold new course for delving into unfiltered, mature romance in The Shape of Water.

This is only a fraction of what makes Crimson Peak quintessential Guillermo Del Toro. Gothic Romance has long been part of this auteur’s framework, and you would be remiss not to indulge in all of its glorious melodrama. Even if it isn’t your cup of tea, Del Toro will make it so. Reaching its 5-year anniversary, the film hits stronger than before. The intricate motifs, compelling use of practical effects (complete with the involvement of Del Toro veteran Doug Jones), and cathartic use of horror make for something that has yet to be replicated by a major studio. Its lacking box office performance suggests that maybe the world merely wasn’t ready for this masterwork? But just like its characters, we hold the power to define what comes next. Del Toro himself has previously ranked Crimson Peak as one of the 3 best films he’s ever made, and straight-up called it the most beautiful. Take his word and dive in no strings attached, because who knows when we’ll get another large scale, unapologetic Gothic Romance with this much grandeur.

#Crimson Peak #guillermo del toro #Tom Hiddleston #Mia Wasikowska #Jessica Chastain #Charlie Hunnam #Jim Beaver #Doug Jones

[fairiesherefairiesthere]

Of gods, demons and the longevity of true love.

My entry for the last day of fraxusweek hosted by @fuckyeahfraxus !!!

Prompt: Tarot/Legends and Mythology

"What are those things still doing around here?" Laxus asks brazenly, watching a few demons scurry away with disdain clear in his eyes. His grandfather, ever the spineless pacifist twacks his kneecaps with his walking stick before answering. "You young insolent fool. They are an integral part of our society."

Before the old man can continue his explanation, Laxus scoffs. "Are they though?" he asks, not willing to hear a possible answer. "I fought with that lightning demon earlier and his power is laughable. I could've killed him and taken over his domain and the world would've kept on turning. They're evil beings without a purpose, you should've just got rid of them a long time ago."

Rest of the fic under the cut!

"Laxus." His grandfather's voice has taken on that specific kind of tone that suggests that he's more than displeased at his opinion, but Laxus can't bring himself to care. In a world of gods, demons and humans, are the demons really needed? Didn't his grandfather wage a war on them because they kept corrupting humans? His grandfather is a contradicting fool, really.

"What. All they're good for is corruption, right? We can live without that."

"Is that truly what you think?" his grandfather asks and Laxus snorts in response. "Have you raised me to think otherwise?" When he gets no immediate answer, he rolls his eyes and turns to leave. "Laxus wait", his grandfathers gently orders him and gestures for him to sit down next to him. He doesn't do that, unwilling to give the old man that much, but he does halt his stride and turn around.

"I used to think like that", his grandfather confesses as though it's a surprise, as though that sentiment isn't alive and thriving. "But I changed my mind after I experienced their so-called corruption myself. It's not what you think it is and I implore you to do the same thing before saying such callous things." He pauses as though the silence would fortify his statement. "You're full of shit", Laxus answers pointedly, having heard enough. He doesn't bid his grandfather goodbye as he leaves. That day, it storms and lightning wreaks havoc upon the unsuspecting townspeople.

The next day, he has the pleasure to explain the reasons behind his little lightning spectacle to the goddess of script, words, letters, alphabets yada yada, he isn't that interested. He also doesn't get why she's so insistent on writing everything down, keeping logs of all godly activity. It's annoying. She keeps blabbering about immortalising the gods through words, but doesn't their innate immortality defy that? Interrupting her spiel about the importance of script, he asks her a question that's been weighing on his mind.

"Tiny," ignoring the indignant squeak escaping her he continues, "You're smart right? What's your opinion on demons?" Immediately, the shift in the mood becomes palpable. With a nervous chuckle, she tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ears. "Well...", she starts and coughs akwardly. "That's quite the loaded question, isn't it?"

He gets her unease. The war between demons and gods had started eons ago and had only come to a sudden stop recently. Outwardly, the gods all seemed to have become all fine and dandy with demons being allowed to interact with them and humans, but they both know the that isn't the truth. The message of 'demons are totes a-okay!' is so recent and none of them truly believe it. But not a single person can go against Makarov's wishes, so they take part in the façade.

Seeing her discomfort, he inwardly sighs. Although he won't deny that he's an asshole, it takes a whole different kind of asshole to force an answer out of petite Levy who looks like she could be snapped in half by him. Furthermore, she'd have to put this conversation in her records and probably have another moral breakdown. "Never mind it squirt, you keep doing your thing", he says and ruffles her hair while she bravely tries to fend him off. She still ends up with a bird's nest though.

Realising that no one's going to share their opinions of the other camp, he decides to take the easy way out. Instead, he decides to march straight into the other camp. If you want to know something, the best way is to get it directly from the source, right?

Apparently, it isn't. Little demon children (it's disturbing how innocence and something vile can coexist like that) quickly hide behind their mother's skirt as he walks between them. Conversations fall silent and only slowly pick up again when they think he's out of earshot. He's always taken pride in his grand stature, but right now it feels horribly out of place and he wonders if there's anything he can do to make himself look smaller, to not frighten these people as much.

The obvious discomfort his presence brings isn't worth it to him. Sure, he could keep forcing himself into their space, but he'd garner no positive results. He's quite sure he wouldn't even garner any results at all, since no one wanted to approach him. Realising this, he turns around to go back to the palace.

His grandfather finds him sitting on the edge of an open window, mulling over his thoughts and wondering how to change his approach. Those things seemed to be scared, something that doesn't add up in Laxus' head. Were they not the ones who turned humans against gods? Were they not the enemy? Were they shoving the most innocent of them to the forefront so that, upon entering their domain, outsiders would see them as guiltless beings?

"If you keep that, you'll damage whatever brains you have left", his grandfather teases him as he comes to stand next to Laxus. Rolling his eyes, he merely grunts at his grandfather in return. "What's got you thinking so hard my boy?" he asks and for a moment, Laxus closes his eyes and lets the warmth of his grandfather's voice trickle over him. For the briefest of moments, it's nice to pretend he's still a newly made god who thinks he knows how everything works.

"I went to visit those things-"

"At least call them people", his grandfather interrupts him and with a sigh, Laxus does so and continues. "I visited them", he says, eyes full of challenge, but his grandfather merely nods encouragingly. "I still can't see why you keep them around. They're more trouble than they're worth."

"I figured that you'd say that, so I arranged for a very special meeting. Do you want to meet the demon that changed my mind and made me spare their whole kind in the midst of a battle?" Because it seems like the only option left to satisfy his curiosity, Laxus agrees. While they walk through the castle in search of him, his grandfather explains who the demon in question is. Apparently, he could be seen as Levy's demon counterpart when comparing the domains they rule over. Laxus wonders what kind of words the demon must've pulled out of his ass to convince his grandfather to not kill them all.

After listening to his grandfather's long and winded character introduction, Laxus had expected a meeting with an old, gray man who constantly spouted unwanted advice like a fountain of fortune cookies. A single look at the young man before him proves him completely wrong.

He's definitely not old, in fact, his youthful face seems to suggest that he's younger than Laxus himself. There's a hint of muted curiosity there, suppressed childlike wonder that Laxus himself feels too. Because Laxus is focusing on the other man's looks that much, he quickly comes to the realisation that the man in front of him is devastatingly handsome. As soon as the realisation hits him, he colours a bright red and redirects his gaze to the very interesting tips of his shoes.

A deep chuckle makes his gaze snap back to the other man who gives him an amused halfsmirk. It's terribly attractive. Clearing his throat, his grandfather gestures to the man. "Laxus, meet the demon who rules over the scripts, speaks all tongues-"

"Freed", the man interrupts and offers Laxus his hand. Awkwardly Laxus accepts it while his grandfather frowns. "What are you freed from?" Laxus asks and immediately, his grandfather groans. The gorgeous man in front of him simply laughs, pretty lights dancing in his visible eye. "Freed is my name", he clarifies and Laxus wishes he was the god of being able to be swallowed by floors.

"What brings you here?", he asks Laxus. Not wanting to be ignored, his grandfather steps in. "Laxus wanted to know what demons were worth and I believe you would be the perfect person to show him that."

With a cool smile, Freed turns to his grandfather. "Well then Makarov, you thought wrong. Good day, gentlemen." Then he turns on his heel and departs, leaving both of them stunned. After a while, Makarov coughs. "I'm sure you're smart to figure it out yourself", he encourages Laxus before swiftly taking his exit as well.

Pissed off, Laxus spends the rest of the day making up less than savoury nicknames for Freed. Annoyed that the list of quite creative insults isn't helping him reach his goal any faster, he decides that he can't let this chance escape. Determined to know why demons are still allowed to exist, he hunts the man down. Laxus Dreyar is many things, but a quitter isn't one of them.

Maybe asking "Why are you still allowed to live?" isn't the most polite of questions to start with. Maybe, one shouldn't ever utter those words at all. But Laxus has a mouth that runs quicker than his brain and so, he has wedged himself between a rock and a hard place.

"Why not?" Freed shoots back, not unfriendly per se but there's an edge in his voice, ready to cut at any moment. "Tell me, why must I die?"

It's a question so direct that Laxus fumbles before answering. "You lot are corrupting humans, giving them things they aren't supposed to have. You're crossing boundaries you aren't supposed to cross." It's an adequate enough answer, it's something he's been told all his life.

"Who set those boundaries then?" Freed asks before shaking his head with a little laugh. "And giving humans things? Oh no, we're tricksters my dear, we don't give anyone anything. Surely we might inspire, but we do not give. Every choice one of those little ones down below makes, is one of their own. Don't underestimate the human will. Now please excuse me, I'm done talking for today."

"Wait", Laxus says and grabs the other man's arm, intending to halt his stride. With a brusque movement Freed breaks free and when Laxus catches a glimpse of his eyes, he thinks he's come a lot of steps closer to knowing what the flaming pits of hell look like. That fiery expression is quickly schooled back into careful neutrality as Freed opens his mouth to fire off a snappy remark.

"You're a funny lot, you gods. It's your way or none at all, isn't it? Why? Your hubris knows no bounds." After that, the man's gone before Laxus can ask him to stay.

The following day, Laxus seeks him out again and finds Freed sitting on the edge of an ornate fountain, bared feet dipping into the water as gods stand by and whisper from a distance. "Can I talk to you?" he politely asks and is met with an uncompromising "No".

"I just wanted to apologize", he mumbles and Freed gives him a flat look before disappearing again. Wondering what he did wrong, he spends the rest of his day at the fountain, feet splashing in the water as though he was still a child.

The next day, he once again seeks out Freed, asking if it were an appropriate moment to talk and once more, Freed tells him no. This time Laxus gives him a steady nod before leaving himself. Forcing the other man to talk to him would never work and honestly, Laxus doesn't want to force a relationship with anyone. Should Freed ever want to talk to him, he'd have no problem finding him.

For a few days he doesn't even see Freed until one day, the man pops up on his windowsill, perching on there like a cat basking in the sun. He's gorgeous, Laxus realises once more, with his hair losely draped over a shoulder and dark wings and horns reflecting the sunlight with a gentle shimmer. He's alluring, pulchritudinous. Laxus frowns. That last one is definitely not a word that was in his vocabulary before.

"Am I inspiring you yet?" Freed asks with a wicked grin, sinfully stretching himself on the windowsill. "Are my devilish charms working?" he adds and Laxus nods, a bit stupefied. "Now, you've been meaning to ask me something, right? You want to know why my species and I are allowed to live, why your grandfather decided to spare me on the battlefield."

Another nod. "My grandfather said he decided to spare you after he witnessed your 'corruption' himself. I want to know what words you said, you demon of words, letters, -"

"I said nothing at all", Freed interrupts him softly. "I didn't say a thing as he held me against the ground, knife in one hand with the other one on my throat. I merely cried because I was scared, I wholeheartedly believed I was going to die. My tears hit his hand and in that moment, the god who created all gods looked human."

Sensing the disbelief in Laxus, Freed only shrugs. "I think it's the first time he saw emotions that he hadn't created. You lot were made by him, every god carved to perfection by his hand. Every tear you've shed, every laugh you've laughed, they were implanted in you by him. We demons tempt you to let go of that prefabricated self, to explore your own self. Becoming your own person separated from Makarov's making comes at the price of immortality and thus, humans were born. Gods who were such no more."

With a whistful sigh, Freed shakes his head. "But parents get mad once you escape their tutelage and to protect their children, they will eliminate that which forms a threat to their children. And so the war began and for every child lost, a new one was made on your side. We demons have no almighty creator, we are born from stray magic of mother nature herself. We happen to be. So during one of those battles, I happened to be there and I think the confrontation with genuine emotion made him realise that he was not destroying something of his own making that he could simply rebuild. Just like humans, when we do die, we return to the earth."

It's a bit of a heavy pill to swallow. With an uncomfortable laugh, Laxus rubs the back of his head. "Guess you're not too big of a fan of my grandpa then?" Freed gives him a chuckle in return.

"Definitely no. And also, a bit yes. I just think he's been lonely for a long time and thus, has become very protective over his company. I think he's making strides in the right direction, but he's not unifying anyone. He still expects you all to just follow his wishes, well-intended as they are. But you all have come in contact with us, haven't you? You're not completely his anymore, so you are unable to blindly follow. He should educate you instead of ordering you, but that's just my two cents."

"I'm starting to get it", Laxus carefully says as he mulls over Freed's explanation. "You're allowed to live because nature made you with specific purposes outside my grandfather's realm of ruling. Freed laughs at his scrunched up pensive face and boops his nose.

"We're not even at my true point yet dear. Here's my gripe, my core issue if you want: must have something have a purpose or reason to exist at all? I have already mentioned it, but we demons happen to be and so are humans in a certain way. There's no reason or purpose behind our existance, we are not fabricated with definite goal. You gods were and I think that defines a lot of your thinking. But at our core, isn't simply being enough? Doesn't being give you more freedom to do something, anything than a prefabricated destiny? One should not have a purpose to be allowed to live, but finding purposes in life is what makes it worth living. But even that you, who are immortal, can not grasp. It's a bit pitiful isn't it, a god's existance?" With that and a kiss on the cheek, Freed leaves him to stew in his thoughts.

Once he's talked more about it with Freed over the span over a longer time, the clearer the division becomes between gods, demons and humans. Seeing the obvious divide, Laxus turns to his grandfather with his thoughts and ideas for a unification. Obviously, the old man has difficulties with being confronted by his own mistakes like that, but at least he attempts to do better.

The progress is slow and every once in a while there's a major setback that throws a wrench in the relationship between the demons and the gods. But steadily, over eons, the undercurrent of vicious hatred disappears and it's at that moment that a different union happens. Laxus can't think of a life without this clever, misschievous man at his side and the affections are returned. Their marriage is something that brings the relation between demons and gods to a higher level, evens the playing ground even more.

Whether their opnions be good or not, every god has one on the union. "It really strenghtens their critical thinking, doesn't it?" Freed jokes as he reads one of the letters totally decimating him. "They're absolutely nae nae'ing me."

They exchange a few meaningful glances and Freed breaks the silence first with a sigh. "Every day we stray further from Makarov's light. Everyone has something to say nowadays." He gives Laxus a thoughtful look. "You know what this means, right?"

"Our immortality fades. We become humans."

Freed gives him a hum, confirming his speculations. "Gramps will become lonely again then", Laxus realises and with a heavy heart, he knows he doesn't want that to happen.

"I don't think he'll be around for that long", Freed confesses and presses a kiss to the corner of Laxus' lips to ease the lines of worry there. "Fear not for him my love, he is old and his children have grown up. He has found a purpose that brought him joy and now that purpose has reached it's peak. His life is a fulfilled one, prepare to let him go."

And let go of him they do, eventually. It leaves the gods without power, devoid of immortality but with a new sense of peace. "A parting gift", Freed whispers and Laxus draws his husband into the tightest of hugs. "Should I give you one too, when I eventually die?"

Freed shakes his head. "My dearest love, there's nowhere you can go where I won't follow. You've been feeling it too, haven't you? We're entering a new time, where a divide won't be there anymore. We will simply be humans, all of us."

When the time to fade comes, they know and are ready for it. Everyone's been feeling it, but there's a peace that shields them all  from true fear. There's an intimate knowledge that this is one of the changes that simply is, that simply happens.

Freed and Laxus are sitting hand in hand, with their feet idly splashing into the fountain as unworried children would do. "When we meet again, because there are no ifs about it, will you greet me as a friend?" Freed softly asks as his eyes close themselves and Laxus whispers back: "My love, I'd greet you as a lover."

Bonus:

University lectures aren't always the most interesting, but this one is certainly turning out to be. A guy a few rows before him looks about ready to fistfight the professor about nihilism of all things. He can't properly hear them, but clearly the confrontation is over and the guy whirls away from the prof, heading straight for the door. Laxus decides to follow him.

"Why were you defending a belief that says human life is useless and meaningless? I think we all have a defined purpose", Laxus says, daring the other man the answer.

And answer, he does, with eyes blazing like the gates of hell. "Life is inherently meaningless", he says with certainty, "But that's because it's filled with the opportunity to create your own meaning. You may be waiting for divine intervention, but I'll create my own destiny."

Laxus smiles then, the familiarity and the warmth returning to his soul. "Then I'll do too", he says, "You've always inspired me, my love."

Whether they be human or something else, their kisses keep tasting the same.

#fraxus #fraxusweek #fraxus week 2020 #Freed Justine #Laxus Dreyar #Makarov Dreyar #TheFairyWrites

[astxlphe-fics]

let me live (let me die)

The end of the fight with the Chevalier, and the start of something between Astolfo and Noé.

Chapter 5/?

< Chapter 4 || Chapter 6 >

Content warning : character death (OC), violence, mentioned character death, implied medical abuse (? Doctor Moreau is talked about)

Noé wants to ask Astolfo many questions, specifically regarding Antonio. Something is bothering him, but it’ll have to wait.

Right now, their focus is the Chevalier Ténèbre.

He still can barely believe that anyone would, on their own will, murder someone’s whole family. There has to be an explanation, a truth neither of them is aware of.

They let him come to them, and the Chevalier has no trouble finding them.

From his perch on the roof, Noé glances down at Astolfo, hiding against the wall at the street corner, a flash grenade held tight in his hands. He is utterly still, for now.

“This is getting rather tedious, though not entirely unexpected,” the Chevalier says. “The Granatums have always been a plague upon vampire kind.”

The glow of his eyes is bright enough that Noé can see it. The shadows move around him, muting his footsteps. It seems to lose some of its density when hit by the moonlight, though not entirely.

So, their suspicions are correct.

Astolfo rips the pin off the grenade, arming it, and lets it drop in the street, where it rolls down the pavement. At this time of the night, when people have either gone home or run away from the fight already, the sound it makes is too loud.

The Chevalier’s head snaps towards it and recognizes it with ease. He takes a few steps back, trying to protect his eyes, but it blows before he has the time.

Noé covers his face, closing his eyes as the bright flash of light explodes through the streets. It feels like it burns through his eyelids still, making him a feel somewhat dizzy, though not as much as if he took the full brunt of it.

The Chevalier isn't so lucky.

He screams, the light snaps his control over the formula, destroys the shadows around him, and Noé winces in sympathy. Having been subjected to an earlier version of the Aegis grenade, he knows it isn’t a particularly good feeling.

Not to mention, any chasseur out and about will be attracting to the flash like moths to a streetlight.

Astolfo darts out of his hiding place, quick enough to come close to the Chevalier while he’s still distracted. Meanwhile, Noé shakes his head to get rid of the lingering nausea, waiting for it to fade before joining the fight.

It looks like Astolfo doesn’t truly need him, though he won’t bet his life on that. He is fast on his feet, striking quick and getting out of range even quicker. Without the distance advantage a spear usually gives him, he has to force himself into his enemy’s space, push him to act before he can think.

Astolfo always was a smart fighter, though Noé supposes he has to be when.

Finally, his vision clears, and reinforces his body before he lets himself fall from the rooftop. His knee collides with of one of his shoulders, sending him tripping forward.

“You’ve brought a friend,” he hisses. “Afraid of facing me on your own?”

The shadows still have trouble reforming around him. The Chevalier’s hands shake as he tries to get them back under his control, and they shift and bubble while Astolfo dashes again. The Chevalier manages to avoids him, but barely, staggering,

Still, Astolfo staggers as well and seems to have forgotten all about Noé’s presence as he turns on his heels and runs straight into him. Noé’s balance wavers, and he grabs onto Astolfo to avoids the both of them stumbling over each other. “Be care—“

But Astolfo shoves his hand off. “Out of my way,” he snarls, pushing him away, “I’ll gut him—”

Noé shoves him out of the way as the Chevalier, having found his lost balance, comes at them. “Be careful!” he calls out again.

“Let—”

Noé’s hands grabs on the Chevalier’s wrist. “A vampire?” the Chevalier says, “no, worse, an Archiviste , helping a Granatum, of all people? Well, I thought I had seen everything.”

“Did you—” The Chevalier tries to rip his wrist out of his grip, but Noé is barely shaken by the struggle, his prosthetic arm holding on tight. “Did you kill his family?”

All Noé needs is a word — a single word that would suggest this man did not do it on his own volition, that something else is at play. Then maybe— then maybe—

Instead, the Chevalier laughs . “And we did our kind a favor ,” he answers, lips curling into a smile. “They deserved it after the what they did —”

And Noé shoves his knee into the vampire guts before he twists his arm until its bends. Then, he kicks his legs, throwing him down on the ground.

The shadows, back in his control, writhe and wrap around his ankles. Noé tries to move to pin him down but they trip him and he almost falls.

Running past him again, Astolfo drops on the Chevalier’s stomach, forcing him to stay down, raises his blade and plunges it deep in his chest.

The vampire howls and trashes, almost throwing Astolfo off but the younger man holds on and, with all the strength his human body can muster, stabs him again — and again and again and again and again , until he stops trashing and the shadows at Noé’s feet fade.

Still, Noé doesn’t move, staring wide eyed as Astolfo doesn’t stop. Blood sprays his face, seeps between the cobblestone squares of the street and his face twists with rage.

“Astolfo,” he calls gently as he pulls on the young man shoulder. “We need to go.” He can hear footsteps coming their way — the chasseurs. If they’re caught here, they’ll be in trouble. But Astolfo doesn’t react, dagger dragging out of the Chevalier’s body with a squelching, wet sound that sends a shiver down Noé spine. “Astolfo, he’s dead!”

He pulls harder at Astolfo’s shoulder, dragging him back on his feet, and the younger man stops. He jerks himself out of Noé’s grip, his blood-streaked face relaxing as he wipes it with his sleeve.

“He is.” His tone flat, he stares, unblinking.

Noé’s eyes linger on the very bloody, very dead vampire on the ground, nausea coming back full force.

Maybe following Astolfo around isn’t Noé’s brightest idea. He isn’t quite sure how many brutal murders he can handle, and as he sends Astolfo a sidelong glance he can’t help but focus on the splatters of blood on his clothes and in his hair.

Astolfo looks back at him, eyes dark — darker than every time the younger man has snapped at him in the past few days, darker than when he’d exploded in anger. But he hides his trembling hands in his wide sleeves and his lips quiver and his shoulders shake as if he’s about to retch so Noé asks:

“Are you okay?”

It takes almost a full minute for Astolfo to answer:

“He killed my mom.” Very audibly, Astolfo gulps and takes in a deep breath. “That night someone — someone was holding me down and I watched him murder my mother. She was— she was screaming and begging and he—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, but Noé has a pretty solid guess.

She was screaming and begging and Jean Ténèbre laughed.

Then, swiftly, Astolfo kneels back down. He shoves his fingers into the vampire’s mouth as his body starts turning into dust, ripping one of his fangs out with ease. “Let’s go back,” he says when he stands back up, slipping the tooth in his pocket. “I need to clean up.”

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

With a sigh, Astolfo allows Noé in his hotel room.

Back inside, with the lights on, he looks even worse — dirty and bloody, eyes tired. He drops his dagger in the sink and shrugs of his coat, while Noé sets his own, along with his hat, on the back of the chair.

Soon enough, Astolfo disappears into the bathroom, leaving Noé alone with his thoughts.

In all their years fighting alongside Vanitas, he never killed anyone. He always knew he was capable of it, and made sure it didn’t happen, even by accident. He never settled for Vanitas’ justifications of “it’s too late”, always believing in an alternative. But those vampires were cursed, they did not control themselves. It had not been their fault.

The Chevalier Ténèbre is not one of those vampires and, thinking back on the smug grin stretched on his face, on Astolfo’s exhaustion and despair — to the point of asking someone he dislikes for help — he can’t bring himself to feel sorry for the man they left dead out in the night.

Someone knocks on the door before Astolfo gets out of the shower, and Murr hisses in warning. Still, Noé stands and opens, finding himself face to face with the old chasseur he’d barely the time to great earlier that day.

He’s wearing his uniform, a sword very much apparent at his hip, and doesn’t look pleased at all.

Noé’s heart speeds up, and t. What is he doing here? How did he find them? Is he here for Astolfo? He glances back at the bathroom door. The water is still running, and with all the blood and grime, it’s unlikely Astolfo will have finished cleaning up soon.

In the end, a form of anger or annoyance prevails at the memory of his exchange with Astolfo, how he talked and looked down on him.

“Good evening,” Noé still greets politely, wondering if he should be ready for a fight. The formula around him crackles and shifts slightly, unnoticed by the human, and strengths builds up in his limbs.

“It’s very much not a good evening.” One of his hand rests on the handle of his sword. “I’m here to see the boy.”

“He’s not here?” Noé lies, terribly so.

Antonio pinches the bridge of his nose. “If you tell me he’s dead I will chop your head off, vampire.”

“He’s not!!” Noé immediately affirms, shaking his head quickly for emphasis. “He’s unavailable, but alive and mostly unarmed!” Antonio doesn’t seem to be looking for a fight, but he still doesn’t let go of the formula. “And my name is Noé.”

So many people showed up before him seemingly peacefully and the night still ended with beating the shit out of each other.

Antonio looks him up and down critically from behind his glasses. He notes Noé’s guarded stance, the metallic glint of his wrist peaking between his glove and his sleeve, Murr’s raised hackles, the weapon in the sink. “So, you are the one who killed Jean Ténèbre.”

“Uh? No, I —” he hesitates — would it make a difference? The accords between humans and vampires are still recent, less than a year old, and some terms are still being discussed by the Senate, so he isn’t quite sure yet what would happen to Astolfo if they realize he’s the one who killed the Chevalier Ténèbre.

He could claim it was in defense of his life, which would be close enough to the truth and difficult to prove wrong.

Turns out he doesn’t have to think about it for a long time.

“What are you doing here?”

Noé didn’t even notice Astolfo coming out of the bathroom. He looks fresher already, wearing clean clothes and his wet hair a mess, though his eyes are red and somewhat puffy.

He scowls as he sees Antonio, narrowing his eyes as if to hide that he’d been crying. “What,” he repeats, “are you doing here?”

“Someone,” Antonio answers just as coldly, glaring at Noé, “killed a vampire we were planning on arresting and handing over to Altus Italy, like the new accords stipulate .”

“I’m the one who killed him.” His scowl deepens. “It appears that I didn’t need your assistance in finding him,” Astolfo goes on, chin tilted up. “He came to me on his own, and attacked me. I merely defended myself.”

“You stabbed him seven times in the chest in self-defense.”

“Exactly.”

He stares at Antonio, challenge in his eyes, daring the man to refute him. But his hands, closed into fists, shake slightly and tension settles in his jaw, so Noé steps up, moving closer to Astolfo.

“Unless you have something else to tell us,” he says, “I think you should leave.”

Antonio stays quiet for a short moment, before he sighs. "First of all, I wanted to apologise for some of the things I said to you yesterday. It was—" he pauses, looking for the right word. "Unecessarily harsh." Astolfo doesn't comment on that, simply crossing his arms, face blank. "And I promised you a talk. About Moreau.”

Blood pounds in Noé’s ears at the familiar name, and he pulls on Astolfo’s forearm, dragging him closer. He clearly remembers the man, the experiments, the way he referred to people as numbers, what he did to Vanitas and Mikhail.

Was Astolfo another one of his test subjects?

“What about Moreau?”

“I thought— he was interested in your marks —”

“So you thought it was an excellent idea to send me over to him so he could study them up close.”

“Do you really believe I wouldn’t have chosen another solution if there had been? You are my best friend’s son ."

Astolfo somehow met the doctor, Astolfo somehow got into grabbing distance of the doctor, and it was this man’s doing.

“No one in the world knew better how vampires worked, how marks worked. He said —” The man falters, and for a moment Noé can see his walls fall apart, see the anger and the guilt. “He promised he would find a way to erase them—”

“And you believed him?” He crosses his arms, raising a disbelieving eyebrow.

“No one had any reason to suspect him at the time — and he was the only option that didn’t involve making my twelve years old godchild a soldier.”

That...makes sense, actually. At least, to Noé it does, but he’s not the wronged party here and it’s not his place to say so. Astolfo hisses under his breath and takes a step forwards, seemingly ready to go for the man’s throat. Noé’s hold on his forearm tightens, so he settles for glaring at the man, not trying to fight Noé’s grip.

“I think you should leave,” he says again, though not as friendly. He bares his teeth, and Murr snarls.

Antonio glances between the three of them and shakes his head, resigned. “You should leave the country as well. I’ll do my best to come up with a slightly more believable story. Be grateful, there won't always be someone to cover for you.”

“We will manage.”

He doesn’t slam the door behind him but might as well have. The silence following his departure feels loud, and Noé doesn’t dare ask Astolfo about anything.

Astolfo suddenly relaxes, his shoulders sagging, and as he drops down on the bed Noé lets go of his arm. He stares up at Noé, wide eyed, shaken. “I didn’t want you to hear this.”

“Is it something you talked about earlier?”

The younger man nods. “I didn’t want you to—”

“I know, and I didn’t want to be here when you two aired your dirty laundry and yet here we are.” He sighs. “I thought you were going to attack him.”

Astolfo’s nose wrinkles as he grimaces. “I suppose I must thank you,” he mutters, and falls silent again. “For your assistance against the Chevalier and for holding me back.”

"You're welcome." Noé sits down on the desk chair, still facing him, and he lets out a small, closed eyed laugh. Astolfo narrows his eyes at him.

“What is it now?”

“You said we too .”

“Excuse me?”

“You said we would manage,” Noé says again, and grins. “As in you and I .”

“I—” he stops himself and sighs. “I guess I did say it.”

“I’m glad.” He is , truly, because it means that Astolfo has accepted his help, that he’s willing to let Noé work with him for the time being. “We should rest, then decide what to do next.”

#vnc #vanitas no carte #astolfoé #astonoé #noe archiviste #astolfo granatum #writing #story: let me live (let me die)

[etherealwaifgoddess]

A Good Night’s Sleep, Pt.1

Main Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky has been plagued with nightmares since he left HYDRA and the Avengers all have been trying to help him overcome them. Bucky meets you by chance on a coffee run and finds that the solution he was avoiding might be exactly what he needs.

Warnings/ Content: brief mention of PTSD

Word Count: 3.6k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! So this little 3 part series came from an idea that @marinaaniseed had a few weeks ago. I absolutely couldn’t get the idea out of my head and so, while I should have been working on my many WIPs, this little fic was born. Parts two and three are going up immediately after this, it’s all done and I don’t feel like dragging it out. Hope you all enjoy it as much as I have. Especially you @marinaaniseed, thank you so much for the idea!!! XOXO- Ash

A Good Night’s Sleep, Part One

“Come on, Buck.” Steve calls out while banging on Bucky’s door, “You gotta wake up, pal.”

Bucky wakes with a jolt, his body rigid and his throat sore from screaming. He’s panting hard, trying to adjust to the world around him. He pulls himself out of bed on shaky legs, wobbling down the hall to open the door right as Steve goes to knock again. “Sorry. Again.” he rasps. 

“Want to come get a cup of tea with me?” Steve offers with sympathetic eyes.

“Nah, I’m gonna grab a shower. Go back to sleep, Stevie.” 

“You know you can talk to me about it if you want to.” 

“I know. I’ll be okay.” Bucky insists, closing the door to end the discussion. 

Under the burning hot spray of the shower Bucky lets himself breakdown. 

After Wakanda Steve had convinced Tony to let him live at the tower with the rest of the team and everyone had been leery of the former assassin joining their ranks. As they slowly came to know him though, he became a welcome addition to their little family of Avengers. The only issue was the nightmares that woke not only Bucky, but everyone else on their floor. Bucky hadn’t slept through the night since he escaped HYDRA, plagued with visions of the destruction he’d wrought as the Winter Soldier. It was an endless stream of death and terror every night when he closed his eyes. When he was on his own in Romania he’d accepted it as his penance for what he’d done. After Shuri and her team pulled him out of Cryo in Wakanda he hadn’t been hopeful the nightmares were gone along with the trigger words. And he had been right - they persisted. 

Bucky warned Steve when he invited him to live at the tower with the team. He told him he had nightmares and was prone to have low days where he just needed solitude to work through his own mind. Steve had promised he’d have his own living quarters and the team would understand. They all had their demons, afterall. The team was very understanding the first days but after that the concerned glances turned to long, worried looks and the team started speaking up.

Bruce had been the first to speak up, suggesting therapy to help him work through what was causing his nightmares. Bucky went and as much as he liked his therapist, nothing they tried stopped the nightmares. Even the meds blew through his system too fast to be of any use. She did give him some good tips for managing his PTSD and depression during the day though, so Bucky considered it a win and still went to see her once a week. 

Nat gave him a spicy Russian tea she swore would knock him out enough that no dreams would come. Nat was wrong, all Bucky got out of the tea was heartburn. She grumbled something under her breath in Russian that sounded a lot like “cursed’ the next morning over breakfast. 

Steve took him for a long run before bed one night, thinking the endorphin high and exhaustion would help Bucky sleep soundly. It helped Steve sometimes with his own dreams of war. It didn’t help with the nightmares, it only made him more exhausted the next day after getting little sleep. 

Tony offered to get him drunk but it would take entirely too much alcohol to overcome the serum in his veins so he declined the offer. 

Wanda suggested she try popping in his mind while he was having a nightmare to see if she could reshape it and try to correct whatever in his mind was causing him to have the dreams. Bucky threw up at the idea of someone meddling in his mind again.

The care and suggestions from the team were sweet, and Bucky knows they have the best intentions at heart, but it’s all still a little overwhelming. Bucky wants to stop having nightmares, he would do anything to sleep for more than three or four hours a night. A small part of him still thinks it’s punishment from some higher power for everything he’s done, but rationally he understands it’s just his PTSD. 

After his shower, Bucky trudges out to the team kitchen for coffee. If he isn’t going to sleep he might as well start on his caffeine routine. Sam is already in the kitchen whipping up a smoothie for himself while Natasha stares at him over a cup of tea, the human embodiment of heart eyes on her face. 

“Mornin’.” he rumbles as he crosses the kitchen, rummaging for his favorite cup in the dishwasher. 

“Another bad one, huh.” Nat asks, but it really isn’t a question.

“Yeah, sorry.” 

“You’ve got to figure these out, James.” 

“I know it.” 

“I know what you need.” Sam interjects causing both Bucky and Nat to whip around to stare at him. Sam just shrugs, “You need to get laid, man.” 

Bucky chokes on his coffee. “What?” 

“You. Need. To. Get. Laid.” Sam repeats slowly. “Seriously, man. Find yourself a nice girl, or a guy, and get some. You’ll be all happy and cosy and you’ll nod right off. No nightmares if you’re wrapped up in the arms of a good woman, or man.” 

Bucky shakes his head, the last thing he needs is to terrorize some poor person trying to spend the night.

“It’s not a bad idea.” Nat agrees.

“Not happening.” Bucky says with a warning tone. He fills his cup and retreats to his bedroom, unwilling to continue the conversation. Adding another person to his mess of a life is not the solution. 

Sam’s suggestion spreads through the team like wildfire. Everyone seems to have a friend they could set him up with. Tony even hacks into his smartphone and adds apps for Tinder, Grindr, and Match.com. Bucky deletes them quickly before chewing Tony out about privacy rights. It becomes a bit of a running joke within the group and Bucky is less than thrilled about it. Bucky hasn’t had a date since 1941 and he isn’t sure how to navigate dating in the 21st century. He knows the times have changed, people are more free with their sexualities and casual relationships are normal instead of taboo. Eventually, he thinks, eventually he’ll get back out there. But certainly not just for the sake of random sex. 

Bucky has another particularly rough night. One where he doesn’t dare sleep because the second his eyes close the images start up like a motion picture. He’d spends the night alternating between pacing and reading, trying to not be disruptive while everyone else sleeps. Sam and Steve get up for their run just before dawn and find him pacing in the common room. 

“Did you sleep at all?” Steve asks him.

“I will later. Probably.” Bucky grumbles. 

Sam shakes his head, “Let’s go get coffee. You look like hell.”

Bucky can’t argue with that and instead goes to grab his shoes with a nod.

The city is bustling despite the early hour and the line at their favorite coffee shop is almost to the door. It’s worth the wait though and Bucky likes the thrumming energy of the shop, the blur of muted sounds around him oddly comforting. The woman in front of them is fidgeting with her leather bag, it must have something heavy in it the way she keeps adjusting the strap on her shoulder. Bucky tries not to let his gaze linger too long but the way her long hair falls in soft waves all the way down to the small of her back is distracting. The even softer looking rounded curves of her body are even more distracting, he admits to himself. She reminds him of the women in Renaissance paintings, when lush curves were still revered, before these modern stick thin bodies became the ideal. Bucky wishes the Winter Soldier could go back and pay a visit to whoever started the “thigh gap” craze. 

The woman adjusts the leather strap again and a small white card flutters out onto the floor behind her. Bucky reaches down to pick it up, noticing the card has business information on it. Sam and Steve are chatting and distracted when Bucky taps the woman on the shoulder, “I think you dropped your business card.” he says hesitantly. 

You’re cursing yourself for lugging everything along with you in your enormous bag when you feel a tap on your shoulder followed by a warm masculine voice. You absolutely do not have business cards, you’re a freelance writer and market yourself entirely online. It has to be another pick up line, probably from some smarmy Wall Street asshole who wants to slum it with an artsy girl for a change. You’ve been burned by that type enough times and won’t let yourself do it again, no matter how long it’s been since you’ve had a date. “Does that line work a lot for you?” you reply, turning around with an unamused expression. 

Bucky’s face falls, upset he’s offended you when all he was trying to do was return what you’d dropped. “I wasn’t. I don’t. You. Um, you dropped this. It fell out of your bag.” Bucky fumbles for words, blushing brightly and drawing the attention of Sam and Steve who wear twin smirks of amusement watching him flounder. 

Your irritation dissipates when you see the gorgeous, stuttering man in front of you. He’s tall, though not quite as tall as his companions, his dark hair falls around his shoulders in a way that is either true bedhead or carefully crafted styling to mimic it. His grey blue eyes are wide and honest, clearly not some smarmy pick up artist like you’d assumed. He’s wearing a black hoodie and dark grey sweatpants so it’s unlikely he was the business card type either. You force yourself to stop ogling the poor man and look at the tiny card in his outstretched hand. Recognizing it immediately, you realize you’re the asshole in this scenario. “Shit, that is mine.” you curse, “I’m so sorry. I don’t usually have business cards but my friend gave me this one yesterday for a new bakery that went in over on 2nd Avenue.” 

Bucky looks at the card for a second before you take it from him. “So you’re not Beth Yardley?” 

You raise an eyebrow at him, wondering if that’s now a ploy to get your name. You really need to be less suspicious but after living in the city for five years you’ve become jaded. He’s cute though. “Nope, Y/N. Nice to meet you…?”

“Bucky.” he offers quickly.

The name doesn’t ring a bell, but he looks familiar for some reason. “Nice you meet you, Bucky. Thanks for saving that card for me. I’m dying to try these cinnamon buns my friend keeps raving about.”

Bucky is smiling again, hoping his face doesn’t betray how eager he is to keep the conversation going. He wasn’t trying to hit on you a few minutes ago but now that he’s seen your face and heard your voice, he sure as hell is. “I love cinnamon buns.” 

You stifle your laugh at the way his cheeks burn bright pink after his admission. He has to be flirting at this point. And he really is cute. Damnit. “We should go try them, then.” you decide, giving him a chance to make a move. 

Bucky feels like he’s swallowed his tongue, “As in, together?” 

“Yeah, sorry if I wasn’t clear. This is me hitting on you now.” you smirk at him as his blush spreads.

Sam is leaning on Steve as they fight for composure, trying not to erupt in laughter and ruin their friends moment. Bucky glares at their backs for a moment before realizing he still hasn’t answered, “Yeah. Yes. Let’s do that.” 

Getting a better look at his companions you realize why he looks so familiar. Of all the people to meet in a coffee shop, you muse. You’re still interested though. “Are you free after this? I was going to get my coffee to go and then head straight there for breakfast.” 

“I’m free. These idiots can find their own way home.” 

“Great. Now, the deciding factor is: icing or no icing? Think hard Bucky, there are two camps of people and if you fall into the wrong one I’ll be forced to shame you for all eternity.” 

Bucky’s eyes widen, worried he’s going to mess up two seconds into what could potentially be a date. “Icing?” he tries.

“Right answer!” you announce him happily. Then, in a conspiratorial tone, you whisper, “It wasn’t really a deal breaker but it’s good to know you’re not some sugar hating monster.” 

Bucky’s grin widens, “No, I have a serious sweet tooth.”

“We’re gonna get along just fine.” you assure him. 

After you order your coffee, quad shot latte with whole milk don’t judge me, and Bucky orders his, the biggest white mocha frapp you have please, you swipe your card before he has a chance to get his wallet out. Bucky balks at you paying but you tell him he can get it next time with a flirty smile that has his brain shutting off, unable to continue complaining. 

Steve and Sam give Bucky small waves and thumbs up, not interfering when Bucky leaves with you. “Your friends seem nice.” you say kindly as you step out onto the busy city sidewalk.

“They’re the best.” Bucky agrees with a nod. 

You make idle chit chat on your way to the bakery, keeping the topics light and superficial. Bucky tells you he grew up in Brooklyn, moved away for a bit, and recently moved to Manhattan with his friends. He seems hesitant as he explains it and you realize he’s trying to not be obvious about who he is. Like you couldn’t have already guessed.

You snort a laugh into your latte. “So what was Brooklyn like in the 30s?” you ask bluntly.

Bucky’s eyes practically bug out of his head, “How did you...?” 

You give him a half smile and shrug, “The hand is a good clue, plus your face was everywhere for a while. It doesn’t help that your best friends are Captain America and the Falcon.” 

Cringing, Bucky figures this will be the end of his almost date. “We don’t have to go get breakfast. I’ll understand if you don’t want to be seen with me.” 

You stop in the middle of the sidewalk, shocked by his response. “Whoa, hold on. I knew who you were before I asked you to join me. I don’t care what other people think about you or your past. You seem like a nice guy and I want to get to know you. The real you.” 

Bucky takes a moment to process your words, finding it hard to believe someone is willing to look beyond his past. He can't find a shred of deceit in your expression though, so he answers your question. “Well, there were less cars and it smelled worse if you can believe it.” 

You huff out a laugh, resuming your walk to the bakery. “I can’t. Tell me more.” 

Bucky tells you stories of the Brooklyn of his youth as you make your way across town. You aren’t in a hurry and Bucky is happy to spend extra time out in the warm sun with a beautiful woman. 

The bakery is a little glass fronted shop sandwiched between two larger brick buildings. You would have walked right past it if you hadn’t been looking for it. Bucky opens the door for you and you smirk, amused by the old fashioned gesture. The scent of vanilla and caramelized sugar hit you the second you’re inside. “Oh my god.” you groan the amazing smell. 

Bucky’s steps falter at the sound you made, trying desperately not to let his mind go where it was headed. “This place smells amazing.” he says, inhaling deeply.

“It had better taste as good as it smells or I’ll riot.” you joke. 

The line is short and before you know it, Bucky is ordering two iced cinnamon buns plus an assortment of other pastries he picks at random out of the display case. 

“Are we feeding an army?” you question as the tray piles higher and higher with plates of baked goods.

“Sorry,” he blushes, handing over his card to the waiting cashier, “Um, my metabolism is pretty high and I have to keep up with it or I get cranky.” 

“Ah, okay. No hangry super soldiers on my watch.” 

Bucky chuckles and nods. 

There’s a sunny spot in the window of the bakery with an unoccupied cafe table, Bucky motions towards it and it’s your turn to nod, following him over to it. The tray takes up most of the table and you perch your coffees on your respective sides, eager to dig into the spread in front of you. You go for the cinnamon bun first, knowing one of them is yours and not wanting to presume you’ll be trying any of the other treats. 

The taste of caramelized sugar and cinnamon explode on your tongue, eliciting yet another moan that makes Bucky fidget in his seat. “Okay, that’s it. I can die happy now.” you announce dramatically. 

Bucky takes a swipe of the icing off the top of his cinnamon bun and his eyes widen slightly. “Oh wow.” he lifts the entire bun up to take a large bite and closes his eyes happily as he chews. “This is incredible.” he says once he’s swallowed, quickly taking another large bite. His cheeks puff out adorably and you grin around your own bite of cinnamon bun. 

“I can’t believe you just bite it like that.” you tease. 

“Well, what else am I supposed to do with it?” 

You demonstrate the way you’ve been peeling yours apart from the outside in, “You uncoil it, like a normal human being.” 

“Takes too long.” Bucky scoffs, “My way is faster.” 

“But then it’s gone. My way you can enjoy it more.” 

“Pfft. I enjoy it plenty, and I would have time for two of them while you eat just one.” 

“Not all of us have super soldier metabolisms, one bun is enough.” 

Bucky looks at the four other plates on the tray and shakes his head, “Then I guess it’s good to be me.” 

You laugh at his antics as he takes another big bite, smiling while his cheeks chipmunk out again. The look you’re giving him almost makes him swallow wrong. He knows this look, he remembers it from the dance hall girls in the 30s. Attraction. Desire. You’re flirting with him in your own, unique, modern way. And Bucky is shocked to realize he’s been flirting back. He didn’t intend to get back out there so soon but here he is, enjoying breakfast with a beautiful woman. He wonders if you’re the type who would appreciate being asked out on a date, or if you’d rather exchange numbers and call him up when the mood strikes. A booty call, Sam had called it. Bucky still doesn’t get how there’s such a big difference between a booty call and a butt dial but thankfully Sam had corrected him when he got the reference wrong. 

Bucky finishes his cinnamon bun and starts in on a vanilla bean scone, enjoying the way the light glaze crackles as it gives way to the soft, buttery dough. You’re still enjoying your bun, about half way through, so Bucky tears the other pointed corner of the scone off and deposits it on your plate. “It’s really good.” he insists, not wanting you to miss out.

You glance from the bite of scone up to Bucky who’s looking at you hesitantly like he’s waiting to see if he’s done something right or wrong. You pop the bite of scone into your mouth, chewing slowly before nodding, “Yeah it is. Thanks.” 

Bucky practically beams. Maybe he can figure out 21st century flirting. He’s not sure if flirting via baked goods is a thing or not, but it absolutely should be. Bucky methodically works through all of the plates on the tray, offering you bits of each different item. You snag two bites of the cream puff but decline when he offers to buy you your own. The conversation shifts to the best meals you’ve had in the city. Food is an easy common ground for you both. You explain to Bucky that the small town you grew up in was pretty limited restaurant-wise and you’ve tried a lot of different places since moving to the city. You’re great in the kitchen but some days, after spending hours alone working at home, you like to get out and around other people for a while. 

“There’s an Italian place, Sapori, near the tower you would love.” Bucky tells you, “I don’t know what the big deal about the place is but Stark always gets reservations when we’re celebrating something. They make everything from scratch and it’s damn good. There’s these little pillowy pasta things. Starts with a g but you don’t pronounce it. I don’t know, but they’re amazing.”

“Gnocchi,” you say, stifling a laugh. 

“Yeah! Those. Best meal I’ve had in the city by far.” 

“That’s only because you haven’t had the food at Xián Tián.” 

“Well, you should let me take you to Sapori and then you’ll understand.” 

“Did you just ask me out?” you raise your eyebrows at him in surprise.

Bucky blushes and nods, suddenly feeling more shy. “Yeah. I did. This is me hitting on you now.” he says, paroting your words from earlier. 

“Well done, Barnes. When are we going?” 

Read part two HERE!

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes feels #nightmares #PTSD #original female character #reader insert #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fandom #meet cute

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To Save Those Who Can’t Be Saved Chapter 7

Beginning

<– Previous

To Save Those Who Can’t Be Saved

AO3

Work Summary: Frisk, Asriel, and Chara go back to Waterfall to solve the mystery of the lone statue sitting deserted in its halls. Along the way, they uncover more questions than answers, and find themselves forced to face their greatest faults and failures.

Chapter 7: Desperate Times, Desperate Measures

Chapter Summary:  Chara and Asriel disagree on the right action to take now that Frisk is missing.

Rating: T

Warnings: Death mention

Characters: Asriel, Chara, Toriel

“Asgore? This is Toriel.” A pause. Then a deep rumble from the phone, too muted by distance and the fur on the side of Toriel’s head for Asriel to understand. “Yes, I know. But that is not important at the moment. Is Frisk with you?” A shorter mumble. “No, Dreemurr, everything is not ‘all right.” She sighed, her muscles going from tensed in preparation for a fight to–well, she still looked tense, but she’d stopped her shoulders from rising and her fingers from curling so that her claws dug into her phone and palm, so she was trying to look calm, but in a forced way. “Frisk has disappeared.”

As Toriel continued the call, she shifted her weight from foot to foot, over and over, just barely enough to be noticed. She only did that when she was really stressed. Asriel had seen her face certain death standing as still as a statue, had seen her brace herself to fight Frisk and Chara with all the resolution of a mountain standing against the wind. When she was showing cracks in her ex-queen mode, the situation was really bad.

And for good reason. Asriel himself felt like a little kid again, shaking and scared. At least on the inside. He glanced at his hands to make sure they were still. Toriel was already upset, and giving into the panic and worry would only make the situation worse.

He glanced over at Chara. They, too, were collected and still, though they had ditched their usual smile for a neutral expression that was just a bit too tight around the eyes and corners of the mouth. They were angry.

At Frisk, or at themself?

Asriel could relate to the feeling. Feeding into his shakiness and concern was guilt, guilt that he hadn’t been able to say something that would make Frisk reconsider whatever had made them want to run off and save monsters they felt that they and only they could save. Guilt that, despite all his resets’ worth of experience, compared to all the other monsters and even to Chara he knew less about the sibling who’d helped save him than they did about him.

Guilt that he still hadn’t told Toriel about why Frisk had left.

It isn’t like Chara’s said anything, either, he thought. His soul sparked with an electric jolt of anger, but he clamped down on it before it could take root. The situation was bad enough without his anger and hypocrisy feeding into it.

And he could kind of understand why both of them were keeping silent, too.

Chara finally drew themself out of whatever had them preoccupied and met his eyes. They took a deep breath in and out, probably to calm themself, and raised their hands to sign. “Let us discuss this elsewhere.”

Asriel glanced over at Toriel. He’d been keeping in her sight, so she wouldn’t worry as much, but she was absorbed in the phone call, controlling her irritation as much as she was her worry.

For a moment, he wondered if perhaps he should shake his head and stay near her, even if all he could offer was a little peace of mind that at least he and Chara hadn’t taken off.

But no. He hadn’t thought that Frisk would run away. Sure, maybe it was because they hadn’t come up with the plan until after he’d last seen them, but he really should’ve suspected this would’ve crossed their mind sooner.

He had to help make this right.

He and Chara managed to move into the hall connecting their and Frisk’s rooms without Toriel pausing in her phone call. Chara stopped there instead of bringing the conversation to one of their rooms, which spoke volumes as to how long they felt like she’d be distracted, and how urgently they wanted to discuss whatever it was they wanted to talk about.

“Let us not beat around the bush.” Chara’s hands were faster and more clipped than usual as they signed the words. “You and I both know where Frisk has gone.”

Asriel nodded. He couldn’t imagine them being anywhere else at the moment.

Chara continued after seeing the gesture. “And we both know that they have done so because they believe that they alone can help that child, and that the monster in that article they showed us needs help of a similar caliber.” The side of their nose twitched in a silent scoff. “Never mind that said monster easily could have wandered off when those who interviewed them turned their backs. Instead, they fixated on the word choice as justification for running away from home.” They let their hands drop back to their sides, fingers flexing. If they were showing their frustration like that, Asriel didn’t want to know what they’d have to say to Frisk next time they saw them.

“You think that they would’ve run off even if they hadn’t found that article?” Asriel made sure that his hands were steady; Chara was already upset enough at Frisk for having upset Toriel as much as they had. If they knew just how worried Asriel was, then that would just feed into that anger. Which would make Frisk angrier when they next spoke, which would just continue the cycle of rage.

Chara nodded, a sharp dip of their head. “Although they might not have done so tonight, then later, if they had become more impatient with the child’s rescue mission’s lack of results.”

That did make sense.

In the lull of their conversation, Asriel picked up Toriel speaking loudly into the phone. “No, I do not believe that they had been taken. I have ensured that this house is as safe as I can make it so that no human or monster would be able to kidnap them.” The edges of her words were clipped with frustration from both the situation and talking to her ex-husband. She was usually so careful to make sure that she and Asgore never had an argument where she thought any of their kids could hear. If she was showing her frustration now, when he and Chara were in the house and already stressed, she must really be sick with worry.

But if she knew where Frisk had went, knew of a place to start looking, would she feel at least some relief?

“I think we should tell Mom.” He took a deep breath and let Chara process the signs. “She really deserves to know what’s going on, at least.”

Chara raised an eyebrow. That was never a good sign. “And we both know she will insist on going to find them herself, and that Frisk will immediately reload their save the moment she appears. That is why we have both kept our silence, is it not?” They tilted their head almost sarcastically.

Asriel fought his grimace even as he nodded. On the one hand, it felt kind of mean not to give Frisk the benefit of a doubt, at least. On the other, he knew they’d loaded saves when their family looked less than perfectly happy. They’d even made true resets in the hopes that perhaps the next time something might go differently to help save Asriel and Chara, even on the occasions they’d realized that true resets erased their memories, too.

It wasn’t that hard to realize that Frisk would reload until they felt like they knew how to save the monsters they’d decided needed their help.

Even if it took forever.

Asriel frowned, thinking back to everything he’d noticed that night. “I haven’t felt any déjà vu. Have you?” He swallowed as he signed the question, unsure of whether or not he wanted to hear a “no.”

“I have not.” Chara’s signs were choppier than before.

Asriel felt torn. Half of his body wanted to relax, the other half wanted to remain tense. It felt like his soul was going every which way. “Well, I haven’t seen anyone have any déjà vu tonight. I guess Frisk hasn’t done any loads yet.”

“‘Yet,’” Chara repeated, signing the word slower than they had been to make the quote obvious. “There is no evidence to show that they will not load a save once they have to face consequences for the evidence, and all the evidence to show that they will.”

Asriel really wanted to be calm, he really did, but the anger sparking in his soul was getting too much to keep up the outer façade. He allowed himself to frown instead of glare, though he made sure that his lip stayed over his teeth. “So you’re saying that we should just let Mom worry? That we shouldn’t do anything because it’ll all just be erased anyways?” Even if Frisk would just load over them telling Toriel what was going on, it was still wrong not to tell her anything and let her keep worrying. If Asriel had learned anything from his time as Flowey, it was what you did when you thought none of your actions mattered anyways that really mattered.

He’d already failed that test multiple times. He owed it to everyone, to his family and friends, to get it right this time.

Chara closed their eyes and took a deep breath. “I am not suggesting we do nothing.” Their signs were slow, yet jagged like the cut of a dull knife. “I believe that we should go talk to them ourselves.”

Asriel had had a lot of time to learn how to hide his emotions. He’d spent what must’ve been years as a flower wearing a mask, to hide the emptiness, the morbid curiosity, the anger inside him from everyone else so long as it benefitted him in the end.

Maybe it was harder after he regained a soul, because now he barely stifled the impulse to yell at them. “Why?” In spite of everything, it felt good to give into the impulse to make his signs as sharp as he wanted. He still forced himself to take a deep breath, stamp down the anger, and sign slower, more calmly. “You know that’d upset Frisk. We just told them that we should let professionals find the kid. Wouldn’t acting like that just upset them and make the situation worse? Hurt everyone else? Not to mention that our parents are already worried enough. They do not need us disappearing on them too.”

For a moment, Chara’s solemn mask seemed to crack. Their jaw tensed, their breath stuttered in their throat, their shoulders raised. Their expression flickered between guilt, pain, and anger before they took a deep breath and settled back to neutral.

“I am not suggesting this to hurt anyone.” Their signs were slow, deliberate, versus the punchy, sudden ones they’d been making before. “I do not make this suggestion lightly, and would not have made it if I did not believe it was the only way to mend this situation.”

“There’s always another way.” The two of them just weren’t thinking hard enough. They were angry, and worried, and tired. There had to be some way to fix this that just hadn’t occurred to them.

“Perhaps, but time is of the essence.” As if to make their point, Chara began to sign faster again. “At any moment Frisk could decide to reset. Because they have been caught. Because they have found whatever they have needed and wish to escape the majority of the consequences. Who can say. But at this point it is an inevitability. At any moment we could all return to the start, with no memories of what had come before.”

“And what good will running away ourselves do?” All it would do was cause more panic, more pain.

“We have both come to the conclusion that, should Frisk face being brought back, they will load instead of give up. And should the situation regarding the monster child be out of their scope to fix, they shall not accept that and trap all of us in an eternal time loop.” They paused to take a breath before starting to sign again, their signs deliberately too slow to be genuinely calm. “But we also know that we are the only ones with which they discuss their resets, their loads and saves, their actions in them.”

Asriel had to admit that this was true. Yes, they’d explained the resets, loads, and saves with Toriel and Asgore after everyone woke up to see two children who should’ve been dead lying there, alive as could be. But beyond allusions to all of them having made poor choices with the power that none of them properly explained and that neither parent dug too deep into, they never really discussed their darker actions.

However, Frisk had been more open with him and Chara. It wasn’t something they discussed often; it wasn’t exactly a cheery conversation topic. But he was pretty sure that Frisk never brought it up again with their parents, and that they hadn’t told anyone else.

“If we were to find Frisk, perhaps they would not load, not immediately at the very least, and we could make our case for them to come home.” They shrugged. “A long shot. However, if we cannot convince them to give up this wild goose chase, no one can.”

Asriel knew that this was true. Frisk was always stubborn, far more than he’d been even as a flower. But that didn’t mean it was the right thing to do.

“Even if we do have a chance, we’d still be hurting other people.” Asriel pointed at the doorway into the living room. Toriel’s voice still came through it, though not as clear from the distance. Apparently she had finished talking with Asgore and was now on the phone with someone else. “And even if Frisk does reload, we’ll still have hurt them, even if we can’t remember it. Isn’t that why we agreed that resets were wrong?”

Chara nodded. “Unfortunately, Frisk has not quite come to that conclusion for themself. Yes, they believe wholeheartedly that killing all the monsters was a poor choice, and that they should never have done it. However,” they added before Asriel could raise his own hands to make another point, “they do not believe that the ability to save and reset itself is a problem. In their experience, they were able to use it, again and again, until they were able to restore our souls and original forms as best as they were able. They are so elated with the results that they do not fully comprehend the amount of time that they trapped monsters, and the entire world, in a time loop for a version of a happy ending that they believed existed despite having no guarantee of finding.”

Asriel shook his head. “I know that.” While Frisk was impulsive and stubborn, they were overall trying to be a good person. If they believed that saves and loads were bad, they wouldn’t have done it. But they had come to the conclusion that having them meant that they had the responsibility of using them to fix every problem, no matter how small.

Chara nodded. “Then you know that we have no choice but to go and stop them if we wish for the entire world not to be trapped in the same night for eternity. After all, once everyone else stops to think instead of panic, they will check the underground, which will cause Frisk to load their save. They have all but forced our hands in the matter.”

Asriel shook his head. “We always have a choice.” He stepped forward. “We can choose to hurt our parents while looking for Frisk and hope they don’t reload, or we can stop and think of a better way that doesn’t hurt anyone.”

“Is there even a way to achieve that in this situation?” Chara tilted their head, leaning just the slightest bit forward. “Currently, our choices are to either leave Toriel and Asgore in an attempt to convince Frisk that what they are doing is wrong, to stay with them and let Frisk trap everyone in the same night, possibly for eternity, and the elusive third choice that you are hoping that we can think of before the latter happens.”

Asriel forced himself not to scowl. Why wasn’t Chara listening? “I know, but we can’t just let Mom and Dad panic because they lost all their children in one night again!”

The moment that his hands finished the last sign, he realized that he’d let anger rule his actions again. But it was too late. Chara had already read each and every word. They blinked twice in shock, which, for them, was as good as a flinch.

The anger left Asriel’s soul, replaced by that all-too-familiar guilt. “Chara, I’m sorry–”

Chara started signing again before he could finish. “No, do not apologize.” They let out a deep breath before continuing. “Perhaps you are right.”

Asriel almost thought he was reading the signs wrong, though he’d known them long enough to not make such a mistake.

However, they were signing slowly and clearly enough that there was no possible way he could be mistranslating it. “Our parents would definitely worry if all their children disappeared in one night.”

Asriel almost missed the last part of their sentence, as the sign for “all” had caught his attention. And the way they’d changed their argument so quickly, that could only mean–

“Asriel? Chara?” A few footsteps signaled her turning the corner and into the hallway. “I have something to tell you.”

Asriel frowned as he tried to figure out what it was. Toriel held herself like her limbs had turned to stone, so it didn’t have anything to do with Frisk. And she was frowning as if she was bracing herself for something upsetting. But nothing regarding Frisk, otherwise she’d be even worse off.

“Yeah, Mom?” Asriel turned to face her properly.

Toriel glanced from him to Chara, her expression shifting slightly toward confusion before turning back to concern again. “I have just finished alerting everyone to Frisk’s disappearance.”

Asriel nodded and fixed an expression of hope on his face, though wasn’t sure how to feel about this. It would definitely make Toriel feel better, and he definitely didn’t want to just do nothing while Frisk was missing, even if it’d all be for nothing. But more awareness meant that there were more eyes out for Frisk, more chances for them to be caught and decide to reload to take a different path.

Perhaps Chara was right, and going to speak to Frisk themselves was the only way to stop them for good.

But how could he do that in good conscience when it would hurt their parents, their friends?

Perhaps if he and Chara told Toriel what was happening and found a way to convince her to let them speak to Frisk alone? But no, she’d never agree to that. She’d want to stay close to protect them, and while Frisk might’ve been okay speaking to him and Chara alone they would immediately reload if Toriel was there, too.

“I plan on joining the search myself, and your father has as well.” Toriel bit her lip. “Alphys is staying at her and Undyne’s house, as she is using remotely controlled flying robots to search for them from the air. As everyone else we know is out searching, she is the only one that will be able to keep an eye on the two of you.”

Asriel nodded. That made sense.

“Do not worry, children. Undyne has the entire New Royal Guard out on the streets, Asgore says that he will contact Mettaton to work on a way to alert all monsters in the city without alarming humans who would use this against us, and everyone else is searching every corner of Home the Third. They certainly cannot have gotten far without someone spotting them, and especially now that everyone is on the alert.” Yet despite the words, Toriel was still worrying at her lip, her breaths deep and slow in a deliberate attempt to calm herself, or at the very least look like she wasn’t panicked. “I promise that, even if somehow they elude everything we have set in motion, I shall pick you up by noon today, my children.”

Asriel nodded. “Okay, Mom.” He went up to hug her, and was glad to feel her calm down a little at the very least as she returned the gesture.

“We shall be good.” Chara’s voice made Asriel want to glare, as they both knew that was a lie.

“Yes, I know you will.” Toriel’s words were so relieved, at least in comparison to before, and Asriel almost told her the truth, despite the consequences. “Now, you two get dressed and bring whatever you will need at Alphys’s and Undyne’s.”

Asriel felt his soul shudder. If Chara wanted a chance to sneak off without anyone noticing immediately, that would be their chance. They wouldn’t have as much of a head start as Frisk, but they were desperate. Desperate enough to chance it. But if their mother knew, would she find a way to stop them?

But Toriel was already moving toward the door to grab her coat. And as he went to his room, and let Chara go to theirs, he wondered.

Should he tell Toriel? Yes, it might mean that she’d go after Frisk and possibly cause them to feel like a load was necessary, but at the very least she wouldn’t be as terrified, knowing where they were. At the very least, shouldn’t he tell her about Chara? Because they were just going to make a bad situation worse with their plan.

Or was Chara right that the only way to get Frisk to come home without them loading their save was to talk to them themselves? It didn’t seem like the right decision, but was there even a right decision in this situation?

And if so, should he stay with Toriel and let them handle this on their own, so that she didn’t have to worry about one kid, at least? Or should he go with them and try to make sure their anger, and fear, and frustration didn’t tear a rift between them?

Movement out the window caught his eye, and he saw Chara as they strode through the yard toward the gate as if marching toward battle.

Whatever he was planning to do, he’d better do it soon, before everything fell apart.

Well, that took longer than I hoped, but this is finally out! Now to work on the next chapter!

#undertale #to save those who can't be saved #dreemurr siblings three series #useless reptile writes #asriel #chara #saved asriel #saved chara #toriel #death mention cw #undertale fanfiction

[mittensmorgul]

From your vast knowledge of canon, was Anna's angelic name Anael, or is that fanon? If it's canon, would that make Danneel's angel Aniel or something similar?

That’s fanon.

“Anna” was the name her human parents gave her. We never did learn if she had an “angel name” different from that in canon. All the angels just went on calling her by her human name.

From the Superwiki:

Julie McNiven suggested that Anna's full angelic name was actually Anael, who is an angel in real-world lore,[7] which would make "Anna" a nickname for her by other angels, similar to "Cas" for Castiel. Fans have speculated that Anna was one of the angels in lore with "Ana-" names ever since the reveal of her true nature; Anael just so happened to be the most common pick. This is dispelled with the appearance of Danneel Ackles character Anael in 13.13 Devil's Bargain.

I am thoroughly amused by the fact they chose names associated with TWO women from the past that Dean had tentative romantic interest in-- Jo Harvelle and Anna Milton-- for the character of Sister Jo.

And after hearing Anael’s role in Heaven as a button-pushing functionary, and knowing Anna Milton’s role as an angel was as the leader of the entire Garrison, I don’t think we’re supposed to assume they’re even remotely similar.

Except... Like Anna (and like Hannah, to bring up yet another angel with a very similar sounding name), Sister Jo is fascinated by human emotions. Her reaction to humanity seems to fall somewhere between Anna’s desire to experience it fully for herself, and Hannah’s completely hands-off All Angels Back To Heaven Now belief that human emotions aren’t for angels.

Like the angels Daniel and Adina from s10, that Hannah recruited Cas to help her return them to heaven, Anael discovered “freedom” on Earth. And yeah, when her alternative was to return to pushing that soul-counting button for the rest of eternity I can see why she’d rather find some way-- PRETTY MUCH ANY WAY-- to just stay on Earth.

But unlike Anna, she didn’t want to experience humanity (except in the context of occasional drug use... I mean, the way she talked about having siphoned off just enough grace that she could feel some human feelings and yet never actually be subjected to them as if they were still mostly out of reach for her, sounds an awful lot like someone describing being high, you know? Or maybe you don’t, but whatever... she and Luci even had very different opinions on what the experience was like for each of them based on their very different life experiences.)

Point is, neither Luci nor Anael actually WANT to be fully Human. Anael was academically interested in the experience, but Luci was once again disdainful. No matter how close he got to humanity, he never let those human feelings touch him in the least.

But I find it interesting in that each of these angels have arrived at near-Humanity in different ways:

Anna voluntarily cut out her grace, fell, and was BORN human into her own human body. She wanted to fully experience human emotions, and when she reclaimed her grace (at least until she was captured and returned to Heaven for reprogramming) she retained her opinions and understanding of human feelings. She was fundamentally different from pretty much every other angel with regard to her grace and her “vessel,” because IT WAS NOT A VESSEL, it was her OWN HUMAN BODY.

Hannah’s experience was from the standard Angel-Possesses-Willing-Human-Vessel standpoint, and as such she always felt that the human emotions she experienced from Caroline were a sort of foreign thing to her. Despite being curious about human emotions and experiences, Hannah felt the depth of Caroline’s anguish over how Hannah hurt her husband, and was humbled by those feelings. Instead of inspiring Hannah to want to experience more human feelings for herself, she decided that those “human things” were simply not for angels, and she chose to return to Heaven and leave humanity to itself. (yes she took another human vessel when she needed to speak to Cas face to face, but it’s implied that it was only for practical purposes and that she had no personal desire to experience or experiment with human feelings again)

Anael was relieved to no longer have to play Button Pusher in Heaven. I guess sitting there bored for most of history of the universe gave her plenty of time to think about how she’d do things better/differently in Heaven, if only any of those angels would’ve listened to her... She’s got an agenda, and Big Ideas for how to make Heaven work the way she thinks it ought to. But in lieu of actually having the power or drive to make it happen in Heaven, she’s founded her own little Crossroads Empire on Earth. Even the way she got her vessel-- by “making a deal” with a distraught woman who was willing to trade her life for her husband’s, is kinda... academically understanding the human emotions involved, and yet dispassionate enough to selfishly claim her vessel without a second thought, you know? And then after her conversation with Lucifer about what it’s like to experience human emotions when her grace is depleted, she mentions “hope, and even love” as if she’s at least had a chance to skim across the surface of those feelings but that she’s never felt compelled to fully immerse herself in them. They’re more... academically interesting to her. She’s proven to be VERY good at manipulating those human feelings to her own personal benefit, behaving very much like a Crossroads Demon, exchanging her own power for cash. She deliberately sided with Lucifer, because she sees him as her key to actually return to Heaven without being immediately sent back to her button-pushing post. She’s literally got Luci right where she wants him. Like Rowena influencing Crowley back in s10, like Ruby influencing Sam back in s4 (only via Luci’s addiction to her grace power-ups instead of demon blood... because honestly we know how cannibalized grace works-- or doesn’t work-- long-term...)

I’m throwing Castiel onto this list too, because he’s the Most Human of all the angels, and how he came to be that way is absolutely unique among angels. The entirety of his grace was removed while he was alone in his vessel, and he had no need to be “born” into his own vessel because he already HAD his own vessel. All of his angelic memories were intact, and the only thing removed was his grace. He got to live completely as a human in his own body in a way that Anna didn’t even get to experience (since she’d lost her memories for most of her human lifetime). Cas was then driven by desperation to “cannibalize” grace that first time, and it slowly poisoned him until Crowley topped off his tank. He was then dying again when Metatron told him about that tiny shard of his original grace that would at least stop him from dying from the stolen grace. He’s struggled with the fact that the vast majority of his original grace was destroyed in the angel fall spell, and has never seemed to “recharge” back to its original level. Which brings me to the seeming wtf-ery of Lucifer’s “recharging grace.”

Because the way Lucifer’s grace was vampirized in 13.07 was entirely unlike the way Cas’s was completely excised in 8.23. At the baseline here, Cas is no longer like other angels. Unlike Lucifer and Anael here, Cas WAS completely human within his own body for a time. Luci and Anael have stopped short of going all the way human. Unless we get some other sort of explanation for that, I’m going with that explanation for now.

At this point I’m gonna skim through my inbox a bit, because I think I yammered enough here to have at least touched on some of my other anons... like this one:

idk if someone else already mentioned this, but did it seem to anyone else like they were mirroring Aneal with Ruby? Like angel to demon but you never know if you can trust them and they're a smooth talking strategist sneakily angling to put a certain someone on a throne...

Yuuuuppp. :P

So as long as an angel has a bit of their grace left, they can recharge it. Why were Cas' powers muted for so long, then? His grace should have healed.

As I kinda tried to say above, the implication for years has been that Cas really isn’t like other angels anymore. I think he’s really not like other angels anymore. Even with his own original grace restored, Cas is essentially human now with a grace power-up. It’s like he can get back to that baseline he achieved by having his own grace restored in 10.18, but can only get back to that depowered state, you know? (similar to how he was when he was slowly losing his powers back in s5, because he was “disconnected from Heaven”. It’s as if he’s truly chosen his side, and like he said in 12.19, he’s officially picked the Winchesters.)

#spn 13.13 #sister jo #anael #anna milton #lucifer (the one on spn) #on the nature of angel grace #castiel winchester #Anonymous

[zdbztumble]

Ah yes...this one...

Well, I was writing posts back when the Japanese release was imminent about how spoilers painted M20 as overstuffed, that I wasn’t happy about swapping in two new characters for the OS cast, etc., so I obviously didn’t come to my viewing without baggage. Still, I kept as open a mind as I could about I Choose You.

And there’s credit to be given here. Aside from the usual stellar animation - which may be at its best to-date in this flick - I Choose You is, ironically enough for a film that’s part-retelling, different. Volcanion laid bare just how stale the typical pattern these movies follow had become, so even a look back to the start of the series represents a welcome break from routine. And the divergence from those early days comes fairly early in the film. Even having been spoiled on the broadstrokes of the plot, I didn’t feel like I knew exactly how things would play out, which was another pleasant change of pace.

FROM HERE, THERE BE SPOILERS

And those first few scenes, telling an abridged version of the first episode, are delightful. This is the most personality Pikachu’s shown in quite a while - cheeky, mischievous, even bratty. Voice acting and animation work together beautifully to sell that side of him, and it’s easily one of the highlights of the film. Ash is given some great lines unique to this telling (”There’s something wrong with this Pokemon,” Oak tells him. “That’s alright - I was late, so there’s something wrong with me, too!”), and if you overlook the absence of a certain redhead, this is about as nice a retelling of Ash and Pikachu’s first meeting as you could ask for.

I Choose You earns credit on another score - it actually has Ash as the protagonist. It’s still shocking to me how rarely the main character of the anime gets the through-line, or even an arc, in these movies, but he certainly does here. The plot isn’t as laser-focused on his and Pikachu’s friendship as some of the comments by staff would have you believe, but I wouldn’t say that’s bad in and of itself. Reviving the “Chosen One” angle for Ash was something that wasn’t spoiled for me, and seemed appropriate for a story featuring the second member of the Legendary Duo.

And there are Easter eggs aplenty here for hardcore fans. I suspect there are many more that went over my head, me still being so far behind on the series.

But these highlights can’t compensate for all the defects. I Choose You is a seriously flawed film, in ways that could be predicted from the synopsis, and in unexpected ways as well.

Everyone who’s reported that the film is overstuffed is correct, but that doesn’t hurt the film in the way one might think. An overstuffed plot will often feel overbearing and unrelenting - too much going on for there to be any focus. Diancie is a good example of this from the Pokemon canon. This is the odd overstuffed film where, too often, it feels like nothing is happening. And I blame this on the way the film structures the middle section. After the abridged first episode section, the movie falls into what I can best describe as the almost-montage. An example: Ash and Pikachu are battling the Celadon Gym, but instead of leading into a montage of Gym Battles, we go into Ash calling his mom at the Pokemon Center. Or, when Ash and his friends are battling some Trainers after getting together - instead of leading into a montage of traveling and battling, it leads into an encounter with Cross. Time and again in the middle of the film, vignettes that feel like they should be part of a sequence instead segue into scenes that introduce plot elements. This isn’t an inherently wrong way to plot the film out, but these elements never get followed up on immediately; they just peter out into another vignette, which in turn leads to a different element. The effect, then, is one of momentum getting lost over and over again, and nothing substantive happening until the last third of the movie. It makes watching the middle section extremely tedious.

Worse, many of the elements introduced don’t have much of a purpose for being here. The abridged recap of Ash’s Butterfree’s story is probably the worst example. It’s devoid of any of the rough times or more quirky, humorous moments that played out in the series, it’s so compressed that it’s impossible for their departure to carry the impact it did in the original, and it’s completely unconnected from everything else in the film. It’s a lushly-animated abridgment of a well-known OS arc, just for the sake of having it.

But while Butterfree’s inclusion is probably the most disparate meaningless plot thread, the Legendary Beasts are the most frustrating for me, because there was a lot of potential there. Exploring the origin story of those Pokemon and how they tie in to Ho-Oh was a wonderful concept, and Entei at least provides a decent action scene. But it all amounts to nothing. The Beasts do not in any meaningful way affect Ash’s journey to find Ho-Oh, and their connection to him only serves as a neat bit of trivia. Like Butterfee, they’re just shown for the sake of showing some Legendary Pokemon - Legendaries that had already been used in previous films.

I Choose You also struggles with forced moments. I know some people were moved by how Ash dismisses Pikachu in his moment of frustration after losing to Cross, but I found that scene a dreadful piece of writing. Ash’s reaction to that loss - especially compared with how OS Ash would’ve reacted - is rather muted. It isn’t nearly strong enough to suggest that it’s eating away inside of him and tempting him down Cross’s path. This in turn makes the rest of the group’s impatience with him seem needlessly harsh, which makes Ash’s continued muted reaction seem like a failure to move his character  forward, which makes his comment to Pikachu a random, unearned moment of anger rather than a significant moment of weakness springing organically from his character. It takes a lot of the impact away from the subsequent dream sequence, because Ash never feels like he’s fallen low enough to have that sort of nightmare or take away any lesson that he really needed.

And then...there are the new guys.

Let’s get this out of the way up-front: being upset that Brock and Misty aren’t in this movie is a pet peeve. In and of itself, creating new characters to be Ash’s first friends on his journey is not a writing flaw. And Sorrel, at least, is very much his own character, not a cheap stand-in or replacement for Brock. He has an interesting personality and a shockingly dark backstory. Verity is a less successful character. A tomboy with a Water-Type who gets into a bickering/teasing relationship with Ash right off the bat and has family she wants to prove something to - she does feel like a replacement, and a rip-off, of Misty, with a bit of Dawn thrown in. (Side note: if her mother really is meant to be Cynthia, then that photo could’ve looked more like her.)

But the thing is: both of them are expendable. If you took them out of the film, Ash would still get the Rainbow Feather from Ho-Oh and be on his way. You could say that he wouldn’t get the background on Ho-Oh that Sorrel provides, but old man Bonji could’ve done those honors. Neither of their backstories factor into anything in the main plot, they don’t have arcs for themselves; they’re just there to be Ash’s friends, provide some brief character moments, and drop exposition now and again. I would have rather this been Ash’s solo journey than have two new characters with some potential but no payoff, but if there had to be traveling companions...with all the other homages to the OS, why not use two characters from the OS? Two characters well-loved by much of the audience and who played an important role in the show’s history, I might add.

I don’t have much to say about Cross. He’s what I imagine many fans think Paul is, if you took away any humanizing characteristics. Cross’s turn to the side of right at the end was an arbitrary change that didn’t really sell as organic character growth to me. Leaving him as the villain would have been preferable to the sudden heel turn by Marshadow, something that felt very much as if the staff felt obligated to have a big battle with a Mythical Pokemon. It’s a point where the old formula rears its ugly, tired head. As is Ash’s not-death, a concept that should be retired permanently. At this point, the only way Ash dying can have any impact anymore is if he really dies.

Oh, and the TRio were there. They were a waste of screentime. Nothing else to say.

All in all, I can’t say the film isn’t without its charms. And I do hope anyone who’s refused to see it thus far over Brock and Misty’s absence will give it a chance. But if it isn’t the worst of these films, it’s far from the best, and outside its opening moments is a very flawed if well-meaning effort at a 20th anniversary.

5/10

(You may have noticed I didn’t comment on The Speech. Frankly, I don’t see what’s so offensive about it. It was a dumb idea poorly executed, but nowhere near the low point for me.)

#critique #commentary #pokefilm #pokemon #M20 #Pokemon the movie: i choose you! #film school training at work #z's crits

[cameron-ashurst22]

Year 2 Weekly Summaries - Week 4

Day 1- Film language Lecture 14th October 2019 

Horizontal lines are the calmest type of composition.

Vertical lines give height and dimension being more active.

Diagonal lines are the most active and show perspective.

Wide shots establish the setting.Helps understand depth and three dimensional space.

Two shot - When two people are in the shot. Used in dialogue 

Eye line helps to show the focus of the scene.

 Draws people attention:

-movement

-Brightness

-eyes

-Vanishing point 

-contrasting in any visual component

Camera Movement

-Pan 

-Tilt 

Camera moves with motivation of the story. The camera can have its own voice by being un motivated.For example:

Slow push in creeps towards the subject makes people to look harder. This starts from a still frame but slowly moves towards the subject.

The creep out -Makes the figure look smaller almost abandoning the subject. Gives depth to the scene and can show lack of compassion, intimacy etc.

Camera turns away - the Camera move leaves no hope for escape. Shows the trauma is too much to view.

The distracted , the wandering Camera- explores other parts of the world. Doesn’t focus on the story but moves to other subjects. Isn’t the subjective camera and becomes its own character, telling its own story.

The Yelling Camera- Shows what too look at and when to look at it. Immediately grabs the attention of the viewer.

Tracking shot is on tracks. Shows the movement of travelling with the character through their story.

Dolly Shot - similar to a tracking shot

Crane shot is a shot taken by a camera on a moving crane or jib. Most cranes accommodate both the camera and an operator, but some can be moved by remote control.

Crossing the line , the 180 degree rule : The 180-degree rule is a cinematography guideline that states that two characters in a scene should maintain the same left/right relationship to one another. When the camera passes over the invisible axis connecting the two subjects, it is called crossing the line and the shot becomes what is called a reverse angle.

Sources: https://indiefilmhustle.com › 180-degree-rule

The 180 Degree Rule in Film (and How to Break The Line) #180degreerule

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iW0bKUfvH2c

Breaking Down the 180-Degree Rule

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HinUychY3sE

Transitions

Cut-Most used cut is too cut on action

Mix- Dissolve, fade to black 

Wipe- involves movement

Jump cut 

A morph

Source:

Cuts & Transitions 101

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OAH0MoAv2CI

Essay -

Find two pieces of film that demonstrate an aspect of film language and compare the two. For example a film that uses colour and a film that doesn’t use colour. A film that uses a lot of camera movement and a film that uses limited camera movement. Focus on a specific aspect of the film as well , fight sequences. Choose a sequence that isn’t very long.Talk about the mechanics and don’t sound like a film reviewer.

Fight scenes in the Dark knight vs Fight scene in creed.

Camera Movement examples:

Source:

1917 - In Theaters December (Behind The Scenes Featurette) [HD]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3hSjs2hBa94https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3hSjs2hBa94

15 Essential Camera Shots, Angles and Movements in Filmmaking

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7y0ouVBcogU

5 Brilliant Moments of Camera Movement

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h2c3JZ6X3f8

6 of the Best Shots of All Time

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yLHNBssyuE4

Meaning Behind Camera Movement

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KDC8DiGfxrs

How to Shoot Better Tracking Shots [Examples of #Trackingshots]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mkVYpzyJvG8&pbjreload=10

How Kubrick, Spielberg, and Inarritu Stage their Scenes

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o-4rk3T8PbQ

3 Strategies Behind the Best Long Takes

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h9AEYFYPYTM

How to Use The Dutch Angle Shot [Cinematic Techniques in Film] #dutchangle

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R9FUEScjB1U

How to Achieve a Cinematic Film Look [Sidney Lumet Making Movies]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KdWdlM9x9l4

Day 2 - Sound principles and terminology lecture - Phil Archer

Elements of a soundtrack:

The sound of characters and there actions is called foley sound

Diegetic sound-  is the sound that the characters can hear.

Dialogue

Atmospheric and environmental sound

Special effects

Example of a trailer with not all layers of sound design exported:

The Mummy Trailer without music or sound effects

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kRqxyqjpOHs

Sound:

Suggests a mood, evoke a feeling

Set a pace

Indicate a geographical locale

Indicate a historical period

Clarify the plot

Define a character

Connect ideas, characters, places , images or moments

Heighten realism or diminish it

Heighten ambiguity or diminish it

Draw attention to detail, or away from it

Indicate changes in time

Smooth otherwise about changes between shots and scenes

Emphasises a transition for dramatic effect

Describe an acoustic space

Startle or soothe 

Exaggerate or mediate it

Pixar - The God

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=93xY06Sh7FE

Reverb- How sound waves are effected

Frequency- Pitch measured in Hertz

Synchresis- sound and image together

Day 3 - sound induction

Today I was introduced to implementing and cutting sound in adobe. For this induction we had to cut clips of sound and rearrange them on a timeline as well as add effects to them . I found this to be a very easy process and can see how this will be implemented in the future for the project. I also liked how we can change the pitch and increase the volume of the audio with the program. This allows human conversation to be understood and clear with other factors playing underneath.

Day 3- Media lab Session

In todays session I continued to iron out the rest of the animation. I began to focus on the movement of the ball and introduced the use of a blend shape. Blend shapes allow me to transform the shape of an object, for instance I changed the shape of the grape so that it appeared to be squashed on impact with the toaster. To do this I had to duplicate the shape the change the properties of the duplicated shape to resemble a splat. I then used the blend shapes tab to create the transition, finally I removed the visibility of the ball on the specific frames were I wanted the impact to occur.

I also began to model the rest of the kitchen, for this I created a fridge that  would be placed behind the toaster. I added the same material as the spoon to have a metallic texture. I then also extended the countertop downward so it adds better depth to the scene.

The next part of the process in todays session was to figure out the issues I was having with lighting. I found that my scene overall wasn’t very well lit so to counter this I added three more lights. These lights resembled the style frames I am currently creating to give the night time aesthetic. The light colours are a soft muted red and a brighter yellow. The yellow helps enhance the light that is not casted by the shadow of the utensils and the red is supposed to help add depth to the shadows themselves. However, then I went to render the frame the lights do not seem to appear. So I will have to ask for help from Adam or John to understand the full process of lighting the scene.

Day 4- Life drawing

In todays life drawing session we focused on using the medium of paint to help establish light and tone within a piece. The first exercise was to create two paintings using an olive green background as the mid tone , a flesh tone and a dark. I Initially misjudged the proportion of the figure for the first attempt due to me believing that we were not doing the painting on the same side of the canvas. I was disappointed with my outcome as a result of this as I had to cram the second painting into the corner. Although I achieved a likeness I believe that on a bigger scale I would have been able to show more of the tones within the piece. The second exercise was to create a painting focused on a specific area of the model. For this I chose to paint the face of the model. Initially I found that starting out the painting was the most difficult. This was due to me having to use paint as a guide layer instead of a pencil. I was disappointed with some of the scale and proportion used within the face especially as the nose is too large in comparison to the rest of the features in the face. I also struggled with the detail around the eye as it seemed to become lost as I added more layers of paint. I want to improve my use of paint but feel like it is a medium that I will continue to avoid as I prefer to use pencil or even work digitally.

Day 4- Group tutorial with John 

In todays group tutorial I was able to gain feedback on my current work in progress. The feedback was that the acting overall in the piece was good and clearly showed the direction I wanted to take the piece in. However, I need to improve both the camera movements and the curve of the ball. John suggested that I add more of a curl to the ball as it would offset the straight line created from the run up of the character. This intern would make the piece more visually appealing by having the ball come on and off screen. The camera critique was that there needs to be more holds introduced to fully show the movement, although it flows introducing cuts would greatly increase the effectiveness of the camera as a whole. Personally ,  feel like the run up of the character to the ball needs work as it I one paced and to do this I will start off slowly and then increase the speed of the character as he kicks the ball. I am looking forward to fine tuning my animation over the course of the next few weeks.

#year2 #ba2a #weeklysummaries #weeklysummary

[papaculture]

The Railway Children

I’ll confess I never read, watched or in any other way experienced The Railway Children as a kid. Which is odd because, like most children, I was a serious trainspotter (an urge that I hasn’t wholly faded, but which I’ve learned to suppress.) I first stumbled upon E. Nesbit’s tale when trying to derail Child One’s train obsession from Thomas onto more rewarding routes.

I’ve already written about Ivor The Engine, but it’s worth mentioning Graham Greene’s The Little Train (vividly illustrated by the great Edward Ardizzone), in which a branch line locomotive heads off to see the big smoke, only to realise he was happier at home.

We came to The Railway Children via a condensed Ladybird Classic, which was still a little dense for our then two-year-old. Better was a simplified Usborne version, which reduced the story to around 20 colourful pages.

Flagging and fainting

There was one page that fascinated our first daughter. It was the same image used on the cover — a young girl stood astride the tracks, flagging down a steaming engine. This, of course, is the story’s dramatic climax, in which brave Roberta and her two siblings prevent a terrible railway disaster. For months afterwards reading this, Child One would re-enact this scene, complete with Roberta’s faint once her courageous task is accomplished.

I think this moment of heroism was appealing for a number of reasons.

One, it was a rare example of a young girl facing — and overcoming — physical peril.

Two, she does so without sacrificing her femininity (more of that in a moment).

Three, it’s a recognisable, prosaic sort of adventure: even allowing for the old fashioned steam engine, the idea of having to flag down a train feels more accessible than, say, facing off against pirates or aliens.

Four, she faints.

This faint — and our child’s obsession with it — troubled me for a long while. Just as I’ve been troubled by how she enjoys re-enacting Sleeping Beauty’s century long coma (actually quite a useful performance if you have things to do around the house) or numerous princesses being chained up by evil princes or Jabba the Hutt. Given how hard we’ve pushed as parents to break down limiting gender norms, where had this fascination with oppressed (or unconscious) women come from?

The bravery muscle

What Child One was doing, of course, was displaying an innate understanding of drama. She had instinctively picked out the most dangerous, desperate moments for the characters she connected with. Which, unfortunately, tended to be when they were at their most damsel-like. A reminder, if one was needed, that representation matters.

But I’ve also come to understand the faint from a different perspective. It’s not a disappointing moment of weakness on Roberta’s part, but a reassuringly human one. Heroes, particularly heroes in children’s stories, are expected to be flawlessly brave. This approach paints bravery as an innate characteristic. You are born a hero, with reserves of courage that will allow you to overcome whatever hardship a storyteller should put your way.

Even as a child, while I liked to fantasise I would be as brave as Batman or Doctor Who, part of me feared that I wouldn’t. In a moment of crisis, I would discover my reserves or courage were empty.

What Roberta’s faint suggests instead is that bravery isn’t innate, but an exercise of will. Just as you can force yourself to run faster to win a race, collapsing in a breathless paroxysm at the finish line, you can force yourself to be brave – and fold into a heap when your job is done.

Roberta is a hero not because she is naturally braver than her siblings (including brother Peter), but because she identifies the necessary course of action and exerts muscles of courage we all possess – and might develop further with practise.

Feminine and fine

I said above that it’s important Roberta doesn’t sacrifice her femininity in her moment of heroism. This is a complex point which I’ll attempt to do justice. On the face of it, this is reinforcing the sort of tired gender norms that I strive to avoid in parenting.

But I’ve also seen how, from the moment she first opened a book, Child One would immediately identify the (usually scant) female characters. She was looking for people who looked like her. This has meant a lot of identifying with characters who are passive princesses, fantastically evil fairies or simply mute. People who get chained up or should be chained up. Once again, representation matters.

Due to the Edwardian setting, Roberta is recognisably — stereotypically — feminine. But this doesn’t prevent her being the most sensible and heroic character in the story.

There is a temptation when resisting gender norms to (often inadvertently) dismiss feminine archetypes as being inherently inferior to their male equivalents. When a female character becomes a hero she is required to essentially become more like a man. In The Famous Five, George is far more proactive than Anne, but she isn’t really identifiable as girl. Indeed, she longs to be considered a boy and insists on having her hair cut short in the hope that people will mistake her for one.

I absolutely don’t mean to suggest that women should be feminine. Gender is a construction, after all. (I should add that George is my favourite member of the Famous Five). But I worry the way we often tackle this is to privilege masculine characteristics simply because they are more associated with agency. Heroes are masculine, therefore you need to be masculine to be a hero. Roberta is proof that you can be a girl — complete with the affectations by which our society identifies one — and still be a hero.

A new family

Indeed, much of the appeal of The Railway Children lies in its strong (and rare) female focus. Although set prior to the Great War (I try not to think what might have happened to Peter in the years that followed the story), there is a sense of life in wartime here. The father has been sent away (in this case wrongly imprisoned), leaving the women to fend for themselves. And fend they do.

Roberta keeps the household together and ultimately rescues her father, but her mother is far from passive. She’s an appealingly complex character, whose great pragmatism does not prevent her from living a rich creative life. Having moved the family to a cheaper, rural existence, she supports them by writing stories for publication. She, like her daughter, is an intellectual.

It would be easy to criticise the story for its outdated values, particularly in relation to ideas of class, or its portrait of a monochrome little England. But I feel its antique mores are largely confined to set dressing, while the themes of familial love and responsibility don’t require too much stretching to fit our modern world.

Some might also find the story somewhat slight. Not a lot happens. What is most remarkable about Roberta’s moment of heroism – the dramatic climax – is that it happens halfway through the book. But I think peril and drama is often overrated in children’s fiction.

Consider Swallows and Amazons, an adventure story where there is no danger at all. Instead, the action revolves around an imagined conflict, a war game between two friendly tribes of sailors. I think that sort of gentle adventure speaks more powerfully to kids than we realise. The stakes are somehow more vivid for being smaller.

The Railway Children has its moments of high excitement, but privileges connection and character over incident. A mystery is solved, a danger overcome, yet the most important thing that happens is that a family learns it can rebuild a shattered world. In losing a parent (if only temporarily), the children discover their own strengths, look outwards, and reshape their family into a stranger, stronger community.

The Book

There are countless editions, but I recommend the Usborne versions. There are three and we’ve read them all at different ages and stages. The first, illustrated by Alan Marks, is the simplest, easily read within five minutes. There’s then a slightly more complex version of this adaptation, running to around 25 minutes and split into chapters. The big lure here is that this edition comes with a CD of the audiobook, which helps your child read the book for themselves (I’m a big fan of audiobooks and the Usborne series are tremendous). We’ve also purchased Usborne’s unabridged edition, which contains a different, somewhat prissier set of illustrations.

On screen

There are three existing screen adaptations, all of them starring Jenny Agutter. The first is a black and white BBC series from 1968, which is more than a little creaky. The most recent is another TV adaptation from 2000, which didn’t grab me. For me, the 1970 film (starring Bernard Cribbins as Stationmaster Perks) is the definitive. Beautifully shot in warm Technicolor (the blu-ray has a stunning transfer), it boasts a flawless performance from Agutter as Roberta. Child One has watched this at least half a dozen times and none of us is tired of it yet.

On audio

There’s a fantastic two part BBC radio play from 2006, which has kept Child One busy for a couple of hours at a time. Simple narration makes it easy to follow, even for younger kids.

#the railway children #jenny agutter #kids books