#other people's characters/in the confine's of other worlds so I made everything original as possible with just a loose tie in to the neopets | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

paper-n-ashes · 3 years

Text

sparks and embers - chapter 3

Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron

Chapter 3 - The Return

Words: 4k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: medical descriptions and procedures, some sexual themes - mainly in the form of OC being thirsty AF

Read on AO3 or Start from the beginning

On the way back from the East village, filled with the Gossams, humans and other alien species who had similarly escaped to a simpler life, I couldn’t help but curse at myself for giving in so easily to the pleas of a good-looking stranger.

Aiding someone merely for their physical appearance? How horribly unprofessional.

The voice in the back of my mind was loud. And curiously judgemental.

It had been over a full day cycle since I’d departed the clinic, making Poe vow to remain within the confines of his bed until I had returned. I’d left him with enough food for two days of my travelling, hygiene supplies, a drip running slowly for some pain relief and range of tools for him to attempt getting BB-8 up and running, hoping he wouldn’t have any reason to struggle getting out of bed.

The thought of his still fragile femur bone breaking and splitting the artery I’d spent all my energy on mending was beyond frightening. I worried about him every minute I was awake, imagining any number of complications that would leave me a corpse to find when I arrived back.

Bleeding, clots, stroke, infection, sepsis.

It wasn’t easy to slip those thoughts from my mind in the lone starkness of the Raxus countryside. There wasn’t really anything to look at except grass and sky, nothing to distract me from the worst case scenarios.

I’d convinced some of my old patients to join my cause, promising them better medicine and equipment if I was only able to have a comm-tower to order everything I needed. It didn’t seem like lying. The comm-tower really was my only link to the rest of the galaxy, and I would have needed it fixed anyway. Only now, time seemed to be more of the essence.

After spending the night amongst the locals I had grown to be familiar with over the last few years, I’d begun the trek back with the knowledge at least one problem had been solved. Some promised spare parts, others were going to follow my path within the next day cycle to get my comm-link back online. I hadn’t divulged all the story, at least not the part about this repair job apparently being a determining factor in the fate of the galaxy.

I hadn’t pressed Poe about what that meant exactly. I was used to the Resistance and their soldiers having somewhat of a flair for the dramatic when it came to war, after healing many of their battle wounds in years past. I knew how fervently they believed in their cause - that they were the only thing standing between galaxy wide harmony and First Order dictatorship.

I understood their hope of peace in our lifetime, but I’d lost mine a long time ago. Good, bad, they were just two sides of a coin that would flip for eternity, desperately chasing power for their own reasons.

In truth, I didn’t particularly care. I just hoped to live my life somewhat free from the burden of picking a side.

Before unlocking the clinic door, my feet aching from hiking for 6 straight hours, I drew in a long breath with a silent prayer I wouldn’t be walking in to find a dead body. With a fluid motion I turned the handle and pushed the door open, my head popping in first around the entryway to where Poe’s hospital bed stood. He immediately heard the latch clicking and shot his head up to meet with my eyes.

“You’re back,” he smiled, as I noted how much colour had returned to his face during my absence.

He looked so much better.

For the first time, I found myself studying his face, my stare tracing from his strong angular jawline to his high cheekbones, the prominence of his nose, the whiskey colour of his large cheerful eyes, his tousled deep brown hair. Then I took in his wide grin, shapely pink lips curled upwards to show perfectly set white teeth.

Stars, he’s so handsome.

In the muddle of memories I’d conceived from the night of his crash I’d not recognised, at least not during the time I was struggling to keep him alive, how attractive he was. And now with his health a far better picture than the last time I’d seen him, it was all I could notice. My heart quivered through a beat as he beamed at me, soon realising his smile was more a reflection of the prospective good news I brought with my return, making it settle back into a normal rhythm.

“Hi,” I breathed, walking closer and setting my pack down at the foot of the hospital bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he answered, “The smaller burns are almost gone, and my chest wound is closed, look!” He pulled up the grey hospital shirt I’d managed to change him into before I had to leave. This time when I saw the nakedness of his chest and abdomen I couldn’t help but stare at his softly defined muscles, all tensing during his movement. He was right, the hole below his rib now sealed, a newly-formed, pink scar in its place. The chest tube was still secured above it, now redundant.

“Gotta love bacta,” I hummed. “I can take that drain out now if you like.”

He looked at me incredulously. “You’ve just done a 30 hour round trip for me, not even sat down, and you want to dive head first into more treatment?”

“I... uh... I mean... I just wanted to help you feel better,” I stammered.

Poe shook his head, smirking. “It’s okay, I appreciate it. Really, I do. But I’m alright, the tube can wait. How about you rest for a second and tell me how the mission- I mean, trip, went?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Two days ago you were begging me to get going so I couldn’t waste any time, now you’re telling me I can take a load off?”

"Uh, yeah… Sorry about that,” he grimaced. “Having some time to think while you were gone... It made me realise everything you’d done and were doing for me - a stranger you had no reason to help." Poe took a long exhale before speaking again, his tone serious. "I was in a lot of pain, just woken up in a strange place. It’s still imperative to get a message back to the Resistance as soon as possible but... that’s not your burden to bear. I can't thank you enough for your help, but I'll try not to ask too much more of you.”

It seemed not only had his physical health improved, but logical thought and patience had returned.

I took my cue to sit on one of the opposite hospital beds, letting my feet dangle over the edge to kick my shoes off, feet pulsing with gratitude at their release. “There’s some villagers coming tomorrow,” I started. “They will hopefully have a new comm-tower up and running within the next couple of days. I told them about your droid too. There’s some spare parts in that bag.” I pointed my hand out to the satchel at Poe’s feet, glancing at the L shaped table beside his bed I’d set up. BB-8 was sitting on top of it, head and body still separated and now unbolted at separate points, wires haphazardly sticking out in different directions. Falling back into the mattress, I let out an exhausted sigh, relishing the feel of the squeaky mattress under my body.

“I really owe you. The Resistance owes you,” Poe praised after a few moments of silence, as I heard him begin to rummage through the satchel. I held back a frown, even when I knew he wouldn’t be able to catch sight of my face.

I didn’t do any of this for the Resistance.

It occurred to me then I wasn’t really sure why I’d done it at all. I had always been a sucker for those in poor predicaments, hence why I became a doctor in the first place. But the trek had nothing to do with treatment or medicine. It was purely at the behest of this pilot, who’s charming appearance in the dimmed orange light of the evening made my skin feel hot.

“So, how did a girl like you find herself in the middle of nowhere on the Outer Rim?” Poe questioned, fiddling with some of the parts.

I sat back up. “I’m not a girl. I’m 28. That’s a little too old to be called girl anymore.”

Poe chuckled, the sound of his laugh both warming and positively thrilling. “I apologise. How did a woman like you end up here?”

“I used to work on Coruscant, that’s where I started my medical training,” I explained, remembering the glittering planet I’d spent much of my young life on. “Then moved into the war relief efforts on medical frigates scattered throughout the galaxy. Treating wounded soldiers day in day out took its toll, having people constantly injured and almost dying for a war they didn’t start.” I glanced to Poe's expression, seeing a glow of understanding behind his eyes before I continued. “Plus, there were more than a few times I felt a little redundant. The medical droids they have kind of... made my treatment obsolete. I wanted to practice medicine in a place where adequate health care was rare or non-existent. I wanted to help those who were most desperate, who otherwise couldn’t afford it, those who would actually value the care of a live human doctor. So I picked a planet at random, and settled here."

The random part was an utter lie. No one had cared about Raxus since the Clone Wars, and the First Order wouldn’t make it their priority to conquer Outer Rim worlds for a while yet. It was a quiet, calm planet with countless refugees fleeing here to make peaceful new lives. They wouldn’t be concerned about old, rusty equipment, lower quality bacta or no medical droids. They would simply be happy at having a doctor within a day’s trek.

And no one would think of looking here for a Force user.

Poe studied me in quiet thought for a moment, taking in what I’d divulged. “Well, they're damn lucky, with how nicely you patched me up. You’d run circles around some of the doctors and medical droids at the Resistance base.” He grinned at me again, earnestly, another attempt to thank me for my work. I felt the pit of my stomach tense, and it wouldn’t retreat, the thought of his smile lingering in my mind even after he’d gone back to his tinkering.

It had to be because I’d been in isolation for so long, why I was reacting so strongly to the innocent smiles and compliments of a man I barely knew. I definitely wasn’t used to conversing with men so close in age to my own. Most of the local humans were older, married with children, and I rarely made conversation around any other topic than their illnesses.

“What... uh... Why were you flying over Raxus?” I asked awkwardly.

His eyebrows creased together as he looked back at me. “Raxus wasn’t my destination, but I... can’t tell you any more than that.”

“Oh…”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he urged. “It’s just, you know, highly confidential.” He seemed apologetic, like he owed me more of an explanation.

I nodded, agreeing the less I knew about the Resistance and their missions the better. “Well, you’ll be able to get back to it in a couple of days,” I insisted, breaking the awkward silence that had lingered. “Some time and a little bit more bacta and you’ll be like new again.”

“Actually, speaking of that,” he started, an uneasy expression now settling in his features. “I was wondering when you were thinking of letting me get out of this bed.”

“Depends on the reason Poe. I’d recommend starting your formal rehab tomorrow at the absolute earliest, otherwise we can get you up and walking if you need to do something… uh… specific.” There was no hiding the waver in my voice.

He laughed, louder than he had before, the sound making it difficult for me not to blush. “Aren’t you a doctor? Why are you embarrassed for me to use the bathroom?”

“Hey!” I frowned. “I was trying to save you from being embarrassed.”

He shook his head, still chuckling. “I’m alright on that front for now. I was actually hoping to use your refresher. It’s been a few days…”

“Oh of course!” I’d cleaned him up as much as I could before I’d left, getting rid of his obliterated flight suit and helping change into the bland hospital outfit I reserved for overnighters, but even to myself the idea of a shower was enticing.

A thought flashed into my mind of steaming water hitting Poe’s sun darkened skin, trickling down his toned body as he lathered himself in soap suds.

Woah.

Okay.

That was new.

It had been such a long time since I’d felt the fire of blood rushing to the lower portion of my abdomen, insides clenching at the heat so suddenly ignited.

Poe was looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to continue. I internally shook away the incriminating thoughts before they could be conveyed on my face. “How about I get that chest tube out first? Then I can help you to the ‘fresher?”

He breathed out in relief. “That would be fantastic.”

I stepped lightly off the hospital bed, walking shoe-less over to my medical trolley to drag it back to Poe’s side. And immediately, without me asking, he sat up and began a haphazard attempt to pull off his shirt, left arm bandaged and stiff, right arm enveloped in the cast I’d made and evidently still painful to move.

In a wordless reply, I helped him pull the fabric over his head, confronted with the image of a half-naked, strikingly handsome man in front of me.

I couldn’t believe I hadn’t recognised any of his raw allure when he’d been almost stripped completely bare by my own hands on the night of his crash. It seemed bizarre I wouldn’t have noted the strong, broadness of his shoulders, his armoured chest littered deliciously with dark hair, carved abdominal muscles tensed in waiting.

I swallowed hard, hoping Poe wouldn’t register my shaking hands as I prepared the tube removal kit. Snipping the sutures around the plastic, unsteady gloved fingers pulled out the tube as smoothly as I could manage, Poe flinching slightly at the sensation. He continued to look away as I injected some bacta gel into the wound, sealing it closed with a few new sutures and placing a waterproof dressing over the site.

“All done,” I settled. “Like nothing happened at all.”

Poe looked back to me and smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was obvious he remained troubled by the memories of his crash, and understandably so. I’d seen the same look in many other military personnel, the attempt to put on a brave face when images of fire, blood and terror pierced their thoughts. I desperately wanted to take his mind to a brighter place. “So, ready to try walking?”

“Absolutely! Lead the way doc.”

Ugh. Eventually I would have to correct him on that.

I stepped back from the side of the bed, arms stretched in readiness for when he inevitably stumbled. “Please take it slowly. Your muscles aren’t going to be pleased with what you’re doing after over two days of bed rest.”

“Sure thing,” Poe scoffed.

Typical male.

Initially he seemed to take my direction, moving his legs slowly from under the blanket, pain now registering on his features. He swivelled himself sluggishly to let his legs fall over the side of the mattress, breathing slightly heavier to push through the discomfort.

He was leaning more on his left side, right arm hovering over his thigh. Tentatively, he slipped his left foot onto the floor and shifted his weight onto it, pushing his hand into the mattress to help himself up.

Soon he was standing in front of me for the first time since we’d met, and even amongst all the burns, bruises, dressings and bandages, he looked impossibly strong, toned muscles wrapping his form.

He noticed the timid smile form on my lips.

“Hey don’t start laughing at me. I don’t think I could handle my ego being bruised along with the rest of me.”

“Oh... I wasn’t-,” I stumbled, quietly relieved he’d misread the reason behind my smirk.

He held his hand up in protest, grinning. “I was kidding. You’re welcome to laugh at the adult sized toddler learning to walk again.”

It was difficult not to snicker at his words. “Come on,” I encouraged. “Just think of how nice that hot water will feel.”

He sighed in agreement and moved, taking a hesitant step onto the previously fractured leg. I swiftly froze with anxiety, even when the logical side of my brain told me both the break and the artery would have stabilised exponentially by now. But the emotional side, the part that remembered the rush of blood that had exploded from the wound site, nagged incessantly at me, insisting that this was a very bad idea.

My eyes were glued to Poe’s figure as he shifted his weight deliberately, muscles tensing at the trigger of pain he was likely feeling, before he made a delicate hop to move back onto his left leg.

Even that one haggard step appeared to take a lot out of him, but he seemed determined, eyebrows already wrinkled in concentration. He continued the process a few times over, my arms still poised in waiting for the foreseeable stumble as I walked backwards. I couldn’t help but hold my breath as he limped, following me out of the clinic room into the hallway that lead to my office, the ‘fresher, and my living quarters all the way at the end.

His steps became faster, more confident, when all of a sudden, his balance wavered.

Reacting quickly, I stepped forward to catch him, arms circling under his own and around his torso, hands now gripping the muscles on his back as he crashed into me. I would have stayed there for a moment, my fingertips registering the warmth radiating off his skin, until I became fully aware where his face had fallen into.

I felt Poe’s heated exhale through the cotton of my white shirt after his face had collided into my chest, directly between my breasts. The twinge in my lower abdomen occurred again, breath hitching in my throat.

He scrambled to push himself back into a standing position, my arms releasing from around him, his hands clamping around my biceps as he fought to reclaim his steadiness again.

“I am so sorry!” he blurted, his face dangerously close to mine, only a small touch of redness visible under his caramel skinned cheeks. I knew my blushing would be much more pronounced.

“It’s okay,” I breathed. “I was waiting for that to happen.”

His eyes widened.

“Not that!” I yelped. “I meant you falling! I was waiting for you to fall!”

Poe’s face illuminated into a beaming grin. “Sure you did.”

I frowned in protest, but couldn’t stop the chuckle escaping. I shifted to face the same way as him, an arm curling around his torso, angling my body under his own. “How about I help you the rest of the way?”

His hand gripped onto my shoulder, the hardened squeeze making the tensing inside me ripple even faster.

Focus Alex.

Poe let me support him as he limped down the hallway, and I desperately tried to distance myself from the thoughts that swirled in my mind at being connected so closely.

Eventually we made it into the ‘fresher, a white and grey tiled room with the large, frameless shower enclosure taking up most of the space, the only privacy a plastic curtain that could be pulled across the entire spans of the room. I’d designed it with the idea there would be enough space to assist overnighter patient’s in washing themselves, since I didn’t have a nurse to do it for me. Yet, it still gave me the ability to provide some discretion by stepping out past the other side of the curtain, ready to swoop in if I was needed.

And that’s what I’d planned for Poe, knowing he was hardly the type of patient that was going to let me do anything for him if he could help it. Guiding him to the backless shower chair, I released him to his own devices and quickly pulled the curtain across. It was more for my own concealment at this point, needing to take a moment to settle myself down, the memory of his hold still lingering on my skin.

“I’ll be right here if you need any help okay? Everything you need will be on the shelf under the shower start button.”

“Thanks Alex,” he answered, his voice huffing out as I could hear he’d already started to shimmy down his pants.

Stop imagining it Alex. Stop thinking about him naked, a metre away, behind that thin curtain.

The sound of water rushing into the tile floor pulled me back into some impression of reality. I busied myself with organising my own hygienic supplies in the mirrored cupboard, desperately trying to think of anything other than the man hidden from my view, steam swirling around his figure, water dribbling down his bare skin. From behind the screen I heard a pleasant moan leave him, obviously enjoying the hot water battering into his aching muscles for the first time in days.

And with that sound I felt a twinge between my legs, heat swelling and rippling outwards through my body.

Stars, that was... hot.

It felt so unprofessional, to be tantalized by the thought of a man, a patient, in the middle of such a basic act of human hygiene. But I couldn’t deny he was more attractive than any patient I’d ever had in my life, and the thought of ripping open the curtain so I could join him was suddenly the most tempting thing in the galaxy.

I locked my hands onto the basin that stood in front of me, trying not to be overwhelmed by the sound of Poe lathering soap between his hands, then sliding over an unseen portion of his body.

It was then I started to pace, hoping the repetitive movement would stop me ruminating over the indecent notions my mind was conjuring. Minutes ticked by too slowly as I waited for him to finish his routine, begging for the irresistible pull of craving to be released from me.

“Hey Alex?” Poe suddenly called.

“What's wrong?” I squeaked, cursing at myself for sounding so startled.

“I actually need some help.”

Oh maker, why do you do this to me?

I swallowed hard. “Y-yeah. Sure. Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he began, voice sounding a little forced. “It’s just... with my left arm still bandaged, and my right arm still in the cast, I can’t wash my hair. I know it’s a little strange, but could you help me out?”

My heart ricocheted inside my rib cage, frolicking at the thought of seeing him soaked in water, fingers raking through his dampened hair.

Come on Alex, try to keep at least one shred of professionalism.

“Sure,” I agreed, a more competent tone saturating my voice as I withheld my internal fluttering. “Make yourself… uh… decent, and I’ll open the curtain.”

I heard Poe’s movement as he reached for one of the towels hanging on the rail nearby and wrapped it around his lower body. The flowing water soon came to a stop, the sudden silence making me feel uneasy.

“Ready.”

I placed myself in front of the curtain between us, his stature only barely visible through the clouded screen. My jaw was locked as I took a deep breath through my nose, meditating in thought, frantically clawing at a sense of calm.

Then I reached towards the plastic, clenched my hand around it, and pulled.

Next Chapter

Tag list: @tlcwrites @roanniom @foxilayde @blackberries45 @hopeamarsu @caillea @princessxkenobi @leatherboundbirate @blowthatpieceofjunk @mylifeisactuallyamess @poedameronloverx @lightsinthedistancee @modernpaw @paterson-blue

Just let me know if you would like to be removed or added, no judgement!

#poe dameron #poe dameron x original female character #kylo ren #kylo ren x original female character #star wars #star wars fanfiction #adcu #adcu fanfiction

22 notes · View notes

holydragon2808 · 3 years

Text

Thoughts On Dragon Age II after Replaying (Massive Spoilers)

Hello fellow DA fans! It's been quite some time since I last posted anything here on Tumblr. Hope everyone has been safe during all of the world's craziness. Figured I'd post something to let people know I'm still alive.

Anyway, DA2 was first released back in 2011. I was 20-21 years old at the time. Back then, while I still acknowledged the lack of genuine player agency with Hawke (in comparison to the Warden before them), I did belong in the camp of people believing that people went way overboard with the DA2 critiques regarding those complaints, at least back then.

Now though? After replaying the game again a decade or so later, and also in light of the Inquisitor and DAI, I now personally believe that Hawke's story stands out as (overall), all the more unbalanced in comparison to both the Warden and Inquisitor.

Massive Spoilers for the franchise abound beyond this point. Last warning.

Despite a lot of the old critiques leveled at DA2, it isn't a 100% terrible experience, and despite the oncoming rant, I do love the game overall.

Even though I've personally always thought that DA2 story was centered around tragedy a bit TOO much, in light of the growing franchise and the directional tone of the other protagonists thus far, it unfortunately stands out even more to me, and not in a good way.

A shame really because DA2 could have been a better and interesting contrast to DAO in tone and direction had it been more balanced with meaningful successes and failures for Hawke as a character rather than veering too far over into angst and tragedy.

For example, in DAO, your Warden character is railroaded into success against the Blight no matter what. Regardless of the origin, regardless of what sort of allies you acquire, no matter if you live or die in the end or which warden gets the final blow, you succeed.

This sort of narrative framing gave the writers a much easier way to balance genuine tragedy and success throughout the journey without veering too far in one direction or the other, and also without making nearly everything the player does seem like an exercise in futility.

In other words, there were failures and successes more properly balanced throughout, from experiencing meaningful failures and heartache during the chosen origin stories, to failure at Ostagar, to having more balance with the party members and their struggles (they weren't too boring or too dysfunctional), romances that stood out as a light for the Warden amidst all the fighting and death and their massive burden, to succeeding with building the army to take on the Darkspawn, to potential personal sacrifice to save the world and so on.

The option to play a more tragic, angsty or "evil" character who alienates everyone around them and then ultimately dies in the end is there too. The point is that the game largely gave the player the reins and let THEM decide what sort of story they were interested in shaping within the confines of the narrative railroading.

This balance just isn't there with DA2 as the player progresses. Hawke is railroaded into failure in almost every way from start to finish, whether in their personal life or with the massive political struggles in Kirkwall.

I'm sure most people would have been fine with the main plot between the mages/Templars spiraling out of their control in the end (thanks Anders), the Qunari rampaging no matter what, and even the Hawke family being forcefully separated as the story progressed.

However, to me some of the railroaded bleak tragedy should have been offset by Hawke (and by extension the player) at least having the OPTION of being able to keep their family alive.

I'm fine with the tragedy of losing the whole family being ONE POSSIBLE option in the game, but when this tragedy along with the main plot failures, the dysfunctional party members that are too problematic to help ease Hawke's burdens (in fact, they all add to Hawke's worries, which if Inquisition shows anything, that it finally takes its toll on Hawke) is THE ONE AND ONLY OPTION in light of everything else wrong in Kirkwall, then that's a potential writing issue and could potentially alienate the player more than make them care about anything that happens and wonder why they aren't given the option to just nope out and leave Kirkwall to its fate.

Tragedy can be fine, don't get me wrong, but not everyone wants to role play a COMPLETE AND UTTER tragedy from start to finish with no option to deviate in any way from that narrative. Options in the way people progress (especially where people can break the story down and see the holes in the narrative where it COULD have possible but just wasn't allowed), should be presented in a ROLE PLAYING game.

I personally find it more realistic and relatable when a character experiences a nice blend of both MEANINGFUL success and failure. However, the writers seemed intent on railroading Hawke into just being at the mercy of the main plot with little to no agency.

In stark contrast to DAO, planning for the entire story in DA2 (or just in an RPG period) to end in failure no matter the player choices is already a bold enough risk on its own. It can definitely work with the proper balance of both positive and negative experiences along the way though in both the political and personal aspects of the player characters life, to keep the player actively engaged in a way that doesn't leave them thinking that their presence in the story amounts to little more than the equivalent of holding a book and simply turning the page rather than actively doing something.

But combining an already planned bleak ending with a very corrupt setting where the leaders on all sides are either completely moronic or passive, party members where the majority of them have too many burdens of their own to give Hawke a genuine sense of a reprieve from the madness even if romancing one of them (except for Varric, Aveline, and Bethany, if alive, everyone else is either a whiner or dysfunctional. It's very telling that Hawke's PET DOG gets more no strings attached visits from the party members than Hawke does. Just saying), railroading Hawke to lose the majority of their family in some way, AND having what little success and influence Hawke DOES acquire to come back and bite them in the ass in the end (Hawke struck it rich and became Champion of Kirkwall?! Awesome!.....right up until its revealed the red lyrium idol they found in the deep roads played a part in screwing up everything), then at that point, a serious argument can be made that the writers veered far too heavily into tragic overdone melodrama for some people.

How cool would it have been to be able to leave the game with "Well, okay, I couldn't do anything about the corruption in Kirkwall or the mage/Templar tensions spiraling out of control, but at least my whole family is alive and well"? There could have even been an achievement/trophy for this very outcome called "The pride of the Hawkes" or something.

Just one possible example of how the railroaded political failures could have been offset by giving Hawke, (and by extension the player), the OPTION for personal success in a more meaningful way. The option for extreme tragedy with some or even all of the Hawkes dying can still be there of course for people who want that degree of angst, but again having multiple OPTIONS is more likely to accommodate more people and their preferred play styles or stories, and thus, give more reasons to play the game multiple times.

As it stands now, sure, Hawke can save the life of one sibling, but they're still railroaded into losing one of them before the prologue is over, the other is either killed by the Blight or forced from their side in act 1 because the game said so, and the mother is forced to die in the most shock value induced way possible (nevermind not even being able to warn Leandra in act one or follow up on this quest until it's too late in act two or the guards and Templars being forcefully incompetent for this to play out like the writers want).

Those have just been my thoughts as of late. Some people argue that in a way, this is the entire point of the game. That sometimes only REALLY crappy choices exist and there may not be a third option. I agree with that to a point.

But "there might not be" and "there NEVER is" an option for an ideal third way are two very different things and IMO, DA2 suffered in veering far too heavily in the direction of the latter, often being too focused on heartbreak and shock value (looking at you "All That Remains") to really work as well as it could have.

Anyway, these are just my thoughts a decade later. Make no mistake, I still love DA2 for what it is, love the general concept and idea of DA2, just not the execution. It's just sad to me that this game could have been so much better with more development time, more options to shape Hawke's story on a more personal level (whether with an ideal outcome of everyone in the family living, or a semi tragic one where some can die depending on choices, or everyone dying), and not being railroaded into tragedy to nearly nigh ridiculous levels to the point where a giant spider nightmare residing in the Fade in a whole other game mocks Hawke for their "failure is the only option" status.

And just to further clarify my point here, true, Kirkwall was a ticking time bomb with or without Hawke being there. They made the tensions between the two factions apparent as far back as DAO. A Mage/Templar war was all but inevitable, as was Anders eventually losing himself to Justice/Vengeance and after exhausting all peaceful options, finally doing the unthinkable and "forcing everyone to choose a side". That part was fine. And it makes sense for this part of the story to remain static and unchanged no matter what (as I said before, the issue isn't necessarily that DA2 had a planned tragic ending or was framed as a set story within a story).

The issue is that, at the end of the day, regardless of whether this is framed as a recounting of events already played out, Bioware still chose to present this part of the story to the world as an RPG, not a novel. It's just too easy to pick apart the current execution of the narrative and find too many holes and inconsistencies, far too easy to see that Bioware wanted tragedy and completely railroaded the player into it regardless of whether or not it made sense to do so at times. Part of it is definitely that it was rushed, but not all of it.

" Genuine inevitable tragedy" (example: the mage/Templar rebellion) and "railroaded and just never given the option to question/change anything because the game/developers said so but still forcefully insisting and trying to frame it as an inevitable tragedy" are two very different things (outright confirming in Act 1 that the remains of the serial killer's vicitms did indeed belong to one of the missing women (Ninette's wedding ring) and he gave them white lilies but conveniently never given the option to bring any of this up to the guards/Templars or pursue the quest or warn Leandra until it's far too late). Leandra's death isn't the only example of this problem, but it definitely is one of the most prominent and IMO, takes away from the intended story of a good woman who met a bad end with their oldest son/daughter being unable to prevent it when the game failed to let them (and by extension the player) truly try.

DA2 could have been a great contrast to DAO. Rather than having the influence to shape the fate of the world like the Warden and succeed in their goal, they could have compromised in DA2 with having the fallout of the Kirkwall Chantry destruction and the rebellion still happening no matter what (i.e. Hawke "failing" to stop any of the madness and still ultimately forced to flee Kirkwall in the end after finally dragging the Amell line back into prominence) but still given the player the option to save their immediate family members across the story if certain choices were made throughout. I'm sure most people would have been fine with a more "bittersweet" option being presented for Hawke, (and by extension the player) in the game, especially where again, one can pick apart the narrative and see where it could have been an option, but just wasn't allowed for no other reason than seemingly because of the "True art is angsty" trope.

Bioware could still have their own canon (similarly to how Alistair is shown to be king in their canon no matter what as an example) of the ultimate tragedy if they wanted, but again, DA2 is still an RPG where players expect to have more meaningful choices reflected in how they progress, even with an inescapable darker and downer ending.

Complete and utter tragedy is fine, but I just don't think it was the best decision to have it as THE ONLY option in an RPG.

#dragon age 2 #da2 #dragon age origins #dragon age inquisition #marian hawke #garrett hawke #bethany hawke #varric tethras #leandra amell #leandra hawke #da inquisition #dragon age #carver hawke #dai

24 notes · View notes

tawakkull · 3 years

Text

ISLAM 101: Spirituality in Islam: Part 78

Chaos and the mystical world of faith

Today, everyone breathes resentment, swallows hatred, curses all that is deemed to be an enemy with a fixed and determined passion, as if programmed for fury. The ink that flows on the pages of newspapers, the pictures that are broadcasted over the television, the electromagnetic waves that resonate on the radio scratch our ears like illomened screams emitting from a variety of places—in the mountains or on the water, in the valleys or up in the hills; they strike our eyes like photographs that make us shudder and they open wounds in our hearts. These epics of hate that we hear of day and night and that startle us, all these illomened screams, make us sick at heart, and yet the people who seek a cure for these ills are few indeed. Their thoughts go in different directions, but they always seem to arrive at the same point: money, financial prosperity, and success.

… emotions base, desire consuming The meaning that flows over from the gaze is full of contempt for the subject of God. Akif

Very few are exempt from such a turbulent point of view; no difference remains between what is collective and what is not, between capitalism and communism and no difference remains between these and liberalism. The distance in nature—between those who attach their lives to the considerations of eating and drinking, resting, and earning money, having a good time in general, and, other beings who are obliged due to the unchanging character of their nature—becomes smaller day by day. The basic differences between the two sides vanish into thin air one by one, and humanity seeks new directions, despite its own nature.

Religion, piety, morals, free thought, our own perceptions of art are thought little of; power has become so ulcerated as to be unrecognizable, fantasy has taken on the image of ideas and these disagreeable ideas are being forced upon others. Indeed, I have to say that I have a hard time understanding the inner drama of such a terrible fanaticism. Nowadays, when enlightenment has become widespread, when intellectualism is at its apex, the fact that science and ignorance should meet at the same spot, contrary to the distance that one would expect to exist between them, suggests a dark complicity and makes the existence of a serious problem obvious. Such a contradiction gives us the impression that the emotional will of some people is miles ahead of their intellectual and logical will.

I believe that in such a dark period, when opposites have become intertwined, when in different sections of society chaos is heaped upon chaos, when dark acts of different origins have darkened the face of the Earth, when what is underground reigns over what is above, when polemics and dialectics have become so popular with so many, when hearsay, especially through the use of media, is welcomed as acceptable merchandise, when the lives of others has begun to be the sustenance of our existence, when the soul of unity has been shaken and different groups are scattered everywhere, when hopes are shattered and wills are paralyzed, when souls give up the fight against desire, there is a burning need to turn toward our own spiritual sphere and listen to our own inner world, to tear ourselves from the dark atmosphere of the bodily realm and sail into the magical atmosphere of a hearty and spiritual life. Those who do not fall into lethargy and return to themselves as soon as possible will feel the magic and charm of their own inner world; the unfortunate who fail to return and remain in between, or who remain on the other side, continue to resent, hate, slander, lie, and feel contempt, they continue in the dissolution and obstinate disagreement which they have practiced until this day, and even in climates where the sun continues to shine they will dream of dark things, they will mutter dark thoughts, always seeking dark places in which to hide and dark corners in which to live.

One hopes that they would be able to feel the joy of the blessed days and nights that we experience, when showers of light reach everywhere. One hopes they too would abandon the heresy, atheism, dissension, and sedition in their hearts and that they would be able to respect the chosen understanding and stance of every single soul! Maybe one day these wishes will be fulfilled, but the selfproclaimed enemies of God, the prophets, religion and piety—once having breathed nothing but materialism, having gone into a frenzy denying divinity, and having plunged into the quicksand of anarchy and nihilism—will never be able to breathe this reviving air. Oh dear Lord, had you only made yourself known to them and released the chains from their hearts!

In every community and society there are people who are inclined to abandon their faith and there have been many times when such people have spun out of control; other communities and societies do not have such powerful places to seek refuge when faced by these abysses and weaknesses as we have. Indeed, they have thoughts which soothe, beliefs which reconcile, days and nights which tremble with joy, festivals and carnivals; but, these days, these nights, these festivals, these carnivals are devoid of any holiness. They are like fireworks, shining for a moment and then are gone, giving only instantaneous pleasure; they are ephemeral and physical, not promising anything in the way of spiritual joy. Indeed, in their worlds you cannot feel the greatness of faith to God, nor can you feel that souls are free from the boundaries of time and space; everything starts with a false and transitory happiness, and takes place in a delirium of flesh. All is then transformed into painful memories, regrettable dreams, and disappointed hopes, and finally everything simply disappears.

In this spiritual atmosphere where we are closely bound to God, every sound, every word, every action is felt like a nursery rhyme and listened to like a melody. These shower down upon us like the rain; we soak up the bounties of these showers. The moon changes its form every night, as if signaling particular times and happy hours, the sun moves to a new spot on the horizon at every dawn, awakening our feelings and thoughts in a new period of time, causing our dreams to follow it, presenting memories to us that resemble the river Kawthar, promised to us in Heaven. The past becomes like a veil of many colors draped before our eyes, the happy future is the apex of our dreams, waiting for us with open arms and we, who have been freed from the narrow confines of time, live the multiplicity of yesterdaytodaytomorrow simultaneously and, like the angels, feel all the joys of surpassing time. It is impossible for those who are not fed from the same source as we, those who do not share the same feelings and thoughts as us, to feel and understand the holy depths in which we lose ourselves or the happiness and joy that we sip like the rivers of Paradise.

Our faith, our horizons of thought, and our manner—characteristics of the fortunate, but at the same time belonging to a littlewronged nation of this part of the world—have become, through being formed and reformed in the mold of the collective personality, greatly refined and adorned with universal values; this is a situation that exists in no other community; this is so much so that those who spend time with us need not stay long to be aware of this difference. The truth is that in these differences, the holy sadness of our hearts and the enthusiasm of our souls, like water running between the rocks, is felt and heard. Indeed, those who listen to what we have to say always hear the melodies of the pain of separation voiced along with hope; they hear the notes of reunion, of the sweet and eternal search for home in our intonation and manner. Indeed, while on the one hand we murmur “Oh, cup bearer, I have burnt in the flames of love, give me a cup of water,” on the other we say “I have dipped my finger in and tasted the honey of love, give me a cup of water,” and thus we are able to turn our grief into smiles. Our tongues speak sometimes of love and sometimes of weariness; though love and weariness cause pain to others, in them we always hear, like Rumi, the poem of longing for the realm that we have left to come here. Love and weariness to us are like a plea from the tongue of the soul, stemming from a sorrowful desire for eternity. Since our beliefs and feelings take us to the magical worlds of beyond, we almost always feel sadness and joy intertwined; we hear the sounds of crying and laughing as different notes of the same melody. We respond to the troubled heaving of our breasts with smiles on our faces, as our eyes overflow with tears, our conscience takes upon a red hue with the roses of the Iram[1] gardens.

Even though it may not be easy for every individual, our connection to God is the most natural attitude that we can adopt; our relation with Him is like a spell that transforms all the moments of our life into enthusiasm and joy. Our hearts that beat with feelings toward Him fill and refill with the dream of this gaze; we are able to live through the bitterest autumns in our hearts because we have the joy of spring. Our souls adopt the most enviable attitudes with instincts of particular feelings and joy that are the result of our connection with the AllGlorious One; thus transformed, they make us feel a refreshed enthusiasm, a new opening and revelation, even at moments when we are filled with sadness and grief. Pleasure or sadness, revelation or sorrow, all these emotions undergo metamorphoses in our hearts that beat with faith and speak to us of the most natural pleasures and the most realistic expectations. It is a fact that we, too, experience interconnected moments of ease and hardship, sweet weeks and bitter days, light and darkness which come and pass, like day and night. However, we sip the unsurpassable benevolence and joys from the hands of all these tribulations, because we have our beliefs, our connection to the Just One and our hopes! Those who do not recognize the trials and pleasures to be the product of the same will writhe in neverending agony, while in our own atmosphere we see clearly that everything will be transformed into deep compassion. Taste a whole life, with its bitter and sweet facets like Kawthar, in everything that we eat and drink, at every place that we inhabit, with all the beautifully divine discoveries of our own inner world, with all of their different wavelengths, feel our sorrows shrink in the face of happiness, feel our pain melt away in pleasure and feel how our lives flow into glazed cisterns in a spectrum of colors. Our mortality is transformed into eternity; we exude smiles even when we cry.

In our world, the beliefs and the expectations that emerge from the heart of those beliefs are so intertwined with our lives that each chapter of our lives lends us the wings of the station of prayer and takes us to the gate of the Hereafter. It takes us there and lets our hearts drink of the beauties of heaven. In this way, we feel as if we are inhaling the scents of heaven. Even if we should let ourselves be swept along by our daily lives, the calls for prayer, songs that exalt God, the various sounds of prayer, the recitation of the names of God, those who give Him thanks, calling out His Uniqueness, letting this spill from the windows of the mosques, all draw us to their climate; they paint our souls with their hues, they give a tambourlike voice to our hearts, they make them sigh like a flute and excite them with the happiness of music. These sounds excite our souls and we are charmed by the mysteries pertaining to God, the charm of these mysteries which comes galloping from the depths of our inner world and which spreads to all our senses, this charm which tints the gardens of heaven in our thoughts and which flows past our lips like cascades of inspiration. Thus charmed, we stand awestruck.

This charm, this recognition of the mysteries pertaining to God, reaches a higher level on the blessed days and nights when limitless abundance and bounty are showered upon us. This is true to such an extent that everything around us ascends in a state of joy, every corner takes on a spiritual hue and the excitement of our souls, aiming at metaphysical destinations, reaches its apex, or in Sufi terms, our souls reach the highest heaven of maturity. To the degree that we can hear and listen to what is all around us, we too, rejoice like children who feel as if they are in the fair grounds of joy; thus we experience the happiness and joy of a feast day.

In such a world, the dawn flows into our houses from the doors and windows like an awaited guest; the evening comes into our private chambers like a lover and sits by us; the night clings to us with its associations of reunion with the Confidant; and in every valley hands are raised up toward Him in prayer, ready to receive the gifts that will come from Him, assuming a state of metaphysical tension with the power of the soul, sighing, saying “Hold my hand dear Confidant, hold it, for I cannot do without You.”

In such a world, the prayer roars like the booming voices of Gulbang hymns[2] and echo like the voice and breath of the divine depths; the warm solitude of the night envelopes our souls like silk; our pulses beat with the excitement of one who has received good tidings. Perhaps some of us keep singing His praises, come rain or shine, like the nightingale that breaks its heart in an effort to express the ideal rhythm for its emotions with the most touching of sounds. In a word, everyone is humming a melody with neverending agony and joy, neverfading love and excitement, listening to the shivering of their souls and letting others hear it too. Everyone sighs with the fever of love and makes other people feel it too. Yes, as they reflect on the excitement in their souls and the inspiration of their hearts, expressing themselves one last time, they become the mouthpiece for the feelings shared by all and they are able to speak of the hidden meanings that they want to speak of but fail to verbalize.

The horizon of living yesterdaytodaytomorrow at the same time with such a degree of faith and hope, of love and recognition of the mysteries that pertain to God gives such a depth to life that each heart in the orbit of the hereafter finds itself wrapped up in the melodious harmony of emotions and ideas and is freed from the limiting, stifling effects of matter. I believe that the strongest basis of all human relations, the purest source of all pleasures, and the fountain of all love, longing, attraction, and gravity is this faith and hope. Every disciple of the heart who attains this faith and hope can experience and feel the state of being outside of time, with the ability to sense all of its depths.

Indeed, to the extent that one can attain this view, one can feel existence in a different manner, evaluate things in a different way and melt in on oneself with the color, taste, aroma and accent of manifestations from the Eternal; these attributes pervade everything and people can reach a second existence with a new “birth after death.”[3] During such joyful hours, when the internal gaze is focused on that which is behind the visual scene of existence, one feels all the joys of being. One feels as if one has taken a shower in wisdom, as if one is freed from the weight of all things that are alien to one. The distant heavens shower blessings down upon these hearts, hearts thirsty for love and galloping with longing and affection; all hearts that live in fear of drying up are quenched. Celestial flowers flourish in these showers adorned with dreams!

Some of us may not be able to comprehend the state—a state which becomes a succession of struggle (to come over the darkness with its all connotation) and dawn—of these people of faith and horizon; but all these are phenomena of the heart, soul and emotions. Living through the countless revelations of life, no one but the active heroes of the dawn and of the great strife can understand this love, enthusiasm, poetry, and music poured into our souls by the Eternal One. Those who do not understand this will not be able to understand us, either. Those who remain distant to this fine and delicate life live in the darkness of this distance, while the comprehension of those who have found a position from where they can view the truth in such a way that it appears as obvious as it really is always feel this gift in all its wavelengths, sip it like the rivers of Paradise and live their earthly lives as if in Heaven.

Who knows how many more times we will speak of this neverending pleasure and joy, in the delight of a festival, of a feast day! How ever many more times we may speak of it—the faults of the speaker’s mode of expression aside—we will still listen with pleasure and try to share it with others.

[1] A place mentioned in the Qur’an (al Fajr 89:7-8), “… the city of Iram, with lofty pillars; the like of which were not produced in all the land.” [2] Hymns sung in the mosque in unison by the congregation. [3] The change communicated along these lines is not to be related to reincarnational notions.

14 notes · View notes

skellebonez · 3 years

Text

Smoke, Flasks, and Unfinished Tasks: Chapter 11

AO3 Link!

Chapter 1 Link!, Chapter 2 Link!, Chapter 3 Link!, Chapter 4 Link!, Chapter 5 Link! Chapter 6 Link! Chapter 7 Link! Chapter 8 Link! Chapter 9 Link! Chapter 10 Link!

Summary: Things are coming to a head. Poor Red.

Warnings: descriptions of blood and injury, self depreciation, mentions of past abuse, mention of one character dismissing their own abuse in the past in passing

Chapter 11: Escalation and Benefaction

Jin was not expecting a celebratory parade when he managed to sneak his way out of his confinement, but he wasn’t expecting the dead silence that greeting him either.

“Hmn... maybe she can’t keep her attention divided up between the four of us as easily as I thought,” he muttered to himself. “Or maybe my extra tricks back there actually worked.”

There was only so much one person could pay attention to at any given moment, and Jin was looking to take advantage of that fact. That, and the fact Jade face didn’t know how easy it would be for him to set up a continuous loop of some of his past actions (pacing, laying down, pacing again, kicking the bed, etc) to distract her into thinking he had given up in frustration. Should she ask him something and he not answer, he hoped that she would be able to believe that he was giving her the silent treatment.

As for being on the outside... he needed to be careful. He had an extra cloak on him now, something that he knew would only fool the system for a short while and something that he couldn’t share with the others. If he had been able to, they all probably would have been out of here by now.

He needed to be quick, he needed to be silent, and he needed to use everything about the Calabash he and Yin had built from scratch deep in his own memory to his advantage.

... now if only he could remember the stupid shortcut key code so he wouldn’t have to wander around like a headless chicken...

Mei held back a wince as the blood on Pigsy’s back ceased flowing. It was much more than he should be able to survive losing, transparency to it allowing her to look at it without much more reaction. It worried her how the rest of it had started not to bother her, the sight of exposed bone quickly vanishing after that. Now, once she was able to properly ignore it, it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

She tried to think back to what MK and Jin had told her about the Calabash. Jin knew the inner workings of the machine (for some reason he called it more of a Lotus Eater than the original type of artifact the Calabash of old was, but she had no idea what that actually meant), but he had never actually been inside of one that was trying to work on him actively. Only test runs, and they weren’t a match for the real deal like MK had gone through.

The Monkie Kid had made one thing clear, smell in particular was dulled. And as long as the biting coppery smell of blood wasn’t there fully Mei knew she could handle this. None of it was real.

There were other things to look out for, little glitches that would showcase weaknesses in where the machine was trying to make things work but failed.

She’d seen a few of these so far, watching the monkey dancers she’d seen two of them buffer like on a live stream and then jump forward back into position. She watched as a cat seemed to teleport instead of jump from one food stand to another. The more she paid attention to them instead of her friends the more of them she began to notice.

The Calabash didn’t seem to be doing as good a job trying to keep four different people contained at once as Princess Jade Face seemed to think it was. Or maybe the fox spirit just didn’t care as long as the job was done.

“What’cha thinking about over there?” Tang voice called out from behind her. The parade was long since passed, faster than she thought it would have come to think of it, and the four of them were making their way back to Pigsy’s food stall. The festivities weren’t over with yet, they still had customers to feed and then they had to pack everything up, and-

When Mei turned to look at Tang they were all on the ground, a crowd surrounding all of them and half staring at the bodies while the rest stared at her sword. Brilliant and green and shining with freshly spilled blood.

“Bud?” The fake Wukong asked softly, stepping forward with a look of concern on his face. “Are you ok?”

“No,” MK answered honestly without even thinking, fighting the urge to take an immediate step back away from the sight of his mentor. Every time he looked his face seemed to flicker back to the one from not even a few minutes ago. Cold. Angry. Disappointed.

“No?” Fake Wukong repeated, looking at him for a second before scowling. MK did not fight the flinched step back this time as he shook his head, looking at his student with disdain. “Why did I ever pick someone like you to be my successor anyway? Damn, my brother was right, you are the worst possible choice for anything.”

“Wh-what?” MK asked, eyes widening in shock. “B-brother?”

Fake Wukong scoffed, looking more like Macaque in his motions than Wukong. MK didn’t know if this was making what was before his eyes better or worse.

“I knew you were dumb, Kid, but damn,” Wukong shook his head, and despite the fakeness of his words that still hurt. That hurt deeper down than he would ever admit to anyone out loud. “I didn’t know you were this much of an idiot. Your own boss is Zhu Bajie and you can’t even put the pieces together to realize that’s the brother I am talking about? Pathetic. I should have picked Mei, she would have been so much better at this than you. Or Red Son, even-”

MK didn’t pay attention to the rest of the Monkey King’s tirade. He couldn’t. He did what he was second best at. Not paying attention. He let his mind unfocus and wander and think about the only thing in this conversation that he latched on to.

Pigsy was Zhu Bajie's reincarnation. He knew that, he’d known that since he and Wukong had reunited and Pigsy got so angry at his mentor for not recognizing him even in his newest life. But he had forgotten just how important that was over time. He knew the stories, he knew who Sun Wukong’s enemies wore... and he knew who Zhu Bajie’s were. Pigsy was his father figure, the man next to Tang who had cared for him the longest and next to Wukong also cared about him the most. Pigsy was as close to Mei and Red Son as he was now. He’d called them both his kids before.

MK wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box, he would readily admit that both Mei and Red Son were smarter than him in multiple ways, but the fake Wukong was wrong. He wasn’t an idiot. And now he knew exactly what Princess Jade Face actually wanted, what she was trying to do. He’d had it happen before, long ago with other people. Unfortunately for him, he was also smart enough to know that whatever happened to the three of them now... she probably didn’t care. They weren’t the ones she was truly after at all.

“Are you even listening to me?” Fake Wukong snapped, glowering down at him with even more anger than before. But then he softened, sighing as his form glitched and his concerned visage took back over. “Bud? I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me... can you forgive me?”

“Yeah,” MK said softly, nodding his head down. Now he focused, taking in everything around him and deciding on what to pay attention to. The monkeys that were with them during training glitched. He couldn’t hear the wind the way it should have been. The incense that should have been burning at the memorial shrine was not there. “I’m sorry Monkey King, I promise I can do better.”

He gave his widest and most fake smile, the one he had used on so many time and time again.

“OK,” Fake Wukong smiled, and the world glitched around them.

Red Son knew that to a lot of people this wouldn’t have been as bad as it seemed to him. Red Son knew that to a lot of people this would seem like something he should have been able to move past and forget. Red Son was like most people at first. Berating himself for not being over it, for being hurt, for running what his father said to him over and over in his head as he told himself “it wasn’t that bad, he barely even did anything why are you upset?”

“What I said back then,” DBK growled out, placing Red Son down once they were far away from their food stall. He didn’t hurt him, but the tight feeling of being held that way lingered. “When the spirit possessed me? I didn’t like the idea of thinking I had thought those things myself.”

MK and Mei were not "a lot of people”. They were the only two that knew what had happened between himself and his father on the day of the Lunar New Year festival. Not even Sun Wukong knew why he had fled to Flower Fruit Mountain to seek him out that day.

“But now I know you truly are a disappointment,” he continued, just as he had that day. His voice was low, both in volume and in tone, but the words his Red’s ears like they were screamed at him. “To throw everything away for something as petty as... what? Fear? Pain? You are a demon! Our whole lives are fear and pain! You have grown soft, under that teaching or over time I do not know which, but I have no place for a weakness like you.”

Red Son said nothing. There were no glitches. He had said nothing before. He clenched his fists, bit his lip, remembered what Mei and MK had told him.

His father scoffed, reaching forward with a claw to rip the necklace hidden under his shirt off his neck. The phantom pain of his neck burning from the pull as the chain snapped lingered longer than anything else here had.

“You are a disgrace,” DBK bit out, sounding for all the world like he had just been insulted in the highest degree. “You’re barely even my son. No... No, if you’re going to fall down to this? After your mother and I fought so hard to get you back? After I was trapped for so long because of you? Then I don’t have one.”

The world glitched forward a bit. He remembered, he had tried to argue with his father. But he hadn’t listened. The glitch ended and he was backed into a corner, his father’s huge face in his own as he scowled. He was intimidating him. Never touching, never laying a hand on him.

“Then prove it, calf. If you are my son, if you aren’t the disappointment you have proven yourself to be time and time again, then show me,” he stood back to his full height, scowling and eyes glowing in energy. “Go to the Little Thief. Join him. And either defeat me in battle, prove to me by besting me that we should no longer fight... or bring me his head.”

And that was it. His father jumped, leaving him behind feet from the food stall.

Disowned. Abandoned. With two impossible tasks.

Red Son slipped to the ground, shaking as he remembered what Mei and MK had told him when he told them the truth. Of why he flew to Flower Fruit Mountain, the one place where his father could never follow. Why he had let Wukong take him to Pigsy’s Noodles when he found him on the beach, sad and alone and soaking in the ocean water he had crashed landed in. Why he had been so hesitant to get close to anyone but was so willing to offer then any information or tech they needed.

Mei and MK told him that he was hurt. That it was ok that he felt hurt. That what his father had done wasn’t something to just get over. What his mother had done was much the same. That he was hurting because they had hurt him.

The steam that was his tears that billowed out from the corners of his eyes told him that he thought they were right.

“Oh... my poor little cub,” a soft voice rang out from behind his ear, and Red Son didn’t even have the chance to jump before arms that only felt half there wrapped around his shoulders. “Had I known that my husband would treat you this way I would have come back sooner. You don’t have to go back to him, you know.” The soft chuckling in his ear was warped, glitched, but sounded too close to not be from her. Princess Jade Face was smiling in the corner of his eye, soft and warm and terrifying.

“I don’t plan on hurting you, Red Boy. I promise.”

Red Son did not believe her.

#monkie kid #lego monkie kid #fanfic #sfaut #smoke flasks and unfinished tasks

26 notes · View notes

ryouverua · 3 years

Note

I've some bitter thoughts about Rika and how damaging her actions (or.. inactions) were to Satoko in Gou but it's weird- dunno how to say it without it coming out like she 'deserved all the hell she got' (when that's not the point at all). Hanyu warned her about /exactly/ this kinda crap in the original though, and without a leash on her so to speak she'd gone full escapist-fantasy at Satoko's expense to the point of even neglecting her through solitary confinement... yikes

Oh man, I’m so with you. I’m going to do spoilers underneath for obvious reasons (and maybe vague Umineko spoilers because Ryukishi07 loves re-exploring certain themes and it shows) but I will say, the bigger the backlash against Satoko got the more I got entrenched in my own position lmao - not the best attitude, but hey, might as well admit my biases upfront.

Like, even now I have to immediately preface this with ‘Rika doesn’t deserve this’. Of course she doesn’t. No one deserves this. But could she have prevented this with a little more thoughtfulness? 100%. And I think that’s what sets off a lot of people - on first glance, it does come off as very victim-blamey, because it seems to put the onus on Rika and really, that isn’t fair at all. Just like it wasn’t fair to Keiichi in Watanagashi/Meakashi that not giving the doll to Mion triggered those tragedies, or (to be as light on spoilers as possible) Battler’s ‘sin’ in Umineko has the effect it does. But the fact is, they do matter, and it is hammered home hard in their respective stories. Everyone acknowledges (and in canon, even Rika!) that if Keiichi had understood Mion’s feelings better and hadn’t thoughtlessly given the doll to Rena instead, then the tragedy with Shion wouldn’t have happened. And yeah, that’s messed up! But it’s true! Ryukishi07 loves the rippling butterfly effects of small, seemingly inconsequential thoughtless actions that end up hurting others in ways you don’t realize until it’s too late.

Like wow, it’s wild to me that even after all the terrible things Satoko did to Rika, the part of Gou that affects me the most is Rika’s impassioned plea for Satoko to come with her to St. Lucia’s (where all teenage girls go to suffer lol) after Satoko is completely upfront with her in her first loop, explaining how she’s not cut out for it, she’s going to struggle with studying, etc etc.... and then just. The juxtaposition of the same outcome that happens a few years later, when everything Satoko is scared of happens again. And maybe it’s because we don’t get to be dragged along the full years those two episode cover that makes it harder for a lot of the viewers to connect with Satoko’s misery and motive (I, personally, connect a little too closely with it bc of some personal experience and can confirm that for someone from a much worse background Satoko would be miserable and isolated in ways I can’t even imagine), but it just seems so odd to me how many people won’t acknowledge that Rika’s actions - or specifically, inaction - again, something Ryukishi07 highlights over and over again as a huge character flaw for her - led to this outcome.

And to bring it back to what you said about Hanyuu - you’re right, she does warn Rika about this explicitly that she’s treating Satoko like some neglected pet (I think I referred to her as Rika’s ‘comfort stuffed animal’) in the VNs because she’s such a staple of Rika’s lives that she can’t imagine being without her. This also comes up with Saikoroshi when everyone’s lives are ‘fixed’, everyone’s families are perfect, Satoko and her aren’t friends (and admittedly she does bully Rika) and what happens? 1) Infamous ‘Rika beats Satoko with a chair’ scene and 2) Rika decides that her perfect Matsuribayashi ending is better despite Hanyuu telling her that this is the perfect world for everyone, so bye-bye Satoko’s parents & Satoshi lmao (yes I’m oversimplifying it because the moral of that story is that the lessons they learned from their suffering/struggles made them into better people and we’re left with the question of whether it was a dream world or not but like, especially considering the cost of returning to the Matsuribayashi fragment, that’s kinda... messed up, Rika!). a-also omg do you think Satoko saw that fragment as an option because if she did, ouch....

To wrap this already messy ask up in an equally messy bow, Rika is living with that ‘uncompromising happiness’ ideal from her poem which is great.... except in loop 1 & 2, she fully stuck to that at Satoko’s expense. There was a point that Satoko was willing to (and would rather have) stayed behind and let Rika go to St Lucia by herself. It’s only in Loop 3, after Rika chased her out of the bookstore, after Rika insisted that ‘she wasn’t going to compromise on her happiness, she wanted both St Lucia & Satoko at her side’ that it became an all-or-nothing game. And yeah, obviously the hell Rika’s been going through since then is absolutely disproportionate to her ‘sin’, but there is just no getting around the fact that this was entirely preventable.

#Higurashi Gou spoilers #Vaguest of Umineko spoilers #smacks ‘yes I understand Rika doesn’t deserve what she’s going through’ sign repeatedly #Higurashi no naku koro ni Gou #Higurashi no naku koro ni #also Saikoroshi-hen spoilers #Rika Furude #Satoko Houjou

26 notes · View notes

cartoonfangirl1218 · 3 years

Text

The Owl House zodiac signs

I decided to match zodiac signs with TOH characters because why not. Info from https://www.astrology-zodiac-signs.com.

Luz: Libra

Strengths: Cooperative, diplomatic, gracious, fair-minded, social Weaknesses: Indecisive, avoids confrontations, will carry a grudge, self-pity

Likes: Harmony, gentleness, sharing with others, the outdoors Dislikes: Violence, injustice, loudmouths, conformity

They are in a constant chase for justice and equality, realizing through life that the only thing that should be truly important to themselves in their own inner core of personality. They will be inspired by good books, insurmountable discussions and people who have a lot to say. ibra representatives are highly social and put their friends in the limelight, but sometimes raise their expectation bars too high, but will often help others understand the other side of their personal conflicts and trouble with other people.

She enjoys being taught about new things and enjoys talking about herself and her personal interests, just as much as she likes sinking deep into her partner’s life. She is charming, intelligent, and finds solutions to problems that arise along the way with certain ease.

Eda: Sagittarius or Aries.

Strengths: Generous, idealistic, great sense of humor Weaknesses: Promises more than can deliver, very impatient, will say anything no matter how undiplomatic

Likes: Freedom, travel, philosophy, being outdoors

Dislikes: Clingy people, being constrained, off-the-wall theories, details Freedom is their greatest treasure, because only then they can freely travel and explore different cultures and philosophies. Because of their honesty, Sagittarius-born are often impatient and tactless. The fun-loving Sagittarius enjoys making and spending money.

Aries

Strengths: Courageous, determined, confident, enthusiastic, optimistic, honest, passionate

Weaknesses: Impatient, moody, short-tempered, impulsive, aggressive

Likes: Comfortable clothes, taking on leadership roles, physical challenges, individual sports

Dislikes: Inactivity, delays, work that does not use one's talents

Aries rules the head and leads with the head, often literally walking head first, leaning forwards for speed and focus. Its representatives are naturally brave and rarely afraid of trial and risk. They possess youthful strength and energy, regardless of their age and quickly perform any given tasks. They are continuously looking for dynamic, speed and competition, always being the first in everything - from work to social gatherings. They are tolerant of people they come in contact with, respectful of different personalities and the openness they can provoke with simple presence. Their circle of friends needs a wide range of strange individuals.

Independent and ambitious, an Aries often knows where they want to go at a young age, separating from their family a bit early. They will take on family obligations when they need to be taken care of, never refusing more work as if their pool of energy is infinite. They live in the present and aren't that focused on the future, and this can make them irrational and hasty when it comes to financial decisions. Still, they seem to always find a way to earn money and compensate for what they have spent.

King: Leo

Strengths: Creative, passionate, generous, warm-hearted, cheerful, humorous

Weaknesses: Arrogant, stubborn, self-centered, lazy, inflexible

Likes: Theater, taking holidays, being admired, expensive things, bright colors, fun with friends

Dislikes: Being ignored, facing difficult reality, not being treated like a king or queen

Aware of their desires and personality, they can easily ask for everything they need, but could just as easily unconsciously neglect the needs of other people in their chase for personal gain or status. Leo is generous, faithful and a truly loyal friend, born with a certain dignity and commitment to individual values. Tuned to themselves for the most part, they tend to become independent as soon as possible. Still, a Leo will do anything to protect their loved ones.

Willow: Taurus

Strengths: Reliable, patient, practical, devoted, responsible, stable

Weaknesses: Stubborn, possessive, uncompromising

Taurus likes: Gardening, cooking, music, romance, high quality clothes, working with hands

Taurus dislikes: Sudden changes, complications, insecurity of any kind, synthetic fabrics

They are loyal and don't like sudden changes, criticism or the chase of guilt people are often prone to, being somewhat dependable on other people and emotions they seem to be unable to let go of. Still, no matter their potential emotional challenge, these individuals have the ability to bring a practical voice of reason in any chaotic and unhealthy situation. People born in this sign are loyal and always willing to lend a hand of friendship, although they can be closed up for the outer world before they build trust for new social contacts they make. Many of their friendships begin in childhood with a tendency to last them a lifetime.

Gus: Gemini Strengths: Gentle, affectionate, curious, adaptable, ability to learn quickly and exchange ideas

Weaknesses: Nervous, inconsistent, indecisive

Gemini likes: Music, books, magazines, chats with nearly anyone, short trips around the town

Gemini dislikes: Being alone, being confined, repetition and routine

They are fascinated with the world itself, extremely curious, with a constant feeling that there is not enough time to experience everything they want to see. Gemini's changeable and open mind makes them excellent artists, especially writers and journalists.

Lilith: Virgo

Strengths: Loyal, analytical, kind, hardworking, practical

Weaknesses: Shyness, worry, overly critical of self and others, all work and no play

Virgo likes: Animals, healthy food, books, nature, cleanliness

Virgo dislikes: Rudeness, asking for help, taking center stage

This is a sign often misunderstood, not because they lack the ability to express, but because they won’t accept their feelings as valid, true, or even relevant when opposed to reason. Their goals and dreams still have strictly defined borders in their mind. People born with their Sun in Virgo are very dedicated to their family and attentive to elderly and sick people. They understand tradition and the importance of responsibility, proud of their upbringing and everything that made their mind be as dominant as it is.

Amity: Scorpio or Capricorn

Strengths: Resourceful, brave, passionate, stubborn, a true friend

Weaknesses: Distrusting, jealous, secretive, violent

Scorpio likes: Truth, facts, being right, longtime friends, teasing, a grand passion

Scorpio dislikes: Dishonesty, revealing secrets, passive people

They are excellent leaders because they are very dedicated to what they do. Scorpios hate dishonesty and they can be very jealous and suspicious, so they need to learn how to adapt more easily to different human behaviors.

Capricorn

Strengths: Responsible, disciplined, self-control, good managers

Weaknesses: Know-it-all, unforgiving, condescending, expecting the worst

Capricorn likes: Family, tradition, music, understated status, quality craftsmanship

Capricorn dislikes: Almost everything at some point

Capricorn speaks of each natural chain reaction of fear, Immersed in their secrecy, they face the world just as they are – brave enough to never run away, but constantly afraid of their inner monsters. Capricorn women are ambitious, persistent, responsible and reliable. She only wants to find someone to make her smile, and can’t wait to open up and feel the real pull of emotion that makes her warm up to the possibilities that lie in the future. It will take some time for her to lower her guard and feel safe and comfortable enough to show just how sensitive and caring she can be when she is in love.

Edric and Emira: Aquarius

Strengths: Progressive, original, independent, humanitarian

Weaknesses: Runs from emotional expression, temperamental, uncompromising, aloof

Likes: Fun with friends, helping others, fighting for causes, intellectual conversation, a good listener

Dislikes: Limitations, broken promises, being lonely, dull or boring situations, people who disagree with them

Aquarius-born have a reputation for being cold and insensitive persons, but this is just their defence mechanism against premature intimacy. They need to learn to trust others and express their emotions in a healthy way.

#the owl house #luz noceda #eda the owl lady #king #of demons #willow park #edalyn clawthorn #lillith clawthorn #gus porter #amity blight #edric blight #emira blight #blight twins #zodiac signs #hcs

22 notes · View notes

tubbo-in-a-boat · 3 years

Text

Wake up honey time for me to talk about block game roleplay

Particularly had tommy in my mind a lot (for obvious reasons) so just wanted to talk about why that is exactly! How this death feels different from the others seen so far.

However if you don't want to hear about that, but still want to read something about the current arc, then don't worry cuz the other half of my rambles is just different ideas as to what will happen! More lighthearted and fun, trust me.

Cw for death, abuse, and the entire arc holy shit it's dark.

Also if you expect me to be critical and negative then jokes on you, if someone speaks bad about my hyperfixation I will cry B) enjoy

So like, where do I begin??? Who was expecting THAT. I mean, some people considered the idea, but it seemed so unlikely that after everything that has happened in the story, he would just die.

One of the things that really put me off was just HOW it happened. Let alone that the fact it even happened was painful, but his death has been different from the other deaths seen in the smp. When Wilbur died, it felt like the end of his story, and despite the circumstances, Wilbur was the one who chose to die in the end. He asked for it, literally. Which is sad and fucked up in itself, but it felt like a good conclusion to the character that is wilbur, and we still got a piece of him in the form of ghostbur. Wilburs story is over, but Tommy's wasn't.

I'm going to go into more detail about his death and what lead up to it in the next paragraph so just skip to the next one if you would rather not hear it!

Tommy's death is probably THE most cruel death in the smp so far, and it's so bad I don't think any other can that can top that. Not only was he trapped in a confined room surrounded by lava (both facts we know makes tommy uncomfortable), but he was trapped with dream, you know, the person who abused him. It's not a light term, dream separated tommy from the world, made him believe no one cared about him, and broke him to the point he almost took his last life. Tommy was finally off his reach, finally able to move on from all the war and pain from his past, and grow. And it was taken away, by Dream himself. As I said, I trully believe no death can top the absolute horror Tommy experienced. He was stuck with Dream, for a week, and was just beaten senselessly to death. No weapon, no glorious exit, no famous last words, just a "dream I'm going to die" and then nothing. He didn't even fight back, no one was by his side, no one even saw him die. Schlatts death felt deserving, he simply succumbed to his own vices, surrounded by the people he hurt in some way. Tommy didn't deserve his death, he died alone and unfairly.

I really enjoyed the end of the disc arc, I think it's probably my FAVORITE moment in the smp. Tommy finally had something good happen to him, he didn't have to sacrifice anything like he has had to all his life, people came in to help him, Dream was imprisoned, and Tommy was freed. So for tommy's future to be taken away like this, it's horrible. Tommy had his whole new life ahead, so his death has made many feel either disturbed by the way he died, or sadden because it all seems to have been for nothing.

I'll be honest, when I saw Tommy had died, I straight up didn't believe it. I thought it must have been a mistake, an accidental blooper like when dream exploded himself, just a funny accident. Didn't help that Tubbo didn't seem phased by it, I was expecting for someone to come out behind the curtains and say it was an accident. But it wasn't, I still can't believe this even happened. It felt ridiculous and unnecessary, all this buildup for tommys future, only for him to die?? What was the reason for this?? What the hell??? Is THIS it?

In many ways, this seemed unfair and unprompted. But now I that it's been a day I've managed to think about why this death felt different. It's very obvious but, the fact that it seemed so unscripted, so sudden and unjust, it's just .. too real. Wilburs death felt like the end of a story, Tommys felt like the death of a young kid with a future ahead of him. It sucks and it hurts.

Well that was depressing, onto the other (and lighter) half of this.... this thing, I don't know what this is-

Do I think this is really the end of Tommy in the smp? Hell no, there's several reasons in and outside of the story for tommy to come back. I'm going to go from the least to most positive, cuz I really need the positivity rn </3

Starting with the most unlikely and sad one, Tommy simply stays dead. No revival arc, nothing from tommy's pov, everyone just has to mourn the death of this kid and move on. Fucking depressing!

Second one kinda latches off the previous point, but Tommy is seen in the afterlife. I dont think this is very likely either as it would have to be a lot to pull off but I'll explain anyway. The afterlife was proven to be a thing while Ghostbur was trying to be revived. We know Wilbur and Schlatt (AND MEXICAN DREAM..) are there, so maybe Tommy will meet Wilbur there! Except Wilbur isn't happy to see him. This would probably be a very heartfelt moment! Or they will both shout at eachother. No in-between <3. If they really aren't thinking about bringing tommy back, this could be a comforting conclusion to an otherwise bitter end.

Climbing up the ladder were finally getting to the ones I think are more likely, and not as bad!

Tommy gets turned into a ghost. If they really want to go through Tommy's death, I see this happening! Tommy needs his content guys, so Phantominnit is born :) I don't think they will be as complex as Ghostbur, I don't see Tommy roleplaying that hard pfft.

Dream brings Tommy back to life. This one is easy, and probably the most likely alternative. After all, Dream could tell everyone he can bring Tommy to life, in exchange for his freedom. This one leads to either them complying, them keeping him in prison, or somehow tricking him.

Based off of that, there's also the possibility of Wilbur getting revived as well. Wilbur IS back, as a writer at least, and I have no doubt Wilbur had something to do with writing this entire plot, so maybe he's planning to bring his character back through this somehow.

There's also other honorable mentions, tho these are more farfetched:

Karl somehow going back in time to revive him! The only proof present is that he stated that his newest tales from the smp will have "the most ties to the main story yet", but I personally think it's going to be about the eggs and it's origins. Speaking of which...

The egg bring back Tommy. Why would the egg EVER do such a thing? Look, the egg has mysterious properties, this isn't impossible. Maybe the egg manages to bring back Tommy.... Except Tommy is a bit off.

Tommy is brought back to life by Philza. Philza claims to know about the subject of revival, maybe Ranboo begs Phil to try to revive Tommy out of guilt. Interesting concept but not so likely.

Tubbo. I dunno man, Tubbo alright, he's too powerful, he could just say "no <3" and drag tommy out of the afterlife with his own two hands. He needs someone to throw the flowers in his wedding.

#boat talk #dsmp #dream smp #death tw #abuse tw #tommy #iiii dont know how to tag these long rambly posts of mine </3

25 notes · View notes

ravnicaforgoblins · 3 years

Photo

Ravnica for Goblins

Exciting Planeswalker Visitors

(Caution: Before we begin, this post is going to be much more opinion-based than previous ones. These are my own homebrew ideas, use them as/if you wish, discard/dismiss them if you prefer.)

Planeswalkers are an integral part of MTG Lore, as well as several of its most iconic characters. Put simply, a Planeswalker is an individual with an inherent gift for traveling between planes, or worlds. The gift does not appear at birth, but is usually triggered by some manner of incredibly emotional (usually traumatizing) event. In addition, each Planeswalker displays a unique aptitude for a particular style of magic; be it plant growth, transformation, becoming transparent, illusions, invulnerability, summoning beasts, structural analysis, setting things on fire, etc. Whatever their specific brand of magic is, it’s usually on a higher level than an ordinary person can hope to achieve.

Planeswalkers, as a general rule, are wanderers by nature. They may have a home plane, or even an adopted home plane, but being able to traverse the multiverse leads many towards lives of constant adventuring/shenanigans. Add in the fact that Planeswalkers cannot bring anyone else with them on these travels (except in very rare cases), and you end up with a special breed of super-powerful magical loner. They show up, make a name for themselves with their big magic, and depart when they feel like it. Did you say, “Instant Adventure”?

Ravnica has a few native Planeswalkers among its citizens; Ral Zarek, Vraska, and Domri Rade. In addition, it has several Planeswalkers who have at some point or another (depending on your timeline) devoted enough time & energy to be effectively considered citizens; Azor, Tezzeret, Kaya, Dack Fayden, Dovin Baan, Gideon Jura, and Jace Beleren. Some of these are currently dead, missing, or magically barred from ever returning. At one point, Ravnica had more Planeswalkers on it at one time than any plane in the multiverse has ever or will ever see. If you are going the War of the Spark direction, good luck. You'll need it and so will your players. For everyone else, which Planeswalkers you choose to include in your campaign (if any), should be based on who will work the best for the story you’re trying to tell. A recommendation; if you find their lore too distracting and complicated, stick to the main beats. A lot of these figures can be boiled down to simple ideas, and you don’t want to bore your party with the entire novel of these usually dramatic/tragic lives. Trust me, the base concepts are enough.

With that in mind, here are four Planeswalkers that I, a random person on the internet, believe would work great for a Ravnica campaign. My choices are not based on who has canonically already spent time in Ravnica, or who would be the most powerful/dangerous to suddenly appear in the city. Several Planeswalkers have their own prior commitments on other planes that are pretty central to their character, and BAMFing them to Ravnica for a quick Bad Guy to take down wouldn’t do them justice. These four characters would slide into various aspects of Ravnica beautifully. These four would be the most exciting visitors to Ravnica.

Ashiok, Dream Render

I don’t think any MTG character could be as good a fit for a Ravnican Guild as Ashiok is for House Dimir. Ashiok is almost literally a walking shadow of secrets and intrigue. Their origins, their age, their motives, their face; hell, their gender is a secret yet unrevealed. Ashiok’s power is creating living beings born of the greatest fears stolen from people’s nightmares. Literally.

It’s like if the Dimir stopped half-assing the art of stealing thoughts and turned it into a weapon of mass destruction. Because even the mightiest of Ravnicans are afraid of things. Ask Niv-Mizzet about the Nephilim sometime, see how quickly he changes the subject. What’s better, for a Guild that prides itself on always having the up & up on everyone, Ashiok is inscrutable. They have no past that can be divined, no secrets that can be stolen, no previous encounters to prepare any for their arrival. Neither Lazav nor Etrata can claim such anonymity, despite their best efforts. Ashiok is a true enigma and a dangerous new weapon for House Dimir.

Ashiok also comes with the ability to create minions and NPCs from out of any PC’s worst nightmares, making encounters a great combination of roleplaying & combat. Fighting them is specifically facing one’s deepest & darkest fears made real. Can you say, “character development”?

Ashiok’s arrival could spread this new magical art to other Dimir Agents for a longer campaign, but it might be best to confine it to Ashiok in order to allow for a cleaner victory. Ashiok is not a fighter, cornering them into a direct confrontation should be enough to make the Nightmare Sculptor run for the hills. The mind is powerful, but also very squishy.

Tibalt, the Fiend-Blooded

You know how the Cult of Rakdos are technically Chaotic Evil but generally just a bunch of artsy hedonistic nuisances? Tibalt is to them what a gallon of gasoline would be to a lit stove. Good for fire, bad for everything else. Tibalt is an empath specializing in Pain Magic. Quite literally, he loves hurting people for fun. Drawn to pain like a magnet; physical, emotional, spiritual, psychological, etc, he is sadism personified.

His brief time on Ravnica during War of the Spark was enough to make a strong impression on the Rakdos.

“I like this one’s energy.”

This is because they do not realize how bad Tibalt would be for the Cult. There is a fundamental difference between the Chaotic Evil the Cult practices and the Chaotic Evil Tibalt delights in. The Rakdos have survived 10,000 years by taking in the freaks, the rejects, and the crazies, and giving them a place where they can live out their most depraved hedonistic fantasies. They are the voice of the outsiders bringing all figures of power & authority down a peg. They always punch up, never down. Tibalt is a young man with no home, no friends, no job, and no interests or hobbies beyond inflicting pain in as many people as possible. Tibalt punches everyone. The most important distinction between the two is that the Cult of Rakdos is a culture, a way of life for people to embrace; it might be crazy, but it welcomes & accepts people no matter how insane the world says they are. Tibalt does not care about anyone but himself. Following his example would see the city turned into the largest, bloodiest, and most destructive riot in its history; with Tibalt inciting and sicking every monstrosity he can find onto the city at once. He will burn the Rakdos candle at both ends and leave them to suffer the consequences of his fun. The aftermath being the city in ruins, the Cult wiped from the face of existence, and him moving on to his next project. In short, Tibalt will hurt the Cult of Rakdos as much, if not more, than the rest of Ravnica. Because that’s how he gets his kicks.

The one thing standing in his way will be Rakdos himself. As the single largest diva on the entire plane, Rakdos does not tolerate anyone who tries to steal his spotlight. As a 10,000+ year-old Demon Lord, Rakdos is in a league of his own, and Tibalt is just a hotshit little pain mage with a few tricks. It’s not a fight, it’s either an exit or a curtain call for the Planeswalker. If Rakdos is around, Tibalt’s spree will be very short-lived. If, however, Rakdos is doing his usual thing of hibernating for weeks, months, or years at a time, that’s a different story. Tibalt is good for if your campaign wants to bypass politics & intrigue and go straight to killing Cultists & Demons. He’s bad for anyone he comes in contact with.

Garruk Wildspeaker

In case I haven’t made my contempt for Domri Rade clear, I hold Domri Rade in utter contempt. As a character, as a Planeswalker, and most of all as a Gruul, he’s a failure. Scrawny, weak, gullible, and stupid. My chief grievance with Domri is that he fell short in all the areas the Gruul Clans idolize. He couldn’t survive in the wilderness on his own without his Planeswalker abilities, he couldn’t fight for himself except against weaker opponents or with herds of animals as backup, and he acted on orders from someone else who wasn’t Gruul. For a Guild built on independence and survival of the fittest, he failed both completely.

Garruk is the real deal. Gigantic, strong, savage, and cunning. Here is a man who, on a fundamental level, has embraced animal savagery as a way of life. He lives like a predator on the hunt, an alpha of any pack, and a fierce threat to all who intrude upon his territory. On a plane like Ravnica, where civilization has encroached on the untamed wilds almost completely, Garruk would be a gamechanger. Not only could he feasibly fight Borborygmos for leadership of the Gruul, he could win, and he could unite the Gruul under his howl of reclaiming the wilds from so-called “civilization”. Garruk would bring animal strength to the Gruul in ways they’ve only begun to tap into, and he’d do it in their language. Because Garruk understands the Gruul, and they understand him. They have so much in common with each other that it’s hard to think of any Planeswalker who could be welcomed so readily into a Guild. They would become so much more than rock-smashers and anarchists, they would become Ravnica’s reminder that nature will survive when all traces of society have crumbled away.

As if taking on the city itself wasn’t big enough already, Garruk has also taken to hunting other Planeswalkers, and can actually track them across the Multiverse. Meaning a few high-ranking members of Guilds and even the Living Guildpact have to take his threat seriously. He’s got a particular grudge against necromancers, dislikes talking, and has a special gift with animals of all varieties. All of which provides plenty of ideas to build from. He’s an 8ft tall Human Druid/Barbarian who willingly chooses animal savagery over intellectual reasoning, can there be anyone more perfect for the Gruul?

Did I say Ashiok was the most perfect fit for an MTG character in a Ravnican Guild? Yeah, scratch that. Garruk is.

Sarkhan Vol

Most Planeswalkers have a theme to their abilities. For some, that theme extends to their personalities as well. And then there are Planeswalkers who can be adequately summed up in a single word. For Sarkhan, that word would be “dragons”. Sarkhan sees dragons as nature’s purest & most destructive form, and carries a fascination with them that is perfectly healthy for anything with wings and scales that breathes fire, but generally less healthy for everything & everyone else.

One of the things that makes Ravnica unique is the distinct lack of dragons (emphasis on the plural). Ravnica has a dragon, Niv-Mizzet the Firemind, who made the executive decision thousands of years ago that he alone was sufficient to represent his entire species. Ravnican dragons are considered more intelligent than dragons on other planes, Niv himself being a prime example of this. Around the original signing of the Guildpact, Ravnica’s Godlike dragons were hunted to extinction, with Niv leading the hunt against his own kind. They were not entirely successful in this endeavor, but what few dragons do remain in the present day survive by staying as far off Niv’s radar as possible. Some dragons live by carrying out Niv’s will under constant supervision, or by hunting in the untamed wilds outside the city, or as sideshow attractions for the Rakdos (usually with their wings cut off to prevent escape). They are effectively stripped of anything that would identify them as “dragons” for the sake of their own existence. Since dragons are such a notoriously touchy subject for the Firemind, few have the nerve or fire immunity necessary to speak out against it.

Sarkhan would be horrified. If he thought the extinction of dragons on his home plane of Tarkir was bad, seeing them living like this would infuriate him beyond words. What would Sarkhan do once the initial shock of seeing his spirit animal (in more ways than one) reduced to pitiful scraps of life as lab rats, scared prey, and freak shows wears off? Let’s make it a game! Do you think Sarkhan will:

A. Cry.

B. Throw up.

C. Embrace this as a plane’s reality that he has no right to get involved with.

D. Scream.

E. Set something on fire.

F. Set everything on fire.

G. Bring back the dragons.

H. Burn the city to the ground with dragons.

I. Kill Niv-Mizzet.

J. All the above except “C”.

If you selected Answer “J”, then congratulations! You’ve just won a free trip to a BURNING METROPOLIS! Sarkhan will absolutely make it his life’s goal to bring dragons back to Ravnica and destroy the whole wretched city down to the last brick. How he would do it is up to you, but it’s a solid bet that even if every other Guild treats him like an apocalyptic madman, the Gruul might side with him over some shared beliefs in smashing the city apart with ferocious animal savagery. They tend to lean towards such ideas with uncharacteristic willful compliance. Ravnican dragons are primarily red, with the most prominent breed still remaining being the Utvara Hellkites beyond the city limits.

Oh, and Sarkhan can turn into a dragon, too. Have fun with that.

#ravnica for goblins #ravnica #goblins #d&d #dnd #dungeons and dragons #dragons #planeswalkers #mtg #campaign #roleplaying #tibalt #sarkhan #ashiok #garruk #fun ideas #guilds

27 notes · View notes

dearest-bucky · 4 years

Text

Like real people do (One Shot)

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky catches Y/n reading fanfiction about him.

Words: 2.7K

Warnings: None, language?

A/n: I don’t really like this one but since I’m reposting everything 🤷‍♀️ Here ya go, I hope you like it.

Originally posted: July 14, 2020

"What you got there Y/n?"

She knew she was lucky. Having him so near, being able to see every little freckle and scar that littered his skin, being able to feel the heat radiating from his body, it wasn't an everyday occurrence, despite the fact they lived under the same roof.

One of her hands was resting on her lap, fingers itching to move towards him and touch his smooth skin, while the other pressed lightly the gauze on the slash near his collarbone. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she inspected the cut, deciding the number of stitches it needed and her cold breath hit his skin repeatedly, causing goosebumps to erupt on his chest.

"I'm sorry.." her voice was small as she apologized for hurting him after a small wince escaped his parted lips, but he only shook his head, silently encouraging her to continue.

She picked her head up, chancing a look on his face and only then she realized how small the distance between them was and how close they really were to each other. Her lips tilted slightly upwards in a somewhat small smile and a blush crept up her cheeks, another wave of heat emanating from him hitting her and she averted her eyes again, focusing once more on his stab wound.

Another moment passed before she felt his left hand on her cheek, cupping it softly and a chilled shiver ran down her spine from the cool touch, despite the otherwise hot temperature around them. Her breath hitched in her throat as he titled her head up with his hand, their eyes meeting for a short second, before he leaned down ever so slowly, giving her the chance to back away if she wanted.

"Doll..." His voice was but a breath against her trembling lips and her eyes closed with a light flutter, letting herself get lost in his touch. His lips brushed against hers ever so slightly, as if teasing and she couldn't wait until he decided to put an end to their misery and lock their lips in an actual kiss.

The anticipation was scorching her skin and her nerves, and he seemed to read her mind and decide to put her out of her misery because the next second -

With a startle she dropped the spoon she had been previously holding in the cereal bowl, causing the milk to splatter on the counter. She quickly locked her phone and placed in on the counter face down and moved to clean the mess she made with her breakfast.

"Bucky you scared me!" She chastised him, trying to hide the waver in her voice but failing miserably. Not daring to look at him she moved around the kitchen, cleaning the counter and disposing the rest of her breakfast in the sink, her appetite already lost.

Her cheeks darkened with a blush and a wave of heat hit her forcefully, this time from the embarrassment.

She didn't see his face but she could've sworn he was smirking behind her back, enjoying her flustered state too much, just like he always did. She could feel him move around the kitchen too, apparently to fix his own breakfast before one of the bar stools scraped the floor lightly, letting her know he was sitting in her previous spot.

She heard him pour the milk on his own bowl of cereal and she decided now was her best opportunity to leave the kitchen, however Bucky seemed to have other plans for her because just as she made her way towards the door, he called behind her back.

"You never told me what were you reading in your phone." She stopped right in her tracks at the sound of his voice, and she blushed harder than before, if it was even possible at this point. Her back was facing him, so it was easier to avoid his look, also easier to lie to him as she spoke in a rush, right before leaving the kitchen.

"Nothing that concerns you, Barnes."

With rushed steps she walked to her bedroom, seeking a little comfort and privacy away from a certain prying pair of blue eyes. As soon as she closed the door behind her, she leaned against it and let out a long breath, finally able to do so, away from Bucky.

She could practically hear the teasing tone in his voice as he asked her that question and there was no doubt in her mind that he already knew what she had been reading.

She was fucked! Royally so!

If only she'd been a little more careful, but instead she had let herself get lost in the words on her screen and got caught by the man she was reading about.

It had started innocently enough. She had been reading fanfiction about her favorite Star Wars characters a few months ago when she stumbled across a few writings about the Avengers and since then it had been down the rabbit hole for her.

She enjoyed reading about her team mates, usually platonic pairings, she liked the way many talented people wrote and described her friends in a way she never thought possible, they were mostly accurate too.

However her real downfall had been when she found fanfiction about her favorite teammate, Bucky. She had tens of stories saved on her bookmarks, ready to indulge herself in fantasies of him every night before bed.

She would be lying if she said she didn't have feelings for the broody super soldier, but after some light flirting with him and not getting the reaction she had hoped, she'd given up, turning to the imaginary world of fanfiction.

Now their real life relationship remained strictly platonic, despite Y/n's ever present feelings.

She was eating her breakfast alone when a notification popped up on her phone, informing her one of her favorite writers had posted a new story, and being so eager to read, she didn't think about what would happen if anyone found out about her guilty pleasure.

The fact that Bucky was the one to 'catch her in the act' was the worst that could happen and now as she tried to ease her nerves in the privacy of her room, the only thing she could think of was how great it'd be if she could just vanish.

A few days later and Y/n had been avoiding Bucky like the plague, too embarrassed to even face him again. This of course hadn't gone unnoticed neither by the man himself, nor by the rest of the team, that kept sending questioning glances in her direction every time she walked to the common areas.

Once again, she found herself in the confines of her room, this time gathering the courage to walk down to the common areas for the movie night with the team. If it was for her, she'd be glad to stay in for the night, but Tony had insisted it was mandatory for everyone to be there tonight, claiming the team needed a bonding night together after being sent in too many missions the last month.

With another exhaling breath, she walked to the TV room, seeing everyone was already there. Steve, Tony and Natasha were sitting on the big couch, Vision and Wanda on one of the love seats, cuddling under the same blanket, Sam was on the chair alone and Bucky...

Her breath hitched when she saw Bucky sitting alone on the other love seat, the space next to him the only one empty.

"Finally Y/n, we were waiting for you to join us so we can start the movie." Sam was the first to speak up, seemingly a little impatient to start the movie.

"I'm here, I'm here. Now get up from my spot." She replied, trying to maintain a light tone in her voice, but Sam only scrunched his face in annoyance, shaking his head 'no' in response.

"There's no way in hell I'm sitting next to Tin Man, he takes too much space." Then with a nonchalant shrug directed her next to Bucky. "You're perfect for that spot though."

She let out a small, silent sigh, not happy at all with Sam, but she didn't say anything anymore, moving to seat on the love seat next to Bucky. Not wanting to raise any more suspicions (as if there weren't enough already) she sat next to him wordlessly, trying to avoid looking directly at him as much as possible.

The movie started and everyone remained silent, except for Sam who'd comment on the characters' actions every now and then.

She'd been sitting stiffly next to Bucky for about twenty minutes, a slight chill caused from the AC running down her spine. Bucky, ever the attentive one, stretched the blanket that was over his lap to her too, helping her get under the warmth of the soft material.

She just gave him a brief look, a small smile forming on her lips as a sign of gratitude and turned her head towards the large screen again.

On the coffee table there were lots of snacks and drinks, but she paid them no mind as she sat next to Bucky, still unable to relax fully despite the softness and warmth of the blanket that was covering her.

As the movie progressed she started to relax a little more with each passing minute. Her phone laid on her lap, above the blanket, the black screen staring up at her. It was the peak of the plot, where the main character finally learned the truth about her family, when she heard the ping of her phone and felt its short vibration on her thigh.

She picked it up in her hand, paying no mind to what it might be, and unlocked it, swiping to see the notification in the notification bar.

Her eyes locked on the screen as she read "writingavengers posted Love Actually, a Bucky Barnes x reader story". Her breath hitched at the words as she tried to play it cool, locking her phone again, but the next thing she did was a bigger mistake. She glanced towards Bucky, only to find him already looking at her intently, an undecipherable look in his face.

She swallowed, her throat feeling suddenly dry and averted her eyes to her lap, where her phone was laying, the screen once again black. Without so much as a word she got up, determined to leave the room, unable to stand being in his presence anymore.

This time she was really screwed.

"Where are you going? The movie isn't over yet."

"Umm... I'm feeling sleepy and I've already watched this movie so I know how it ends." She replied to Natasha and didn't even stop to say 'good night' before practically running out of there.

Back to her room, she cursed herself for unlocking her phone in front of Bucky, then for even taking her phone with her while she was watching the movie. She kept mumbling curses, thinking how would she be able to look at Bucky ever again. He probably thought she was some sick woman who was obsessed with him.

While huffing and puffing on her bed, she heard the hesitant knock on her door and her head snapped towards it, wondering for a moment if she had imagined it, but she was soon proved wrong when another knock was heard, a little more loud.

Y/n let out a sigh, not wanting to see anyone, considering to just not answer at all, whoever it was could wait until tomorrow, but apparently the person behind her door was determined to see her now, as a few more knocks sounded on the wooden surface of her door. With a huff she threw the comforter away and got up from the bed, walking to the door and opening it slowly, her breath catching behind her throat as she saw who was standing on the other side.

"Bucky..." Was the only word she was able to spill out as he entered her room without a word, his face set in an unreadable expression.

He turned to face her when he was inside her room, staring at her, parting his lips as if to say something, but apparently deciding against it as he closed them again.

Not standing the silence and his intense stare on her, she finally gathered some courage to speak first. "Bucky what are you doing here?"

Her tone was calm despite the growing nerves and she finally looked up to his eyes as she waited for a response.

After what felt like an eternity, but only being a couple of minutes of staring at each other, Bucky decided to speak up. "I know what you read on your phone." He said and despite it not being an accusation or nothing of the sort, he winced when he heard how his voice got out, and Y/n's fallen face was proof enough that he was being too harsh, dare he say tactless.

Despite knowing that he already knew, the way he said those words made Y/n's blood leave her face in a rush and she didn't know what to say. What could she even say? 'okay, you caught me!' It was stupid!

Another moment passed before he spoke again, this time in a softer tone. "I searched on the internet and I know all about it. I read a couple of those stories myself." He confessed and she could finally dare to meet his eye again.

A dejected sigh slipped past her lips as she responded. "I'm really sorry Bucky. I swear I'm not some crazy, obsessed girl, I just..." She shut up before she could say something she would regret.

"You just?"

His question was inviting, almost luring her to respond with nothing short of honesty. She let out another sigh as she moved to sit on the edge of her bed, fearing what she had to say would ruin whatever relationship - no matter how platonic - she had with Bucky. At least she could be sitting for when that moment came.

Her hands fell on her lap, fingers curling nervously around each other.

Okay this is it, she thought to herself, the moment of truth. She knew Bucky would probably never talk to her again after this, but she figured it was better to come clean to him once and for all. She looked up at him again, finding him already looking at her, waiting patiently for her to speak.

"The thing is, I really like you Bucky." Here it is! It is out! Now there is no turning back. "I think I actually more than like you..." She blushed as she said those words but she was determined to tell him everything, so she continued. "I have feelings for you, I've had them for sometime but I couldn't tell you that so when I found out about those fictive stories, I found myself surrounded by them, because at least there, there was a chance you liked me back and I lost myself in those fantasies of you and I and what we could be together." As she finished speaking, her head had hung low too, terrified of meeting his eye after this. Bucky had been silent in front of her, too silent, and if it wasn't for her looking directly at his legs, she would have thought maybe he left her room altogether. But he was there, staring her down, listening, thinking.

She couldn't bare to stand the silence anymore, already embarrassed enough, so she got up from her bed and moved to stand in front of him. "I understand if you hate me now and I am really sorry. I never meant to make things so uncomfortable and awkward between us and I promise I'll stop reading those stories -

She didn't get to finish her word as Bucky placed his lips on hers, effectively shutting her up. Her eyes widened for a second, before they fluttered close, surrendering to his kiss.

"I really like you too doll." He whispered against her lips, still not ready to totally part yet. "I'm sorry I'm not the easiest person to talk to and I'm really dense when it comes to love and relationships, but I have liked you since the first day I laid my eyes on you."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Bucky Barnes liked her! Bucky liked her too! She liked Bucky. They liked each other! She wanted to squeal in delight, but she decided against it, opting to go for another kiss instead, happy she was finally able to do that for real.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagines

72 notes · View notes

sepublic · 4 years

Text

Musical Car!

What’s interesting is that the musical has a sign advertising Jesse’s name; Did he stop by the Musical Car at some point and inspire the denizens there with a speech about empathy, and how differences are okay? We know that had to have taken place prior to him, Lake, and Alan Dracula entering the Carnival Car, meeting The Cat, etc. Either way, I’m not at all surprised that someone as open and friendly as him would say such things, especially with an unconventional friend like Lake; And obviously he stuck by his words in the end, didn’t he?

Lemme tell you though… I was legit disturbed by that raid, as well as seeing those poor denizens get legitimately hurt and injured for no reason at all, and that ONE decapitated dude almost getting wheeled, only to be converted into Simon’s thing; Like, screw you Apex. That’s what makes Simon and Grace interesting; I’ve always imagined the concept of more problematic protagonists for this series, so it’s not much of a surprise to see Book 3 dive into this! Given how much more, well… WORSE Simon and Grace are, pehaps it’s not all-too surprise that their arc was confined to HBO Max, given the even more mature tone set by them and their actions!

Honestly, those two rapidly switch and range from terrible, nasty jerks I want to punch, to misfits with banter and chemistry, and plenty of comradery; Especially for people they DO care about! It really drives the point home that not every bad person is PURE evil, like they don’t spend every waking moment plotting how terrible they can be, and most don’t even consider themselves as bad! It’s disconcerting, but a good look into their mindset; With Grace genuinely trying to be nice and caring to the kids and not hurting their feelings, but also repeating Amelia’s lies about the train denizens being there for the passengers’ benefit, and… More on that later.

Also- Glad to see Grace make fun of Simon’s fashion sense and acknowledge it, but at the same time… Either he was ten when he began to wear socks with sandals, AND/OR he was ten when he first met Grace; Presumably on the Infinity Train, although the idea of two individuals knowing one another PRIOR to boarding it is also fascinating! Especially given how Book 2 discussed the idea of fate and pre-determination in one’s paths and all…

It’s interesting to see that not all Apex kids are against the denizens, like some DO want to make friends with them (albeit in a very invasive manner), but Grace and Simon just shut them down. I have to wonder if they themselves also had a similar moment with Amelia, only to be brutally shut down; And Amelia is objectively worse than those two considering how much higher her number is, and how SHE was the one who started this dumb ideology in the first place (instead of just being taught it at a vulnerable moment in her life like everybody else)!

What’s worth noting is that Simon has a device that can detect the presence of other passengers, which is both VERY cool and VERY useful; I have to wonder if it’ll detect Hazel in the Jungle Car however. Given the speculation of her being a train denizen, it’d serve as neat, subtle foreshadowing as to her true nature, and I can see the show touching upon this! Also, the aesthetics of that device reminds me of what The Cat would own; Given how she’ll make a return this Book and has had a run-in with at least Grace in the past, I can easily see it being something she’d own. She IS a collector of useful things, after all… And I have to wonder if maybe The Cat was even a companion of Simon or Grace; Or maybe even Amelia! Perhaps the Passenger-Detector was a ‘gift’ from Amelia…

(I mean, they HAVE to bring her back in Book 3, given how her ideology and actions are a direct consequence of everything that happens, and would fit nicely into her eventual redemption arc. Not to mention it’d give a fascinating insight as to what was going on in her mind when she indoctrinated the Apex.)

Neat detail seeing the Unfinished Car with those corgi diplomats, and nice joke with that one turtle talking to what’s later revealed to be a phone with a line that’s already cut anyway! Grace breaking her Harpoon Pack makes sense; She wasn’t seen with one in the trailer and posters, and I guess it’d help ‘balance’ things if only one protagonist had a Harpoon Pack; So they can’t just skip over cars on their way back!

Speaking of a way back; We have a set number of cars leading back to the Mall Car, so in other words we have a way of keeping track of the journey’s progress! It IS worth noting that the cars could always rearrange… It’s interesting to learn that cars apparently don’t move when passengers are inside; I always assumed that sometimes they might’ve and a passenger wouldn’t notice because all the cars look identical from the outside, and also being inside a pocket-dimension kind of skews around with the sensation of what’s going on outside. It’s possible that Simon and Grace actually felt the movement because of the Unfinished Car’s unusual nature…

Regardless, after that disturbing opening scene it makes sense that One-One is stepping in! Given how he values the passengers more than the denizens (as seen with his second and final interaction with Lake), it makes me wonder how much he actually CARES; Or if he can’t afford to have people ‘breaking equipment’, and/or is mostly doing this to lean the Apex towards becoming better people by confronting them over their actions! At this point, they may end up pushing One-One too much and he’ll have to send in his Steward…

Getting onto some existential crisis, the cruel thing about Simon and Grace saying that the denizens are made for them is… They’re actually kind of right? NOT that this justifies at all their wanton, senseless cruelty towards the train denizens… But it ties back to Lake’s existential crisis in Book 2, the realization and likelihood that she (and maybe even the Mirror World) was made purely for the character development of people like Tulip and Jesse! One-One himself outright says in the Book 2 Finale that, YEAH; Train Denizens are supposed to stay on the train because their entire purpose, their entire means of creation was just to fulfill what the passengers need!

…Obviously, using them for raids ISN’T what One-One (and/or whoever made the Infinity Train/the Infinity Train itself) intended… But the disturbing realization still stands that the denizens’ purpose and creation in life is for the betterment of passengers, to accompany them, aid them… In the past, I’ve speculated how some Cars and their inhabitants don’t seem to have much of a personality beyond being a basic caricature to fulfill the ‘theme’ of a car, as well as aiding in passengers’ journeys! And obviously they’re all PEOPLE, but again this ties back into just how real the pasts and worlds of denizens were, as discussed by Mace; The idea that entire histories and cultures have been fabricated, and pre-programmed into the memories of denizens.

Needless to say, it’s very disturbing… And if Simon and Grace ever change their stance on denizens and even start vouching for them, it’d be a brilliant reversal of their beginning attitudes to have them call out One-One for making sapient people for the sole purpose of serving others; Which could be a dilemma for him given how HE may have been made for the purpose of others! Given how Amelia taught the Apex her ideals, and she was Conductor for a time and thus had rather intimate knowledge of the Infinity Train… perhaps what she says about the denizens being just ‘toys’, made for the passengers, isn’t too far a stretch from the truth; Obviously a dark, twisted, and selfish distortion. But it’s emblematic, reflecting a deeper, underlying issue that could lie with the Infinity Train itself.

(Especially since Owen Dennis said that One-One and the Infinity Train can be wrong…)

Given how Amelia made cars with denizens that only ‘turned on’ once a car was considered ‘complete’ (or close to it), it suggests that she knows all about the artificial, pre-programmed nature of denizens because she’s made a few ones; Which when coupled with how she probably tried to make a Fake Alrick, and ultimately realized that a replica would never be the same… Eerily, it lends to the idea that part of what made Amelia realize this at the end of Book 1, was her mindset that denizens are just follow, fake copies of pre-existing things and aren’t even real to begin with.

THAT is a cruel twist; That the very ideas that founded the Apex and caused our issues in Book 3, were low-key what helped Amelia wake up from her fantasy and realize that she needed to confront her issues! Given how high her number is, it only makes sense that while she’s making progress, she STILL has some more fundamental problems to tackle; Specifically the idea that while denizens aren’t the same or ‘real’ as the original, they’re still people and whatnot!

All in all, a VERY fascinating watch! Just eleven minutes, but I’m hooked in; Sure this does tie a lot back to previously-established concepts, but what story-driven show doesn’t? It really recontextualizes and makes you think back about what WAS discussed already and how it changes with the more we learn and explore!

#infinity train #infinity train book 3 #infinity train cult of the conductor #infinity train season 3 #infinity train spoilers #infinity train season 3 spoilers #infinity train grace #infinity train simon #infinity train amelia #analysis #spoilers #it spoilers

86 notes · View notes

pensivetense · 3 years

Text

A List Of (Mostly TMA) Fic Recs Sorted By Vibe

Not an exhaustive list by any means, just a few favourites that caught my fancy. I shortened many of the summaries for space.

I’m going to pin this here and update it as I go.

Also, I’m pensivetense on ao3

MELANCHOLY VIBES

for when you want to feel comfortably muted

(sad but not utterly bleak endings here)

Hope, Etc. (Dickenson, et al.) by yellow_caballero

Jonathan Sims, six months after the Unknowing, wakes to find himself without a daemon - without humanity, without a soul. It’s a cursed half-life, but existence as a shell without a heart isn’t so bad: between solving the mystery of a persistent illusion cast over his friends and some light pseudo-cannibalism, a life as a monster is better than no life at all. At least, it would be, if it wasn’t for the fucking Owl.

A freaking. Amazing. Daemon au. Ties the lore of Dust with TMA lore very satisfyingly, but is mostly about Jon navigating what it means to be human, or, in the absence of that, a person, and doesn’t require prior knowledge of His Dark Materials. Cannot recommend highly enough.

after one long season of waiting by nuinuijiaojiao

Annabelle is not used to having nice things. or, Annabelle heads to Upton House, muses a little, and gets some well-deserved rest

I love survivalist Annabelle and also the concept of the Web as kind of a horrible Patron, actually.

i love you. I want us both to eat well. by SmallishWormMasterOfTheUniverse

At the safehouse with Martin, Jon decides it's time to quit statements once and for all. The Eye disagrees. Martin just needs Jon to be okay. It's quite possible that nobody is going to get what they want.

Scottish Safehouse Era, Jon and Martin coping with their respective Entities... really, really good.

the friend by doomcountry

He always greets a new spider when he meets it. It’s instinct, born in childhood, the same way he instinctively counts magpies, or flicks salt over his left shoulder. A little harmless superstition. A bit of politesse.

A great Martin character study with eldritch spider horror included. The imagery regularly haunts me (in a good way).

autumn’s rare gift by bee_bro

Annually, the two meet, renewing the binding ritual where it had all started. The procedure simple: a waltz.

Singlehandedly made me ship Gertrude/Agnes so there’s that. It’s so bittersweet and bee_bro’s writing is, as always, incredibly poetic. (I’d recommend everything they write, actually.)

smile, you’re trending by Goodluckdetective

During an encounter with another Avatar of the Eye, Jon faces his past, Martin takes a turn at playing Kill Bill and Basira has a second look at the monster she’s determined to see. For three people associated with the Eye, they could all use some perspective.

Features an original Eye Avatar character who’s a YouTube personality; she is infuriating and inspired and genuinely frightening and I cannot say enough good things.

Humility by The_Lionheart

have you no idea that you're in deep?/i've dreamt about you nearly every night this week,/how many secrets can you keep?

An OC centric story but don’t let that put you off, it’s amazing. Very heavily focused around Jonah Magnus and the other Avatars as they change through the years. Also, I’d die for the OC.

oh, for one sweet second without the eye series by faedemon

Beholding does not like in the way humans do, but it likes its Archivist all the same.

I’m just so fond of the way this is done stylistically. I have a great weakness for dialogue only/dialogue heavy writing, not to mention all of the wonderful character beats and interplay of humanity/inhumanity for Jon and Melanie.

Rewind by WhyNotFly

It takes eight days of forced confinement for Jon to start hallucinating. [...] It’s Martin, though, that his exhausted brain conjures, because of course it’s Martin. After all this time, of course it’s Martin.

Jon willingly allows himself to be confined rather than hunting for statements, and examines his relationship with Martin.

for a firmament series by supaslim

There is beauty in destruction. There is art in becoming. In which Jon becomes the Archive, and the Archive becomes Jon.

Part two posted this morning and uhhh. Good. Also if you’re here for weird eldritch body horror (I am), this one’s for you.

ONES THAT JUST HURT

for when you want to feel sad

(somewhat bleaker endings here/everyone is NOT okay)

Feste by yellow_caballero

If asked, Martin would say that he became the shadow director of the Magnus Institute by accident. But nobody ever asked, and nobody ever cared, and it was in this way that Martin stopped lying to himself. Or: break free, Martin. All you have to lose are your chains. And your sanity.

Oh, this one totally didn’t go the way I expected it to. A study in isolation. Could go into the category above, as the ending is not bleak, but the tone of the whole is somewhat more depressing than most there.

Ghosts of Love by RavenXavier

Nothing made Martin more grounded in the world than yearning for Jonathan Sims.

Lonely!Martin that really captures a sort of visceral ache. Hurts me and yet I keep rereading.

i do desire (we may be better strangers) by godbewithyouihavedone

For ages, it only knew how to worship, taking human bodies and living off the fear of those who remembered. It never knew love until it became Jonathan Sims. Now it must fight against every instinct to save Martin Blackwood. Archivist Sasha, Not!Jon/Martin, and the worst kind of Fake Dating AU.

Oh, this one just made me sad. The poor not!them, which is something I never thought I’d say.

Apple Of Your Eye by fakeCRfan

In which the Eye is fond of Martin. Perhaps a little too fond for comfort.

Somehow manages to be both sweet and horrifying—the characterisation of the Eye is incredible. ‘The Eye loves Martin’ is a scenario that’s so utterly doomed to failure and yet the writing is packed with so much pathos that I just want them all to be happy. A fantastic use of themes of agency and choice, and the single best use of Beholding as a source of horror I’ve read.

The Last Press by copperbadge

Jon Sims is awake, and has begun preparations for the Rite of the Watcher's Crown. Peter Lukas, who woke him, would be content to rule at his side. Martin is very upset about all of this, and the Lukases aren't thrilled with it either.

I really can’t say anything without spoiling the end and it’s so good. An alternate take on the Watcher’s Crown. Not a pairing that I ever thought would work for me, but this made it work.

watch the blood evaporate by 75hearts

It starts, like so many things in Jon’s life have started, with a nagging itch of curiosity. Jonathan Sims uses his healing abilities throughout s4. Read the tags.

Dear God please read the tags. But this is some high quality pain if it’s for you.

the lighthouse series by low_fi

Peter Lukas is a lighthouse keeper. One evening, he gets a call from a cryptic overseer tasked with monitoring his work.

This is such a vivid and yet subtle story—from the setting to the emotions portrayed, it creeps up on you slowly. The ending was like the gentlest possible gut-punch. The sequel just completed, and yeah, just as wonderful. This one is very much LonelyEyes but I listed it here because it is just exquisitely painful.

SATISFYINGLY HOPEFUL VIBES

for when you want to feel cozy

Clutching Daffodils by Gemi

Martin has always liked the idea of love at first sight. It’s such a romantic idea, the whole thing of it. Seeing someone and instantly feeling that strange, twisting feeling deep inside that every single media likes to obsess over. Of knowing you are in love within the day, petals falling from your mouth and warmth filling your chest as love burrows deep, vines twisting through your lungs. He always liked the idea of it. And then Jonathan Sims starts working at the Magnus Institute.

Somehow manages to be lighter and fluffier than most hanahaki fare, despite the setting. I’ve reread this one a lot.

the least he could do by Prim_the_Amazing

Martin should in fact not pick this man, specifically because of how attracted he is to him. It would be the responsible thing to do. Except he’s already following him. And he’s hungry.

Fluffy vampire au which everyone’s probably already read, but was too good not to mention.

rather interesting by bee_bro

Jonah Magnus realizes that, for some reason, when he comes in contact with weed, Elias Bouchard's consciousness will come into his life banging pots and pans.

Oh boy. So these are all favourite fics but this one is a favourite amongst favourites. The way Jonah is characterised (i.e. incredibly sensitive to scrutiny) is my favourite depiction of him, and the slow-burn between him and Elias is far sweeter than it has any right to be. Also, it’s hilarious.

The Magnus Records series by ErinsWorks

In a world parallel to that of the Archives and the Institute, a supernatural sanctuary stands against a cruel and uncaring world: A world of bureaucracy and tyranny, of murder and carnage, of loneliness and surveillence, of plague and death. But in this world of fear and misery, 14 entities born of the hopes of the world have emerged. And one of them has made their home here, at The Magnus Sanctuary. Perhaps, the employees within may lead happier lives than their counterparts did in the Archives.

This is just so goddamn pure. The author writes a really imaginative, fleshed-out alternate world and alternate Entities with engaging, well-written short statements. All of the character voices are absolutely on point, and it’s overall absurdly hopeful without ever feeling overly saccharine. I love this series so much, you guys, you don’t even know. I want to print it out and paste it on my wall. I love it.

HARD APOCALYPSE

for when you want to feel dark and angsty (and eldritch)

Most of these are shorts/oneshots because it’s just that kind of genre, y’know?

Ashes to Ashes by marrowbones

A conversation at the end of the world.

Oliver Banks is one of those minor characters that I am overly attached to. Love him here.

Employee Benefits by equals_eleven_thirds

The Magnus Institute offered some normal employee benefits: a pension plan, holidays, travel subsidies, free lunch on the last Friday of each month. Rosie makes it work.

This manages to hit that perfect sweet spot of satisfying and hilarious. Rosie gets to torment Elias, as she well deserves.

a rose by any other name by Duck_Life

Part of Jon blooms in Jared Hopworth’s garden.

This one was sad and honestly too gentle to really belong in this category, but I love it.

Eye to Eye by Dribbledscribbles

In which Jonah Magnus attempts a post-apocalyptic pep talk.

Unreliable narrator at its finest, and the implications are suitably horrific.

commensalis by doomcountry

The tower is endlessly, impossibly tall, but Jon’s work is taller.

If you’re here for the eldritch imagery, then this has some of the best.

SOFT APOCALYPSE

for when you want to feel gently triumphant

apocalypse how series by sunshine_states

Humanity adjusts. The Entities have Regrets.

Some nice vignettes set in a kinder apocalypse.

ceylon series by Sciosa

The one in which Jonathan Sims decides that no, actually, he isn't going to let the world just end.

I include this only for the sake on completeness, as everyone has no doubt already read it.

rituals by doomcountry

Martin is the first person to knock on the Archivist's door since it arrived, fully, into its little waiting temple. The Archivist saw him coming from down the hall, but decides to feign interest when the knob turns, and Martin—still a little bit smaller, a little more translucent than before—stands uncertainly just outside the room.

This one’s a little less focused on the world at large and more on JonMartin specifically.

we raise it up by savrenim

Jonathan Sims reads a book and saves the world; although maybe the real salvation is the friends he makes along the way; (although perhaps the world itself and the darkness that exists behind it isn't quite as out to get everyone as it seems).

More ‘soft revolution’ than ‘soft apocalypse’, but has the same vibe. A time travel fix-it. Incomplete but worth it if this is a mood that appeals to you.

Scarred Ground by DictionaryWrites

“You see," Elias said softly, "people always have this idea that only living things can be scarred - and they're right, of course. But a building is a living thing, Martin. And the ground can be scarred, too." "I don't have any scars," Martin said. "Yes, you do," Elias said. "You just need the right light to see them.”

Falls somewhere between ‘Apocalypse’ and ‘Soft Apocalyse’ but I’m putting it here because I feel like it. Also technically a LonelyEyes fic. I found it hard to follow at first but it’s worth sticking with; things will eventually begin to make sense and come together.

LONELYEYES

for when you want to feel lonelyeyes

marrying anguish with one last wish by procrastinatingbookworm

In which Elias isn't Orpheus, and Peter isn't Eurydice, but Elias brings Peter home anyway.

Lives in my head rent free forever. My favourite lonelyeyes fic.

ouroboros by Wildehack

“You know,” Jonah says, a muscle in his calf quivering agreeably where it’s slung over Mordechai’s shoulder, “it’s really quite--fortunate--that I don’t care for you at all.”

Oh, this one hurts in the best possible way. The endless cycle of their relationship, the way it comes full-circle... yeah, good. Actually, no, this one might be my favourite. It’s a tie.

Breaking all the Rules by Thedupshadove

Elias proposes a somewhat...unusual wager.

Soft lonelyeyes? In my recs? It’s more likely than you think. Short, sweet, and... sweet.

Threefold by Sprinkledeath

Peter Lukas breaks three rules.

I’m just a slut for mythology allusions I guess.

Luck Be A Lady Tonight by prodigy

In 2014, Elias Bouchard takes a rare trip outside of his comfort zone. Peter Lukas wastes a bunch of money. You'd be surprised how many things can go wrong for two beings of cosmic power.

I love the sense of the history of them you get while reading this.

love is just a word (the idea seems absurd) by kaneklutz

"Something's wrong. It's stopped hurting" An avatar of the Lonely and an avatar of the Beholding walk into a bar relationship. It was bound to blow up in their faces.

Short, sweet, painful. Excellent exploration of their priorities.

Victor by penguistifical

elias tries something with his powers that he hasn't attempted before

The one where Elias tries to raise the dead. Not incredibly LonelyEyes centric but that’s still the pairing.

Simon Says by penguistifical

“Peter asked me to drop by and have a word with you, and, so, here I am.” Simon chuckles at Elias’s disbelieving stare. “Well, he asked in his own way. He’s not a complicated man, you know. He either comes from your arms looking like a stroked cat that’s been given a dish of cream or looking like he’s been in that toy boat of his out in an unexpected storm. He was far angrier than normal, so I daresay you weren’t cream today.”

I mean personally I’d just go ahead and rec all of penguistifical’s LonelyEyes fics but this is a standout for me.

AROMANTIC AND ASPEC MOODS

for when you want to feel Seen

The Aro Archives series by WhyNotFly

These are all just really really good. From Aro!Peter to two different aro-spec versions of the Scottish Safehouse to a long and beautiful aro hanahaki fic, this series is uniformly wonderful. The two Scottish Safehouse ones (Torn Edges and Murky Water) are my comfort fics.

and now all fear gives way by j_quadrifons

Before he can think it through, he murmurs, "Is that what it feels like? Being in love?" Martin's hand stills in his hair and Jon's stomach drops.

This one just. Wow yeah this is how it be. Another absolute comfort fic of mine.

Sweet As Roses by Prim_the_Amazing

Jon takes Martin by the shoulders, leans up on the tips of his toes, and kisses him.

I’m going to be honest—I didn’t know where to put this one. But it ended up here because the real standout of this fic for me is the portrayal of Sasha, and especially her portrayal as an aro character. So I’m putting it here. Mind the content warnings with this one!

HUMOUR

for when you want to feel delight

The Torment of Sebastian Skinner by Urbenmyth

After the Eye's victory, the statement givers are trapped in their horror stories, living them over and over again. Naturally, this works out better for some then for others.

Premise? Delightful. Execution? Fantastic. I read this one to cheer myself up when I’m sad.

Unlucky by VolxdoSioda

Jon’s dice betray him

Short, sweet DnD au, and the reason I cannot get DM!Elias out of my head now.

Voracious by beetl

A bird hits the window. Jon experiences The Flesh's thrall.

“Dead Dove: Do Not Eat” but make it literal.

The Stupid Endings by Urbenmyth

There are a lot of very deeply thought out and creative AUs on this site. These aren't among them. These ones are how the story could have ended, if Jonny Sims was a dumbass.

These are just uniformly hilarious, I cannot recommend them highly enough.

PODCAST CROSSOVERS

for when you want to make one of those “if I had a nickel for every time...” posts

The Sabbatical by morelikeassassin

Nicholas Waters is in need of an all-knowing eldritch entity beyond the confines of human imagining to help with his latest ritual. He'll have to settle for Jonathan Sims, who happens to have nothing better to do.

Crossover with Archive 81 (s3, specifically). Both fun and bittersweet.

The City And Its Sorrows by cuttooth

“What makes you think your friend is in Eskew?” David asks. He feels he can risk the scrutiny of the city that far. “I read that this is a place people end up when they get lost,” says the man. “This is a place people end up,” David agrees./The Archivist comes to Eskew.

Contemplative piece, and I love the way it presents David’s relationship with Eskew, the way he finds it horrible and hates it and yet belongs to it, is almost proud in the way he shows to to Jon. Great little vignette of two people oppressed by eldritch powers, intersecting.

Hiatus by bibliocratic

My name is Jonathan Sims, and I am in Eskew. (Jon gets lost in a Spiral city. It is not as easy as escaping.)

This one is far more focused on Jon than David, and is honestly more Eskew-weird than Spiral-weird. In the best way. Told in Eskew episode style, and is very good.

Sweet Music by Shella688

Eskew has a music to it, if you know how to listen. The percussion beat of thousands of footsteps, the melody in the squealing of the trains overhead. Today, the music of Eskew comes in the form of nine musicians, playing outside my office. My name is David Ward, and I am in Eskew.

Not TMA, but since a lot of Mechs fans go here—this one’s a Mechs/Eskew crossover. Short and simple, mostly David Ward centric, just a little well-written one shot I had to mention because I enjoyed it but it doesn’t have much traffic. Nice portrayal of the Mechs from an outsider’s perspective, and how genuinely strange and frightening they’d come across (especially if you’re already being haunted by and eldritch city). If you like Eskew-style storytelling, check it out!

NOT TMA

...but good enough that I physically cannot make a recs list without including them. Here!

#tma #the magnus archives #fic recs #long post #i'm not kidding you guys it's long #so be warned before you click read more #pinned on my blog

52 notes · View notes

cle1024 · 4 years

Text

beyond the silver horizon | lfl

member: lee felix

genre: angst

summary: everything you told me, the words you whispered into that stinging winter atmosphere, was spoken far too late. mafia!au

warnings: violence, death

a/n: an anon requested mafia angst with felix, i hope this lives up to expectations <3 i got inspiration for this story after listening to seventeen from the heathers and watching a quiet place, i didn’t think a horror movie could make me that sad but i’m also a notorious crier! also i’m very sorry i disappear for such long periods of time i’m in my final year of school and suck at time management anyway love you

The sky pooled with the blue of faded jeans and snowcloud grey, the abysmal winter taking the common popularity far from the sandy miles and crashing tides. It was at its peak in winter, despite being a beach. It flawlessly transformed from a bustling getaway to a tranquil sanctuary, one you had come to share with another. Felix’s silver hair often matched that of the beyond skyline, the sun’s muted rays being overpowered by cool-toned clouds. Words often went unexchanged in such moments, as the two of you preferred to bask in all the peace and serenity. In those moments, you would feel free—no longer looking over your shoulder with caution, watching your friends walk out of doors they may never walk through again. Instead, it was just waves. Crashing water flowing back and forth, back and forth. They never went away. Felix had never spoken many words while you found yourselves sat on the cold sand together, though the few he aired always stuck in your mind. They were words you’d unknowingly yearned to hear, words that allowed you to escape to a fantasy each night as your eyes closed until the morning.

“Someday, we’ll go far beyond that silver horizon,” he had promised you, “we’ll leave it all behind for a new beginning.”

“You really think so?”

He smiled at you reassuringly as he nodded gently, “I know we will.”

The day Felix met you wasn’t unusual, nor was it anything special at the time. He couldn’t remember how he found himself caught up in the world of drug lords and shady business, but he remembered exactly when he laid eyes on you — four in the afternoon he witnessed Minho leading you to Chan’s office, neither of you with pleasant facial expressions. Minho looked bored, you looked irritated, he didn’t want to know how Chan looked. As much as he expected to watch you disappear into the confines of his boss’ office and never reappear, at five o’clock he observed you leaving the office with Chan, the man smiling with satisfaction, victorious. Felix could remember watching you navigate your way around the base for a few days before Changbin grew tired of the male’s intense observation, said he looked like he was “trying to turn the damn kid into ice!”

From what he understood, though never confirmed, you were down on your luck, broke, and made the mistake of robbing Minho—successfully, much to the dismay of the male’s ego. It didn’t take the bright haired male long to track you down and drag you back to base, not with the expectation of grievous punishment, but with the intention of acquiring you a job. Minho was frequently forgiving, unlike most, and considered you lucky to have chosen him instead of someone else—someone much more ruthless, bloodthirsty. Chan wasn’t hesitant in persuading you to join, Minho was one of the most perceptive people he’d ever met; he was observant, strong-minded, soft-spoken and thought in ways he had never once considered. And he was usually right, but Chan didn’t want to inflate his ego too much.

Three months into the job, as unconventional as it was, you spoke your first words to Felix. They were words he’d heard in countless variations prior, yet something about your voice resonated deep within him, almost as if a ray of moonlight had struck his soul and encased it.

“Chan said we have business together, can I trust you?”

“Always.”

Felix didn’t question you back, despite tradition. Somehow, he knew you’d give the same answer. It was laced in the gentle smile you futilely suppressed.

Trickling down the glass windows, beads of perspiration and rain water scattered across the window pane. Your eyes watched the droplets slide from their original position on the glass to the bottom, replaced by another splash of crystal liquid. Felix glanced at you momentarily; it was bizarre how things had changed so swiftly. Three months since the first time you spoke — the same amount of time it took the two of you to verbally communicate for the first time — yet it felt as if you were engaged in a three year long friendship. The two of you had found freedom, paradise, in the sandy shores of an unpatrolled beach, no matter how abysmal in appearance. The two of you were yet to experience a beach in nice weather, together at least, instead sticking to the depressing atmosphere of chilled winter days, the scenery a colour scheme suitable to Felix’s ash blonde, white, or silver strands of hair. It was coincidental to begin with, then it became an innocent rendezvous requested in moments of loneliness and exhaustion. The freckled male wished he could take credit for the organisation of such ‘bonding’, so to speak, but it was your proposal, spoken as poetically as ever — “perhaps we should make this our own utopia, hey? Watch the oscillation of murky water plunge into abysmal depths.” Felix wasn’t sure how to respond the first time around, the eloquence of your words stunning him momentarily. All his brain could think was: “yeah, whatever that means.” He had simply nodded instead. Though, truthfully, he didn’t really care what it meant. If it granted him time with you, he would be willing to make it a tradition.

That beach became your utopia, a hideaway from the consequences of the lifestyle the two of you found yourselves entangled in. Whether you sat under the shelter of Felix’s clunky black buick or amongst the scattered sand grains, the soothing sound of crashing waves washing the shoreline put the two of you at ease. It was escapism at its finest. Even when the topic of your line of work—if it could even be considered a form of employment—was brought up, it felt as if it were a hypothetical scenario. “If you were a part of the mafia, would you want to escape?” rather than “do you think we could ever escape being in the mafia?” You always answered no while Felix maintained hope, but you both seldomly pondered how you could escape a lifestyle that was so omnipresent.

The pair of you found yourselves sat within the same clean car three weeks later, travelling down a long stretch of smoothly paved highway with obscured chatter being emitted from the silver radio. It wasn’t for a blissful escape this time. Rather, a job—or mission, you still didn’t know how to appropriately refer to the actions you were sent out to perform. Felix knew more of the situation than you knew, mainly because you zoned out halfway through Changbin’s explanation of the whole situation. Then again, you didn’t really care to know the extensive reasoning Changbin had for why certain things had to be done, as long as you got the job done and weren’t fucking murdered for not doing so, you didn’t really care. You’d spent the majority of the four hour car ride staring out the window, watching cars wizz past at illegal speeds, even for a highway, and trees blur into green masses of indistinct leaves and skinny branches. It only became evident that you had reached some form of civilisation when the pine trees evolved into small convenience stores and quaint homes, then towering skyscrapers and elegant apartments. The buzz of the radio, a sound you’d become accustomed to over the hours, was intercepted by Felix’s deep voice, “we’ll have to leave for the museum at six tomorrow evening. I’ll explain the situation on the way, I know you weren’t listening,” he teased cheekily.

You smiled mildly with a roll of your eyes, “you’re the boss—oh, wait.”

Felix scoffed and smacked your shoulder lightly, “get out of my car before I throw you out and leave.”

“Shut it, Lix’. You love me.”

A shit-eating grin was spread across your face as you took your gym bag from the boot, turning on your foot to enter the luxurious hotel. Felix smiled fondly at you—shit. Perhaps he did.

The hotel room was what Changbin would describe as ‘comfortable’, but that chandelier-swinging prick was born into a lengthy ancestry of money—and criminal activity, though you supposed that was irrelevant. It wasn’t really, but it was a four-hour presentation you didn’t want to mentally sit through. Instead, you took in the opulent hotel room with awe and appreciation. White marble tiles spread along the floor, a light gold chandelier adorned with rhinestones dangled over the large dining table. The room was overboard in every possible way, though Chan had brushed it off as “getting into character”. You supposed that it would be more covert to retreat into a hotel equally lavish to the gala the two of you planned to intrude on. That part had almost slipped your mind—the whole criminal part of it. He’d subconsciously experienced the trip as a getaway. It wasn’t a work expense, it was a sumptuous getaway to escape that lifestyle, ignoring the stress of money, drugs, and being tailed by the police. It was freedom—except it wasn’t. It was nothing more than business; everything was just business. Felix, on the other hand, was painfully aware of the situation, in a way that you didn’t know or understand—not yet, at least. The male didn’t hold contempt towards the situation for being ‘just business’, he held contempt for what it should have been. It wasn’t the kind of goodbye he’d wanted to give you, sitting in an over-the-top hotel room preparing for a mission before leaving, for good. He had it all planned out, people who would help him—even Chan knew about the whole plot, for goodness sake, he’d sworn to cover it up as an untimely death. Though, as it drew closer, Felix couldn’t help reject the original plan. It was a solid plan, but it didn’t include you. How could he ever leave without you?

Felix, foolish as it was, didn’t sleep that night. Tossing and turning around in the silky blue sheets, feeling them twist around his bare torso, felt much more comforting than sleeping—despite the fact he would escape from the thoughts he felt tormented by. At one point he’d left the room entirely, standing on the balcony as the cold air pricked at his exposed skin. It was winter, how fitting. He’d watched you lay peacefully in the sheets for a few moments, the steady rising of your chest putting him at ease momentarily, until those thoughts came creeping in again. In all honesty, he hadn’t even planned on telling you—or anyone. He would just slip away into the night, run as if his life depended on it—it did, he supposed. With a sigh, the male slipped back into the warmth of the hotel room, sliding the glass door closed to forbid the frosty air from plaguing the room and ruining your peaceful slumber. Fuck, he really couldn’t leave you behind. The frosty bathroom tiled stung the soles of his feet as he splashed water on his face, patting the freckled skin dry with the lightest touch possible, as if he would break if too much force was used. Felix had never felt so close to the edge — the edge of what, he wasn’t certain yet, but something told him he’d understand soon enough.

The sun was steadily disappearing behind the uneven horizon, and you were taking advantage of the last pungent rays of sunlight to prepare for the gala night—you supposed it was better to be early hours before you had to leave instead of minutes. Plus, Felix had encouraged you to do so and he had far more experience than you. He also had ulterior motives in the form of telling you heavy news and a proposal he prayed you wouldn’t reject. Truthfully, he hadn’t even considered how to approach the topic. Did he just spit it out: “I’m leaving”, or was that too harsh? Why did it even matter? It’s not like he would be around to watch the fall out—that didn’t make it any better, though.

“What time do we leave?” Felix’s thoughts were intruded by your querying voice. His head turned in your direction and, fuck, you looked beautiful.

“Uh- seven. Weren’t you listening to Chan?” The slight teasing edge of his voice prompted a playful smile to stretch across your face as you raised an eyebrow.

“When have I ever listened to Chan?” A deep chuckle vibrated in Felix’s chest as he shook his head gently. Of course you hadn’t, you remained as independent as ever, “besides,” you sigh gently as you move to sit next to him on the unmade bed, “the stuff he says just reminds me of the shitty situation I’m in.”

“What do you mean?” The freckled male raised an eyebrow in question. You laughed bitterly.

“The fact I’m a dimestore criminal and always will be. The only time it will end is when I’m thrown in prison—and I’d still be bloody miserable,” your words hung heavy in the air as Felix chewed on his plush lower lip. Fuck it.

“We could leave, together. You know. Start a new life, be happy.”

A sigh passed your lips, a mix of exasperation and misery, “Felix, you know this isn’t the kind of life you can just run away from.”

“It’s worth a shot, isn’t it? Don’t you want to be free?”

“Living in fear isn’t living freely!” with slumped shoulders, a posture of defeat, the exasperation dissipated from your face, “you should know that by now.”

Mustering up the necessary courage, Felix allowed his deep voice to break through the tense atmosphere, “well—I’m leaving.”

You visibly froze, shoulders rigid and jaw tense as the news simmered in the air. The silence was thick, Felix could feel it melting through his skin and coating his bones, “I’m leaving tomorrow night,” it was the affirmation you didn’t want to hear. The news that, no, this wasn’t some sick joke, this was real fucking life and Felix was leaving you, “I know some people that can help me out, but—” he sighed with hesitance, “I’ll stay if I’m what you choose.”

Felix failed to realise it at the time, but from this distance, painfully aware of the emptiness of the grey grains of sand, Felix knew that the sandy shores were never his idea of paradise. It was the person who sat beside him, enduring the cold weather in a comfortable silence.

It was easier to put on a happy face than either of you had expected. Though, thinking about it, you weren’t sure why you had such little faith in your acting skills—you’d managed to hide your criminal occupation under a law-abiding facade, after all. Felix had briefly run through the plan, meaning he had told you to keep a low profile and follow his lead. You had assumed it was an ordinary job—steal their stash, take out anyone who got in your way, get the fuck out of there. Suffice it to say, you found yourself in awe at the beauty surrounding you. The museum was painted in tones of gold and white, with lush velvet lounges and curtains showcasing the large pristine glass windows. All exhibits were on display, allowing the museum to brag its gorgeous vintage paintings and unique bone collections — you were pretty sure you’d heard Minho brag the same thing, and you were absolutely certain you didn’t let him explain it any further than that. Feeling Felix’s hand brush gently against your arm, you turned your attention to the silver-haired male, suppressing the attraction blooming in your eyes. He looked marvelous. Hair swept back effortlessly with a crisp suit adorning his slim frame. To say he didn’t look intimidating would be a blatant lie, and to act as if you weren’t already immensely attracted to him would be pointless. With an internal reprimand, you raised an eyebrow at Felix, inviting him to proceed with his words.

“Just mingle for a little bit. Go through that door,” he discretely gestured his head towards a set of large dark oak doors, “about ten minutes after I do. Wait in the hall, and if anyone asks, you needed a break from socialising.”

Nodding with understanding, you watched as Felix sent a reassuring smile your way before sauntering across the large room, smiling and greeting other primly dressed men he probably didn’t know. An unpleasant thought plagued your mind, one you desperately wanted to push away from contemplation: as soon as this mission was over and you returned to the base you called home, you would have to watch as he walked away once again, a stride towards freedom. It was something he so desperately craved, you couldn’t bring yourself to take that away from him—no matter how much you wanted to. The sound of the ebony wooden grandfather clock was lost in the sound of absent-minded chatter and fake laughter, yet the hands still moved as each second, minute, passed by. Five minutes had passed. What was Felix doing? Six minutes had passed. Why did you have to wait so long? Seven minutes had passed. Was he in danger? Eight minutes had passed. Would you see him again? Nine minutes had passed. Why didn’t you agree to leave with him? Ten minutes had passed. You were tired of this life. The thought struck you as you clandestinely stride towards the large doors Felix had disappeared behind, pacing a few strides down the hall before leaning against the wall, waiting.

How much time had passed? You weren’t certain, it felt as if time had stopped moving since you leaned against the wallpaper-covered surface. Footsteps alerted you to another’s presence, your head turning in the direction to scope out a potential threat — though your shoulders relaxed as the familiar chocolate eyes of Felix met your own. Fixing your posture, you waited until he was standing beside you, “we happy?”

Felix smiled gently at your Pulp Fiction reference, “yeah, we’re happy. Now let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Placing his hand on the small of your back, he prepared to escort you from the grand location, all the while you pondered why Felix needed a partner when he did everything alone. Though, your questions were answered.

“Not so fast, pal,” you had often feared being murdered by Changbin for not completing a mission, yet for some reason you didn’t fear the potential of being shot in the head by a rival gang.

“Ah, Mr. Hyunsuk, what a pleasure it is,” the freckled male’s response was short yet polite, a false smile stretched upon his face. How did he still look so angelic in the face of death?

“Yongbok,” Felix’s smile faltered, “let’s not pretend. Just return whatever you’ve taken from us and everyone will leave here safely.”

“With all due respect, I believe you’re wrong,” you spoke up — that was your job — “we’ll be keeping our new possessions and leave safely,” to jump in recklessly when things began going sideways. Then, guns were drawn. You can’t recall who drew first, who shot first, but you knew you and Felix had split up to take different vantage points. Peeking from behind the cabinet you crouched behind, you fired a shot towards the muscular bald man shooting in Felix’s direction, who narrowly avoided a bullet between his eyes. How many people had come? You weren’t sure, you weren’t counting. It was pure adrenaline, shooting almost blindly at those who threatened the success of your job. The sound of a gun jamming snapped you out of your daze, forcing you to watch as Felix struggled to identify the problem with his gun. Ah shit, you supposed it was time to do your job. Leaping from behind the bullet-riddled cabinet, you fired towards the moving human targets in rapid succession. One down, two down, a bullet fired into Hyunsuk’s knee, another into his hip. Another gun joined you, Felix’s pistol shooting at the men attempting to pull their boss from the fray.

The pain shot through you before you could process what was happening. It was searing, a deep burning sensation that had you clutching the spot in agony, struggling to stay on your feet. Vaguely, as if rooms away, you heard Felix’s gunfire halt as a thud echoed from the other side of the hall, then you heard footsteps against the polished floor. Rapid, either rushing to help someone or rushing to take their last breath. A pair of arms snaked around your waist and supported your back as you swayed, disoriented.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Felix’s gentle hold on you prevented further stumbling on your behalf. The words couldn’t form upon your lips, your eyes glancing around haphazardly, as if blinking more would help you process the situation you were in. His eyes trailed downwards, widening as he finally noticed the hand haphazardly clutching your abdomen.

“No. No, no, no, no, no,” his speech was rapid, his gravelly voice coming out in a corybantic manner as he struggled to find the right action to take. There was a short period where he struggled, laying you down as he attempted to assess the bloody patch hiding beneath your stained hand. Weakened, you found yourself unable to fight off Felix’s movements as he peeled your hand away delicately, breath quickening at the extent of your wound. If he didn’t get you help in the next minute, he knew you wouldn’t make it, “ah, okay—shit. Just—keep your hand on there, pressure, yeah?”

There was no effort to move on your behalf, thus Felix’s hand found its way pressing atop your bleeding injury. Though, your fingers wrapped around his wrist as you smiled gently towards him, “don’t.”

Confusion laced his eyes, “don’t? Y/N, I’m not going to let you bleed out here. I’m not going to let you die!”

You only nodded slightly, “you are. You have to.”

His eyesight grew blurry, his stomach twisted in knots, the croaks of sobs were climbing up his throat as he mulled over your words. His voice quivered, “b-but, I can’t let you die. I need you.”

There were no words to respond to his statement, just a weak and gentle hand caressing his cheek. He could hear footsteps approaching, but he couldn’t find it in him to look away from you—he didn’t care if it was a fatal mistake or not. A deep breath filled your lungs, a stray tear leaking from your eye and sliding down your temple as you mustered up the strength to breathe out the confession you’d been suppressing for years.

It was gentle, angelic in the other’s ears, the words the both of you wished you’d said earlier, “you’re the one I choose.”

Not every story has a happy ending, but at least they have an ending. Even if it tore the soul from someone and stomped on it, that sense of finality was necessary. Felix had seen a lot of pain in his life, far too much loss, yet the final chapter of a story involving him—your story—had never felt so… wrong. Out of place, missing. It wasn’t the ending he wanted for you, though who was he to change fate? There was nothing Felix could do to go back to that time, to redo anything and everything to fix the ending. All he could do was think of how much he loved and lost in a matter of moments.

Sighing as he watched the waves carry your ashes past the skyline, Felix’s voice broke into the crisp air, “one day, I’ll meet you beyond that silver horizon,” he sniffled slightly as the autumn breeze caressed his face, “I know I will.”

34 notes · View notes

darkpoisonouslove · 3 years

Text

2021 Projects

It’s a new year and since my writing kinda slowed in the last couple of months (more like for over half a year now), I thought it would be motivating for me and informative for anyone who’s interested to lay out my ideas for my work during 2021. Now I do not call these plans because I do not want to jinx anything but I am excited about these projects and I hope that I will manage to fit them in throughout this year.

- Fix-It Series - a series of fics that deals mostly with the plot holes in the first three seasons of Winx. I have already written two works that would be part of that series once it is officially launched - Ice Is Stronger with Some Lightning and Darkness Mixed in; Left to Heritage - and have started work on several others. Now this isn’t so much a rewrite as much as it is me being petty enough to go “this could be fixed while still keeping the original sequence of events (on a grand scale) and I will prove it if the writers couldn’t be bothered to do so”. I am also confining this to the first three seasons because the rest would need complete rewrites (though, tbh I am not sure whether season 3 doesn’t fit into that mold as well).

- Season 2 CT arc - Now I already said that I would be writing fix-it fics but this one I feel deserves its own mention because I have taken it a bit far already. I am basically writing an entire curriculum about dark magic because I was getting annoyed by the fact that they never really learned much and I have taken the liberty to do some worldbuilding and mention a lot of other things that were never actually addressed. So now it will probably clock out on tens of thousands of words and it will need to be regarded as a separate thing. I am thrilled about all the things I have come up with, however, and hope this will be received well because I have really put my heart into it (and my mental energy) and have invested too much attention in detail.

- Speaking of rewrites, I have already started work on the season 6 rewrite thanks to an ask I got. I have outlined a big part of it and made all the changes to the overall structure of the season that I felt necessary. Currently, everything it needs is to map out each episode separately before I can write them out. I will be doing this in more of a script format because a full-on fic will take too much time that I really want to devote to some of my other projects from the endless pile. I am thrilled about the changes I have made and the arcs I have given the characters and I am really looking forward to actually producing the final form of this one.

- Fae creature AU - This is a story actually inspired by my rage over Fate: The Winx Saga. Or rather by the fact that they do not look like fairies at all in there so I actually took the liberty to reimagine the plot of the cartoon a slightly different way. The main gist is that Bloom never meets Stella on that summer day in the park. They meet years later after Bloom has already settled and has a family on Earth only for all of that to be shaken to the ground by the reveal that she is a fae creature with a long, long life ahead of her. The two of them need to adjust to the reality that they are some of the last of their kind and having a future becomes harder, the longer that future is. I have mapped out the most part of the plot of this but I am still staggering with my approach to the execution. I am currently betting on a long one-shot (something of 20-30k+ words) but we will see how that goes once I have a clearer idea about the actual structure.

- Bloom/Sky childhood... rivals AU - This one was totally born while I was making my Bloom/Sky Kerosene video. It deals with the way things would be happening if Bloom had been raised on Domino by her real parents and her and Sky had known each other all along. I have more concepts for this one than an actual, concrete plot but I have already done some work on the relationships that I want this to focus on. Bloom and Sky getting to actually develop as people alongside each other is the focus of this, of course, but there is a lot more that I would like to explore. Their relationship with their own parents (mostly their mothers) and responsibilities is something that I feel would have a big impact on them considering their titles. And of course, the best friends are also there - Brandon and Stella ftw! Plus, the other main characters will be getting in on this as well. However, due to the span of time this will have to cover and the lack of any plot or structure for it, this one will probably have a longer time to sit in the drawer until I can manage to solidify this as a story.

- 31-Day Fic Collection - I have already started this as a sort of writing exercise to keep me in the flow of things during January and February while I am dealing with finals and other uni stuff. I am planning on keeping this confined only to one couple (that you’ll never guess) but we’ll see. The prompts I have picked would require a certain dose of creativity that I usually get around exams when I am too busy to keep my eyes open, let alone write. I am planning on posting these during March in order to open that month for other writing but we’ll see how that will go since I am really behind on all of it (3/31). Anyway, I just wanted to announce this so that, hopefully. I will commit to it now that it is out in the open.

- 200-Followers Celebration - I still haven’t done that and it is the reason why I want to have March as a free month in my schedule in order to host this celebration. I was hoping I could post the ready works while I am working on completing any and all requests from the celebration. I am also pretty close to 300 followers but not quite there yet so it is possible that I will have the two celebrations together but only time will tell. I have not exactly figured out what to do with the celebrations but I have a couple options and will make sure to choose from them by the time this can be kicked into motion. In the meantime, I am open to ideas if you have any.

- Old requests - I have several old requests sitting in my inbox that I have neither forgotten about, nor abandoned. I just hit a roadblock with all of them but I am actually hoping to finish them by the time the follower celebrations are finished. Now these include a handful of requests for the Sparks of Life verse that are about to get a year-old at this point, the leftover requests about the Domme AU and two other requests from a random prompt list I reblogged around June last year. To be fair the SoL ones are the least thought out so far but I will get to all of them... at some point.

- Sparks of Life - now that I mentioned that, I have several works... in the works for this verse. I have announced all of them already but have not made much progress because I was just not feeling any kind of writing impulses lately. I am still excited about all of these stories but I just haven’t managed to find the right direction for them yet. I believe that stories get completed when they are ready to be completed but I will still do my best to actually put in the effort to finish all of these and finally share them because I have been hyped about them for so long and I have been posting random excerpts from them all and getting people on here hyped as well.

- Season 1 Re-rewatch - I will probably have to rewatch all of the seasons if I am fixing things in them but for this one, I might actually redo my “reviews” because I didn’t write my thoughts on it in-depth the first time around. Besides, it turns out to be the most solid season so taking it apart could help me immensely with all of my writing projects and that makes it worth the effort (besides, it’s not like I don’t rewatch random episodes whenever I feel like it).

- World of Winx Thoughts - I have actually started watching and reviewing this but I had to stop thanks to my uni workload and other things that needed to be done (honestly, everything is such a mess right now). I liked what I saw but, of course, I only got through the first episode so we’ll see how this goes.

- Fate: The Winx Saga Thoughts - I will be writing out my opinions on this as well but I have no idea when I’ll manage to get to that (either free time or making myself sit down and watch it). Not much of a project, really, but I thought I’d mention it.

#about me #personal #my writing #my fanfic #winx club #winx rewrite #au #world of winx #fate the winx saga

13 notes · View notes