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fictionfixations · 4 months ago

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3.1 amphoreus thoughts

i know i can take breaks but its just my preference to play it all at once, especially so i dont immediately get spoiled and then i can watch other ppl play at a slower pace so i can be sure the story is really in there and i can also get an understanding of other ppls takes on it in case i missed anything👍

i had a little bit of an issue while downloading it something about i think like pressurizing(??) so whoops also LMFAO why are you a square all of a sudden

anyway while im here imma yap a bit. i feel like. good audio design is underrated. or i just dont see it enough?? like. like i listened to clips of an audio drama for the first time and its so fucking good what the hell? i had earbuds on and at some parts i had to shudder or blink like dude it sounded like it was with me? like it was far away but it sounded like as if i was in the same plce and they were nearby and it was crazy good wtf. it was heaven official's blessing btw im amazed. if all audio dramas are like this i wanna listen

like id love to just close my eyes and listen but also i dont know chinese so unfortunate, but i also have a problem of if i close my eyes to listen to something im going to fall asleep even if im trying to focus 😭

the resolutions are genuinely so messed up though LMFAO WHOOPS ill fix it later i wanna do the story (praying story is not messed up)

STOPP I CANT TAKE IT SERIOUSLY 'alpha' DUDE everytime that word is mentioned it immediately makes it so unserious i cant

actually prediction

i bet theres an evil phainon and then our phainon. cause in the trailer it seemed like phainon stabbed mydei but actually the body looks more like phainon we just think its mydei cause of how it was edited

and the evil phainon killed everyone and was like hahahaha see what evil i am committing with your face, that you could do??? something something idk

i was like AYO DAN HENG and then i realized it was 'dan heng?' AND LIKE DUDE that gave me chills like wait this couldve been a fake!? i think because i see ourselves as outsiders that i never even thought of it since this relates to amphoreus

if im being perfectly honest i dont really remember shit from the xianzhou luofu 💀 its in that period of time where i played hsr but have zero recollection of

ah so it applies to everyone

worried about what dan heng faced but hes....... mostly gotten through his trauma i think?? ???? i mean i dont really think you can get over over trauma but like... healing. maybe?

is this applying to phainon???

robin ult makes fights so unserious om

cutscene: shows phainon stabbing someone

game: proceeds to lag and freeze on phainons face so im just sat here like ????? WHAT HAPPENED

im gonna lower the render quality and hope that helps. i just had it at 1.0 because i wanted to see the character models well cause they pretty

actually so it seems like phainon did try to stab mydei but

so what if what phainon saw was himself? himself who was taken over by strife so he (who is influenced by the trial and had ultimately 'fallen') attacks 'himself' who is actually mydei?

am i making sense i feel like im not wording it right

HUH

'you cant say that to a girl' i kind of thought mem was no gender 😭 tho i never paid attention to the pronouns ppl use for mem so i have no clue i just figured ah yes animal-like being. hm. maybe you dont have gender

i would like to inform people that i am really bad at telling what ppl are saying without captions so even if it did seem like dude was saying something i would not be able to tell at all

yeah .. ??? replaying the audio sounds like nonsense to me tbh. maybe its actually saying something. i cannot tell

no way is he dead bruh isnt he a playable character for the next patch or something? or i mightve gotten that wrong im not sure? im just like 75% sure it was like him and castorice?

PRETTY. calypso huh?

girl you can see??? with your eyes closed? uhhhh actually that might be insensitive idk maybe she lost her eyes but she can still see just not through.. them.???? no clue

cerces..

..black-robed swordmaster?

anaxa???? what happened to your eyes?

HUH

ITS THIS DUDE

flame reaver?? i forgor what he was called in the special program

CASTORICE??

DID TRIANNE GET HIT (that was trianne right im so sorry i cannot remember who is who)

!?!?!?!?

three slashes is enough??? to.. to kill us all??? ??????/

WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED

also lowering the render did not make it stop lagging during cutscenes gah..

ALSO ANAXA??? CERCES???

SHE USED THE CENTURY GATE AGAIN

TRIANNE?!??!?!?

IM NOT OVER THE DEATH FLAGS THAT THEYVE BEEN GIVING OFF FROM THE TRAILER AND ALSO THAT ONE VIDEO THAT HAD LIKE A BUNCH OF STUFF FROM AMPHOREUS CUTSCENES?/

dude u good? last i checked you were being possessed or some shit cause you had a part of a titans soul(?) in you? i already forget was it the soul the body or the coreflame? i cant remember im so sorry ill remind myself later

also actually i remember people freaking out that we touched castorice cause like her touch kills right? but we fine so huh

i doubt that we'd be unaffected considering the butterfly effect last patch that prevented us from going near her (with the exception of one instance where i could though i cant remember when)

im actually having trouble deciphering this my eyes just want to glaze over 😭

trianne could totally die is the thing while still keeping the playable character 'alive' since its not. tribbie trianne and trinnon, or tribios. its just tribbie.

hello sweetie pie. youre so small 🥺

i feel like itd be cool if tribbie had outfits and it was so you could also walk around as trianne or trinnon

dont tell me you went into a hot bath in your full like.. armor. dude.

oop

LMFAO YEAH DUDE DID GET IN THE BATH IN FULL ARMOR

!? WHAT HAPPENED TO TRINNON ISTG IF THEY KILL OF TRIANNE AND TRINNON AND LEAVE TRIBBIE ALONE

bruh sounded so flabbergasted LMFAO

WAIT IS THE FLAME REAVER WHATEVER THE FUCK ....!?!?!?!??! HE KILLED CYRENE??/ PHAINON GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE WE FOUND HIM also is she dead? or is she like a ghost or-- i mean we know she died we literally hvae art of her being split in two but like. it makes me wonder how she appeared in like the music video

..im assuming cyrene is referring to like elysia? tbh until they get introduced im just not gonna remember names of ppl from amphoreus

also wait does that mean that masked guy was IN the trial? like actually or a fake?

ahh so the trial we saw was mydei's.

oh god.

?? actual kidnapping? of bby?

(hesitant, sad?) 'is this.. my childhood? i dont remem--'

(happy) 'use the spindle to connect everyone!'

the whiplash between these two lines and the happy one interrupting... LMFAO

when i make tribbie run i keep expecting the run from genshin of the kiddos

WTF IS THIS NIGHTMARE SHIT ??? JUMPSCARE??

GET ME OUT OF HERE MOM IM SCARED (but its mom doing it sob) TRIBBIE EJFESUFSUJF

WHY IS IT REPEATING SUBDUED

the dolls representing them are gone

trinnon and trianne are missing

tribbie bursts into flames?

dude wtf 😭

i hit the image limit so quest description is

A dream carries us back to memories long faded by time, and this dream mirrors the profound fears within our hearts.

'you wont make it to the end. only one person can.'

STOP WITH THE DEATH FLAGS I KNOW I THINK THATLL HAPPEN BUT I DONT WANT IT TO

"All shall bid farewell to one, and that person alone will witness the miracle -" and then above it is the text but small "Only one shall live till the end, and they alone will witness Era Nova"

i hate thisss fuck

what if orynx's coreflame was taken by the flame reaver dude?

im still waiting on the longer boss fight

TRIANNE NOOO

'tribbie..' *cutscene starts to lag* 'see you tomorrow'

cant believe everything else was smooth then on triannes possible death scene it lags 💀

though ive seen it multiple times in like the trailer

i kept waiting for us to appear but no :(

okay the loading screen showing tribbie trianne and trinnon... you.

wtf? they hear trianne might be dead and they start acting up to be like okay so we dont need you chrysos heirs anymore

do you not have any respect for people what the fuck

???

to be perfectly honest ive gotten into a bunch of fandoms with frustrating characters who arent really grateful and are assholes and just a part of me kind of just wants to be like okay. you dont need us? okay then we'll just leave. bye. see what happens. oh you died too bad so sad

like idk man i have a lot of pent up anger from mdzs where i wanna be like okay you blame wwx okay then what if he doesnt lend a hand to help? oh what was that? you actually needed him to even win ??? WOW

i know theres a lot of innocent people who dont have anything to do with that who would end up getting into the crossfires too i just.

have to wonder if it is really worth it to work really hard all the time risking your life to save everyone only for when you make a mistake or god forbid die or some shit and get hit with backlash immediately like ah yes youve outlived your usefulness now go away

and i know its like. theyre doing it to save people. but i am not selfless man, not the type of person to be like youre such an asshole to me but id still save you 😭

dude i cant count how many times ive yawned during this idk why bruh like when i started the quest i yawned too and i just. i didnt think i was awake for that long but i guess i was wth? slipped my mind i was like before this i should take a nap beforehand so im at peak energy levels

then i just forgor to do that

phainon please dont die to protect me

oh god mydei telling phainon where his like achilles heel (weakness) is...

oh no.

LETS GO CUTSCENE NOT LAGGING AT ALL THIS TIME

fuck that attack that looks like a herta ult is so cool man wth

TRIANNE..

THEY FOUND HER BODY?? WHAT THE FUCK

oh my god

didnt expect child death in my honkai star rail

what if the prophecy is wrong

what if its not from kephale

i really doubt we can take in a coreflame

mydei taking the strife coreflame didnt change his belief just made it stronger and more blunt 💀 'like yall tradition of fighting wars and shit and throwing lives away is dumb and absurd'

i would think one would listen to the will of a god more but bruh is still in denial like dude....

im gonna crash out or something if mydei gets corrupted by like the black tide and phainon has to kill him dude. agh..

"One day you shall die with a wound on your back."

NOOOOO

NOOOOOOOO

LALALALA I DIDNT HEAR SHIT

'if theres a chance in the next life, you should come visit my library'

tbh getting demon slayer vibes of................... i dont really want to spoil it man 😭it made me sad

oh my god is that young mydei

he sound so baby

quest description

"I, the undying Mydeimos, the Last Prince, the new God of Strife... Now tread the blood-soaked road home."

Year 4931 of the Light Calender, Month of Balance Nikador - the Strife Titan, Lance of Fury - fell. Mydeimos, king of Kremnos, triumphed over the trial, and the new god was born. On the following day, the Kremnoan dynasty, which had lasted for a thousand years, came to an end.

'aquilaopens' missing a space id show screenshot but im image limit

oh... their mother saying she'll see tribios tomorrow or the next and the next and

trianne saying see you tomorrow..

'radiant see of flowers' i think thats meant to be sea LMFAO

Light Calender 3760, Month of Evernight "Janusopolis' Holy Maiden" Tribios bore the Coreflame to quell the world's chaos and became a demigod of Janus. She traversed the "Gate of Infinity," splitting into a thousand messengers to spread the divine prophecy across the land of Amphoreus. After a century of arduous journeying... Light Calender 3870, Month of Freedom Humanity's Flame-Chase Journey officially began.

im going to cry

OH MY GOD MARCH

i didnt manage to get a screenshot it passed by so fast and i was in shock. shes not doing well uhhhhhh shes still in bed with ice

what?? what happens to us???

??????? do we die or something wtf? how would that work huh??

its over

oh god we get a trianne avatar... oh sweet baby...

this quest was like 5 hours, though i also know i end up moving pretty fast through story (like last patch which was 10 hours i did in 7 💀 so take it with a grain of salt)

#amphoreus #amphoreus spoilers #amphoreus hsr #hsr #honkai star rail #star rail #hsr spoilers #hsr amphoreus #hsr 3.1 #hsr 3.1 spoilers #mydei #tribios #trianne #tribbie

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prfctparis · 2 years ago

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I’d Give You My Lungs So You Can Breathe (I’ve Got You, Brother) [CH2]

AO3 Link / Ch1 / Next / Masterlist

summary:

Danny Fenton was adopted at age ten, with little to no memories about his former family. At age fourteen, he died yet lived and those memories began to return. He didn’t do anything about those memories – didn’t plan to, at least not yet – but then he got captured by the GIW, saved by his friends and someone who might be his sister who he only somewhat remembered, and taken to Gotham to, apparently, his biological father for safety until further notice.

Team Phantom was there, too, and they did not sign up for this family drama.

a/n:

here’s chapter 2!! ch3 will be up in a few days :)

warnings for entire fic:

canon-typical violence of the DC variety; angst; memory loss/repressed memories; do i need to say major character death(s) or is that just a given for this fandom; questionable parenting tho every parent is trying to do good & care for the kids; implied/referenced past child abuse bc of the child assassin backgrounds; pls tell me if i missed something

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: mentioned/implied vivisection, but i don’t go into detail; athanasia mercilessly kills so many people; violence; blood; i think that’s it?

CHAPTER TWO —

When the first appearances of the Guys in White were seen back in October, Danny had no idea it would lead to this—

Locked to a metal table with scientists surrounding him and two assassins on guard at the door.

That was really all he was aware of. Everything else? Only pain. A dull burning pain that went throughout his entire body, and the cause was the IV attached to his arm. The contents were unknown, but Danny knew some percent of it was made out of blood blossoms – just enough that it didn’t kill him; just enough that it rendered him useless against them.

A metal mask covered his mouth and nose. It kept him from speaking, or biting, or screaming.

There were one or two other things that did something… Danny didn’t remember. It’s all been so fuzzy lately. It made something in the back of his mind panic.

More pain washed through him. It was worse this time, like it always was. Each day hurt a little more. Each day he got a little weaker.

What were they doing to him?

Danny squeezed his eyes shut. He breathed through it the best he could.

His chest ached, as if there was an open wound.

He peeled opened his eyes.

Oh. Right. That’s what they were doing to him.

Vivisection…again.

Lovely.

He distantly heard the door open. The scientists began to speak; a conversation started above him that wasn’t about his guts, for once. He did his best to focus on listening to them.

“…ill haven’t found the ghost’s core…” one said. “There is a high chance he won’t survive another operation after this one.”

“As long as he survives this one,” a different voice said.

And it was…familiar? Why–

A hand touched his hair. He flinched involuntarily, eyes rapidly blinking. When his vision focused and he trailed his eyes upward, fear gripped him instantly.

“I want the pleasure of killing you for good, Phantom,” the face from his nightmares spoke. “Or should I say,” the grip on his hair tightened and the man sneered, “Dányál.”

+++

Voices filtered through the vent grate from the room they were over. Three people were at the console; in front of them, multiple screens showing the security camera’s feeds played before the operatives’ eyes. A few of them were loops, curtesy of Tucker Foley and his way with technology.

Two more people were in the security room, as well, but they didn’t speak. Athanasia could just make out the edges of their shadows from where they stood at the door. They stood stock still; posed and ready to begin fighting at a moment’s notice.

Three GIW Operatives. Two members of the League of Assassins. Five in total.

She’s had worse odds.

Mentally, she quickly devised a plan that wouldn’t get them caught, and then acted.

Ever so slowly and quietly, she lifted the grate. One of the GIW operatives stood up and stretched. The man moved to stand directly under the grate, unaware of Athanasia and unknowingly making this a bit easier – something she was definitely not going to complain about.

She dropped out of the vent, directly on top of the operative and consequently knocking him out. Drawing one gun from the holster on her back, she shot the two League of Assassins members before they could even react. Thanks to the silencer on it, the gunshots were barely audible, and two bodies fell to the floor with twin thuds.

She then threw two manji shurikens at the operative who reached to call in reinforcements. One went into the back of his hand, and the other his forearm. At the same, the third operative rushed at her. Just in time, she dodged to the side and pulled out a dagger, finding a home for it in the man’s gut, slicing upwards. She trained the gun on the one she threw the shurikens at, and a bullet landed right between the eyes, slumping in the chair he never got a chance to get out of.

The man she landed on began to move. She stomped on his temple with the heel of her boot, hard enough to kill. The man went limp immediately.

“It’s safe,” she called, and moved two of the bodies from underneath the vent. Blood was already pooling and made sure not to step in it. “Do not land in the blood, unless you want to be the one to get us caught by tracking red footprints everywhere.”

Red Huntress, AKA Valerie Gray, came down first. She whistled lowly as she took in the room. “Damn,” she muttered. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were an assassin.”

Next came Samantha Manson as Athanasia went to move the two LoA members from the door. She glanced over her shoulder as Manson said, “You didn’t believe her with all the weapons she carries?”

Red Huntress slipped off her helmet. “Excuse me for not immediately believing someone when they tell me they’re the long lost twin assassin of our friend. Which, by the way, I’m still iffy on the twin thing. You’re too different.”

Athanasia raised an eyebrow. “Wow, it is almost as if we are fraternal twins with different personalities, and have been separated for eight years.”

Red Huntress rolled her eyes. “Geez, okay. Chill with the smartass-ness.”

“Look, I understand your distrust, Valerie,” Manson said, “and I didn’t believe it at first, either, but who else could she be?”

“You can still be a genetically altered clone,” Tucker Foley said from where he was wiggling out backwards of the vent. “Like Ellie.”

“I can promise you that I am not.”

“Not helping, Tucker.”

Foley finally fell down. Athanasia was quick to move, and placed a hand on his shoulder as he became unbalanced.

“Don’t put your left foot down,” she ordered.

He froze. “Um.”

She turned him until he wasn’t about to step in a puddle of blood, and then let go. “Okay.”

He hesitated, but did put his foot down. Then, he took a large side step away from both the blood and Athanasia. “Thanks,” he said, a little awkwardly.

She nodded once. Then, turning on her comm while wiping off her dagger on her pant leg and sheathing it, she said, “Weston, do you copy?”

Foley moved to the many consoles of the computers. He sat down in a chair, the furthest from the one with the dead body, and pulled out equipment from his backpack. Manson followed and watched the screens with a keen eye, and Red Huntress stayed near the door, though watched the camera feeds as well.

“Loud and clear, Phantom’s twin,” Wesley Weston replied. “Your get away car and it’s driver are in position.”

“Good. Stay connected to this line. Depending on how fast everything goes down, we will need extraction at a moment’s notice.”

“You got it, dude.”

“Have I mentioned how nice these comms are?” Foley questioned. “Because I’m in love with them.”

“Only about a hundred times,” said Manson.

“Can you blame me? Even scrambling their signature with ectoplasm, the sound is so clear. No type of ghostly feedback whatsoever. I need them for myself once we’re done here.” As he talked, he worked on connecting with the GIW’s system, hacking away undetected. “Where did you get them?”

“I stole one from Batman and then replicated it.”

Silence fell. Foley froze for a second time, and Manson’s expression turned into shocked disbelief. Red Huntress mouth parted in surprise.

Then, all at once, they began speaking.

“No way you did that–.”

“You’ve met Batman?! Do you know his identity because I have a theory–”

“Everything you say makes me more confused–.”

“You replicated tech from Batman?!”

“Guys. Guys!” Athanasia raised her voice. “Focus,” she snapped. “We are on a time limit, here.”

“But–”

“Shut up, Weston,” she ground out.

Wesley let out a disappointed sigh.

“The shift changes in forty-five minutes,” she reminded them. “Unless we want GIW operatives and more assassins to find us earlier than planned, I suggest we get to work on saving Danny.”

That settled things down quickly.

Part of her regretted not doing this by herself, which had been the original plan, even way back when she first heard her twin was within GIW custody. She had been so tempted to go in there with no plan at all, to find Danny and get him out. But she wasn’t familiar with the GIW. Luckily, she knew who was, and she went to them.

(Neither Manson or Tucker trusted her, or even believed her, those first couple of weeks.)

Even still, she sent a message to Damian asking him to look up the Ghost Investigation Ward. She didn’t get an immediate response from him – not like it mattered. The moment Danny’s best friends allowed her to work with them on saving him, Foley had created a device that scrambled any and all tech to keep them from the GIW’s eyes, and consequently everyone else outside of their area.

And then she learned the League of Assassins were working with the GIW, for some reason.

She tried to back out, to convince them to let her do this part by herself. The League was dangerous, simply put, and she didn’t want anyone, especially the people Danny cared most about, to get hurt or worse by them. But Danny had a good group of friends who were particularly stubborn and headstrong. As annoying as it was, she did like that about them. It meant they weren’t going to give up the search anytime soon.

Valerie Gray and Wesley Weston joined in on the mission a few weeks ago, when she and Manson and Foley were finalizing the plan. They realized it would be best to bring in another person or two, just in case.

And so, she was stuck with what they deemed as ‘Team Phantom’. A group of not so regular teens from a haunted town, who were definitely a little odd but trustworthy.

Team Phantom was good – each of them in their own ways.

So, as much as she regretted this, she also was glad she decided not to go in alone. It was easier. Nicer.

They also may be growing on her. Like mold, or moss, or fungi, or something.

She didn’t really know how to feel about that.

“Okay,” Foley mumbled. “Let’s see… Ah, 3D floor plans. Sweet.” He pulled up the floor plans on his laptop. “So we’re here,” a green dot appeared on the 3D floor plan where the security room was, “on the first floor. These are the exits,” he highlighted them in a light orange, “and the far left ventilation shaft on the roof is where we came in,” it was highlighted a darker purple while the rest of the vent system became more of a lilac color, “There’s three floors, not including what seems to be a secret basement. It’s not on the original floor plans I found, but it is on here and there are cameras.”

“That’s probably where they’re keeping Danny,” Red Huntress said as she walked up.

Foley pulled up the basement cameras. Empty holding cells filled up three of the screens. All of them were closed, except for one. The door was left open, with only part of a thin mattress on a metal frame in sight because of the angle.

“Are there any cameras for the room at the end of the hall?” Manson asked, cutting into the disappointed silence. She pointed at one screen, where a inconspicuous door could be seen.

Athanasia kept her eyes on the screens as Foley worked. Worry are her up alive on the inside, but she refused to show it.

“…No,” he said, and the disappointed silence returned.

“That’s not suspicious at all,” Red Huntress muttered sarcastically.

“Yes, there has to be a reason there are no cameras,” agreed Athanasia.

The other girl suggested, “I can check down there after I comb through the first floor like we originally planned.”

She frowned a little. “It may be heavily guarded.”

“I regularly fight ghosts. This is nothing.”

“From what the cameras can see, the basement doesn’t have many guards,” said Foley. “Operatives are walking around, and maybe one or two of those assassins, but other than that there’s no one.”

“Then Danny’s not there,” Manson said.

“If you really are up to it,” started Athanasia, “you should still check it out, Red Huntress. Perhaps there might be something the Doctors Fentons left behind before Danny was able to send them to the Infinite Realms.”

If that was where they were. Manson and Foley explained to her that had been the original plan when Danny went to save them.

Red Huntress nodded with determination. “I’m up for it, definitely.”

“Which floor is most heavily guarded?”

Foley’s eyes went from the security feeds to his computer, back and forth again and again. “From what I can tell from the cameras, they’re all equally distributed on each floor. Definitely one of the top floors, though.”

“There are some labs on the second floor,” Manson commented. She pointed at another screen, where one operative entered a room as he held some sort of vial and clipboard. She then pointed to a different feed from the same floor, where it showed a couple of operatives leaving a room with mechanics of some sort. “I’ll take this floor. Destroy what they have by planting the bombs, take what may help us figure out how to fight against them better, and what they might have gotten out of Jack and Maddie.”

“So, that leaves Athanasia with the third floor, and me here corrupting any files in their system they about Danny and ghosts in general, while also leading you guys around to avoid getting caught,” Foley concluded. “Right?”

“Right,” the girls chorused.

“Send Weston a file of the 3D floor plan,” Athanasia ordered. “It will aid him in knowing the possible exits he might have to meet us at.”

“Oh, I hadn’t even thought of that,” Wesley said.

“I figured.”

“Hey, rude.”

She ignored him. She went over to the body in the chair, and took back her manji shurikens. Like she did with the dagger, she wiped off the blood on her pant leg, and put them back in their respective sheaths along her thigh, nestled with the others.

Mentally, she quickly made note of her other weapons. The gun holstered on her right thigh, and the dagger sheathed on the calf of the same leg; the twin swords sheathed in an X on her back; two more guns holstered at her lower back, which were made with knives that came out of the grip when needed. She had hidden types of shurikens, a small knife hidden in the sole of both boots, and not to mention her fists and feet and teeth. (Biting was very effective, okay?)

Red Huntress had her usual weapons, plus the bombs, as did Manson and Foley. Athanasia made sure they knew how to handle them correctly one more time.

And then the search and rescue began.

Red Huntress parted with Athanasia and Manson at the security room’s door. Foley led the former one down the hall, while the latter two were led to the staircase. One floor up, and Manson parted from her to scope out the second floor.

Foley spoke the most, informing them of incoming GIW or LoA people. Red Huntress gave a few updates on the bomb placements, and Manson, after having slipped into the first empty room on the second floor, told them she found pieces of a prototype of the Fenton’s portal machine.

“Take the important pieces if you know what they are. Place a bomb on the rest to destroy them,” Athanasia told her.

“I’m taking the blueprints, too. We can check to see if they’re at all accurate with Danny later,” replied Sam.

“Where the hell did he come from,” Foley’s voice came through, confusing the girls.

“What? Who?” Manson asked.

“Some regal, evil looking dude is in the basement. I think he came out of the room that doesn’t have cameras, but I’m not one hundred percent sure… Is it just a thing that bad middle aged men have pointy-ish hair?”

Athanasia faltered three steps away from reaching the third floor. “What.”

“Plasmius’ hair curls up, so it sort of looks like devil horns or something. This guy’s hair is similar but not as dramatic, and the points are more on the sides than the top of his head, but I think it’s because it’s just slicked back. Guy’s got a thing for dark green, too.”

Dread began to fill her gut.

“Maybe I can meet him half way and beat some answers out of him,” Red Huntress bit out.

“Do not,” Athanasia hissed. “Stay the hell away from that man, and do not go into the basement until he is out.”

“Why not?” asked Manson. “It’s just an old dude, apparently. We have experience fighting them.”

“Unfortunately,” Red Huntress grouched. “Is he another Vlad? Because I do not want to deal with that.”

“He’s getting in the elevator, so Val should be safe if–.”

“If you go against him, you will die. What floor is he going to?”

“Let me get into the right elevator’s cams… It looks like he pressed for the third floor.”

Her breath hitched, and Athanasia cursed in Arabic under her breath. A sneer formed on her face. She took a step back, only to nearly slip off of the step. Quickly, she rebalanced and turned, and hurried back down the stairs.

…Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe she jumped to conclusions too fast.

“Is he gray at the temples? Tall? Goatee minus the chin hair and mustache?”

“Um… yeah.”

Okay. She didn’t jump to conclusions.

“Okay,” she muttered. “Okay,” she repeated in Arabic.

“Atha–.”

“Do not use my name,” she spoke so fast she wondered if they even understood her. “Call me…” Her mind went to the few times she aided Red Hood in Gotham from the shadows. She knew that he knew she was there, but neither one of them spoke to each other or made it known to the civilians, which freaked them out a bit when a bad guy would be impaled out of nowhere. A few had started to use a name for her. “Use Shrike.”

“Is everything okay?” Wesley asked.

The others answered ‘I don’t know’ in varying ways at the same time.

Fear gripped at her, causing her mind turn into a whirlwind. She did her best to calm down so she could think rationally about this, but the only thing her brain could truly focus on was that Ra’s al Ghul was here. Her grandfather. The man who ran a sword through her twin’s chest with no remorse.

And if he’s here… He knew Danny was alive. There was absolutely no way that he didn’t.

She didn’t plan for this. Stupid. How did she not think of the possibility of Ra’s being here?

“You all continue with your parts of the plan, except for Red Huntress. I will be going to the basement in your place; stick to the first and second floors. No one is touching the third floor.”

“Now, wait just a minute–.”

“I will not wait–.”

“Um, it’s a figure of speech–,” Foley tried, but Athanasia continued over him.

“I know that, and my statement still stands. Follow my orders unless you want to die by the sword of the Demon’s Head. Are there stairs to the basement?”

A beat of silence.

“…No. Only the elevator.” Just as she reached the stairwell’s door, Foley added, “Two assassins are about to enter your location, Ath– um. Shrike?”

Athanasia ducked behind the door as it opened. Keeping her footsteps light, she stayed next to the door as it moved to close, out of their immediate line of sight. When the door shut all the way, she lunged with her dagger in hand, grabbing one assassin from behind. One hand covered their mouth while the other lifted her to slit their throat.

Assassin #2 immediately noticed what was happening, and drew a sword to attack. Athanasia used the first one as a shield before shoving the body away as she drew one of her own swords. It didn’t take long for her to overtake Assassin #2, though they did get a couple hits in. She now had a cut on her cheek, and a bruise forming on her side from a harsh kick.

Before speaking, she muted her comm.

“Pathetic,” she sneered, holding Assassin #2 against the stairwell’s railing by her forearm on their chest and sword against their neck. “Is this really what the League has become? I was expecting a harder fight.”

“You,” they hissed, a little bit shock on their features and disbelief in their voice. “You are supposed to be dead.”

“Are you really surprised?” she questioned. “Look at who my grandfather is. But that is not what I am here for.” The blade pressed harder against skin. “I am here for Phantom. Where is he? What does the League want with him?”

“Why should I tell you? You will just kill me after.”

“And you think I will let you live if you refuse?”

The assassin raised their chin in defiance. “There is a reason you left the League, no? It is the same one why Ra’s killed your brother. The Terror Twins – both too soft and weak to follow simple orders. You and him are the pathetic ones. Not us.”

Athanasia raised an eyebrow. She didn’t verbally rise to the bait. She merely pulled back enough to where she kept the assassin in place with the sword, and removed her other arm. In a flash, Assassin #2 moved to knock the sword away, but she was faster. She drew out a gun and shot them in both knees and one shoulder.

Assassin #2 crumpled with a shout of pain.

Sword now sheathed but the gun still on hand, she bent down and lifted him back up by gripping his hair.

“That,” she began, “That was me being nice. You seem to have forgotten who I am: Athanasia al Ghul, daughter of Talia al Ghul and the greatest detective in the world, and granddaughter of Ra’s al Ghul. I was trained as a potential heir, and lead the Demon’s Fist. I am the Demon Princess of the League of Assassins, dead or alive, and let me be clear that I have not lost my touch over the years I have been gone. I know multiple ways to kill you before you can take your next breath, before you even know what is happening.

“You think I will not kill you if you refuse to give me answers? Perhaps not immediately, but I will leave you writhing in pain until it is the one thing you beg for, and who’s to say I will do it even then.

“So. Let’s try this again.” Her finger flicked the button on her gun that released the knife in the grip. The blade pressed against Assassin #2’s neck hard enough to draw blood. “Where is Phantom?”

For a moment, she thought they weren’t going to answer. Then, resigned and obviously mad about it, they told her, “There is a floor below the basement. Phantom is there.”

“See? Now was that so hard?”

The assassin stared with a heated glare. Before she could act properly, they raised their good arm and slashed at her. The knife cut into the forearm that held her gun, and instinctively she dropped it as she moved away. They lunged for a killing stab at her chest, but by then she was ready to block the attack. One hand still gripping their hair and the other now holding back the hand wielding the knife, she twisted the wrist until it broke and bashed their head into the edge of the steps.

Assassin #2 went limp.

Were they breathing? She didn’t know, nor did she care.

Careful of her now wounded arm, she picked back up her gun. The knife went back in its hiding place, and she put the gun securely in the holster. Then, she turned back on her comm.

“I know where he is.”

+++

Getting to the basement was easy. With Foley’s help, she avoided operatives and assassins on the way to the elevator, and that was that. He also unlocked the door at the far end of the basement’s hall. It had been locked via a hidden mechanical lock that she would have needed false identification for if Foley wasn’t with them. It took only just under two minutes, and then the door opened with ease.

Athanasia took a step into the doorway, and then froze.

“Shrike?” Foley asked. “Why did you stop?”

“Is she in the room?” Manson asked.

“She just, um, froze in the doorway. Are you okay? What is it?”

“…I am,” she said. “But I think it’s better if I do not tell you.”

A League issued torture room. Nothing about it said it was for the Ghost Investigation Ward.

The only thing that eased her mind a little was that it obviously hadn’t been used in a while.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts, and then continued on. Soon enough, she found a hidden staircase, and went down without hesitation.

“I’ve got no eyes on you, Shrike,” Foley reminded her. “Stay safe.”

“Give ‘em hell,” Manson said.

“With pleasure,” she replied back.

The hall she entered from the stairs was reminiscent of a League base. Her fingers twitched, an uncomfortable feeling settling in her stomach at the sight. Pushing that aside, she walked down the hall at a steady pace towards two LoA members guarding double doors.

They noticed her immediately. It quickly became a fight of two against one, but it ended just as fast. She picked up their respective swords and twirled them in her hands as she walked to the double doors, kicking them open.

Everything and everyone in the room stopped.

Athanasia didn’t give them a chance to act first. The two assassins that guarded the inside began to fight back almost instantly, but it took the GIW operatives and scientists a few seconds to do the same.

The fight was brutal. Against the most people so far today, though it wasn’t necessarily hard, it was the longest one yet. They used their numbers to their advantage and attempted to overwhelm her, but Athanasia was quick to improvise and seek out the weaker of the fighters first.

By the end, Athanasia was out of breath and bloodied (some hers, some splatters from the assassins and operatives) and bruised. There was even a burn or two from the ectoplasmic guns the GIW wielded. The two swords of the League members from the hallway were impaled through two of the scientists that had been standing over her twin.

Dányál – Danny. Currently in his Phantom form. He was strapped, locked in, on a sleek medical table and a mechanical mask over the bottom half of his face. A y-shaped wound on his torso was only partly stitched, and there was an IV of unknown substance stuck into one arm. His expression was scrunched up in pain, white hair matted with sweat and eyes squeezed shut and jaw visibly clenched even through the mask.

Athanasia pushed aside the part of her of that wanted to be sick, and rushed to his side. She carefully pulled out the IV first, locking the tube so no more liquid would get out. Then, she went to the mask.

Danny flinched back.

She halted her movements.

“Dányál,” Athanasia spoke shakily, and corrected to, “Danny,” when his expression twisted even more. “Akhi, it’s me. I have come to help you get out of here,” she said with forced steadiness in her tone.

His eyes cracked open, the usual icy blue currently a Lazarus green. There was no recognition in them. Only confusion.

She knew that would be the case, but it still hurt.

She held up her hands to show that she meant no harm. Hopefully the blood splattered on them wouldn’t cause him to freak. And to her relief, he didn’t. He slumped a little, as much as he could with already laying on the table, and she began to work on removing the mask. After flipping a few latches, it came undone with a hiss and she tossed it to the floor.

Danny gasped, jaw dropping open. He went to speak, only for his voice to get caught in his throat and cause a coughing fit.

“I think it will be best if you don’t speak,” Athanasia murmured, and moved to unlock him from the table.

The coughing subsided, then turned into groans and hisses of pain.

“My name is Athanasia,” she introduced herself. “I am here with your friends – ‘Team Phantom’ as they call themselves.” The cuffs released him, but he still had GIW issued bracelets of sorts on his wrists. It affected his abilities, if the fact that he wasn’t healing fast was any indication. The others explained he had a super fast healing ability, and right now it seemed to be nonexistent. “We are here to get you out. No matter what.”

Danny groaned. “Still… Still hurts.” His voice was rough and hoarse.

Athanasia didn’t know what to say to that. So, she smoothed back sweaty bangs from his forehead, something she knew Mother did the few times she was allowed to comfort them when no one was around, and looked around the room. A table of medical supplies were nearby. Ignoring the scalpel, she grabbed a roll of gauze and bandages. (As well as an empty vial, which she filled up with the stuff that was in the IV.)

Carefully, she helped Danny sit up.

He hissed in pain again. It shifted into a whine.

“Sorry,” she said sincerely. “This will may hurt some more. Prepare yourself.”

“Hurts,” he mumbled. “The blood…”

“There is a lot of it,” she muttered. “On both of us.”

Athanasia wrapped the gauze around his torso as quick as she could, hoping it was tight enough to stall most of the bleeding but also loose enough that it wouldn’t unravel. When she finished, she allowed him to lean against her.

She soon noticed the lack of speaking in her ear. With a slight frown, she touched the comm, and was instantly met with Team Phantom talking over each other. She must have turned hers off without realizing while fighting.

“He’s here, and alive,” Athanasia spoke. “What the hell are you guys yelling about?”

All at once, they quieted. Then—

“Oh, thank the Ancients!” Foley exclaimed. “Don’t go offline like that again!”

“…I’ll think about it,” Athanasia said, vaguely confused. Why were they so worried? She handled everything just fine. “But it’s time to get out of here.” She paused as she helped Danny off of the table, only for him to nearly collapse. She cursed, ducking to place his arm over her shoulders to hold him up that way. “…And maybe someone should come down and help me. Danny will not be walking on his own anytime today.”

+++

Leaving the hidden headquarters of the Ghost Investigation Ward was not as easy as infiltrating it. (Although, it was easier than those months of searching for it – it was hell, never knowing if they would ever track the new location down). One of the assassins who guarded the outside of the medical room Danny had been in, was able to find just enough life in themself to send an alert out about intruders.

The two basement floors quickly became a point of interest for GIW operatives and LoA members alike.

Athanasia fought like hell, though her moves were limited. Keeping them away from her twin brother and fighting at the same time was tough. He was practically limp against her side, and from his feet movements, she knew he was trying to move on his own, but – body weakened and powers snuffed out because of the GIW cuffs – he was unable to do much of anything.

She made it to the first floor of the basement eventually, injured more than she’d like to admit. Her hair was falling out of the high pony she had put it in, the ecto guns gave her burns, there were new cuts and what may be more accurately described as gashes, and a few new bruises as well. Danny unfortunately got hit once or twice in the crosshairs.

That led her now.

Athanasia al Ghul didn’t let herself be cornered often. But to keep her twin safe? She’d do it a thousand times more. Danny, on his feet, was slumped against the wall behind her. She stood directly in front him, guns with the knives drawn and aimed at the group of enemies. She was not letting them touch Danny again.

Before anyone had a chance to act, the elevator door dinged open. Everything paused. Tucker Foley stepped forward just enough to stop the doors from closing.

Everyone stared.

He waved. “Hi.”

Red Huntress and Sam Manson jumped from a lone vent grate from the ceiling, using the confusion Foley caused to their advantage. From there, it was back to fighting.

When she suggested someone to come help her, this was not what she had in mind, necessarily. She wasn’t complaining, though.

Red Huntress judo flipped an assassin into an operative. They went down like bricks into a third person.

“Go!” Manson shouted. “We’ve got this, A– Shrike! Get him out of here!”

Athanasia hesitated, but listened. As much as she was wary of them handling themselves against the League and wanted to help, she wanted to get Danny out of there more.

Lifting him up bridal style after putting her guns away, she muttered an apology when the movement tugged on his injuries, and then ran for the elevator Foley held open. As she got closer, he ducked in and spammed the close button. She slid in right as it began to close, kicking Foley to one side of the elevator as she pressed herself to another.

Three ninja stars struck the wall they were just in front of.

The doors shut.

They stared at them in silence as Foley pressed the ‘1’ button.

“How did you…?”

“They can be predictable sometimes,” she admitted.

Foley ‘huh’ed. “Well… Thanks.”

Once the elevator stopped and opened, they were back to running. Foley used his Fenton Works weapons he had to take out whoever tried to attack them.

“Main entrance, Wesley!” Athanasia shouted into the comms.

“But that’s the most obvious one?” he questioned, though she heard the vehicle start in the background.

“It’s the closest one– hey! Watch the face, man!” Foley shot at an assassin who tried to hit him with shurikens. They went down immediately with a pained groan.

Just then, a large green blast burst through the hallway’s floor. Athanasia stopped, boots squeaking against the floor, and Foley’s halt was more of a stumble than anything. Before they could question what was happening, Red Huntress flew up on her board with Manson balanced behind her, the girls back to back. Red Huntress shot her large ecto-gun back down the hole.

“How you like that, assholes?!”

Manson fiddled with what looked like tiny rockets on her wrist. “Let’s go, let’s go!” She shot one down the hall behind Athanasia and Foley, right at another group of operatives.

Foley backed up, then ran and leaped over the hole, bolting to the main doors of the headquarters. Athanasia did the same, stumbling a little on the landing, but she recovered quickly, and mumbled another apology when the jostling caused Danny more pain. Red Huntress and Manson followed on the former’s hover board.

As they got closer to the doors, a line of League members convened in front of them. None of them stopped running as Red Huntress shot at them, and then again at the door.

“Setting the timer on the bombs,” Manson told them just as they got outside. “Twenty seconds.”

“Wes, where–”

Tires skidding on pavement interrupted Foley. A black van came to an abrupt stop ten feet away, and the back door opened. “Right here!” he yelled from the driver’s seat.

Foley helped her get Danny in the van first, carefully placing him on the second row. They then piled in with the door shutting behind them, and Wesley peeled off, the other two girls zooming in the air to follow.

The bombs went off.

The previously hidden GIW headquarters went up in flames.

“Any followers?” asked Athanasia. She opened the sun roof, and moved to the front seat as Foley maneuvered the backs of the second row to fold backwards.

Manson dropped onto the roof of the van, and then into the vehicle itself. “Not that I saw,” she said.

“Hm.”

“I’m going to make the van invisible just in case, though.”

“For how long?” Wesley asked.

“As long as I can.”

Foley spoke up from where he now sat, with Danny’s head cushioned in his lap, “Don’t overdo it, Sam. You’re still new to magic.”

“No promises.” Manson got situated in the third row of seats. “I’m not letting those fruitloops find us, Tucker.”

Red Huntress then came into the van, board disappearing as she did so. “I think the explosion will be keeping them busy for a while.” She slipped off her helmet, eyes falling to Danny while she sat at his feet. “How is he?”

Foley shook his head. “In bad shape.”

Athanasia frowned, and from a pocket pulled out the vial of the stuff from the IV. “This was in an IV they were giving him. I have no clue what it is, but I believe it was harming him.”

He took the vial with a frown.

“We need to get him someplace safe,” Valerie Gray said. “Or… You guys do. That is, if the plan is still for Wes and I to go back to Amity Park and Ellie.”

Foley nodded. “Yeah, it is. Get to Amity Park, and tell Ellie to find Jazz – she’s been out of the loop for too long.”

Gray winced. “Oh, she’s gonna pissed.”

“I know where we can take him,” Athanasia told them. She reached to the built in GPS to start inputting the address. “He will be safe there, and they will help us keep him safe.”

“Are you sure?” Foley asked.

“Absolutely.”

If not, then Jason Todd lied about Bruce Wayne being a good man.

Once the address was put in, she pulled out her communicator – the one that was part of a matching set. She debated on whether a written message or a voice call would be better…

Gray leaned between the two front seats. “That address is in Gotham, New Jersey.” She looked at Athanasia incredulously. “How the hell is that safer?”

“Because I’m taking him to our father.”

#dp x dc fic #dpxdc #dp x dc au #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp fic #dc x dp crossover #dc x dp fanfiction #dc x dp au #why are there So Many tags for this part of the fandom #dc #danny phantom #stay with me my blood #batpham #dp x dc #my writing

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rwqv · 10 months ago

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whoops i accidentally unfollowed when i was trying 2 send u another ask ... am not a fake fan pls

no bro i totally get what u mean like the culling games absolutely threw me off... like season one was all happy n dandy and yuji was figuring out his powers yes!!!! and then ooo a flashback to gojos past thats super slice of life-y how cool! and omggg shibuya incident this is where soo much action is happening and kenjaku might win!!! and then kenjaku is setting up a killing game with a points system ? like where r we going with this

like yes action wow but like at the same time i just want the story to progress... like its all battle battle battle battle with soo many characters like give me sum story ...

i think the zenins getting destroyed was cool asf and i cannot lie naoya is kinda hot SORREY ..... like hes a terrible awful person and hes ugly when his mouth is open but like he looks hot when his mouths closed i cant help it..

remi is only in like 10 panels at max LOL so u shouldn't have any trouble.... but she'll be the one to defeat sukuna trust me

NO LIKE LITERALYL RENDERING IS SOOOSO BORINGGGG .... honk shooo snooze fest ... like the idea of it is so cool and when i actually do render like it makes me feel so happy that it looks so much better compared to the sketch ... but at the same time like i just get so bored nd unhappy after a little ... BUT THANK UUU .... im ngl i lay a bunch of random colors down n pray for the best .. i took a couple advanced art classes in my days that taught me like the slightest bit of color theory but really angel ganev on yt is my goat like i literally have learned sm from him just from his youtube shorts LOLLLL hes the best ...

but like yeah .. i alwayz render over the sketch which sometimes looks cool and it looks cool on all my inspo but oh my goodness it takes so so long to do ... lowk i might go back to lineart even tho i HATE lineart

YES NOBAMAKI NATION!!! SCORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

fakest fan ever!!!! ggggrrr

yuji learning his power was so wholesome and even the kyoto exchange was good and gojo lore was also great and i liked the shibuya incident although i just wanted mahito to die. but whats the poitn of the culling game bro its not jeopardy... also i keep thinking whenebr they say noritoshi kamo as kenjaku i keep thinking its the third year or whatever

i think the complexity of jjk comes from the deep level of thought gege put into it. i was watching some explinations on tiktok and i felt like gege definitely has the brain to do stuff its just why did you do the culling games make more story pls

thats just personal feeling though i love seeing all the fight scenes and stuff but it feels kinda baseless like yeah all these randos popping out of nowhere for like 0 reason at all definitely have a meaning. all these good character ideas too

i do understand that everyone was saying jjk was dragging on for too long but 5 chapters is not enough to finish everything off either!!! what about the merger? what about like other people? are we ever gonna get a reason why sukuna goes on a killing rampage?? is he evil to just be evil?? i mean i get the fact that everyone hated him and he was based off of someone who was despised at birth for his extra limbs but... just blood lust?!

if gege did a spinoff series where everything was slice of life and fun id watch it... lobotomy kaisen is carrying me rn

LIKE MAKI YES GOO i support also WHAT... that man would want you in shackles bro he does not think of women kindly... naoya is a wild crush

esp with that popularity poll and HE COMES OUT NUMBER 5. NUMBER 5 OUT OF EVERYONE. HOOWWWW. over sukuna my bbg... and mechamaru...

I GET IT WITH GETTING BORED like okay heres another color that no one else will notice but ill spend 10 minutes undoing and redoing because it doesnt look right!!! i will be sure to chec angel ganev out!!!

i hate lineart tbh i just use my sketch as my lineart and call it good because if i line it it looks like i traced my own art bro its crazy but ur rendering over ur sketch looks so goated ngl but u do whats best for u because art is about being happy and cool!!!! and expression (even if its sugar baby gojo)

NOBAMAKI WAS SO CUTE IN THE SHOW IT MADE ME SO HAPPY they are so cute together i fw them heavy

i miss happy jjk

#zooone!!

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lumen-tellus · 11 months ago

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thinking about those old longfics that i rambled about in the tags that ive dropped but still really, really want to write.......................... yknow, i honest to god dont know when ill ever actually write them so maybe i Should just drop some notes on what was supposed to happen in them lmao lmao

(and it will help if i do end up coming back to them to fully write out some day. lol. maybe. probably. i hope loooool)

a room by the ocean

-> endgoal is for Yumeno and Ouma to say "sayonara biches!!" to the town they're staying in currently and move to some other place. a titular room by the ocean.

how do we get there tho? god i wish i knew man beats me

-> also along the way, Friendship(TM) happens!!!!!!!!

-> and some backstory stuff; how both of their "past selves" aka pre-show attitudes and circumstances still linger and affect them:

Yumeno coping with her history as being the child of two former show participants, essentially repeating history with herself and both sympathizing and rejecting her mother.

Ouma having to deal with the semi-clashing personality he has now and deciding who exactly he wants to be, and by extension, what he wants his life to be now in light of everything past and present.

-> ofc some conflict in the form of asshole reporters and fans finding out and following after them like creeps + both yumeno and ouma were still fans of the show once upon a time even if they both really detest it now, so trying to deal with that in perhaps each other is going to be a whole rip fiasco in some sense (also theyre like, living reminders of the show just by being next to each other so lmao for them).

-> i WILL get my saiouma happening here too. also just in general friendshippy with the trio will happen somewhere!!!!!!

genometrics

-> oh yeah i also had a platonic shirogane-ouma spaceship au fic that i forgot about too. whoops

-> i have even less of an idea how i was supposed to make them friends but that was the endgoal of the fic lmaooooo

-> fic would be loosely structured like its source inspiration - a genometrics/cosmosphere dive, except without the whack brain surrealism lol. it's real life, and each chapter would "progress" their friendship much like progressing a level.

-> probably another place where i would slip in worldbuilding for the au lmao lmao

home, riding home

-> i said time travel mystery fic ft. zhongli and tartaglia but its not time travel and tartie isnt childe either

-> anyway im just going to drop the reveal lmao: the tartie is tonitoni

wow gasp shock woooooowww who couldve eveeeeeer guessed that The tonitoni writer is actually writing the suspiciously teenaged girl tartaglia to actually be tonitoni!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! /sarcasm

-> also zhongli didnt time travel, he timelined traveled - he wakes up in a timeline/alternate history teyvat thats lagging behind just a bit temporally, where the tartie is tonitoni and where the rite of descension has yet to take place.

to specific, he wakes up in the body of his other self there

he doesnt realise this bc well it's his exact same body + he mistakes the potent geo energies within him - which is actually the soul of his other self, forced into slumber bc of the timeline jumping antics - for his gnosis

-> the other funny mystery beat i was going for - tonitoni has the gnosis. she just grabbed it right out of her zhongli in a petulant, violently arguing fit by accident and the sheer, sudden force of taking it from him rendered him briefly unconscious.

she panicked tho and thought she killed him tho lmao rip tonitoni is such a funny little silly meowmeow <3

anyway bc of this, she basically yelled at the leylines to grab his soul before it disappears into the ether - and bc she wasnt thinking straight, she didnt notice that he isnt really dead and his soul hasnt moved on from the material plane

the leylines also meanly did not correct her on this, mostly bc thats not really their job, and simply dutifully complied with her garbled command to go grab a zhongli from the leylines. hey, conveniently, theres a zhongli in a domain close to the leylines in another timeline, that should do!

so yeah this technically means she also knows zhongli is rex lapis and not just a regular consultant at this point, which goes halfway unnoticed bc half the time theyre in public anyway so she cant actually go around addressing him as an archon lol

-> besides all this plot, there was gonna be a fair bit of chara rumination!!

it would heavily feature zhongli debating his future post-archonhood, what he wants to do in life and what he wants from life both. primarily the grappling of moving on from centuries of duty to a more self-centered, human existence.

on tonitoni's side, it would be the exploration of a friendly, almost mentor-like, almost parental relationship between her and zhongli.

-> childe will show up eventually and oh boy hes going to look at tonitoni and it will immediately become a disaster im tellinggggg you

also there will be chili endgame. there will be. that is the point of retirement u old noodle!!!!!!!!!!

-> fic ending is that tonitoni uses her free tree privileges to send zhongli and childe back after all the mysteries are sorted out (and just in time for the rite and the farce of a plan to proceed) ft. some emotional moments bc tonitoni is going to be super intensely staring at her brother in the head the whole time otherwise lol

sun in retrograde

-> aka noah "celestia" ebalon gets a field trip in retrospection at how much his childhood sucked ASS!!!!!! ft. worldbuilding

celestia gets to happily hate on his shitty parents, encourage his younger self to be more confident, and feel both appreciative and sad with more mature nuance over his brother

he will also ruminate a fair bit on how the past is like and what it will become from here on, knowing what he does from the future and the secret things going on (like the machinations of the cult of henir and such)

the worldbuilding will focus on magic systems, family dynamics, and elrianode nobility and customs

-> as for the actual plot-to-plot beats: good question!!!!!!!!!

well i know he'll stick around in the manor as a supposed expert magic tutor for harque, probably - celestia thinks this is both incredibly funny and also kinda whack honest to god

harque is also probs just going to wave him off like "i can tell you're not that interested like sure i'll take some tips but please do as you like ^^"

which celestia btw happily accepts so he can research how to go back to his own time and also maybe not worry too much about fucking up the timelines with his own meddling. epitome of "whatever happens will happen!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" in his head as he psyches himself through his research

he takes breaks in between of course though, accompanying harque or his younger self - who he definitely imparts more actual magical teaching to - and bonding with them, while internally musing about the outsider pov of seeing his own childhood self and brother with fresh eyes.

clamor btw is going to take one look at younger noah and be like "i understand so much about why you were like That now. also im going to squish his cheeks even more"

also at some point younger noah falls sick and misty shows up to care for him and celestia is simultaneously "idc my revenge plot was a whole life/timeline ago" and "you canNot be standing in front of me and pretend that you dont know whats up heLLO?!?!?!?!?!??" inside his head, which is otherwise politely smiling at her.

also "misty is an ebalon cousin" hc in full force here; shes from a branch family of the ebalons, i swear if the game canon itself doesnt prove me right i KNOW im right anyway SOMEWHERE

the final plot-plot beat is that harque figures out what celestia's magic research is really about (time travel) and while he doesnt press for anything from him (probably), he does comment about how such magic might help him actually win the nominations for moon master - this gets celestia thinking about the pendant trinket, and how he doesnt know where harque actually got the thing nor figured out how to supposedly use its magic anyway.

which leads to celestia being the one to craft the pendant and hand it over to harque, along with potentially cryptic words hinting at the future to come. maybe idk itd funny tho. (it'd also be funny if harque lowkey figures out who celestia actually is after this but lmao dont look at me)

ofc the ending has celestia eventually use his reversed time travel spell to go back to his own time, where hes like "well that sure was something!" sits there for a while just staring at the ceiling, then is like "hey, clamor, do you want to investigate henir's order? im suddenly realising that theres some loose ends i never figured out" and heading to elrianode for their delayed meetup with the ESP in the demon world lol maybeeee

#harmonics.txt #rp stuff #literally giant spoiler dump for my own unwritten fics that i will likely never continue lmaooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

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marcmorrigan · 2 years ago

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i finished the duel monsters dub for the first time ever last night (!!!) so i figured i oughta lock down my faces for the aibous... what a show, man

#yugi muto #yami yugi #atem #puzzleshipping #yugioh #ygo #ygo dm #duel monsters #my art #ive had atems face pretty set for literally years but ive never managed a yugi i was 100% happy with... this one is MUCH closer tho #i might render this later + experiment with some other hairstyles for them... i prefer drawing them with afrotextured hair #sketch #there are so many other yugioh artists who do such PHENOMENAL interpretations of ygo hairstyles in diff textures & styles!!!#i dont think ill be bringing anything new or revolutionary to the table hsdfghjkl. but i wanna play around w it!#i wanna experiment with‚‚‚ atem mullet‚‚‚ similar to how i did it in my yami jareth art. the super long jellyfish mullet is so cute on him #also!!! its so crazy to me to be done w the DM dub!!! ive loved yugioh for ages but had never managed to finish the show #but i decided some time last year/the year before that i was gonna try again in Earnest and!!! wow!!! call me matchbox 20 #because how far weve come...#this is a big deal to me ive been into yugioh (as an adult) since like 2014ish so this has been a long time coming!!!#im gonna read the DM manga next and i think we are gonna do DSOD this week #then i guess jump right into GX!!! ive been cosplaying jaden for so long its gonna be crazy to watch his actual series...#i only know him from bonds beyond time hsdfghjkl. AND BBT ABRIDGED... MY AUTISM MOVIE...#anyway. yugioh. 🥺🥺🥺💖💖💖😭😭😭💕💕💕

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eggsnatcheskneecaps · 2 years ago

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i have a question ab transformers and im too scared to google it bc of what i think ill find but is there anything in canon that tells you if transformers reproduce??? and like how? do they have some sort of build-a-baby or smth??? sorry i know its late and this is absurd but its been plaguing mind for 4h now and i had to ask

Fjgng you're right to be afraid of what you'll find. There... Is a sea of fics out there.

The fandom has an extremely well curated Wikipedia, so if you're up for something more in depth, read through this article or browse through other ones.

Anyway, this is an excuse to ramble about Transformers >:) but I'll give you info on just the medias I've consumed, or know enough of.

The answer more broadly, there are cannon forms of reproduction, not sexual, per say, but the Transformers writers have a. Well. Long and weird relationship with Cybertronians having sex and especially pregnancies (yeah, you heard me right-)

To start off:

1. In one of the really old TF comics, we have a couple formed of a human woman (Cover Girl) and Brawn. They are married and also, they have a child. ...the child is not adopted. I don't if it's stated how they got there, but y'know.

2. In Beast Wars, we get protoforms.

In multiple continuities, they are basically the first stage in a robot's life. Kind of like infants. All they need is a spark (soul) and alt mode code (what they transform into) in order to develope into a fully grown Cybertronian.

The weird thing with this tho, is that you'll have characters such as Cheetor, who have been here from the start, and they'll be treated like the teenager of the group (although he IS the child appeal character), but then you'll see the ones who come along later, such as Silverbolt, who are immediately treated as an adult with full agency. Sigh.

But that's not all on reproduction in this show.

You have Rattrap at some point talk about... Bars on their home planet where waitresses walk around tits out, basically.

There are also some sex jokes, if I remember correctly. The femme fatale character takes a rod to cut it, her boyfriend cringes, and another one calls her emasculating.

For less cannon stuff that still sprung out of here; the official artists who worked on the show made a 3D render of Dinobot (main character) with... Dinobot Jr. Out on full display.

Also, at some point during the show production, someone decided to play a prank on someone else in the studio by submitting a pornographic parody of the episode script they should have originally given. Why does the fandom know this? It was leaked way back in the day before the episode aired.

Anyway, can you imagine being some poor fool thinking you're getting some exciting leaks to read and instead you get smacked with porn of the character who's literally inspired after Hannibal Lecter- also he transformers into a crab.

3. In Transformers Animated, protoforms make another return.

They basically work about the same way as they do in Beast Wars, except this time, we get Sari.

She's a protoform that somehow landed on earth, and her father, a human, touched it, which caused her to imprint on his DNA and become a hybrid.

In this show we also get several instances of objects being hit by the power of a Cybertronian relic, and making them come to life. Now, I don't know if they count as Cybertronians, since they are random ass earth objects, but they have a consciousness. Also, the same relic has been shown to be able to bring back Transformers from the dead. So.

...........

Ok. So. I received this ask forever ago, I'm so sorry for not getting to it. I've gotten busy and I can unfortunately feel my cognitive dysfunction kicking in, so I'll try to just get this done, but it'll be less detailed from now on and kinda disjointed.

Plus I was a while into writing this part and I lost the progress-

So. IDW1. The comics. They are a mess and weird.

Also, I read these years ago and I don't really remember the details.

You have hot spots on the home planet or moon. That create sparks (from the ground). Sparks can also pop out from Cybertronian relics, such as The Matrix.

Titans (HUUUUUUGE Cybertronians. They turn into cities or battle ships) may also carry hotspots that make robo babies.

Sparks harvested from this sort of thing either become cold constructs or forged. I'm not going to go into technicalities, but basically cold constructs are sparks who were taken and placed in a premade body and forged were allowed to develope naturally. If they are having trouble, a blacksmith may help them along by shaping their body. Or so I recall, at least.

I think I remember a mention in the comics about "A turbofox in heat". Turbofoxes are Transformers animals.

IDW1 also... Sports a lot of allusions to pregnancies. And. Pregnancies in general.

A lot of metaphors for pregnancies. Character is in a coma for 9 months. Another one gets a body upgrade and the entire thing is reminiscent of birth- an actual Cybertronian being mpreg with an organic alien------

^btw there was no narrative significance for this last one to happen

And. One of the main writers had... two? fanfics before he started writing cannon works. Telefunken and Eugenesis. Robots giving birth- to be fair, from their chests, from what I've heard. But the entire thing. It's. It's yeah.

Now!

IDW2.

Kiddies pop out of the ground. They are given one or two mentors. Mentors help them along to find what they want to transform into and their future jobs.

Earthspark, the Nickelodeon show, has come out pretty recently and I haven't watched it, but I think it has 3 robot kids as main characters! From what I know, they also popped out of the ground, except this time on Earth.

^also this one is canonically non binary sob

Transformers: Prime

I thiiiiiink they say Cybertronians pop out of The Well Of All Sparks? Which is a hole in their planet. Don't remember it being explored much. In the movie, a bunch of sparks fly out of it by the end, but I think it was a sort of- everybody gets revived! Yay!

The live action movies. Are also. Trippy

The ones directed by Micheal Bay are shit, but I gotta talk about them. You've got robots being sexual and creepy. But you also have sparklings. They pop out of goo eggs- I don't remember if in these movies energon or other relics posses and bring to life - I think they do tho.

However, that's an occurrence in the Bumblebee movie.

PS: I thought I posted this before I was done and I had a heart attack

#ask #squicksquak #transformers #sari sumdac #i can't put anymore picturesssss #nightshade #twitch #thrash #gauge #rubble #connie

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shirecorn · 4 years ago

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how about 17 and 24? what inspires you and how do you deal with art block?

Long post warning.

Art block...

I don't actually get art block, which is probably a combination of neurodivergence and drawing every day for the last 3 years

I wrote an entire tutorial about how to do that, but didn't feel like illustrating it. Would people want to read it even without visuals?

Maybe... I'll just start rambling.

There's a couple different types of art block, and it's really just a philosophy puzzle to get past them. I'm going to assume that the things I think of slow days, or art mud, is a milder form of art block and work through that.

Art block is a symptom, not a disease. You probably have something deep inside that you don't want to face, or don't know how. Sometimes you need to discover the cause, sometimes just power through.

Method 1: Rest

Let yourself just Exist. The act of consuming art is part of the process. Watching shows and playing games, taking a break and going gardening or focus on school. This is what you need for burnout-induced art block.

Method 2: Action

I always choose action, sometimes it means a tiny 2 min sketch per day. Ugly or super simplified. As long as I don't stop moving.

Toss everything. Start every piece thinking you will throw it away.

The act of drawing moves you forward; pinning it to the fridge does not. Don't work things until they are perfect. Work them until they are there.

Art block causes and solutions:

- No Inspiration

Not sure what to draw, nothing seems appealing. Art won't come out like it used to.

Do studies from life or photos. Sketch, paint, digital, traditional, doesn't matter. Rocks, fruit, figure drawing, landscapes, buildings, anything.

Study and copy professional's work. Old masters are best, like rubens, michalangelo (only his men tho) etc because they will teach you anatomy while you work. If you copy someone with a lot of flaws, you will repeat those flaws.

Trace to learn, not to earn. Trace photography and art from anyone you want. Don't post it unless you have the artist's permission or they are dead, whichever comes first. This is strictly work for yourself, on yourself. It's not about the finished drawing.

Find an artist with a fun style and try converting stuff into their style. Don't make that your new style though and especially don't start selling it. Your style is a chimera of everyone you love, not a clone of one person.

Take blurry photos. You don't need a fancy camera or good skills or beautiful subjects. Doing studies from your own photos can spark life into your workflow.

Make challenges for yourself. Randomly generate things to combine. Try fusing characters! Don't try to make it look good, just be fun.

Doodle patterns, swirls, lines, random stuff. Try looking up art warmups and doing some of those.

- Everything Sucks

You finally see how bad you are. Or somehow you got worse. Every piece is a fight and you spend hours trying to get something right only for it to be stiff and disgusting and STILL wrong.

Why are you trying to draw good? It's enough just to draw.

Accept that your art is bad. Every artist can see flaws in their work. Your problem is that those flaws outweigh anything remotely worthwhile and hurt to look at.

So what? You're in a period of growth, not a period of production. Keep that wonky second eye. Let them have hot dog fingers.

Show everyone! Show no one! No piece of art can ever be a reflection of the artist. Not their worth, not their skill. The only thing your art says about you is "Held and moved a pen for a bit."

Make bad art. It's ok. Most of the time, the pressure to perform and get things Right is what made them wrong in the first place. Relax.

- No Motivation

The #1 killer of artists everywhere. On some level you think you should draw, on every other level you think you should stay in bed.

You are not lazy. You wouldn't have read this far in a post about art block if you were lazy. You wouldn't CALL it art block if you were lazy. Laziness is wishing you didn't have to do anything. A block is wishing you were doing something. If you think you can namecall Yourself into productivity again, you're wrong and You need to unionize so that you don't treat You like that anymore.

Consider Mental Illness. Losing interest in something that brought you joy can be a symptom of depression. I know it seems obvious, but if you're waiting for a sign that it's "bad enough," it's bad enough. Seek care if you have the means. Forgive yourself if you already know this.

Selfcare. Examine yourself for neglect. Nutrition, exercise, enrichment, social need, and sleep are all part of the art process. Eat three meals and sleep 8 hours. That's your gaymer fuel. You deserve it, I promise. Depriving yourself of your needs will make your blocks worse, not kick you into making them better.

Identify potholes. Sketchbook falling apart? Tablet cord frayed? Half your pencils missing? Chair uncomfortable? Desk hard to reach? There's a lot of things that you tell yourself to work around and get over. Just because you CAN workaround something, doesn't mean you SHOULD. A difficult work environment can cause secret dread deep inside that you don't recognize and just think you're lazy. What you think of as "no motivation" might actually be "I don't want to deal with my tablet disconnecting every time I move it wrong and I have to wiggle it for a few seconds to make it work again." These little things are like potholes in the road. Sure you CAN still drive through them, but eventually you're going to look up and realize you haven't voluntarily left the house in weeks.

Repair potholes and roadblocks. You might feel bad about buying a new pencil, headphones, tablet, car, etc because technically the old one works if you hustle. But if you're running into so many potholes you've ground to a halt, it doesn't Actually work anymore, does it? Invest, save up, request, and require working equipment and suitable conditions. This stuff isn't just cushy privilege, it's an investment in yourself and your art. You are worth the effort it takes to clear the way. If you can't afford reliable (reliable! not perfect or luxurious) equipment, then say it. If cardboard is all you can afford, draw on cardboard. But know that you deserve canvas, and one day you might be able to make the jump. Acknowledge that sometimes, if you don't have it in you to smear burned twigs on wet cardboard, the problem isn't motivation, but opportunity.

- Haven't Drawn in So Long

A unique type of art block that self perpetuates. The thought of starting again is so stressful you can't do it. Or maybe you'll do it tomorrow. Yeah. Tomorrow for sure.

Face your fears. Are you ashamed of your lack of drawing? Are you anthropomorphizing your paper and thinking it's going to judge you, like "oh NOW you come back >:/" I internalize voices I hear and project them onto other people, concepts, locations, and inanimate objects. Your paper, computer, WIPs folder.... none of that is judging you.

Reframe your WIPs. Do you feel shame when you see "unfinished" projects? Why? Who says you MUST bring everything you start to Finish? You don't have to. A sketch is a finished art piece; it's called a sketch! If a sketch is a fully realized creation, pages that are half colored, 75% lined, or partially rendered are all fully realized creations too. Unless paid otherwise, art is done when you're done working on it.

Lower the stakes. Draw a chibi or grab some crayons. Get messy and slowly ease yourself back into the flow over the course of a couple days. It's fine.

Get a buddy! Find an art meme, do an art trade, get a study subject, or just wing it. Drawing art alongside someone can help you get past that block.

Pretend you never stopped. Don't think about the gap, how long it's been, or rustiness. As far as anyone knows, you drew the mona lisa yesterday and didn't break a sweat. Today, you drew a starfish on your hand with a gel pen. Keep up that streak, good job!

Just keep drawing. Make a goal to do one sucky drawing per day on the back of a napkin. Don't make up for missed days, just pretend they didn't happen. Who's going to judge you? The calendar? That's pieces of paper; it doesn't have an opinion. Draw a cat on it. Done. Keeping up the momentum is a great way to prevent art blocks in the future.

TLDR: Draw imperfectly and toss it. Selfcare is king. Draw often and don't judge yourself.

Art is a process, not a product.

#shire screams #art tips #ask #art block #long post

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dwellordream · 4 years ago

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“Critics of Chaucer's Troilus and Criseyde tend to regard the eponymous female character as either the tale's victim or its villain. Those subscribing to the latter position consider Criseyde cagey, devious, and self-centered. In their view, Chaucer creates a character who fits within the "power of women" topos, in which a wily woman effects a worthy man's ruin. During the Middle Ages, "sermons, treatises, instruction manuals, poetry and romances included lists of celebrated men who were brought low by the apparently irresistible power of women and their sexuality." Critics of Troilus and Criseyde argue by analogy when they regard Troilus as suffering such a fate at the hands of his love. They imply that since most medieval writers portray women as manipulative black-widow figures bent on destroying men, Chaucer must have done so as well. For example, D. W. Robertson, Jr., notes that, for Criseyde, "the mastery of a man like Troilus, a man of prowess and renown, a prince, and a handsome prince at that, would be quite an achievement."

Winthrop Wetherbee also emphasizes the virtues of the ill-fated Trojan prince and stresses that, no matter how interesting we may find the duplicitous Criseyde, we cannot admire her, for she remains "incapable of anything like the integrity or aspiration of Troilus." These critics, whom Carolyn Dinshaw describes as "masculine readers" of the text, create the impression that Chaucer has fabricated a terrifying, power-hungry figure in Criseyde. She emerges as less a woman than a monstrous, near-masculine, abomination, the incarnation of the Medusa myth that Helene Cixous regards as the traditional literary stereotype used to describe an indomitable female character. Dinshaw attributes this view of Criseyde to the critics as well as to Chaucer: "Masculine reading in Troilus and Criseyde is dominated at last by a desire to contain instability, carnal appetite - those things that... medieval writers (and their descendants, modern critics) associate with femina."

In an effort to counteract this ominous image of Criseyde, Dinshaw and other feminist critics have repositioned Chaucer's heroine as the tale's victim. They see Criseyde as the polar opposite of the conniving character imagined by the text's "masculine readers," regarding her instead as an emblem of passive femininity whose submissive nature makes her vulnerable to the machinations of ruthless men. Angela Jane Weisl, for instance, views the hapless heroine as "invaded by male power," and Catherine Cox regards the consummation scene as tantamount to rape. Focusing upon Criseyde's unfortunate position as a beautiful woman trapped in a society that treats her and all women like "commodities to be traded," Dinshaw exculpates Criseyde for her seemingly callous treatment of Troilus. Far from being fickle, Criseyde, in favoring Diomede, selflessly works to further her nation's male-dictated agenda. In Dinshaw's view, Criseyde is merely a pawn of the Trojan patriarchy, a bargaining chip used to establish a temporary truce.

These critics may succeed in exonerating Criseyde; however, they also succeed in making her much less interesting. Stripped of any motives of her own, Criseyde becomes a mere automaton, and the reader's interest shifts to the men who manipulate her. Unwittingly perhaps, feminist critics, by curtailing Criseyde's agency, diminish her significance. They too sacrifice Criseyde, flattening her character and transforming her into a type, another example of the endlessly suffering woman who must endure countless indignities at the hands of callous men. Readers, however, need not relegate Criseyde to the status of victim in order to redeem her character. Criseyde, certainly, does not view herself as a passive pawn, and this essay attempts to read the events comprising Troilus and Criseyde from her point of view, a perspective that has often been slighted by critics intent upon examining the agenda of her nation or the psyche of her lover.

Criseyde's actions, for instance, indeed may be constrained by her nation's perilous position, but so are those of her male counterparts. Even valiant Hector finds himself powerless to gainsay the people's will when they decide to trade Criseyde for Antenor, for the lords make the compelling argument that the Trojans desperately need more manpower in order to rid themselves of the Greeks who have relentlessly plagued the besieged town (IV, 176-96). The council ignores Hector's angry protests and enjoins him to set aside his ideals, exclaiming "'O Ector, lat tho fantasies be!'" (IV, 193). Troilus also feels constrained by his nation's plight. He so fears the opprobrium of his father and of Parliament should he strive to rescue Criseyde from her awful fate that he is rendered impotent, unable to make even the slightest effort to effect his love's salvation (IV, 540-67).

Criseyde, however, does try to wield power, albeit within the narrow scope granted her. She lays the ground rules for her affair with Troilus, for instance (III, 169-75), and she constantly engages in activities such as reading and writing that Cixous regards as potentially subversive to patriarchal society. Unlike Troilus, she displays great confidence in her own abilities and plots to bring about her safe return to Troy without her lover's help (IV, 1296-1414). As her uncle Pandarus understands, his niece admires men of action, men like heroic Hector who value their individuality and refuse to let challenges daunt them. Such men strive to follow their own moral code and often refuse to conform when they believe that they have judged correctly and society has erred. Hector, for example, does not shy away from offering Criseyde his protection, although such an offer might be viewed with disfavor among those incensed at her father's treacherous act (1,117-23).

Nor does he readily succumb to the chorus of voices demanding Criseyde's exchange for Antenor but, rather, continues to protest passionately against such a maneuver up until the very moment when Parliament seals the Trojan beauty’s fate: For which delibered was by parlement For Antenor to yelden out Criseyde,/And it pronounced by the president, Altheigh that Ector "nay" ful of te preyde. (IV, 211-14) Criseyde attempts to appropriate this heroic ethos for herself, believing firmly that the challenges she will face in her attempt to escape the Greeks will prove far from insurmountable. By the end of the poem, however, Criseyde has recognized finally that the man for whom she is willing to risk her life lacks the qualities of a hero, qualities that she believes she herself possesses and qualities that she had once thought Troilus held in abundance, making her fall in love with him. She now realizes that her lover does not share her faith in the heroic ideal and that his earlier heroic stance was nothing more than a pose, part of his attempt to make her engage with him in the game of courtly love.

Laura Howes believes that "Chaucer is often his most critical of established social and literary systems when he appears his most conventional." Even though the poet fashions Criseyde as a strong-willed woman, his poem does not represent a straightforward rendition of the "power of women" topos. Instead, Chaucer uses this convention to expose the hypocrisy embedded in courtly love, a system in which the male lover feigns to cede power to a lady only ultimately to subjugate her. Chaucer employs the "power of women" motif subversively to create an image of a self-determined, desiring woman, who yearns for a wholesome, natural sexual relationship - a relationship not tainted by the artifice of courtly conventions - and who refuses to be transformed into the passive receptacle of a male lover's passion.

…The first time Troilus sets his eyes upon her, Criseyde displays her strong-willed nature. When Troilus ogles her, the Trojan beauty flashes him a look that implies "What, may I nat stonden here?" (I, 292). Her haughty attitude is not only bold but also rash, for she, the daughter of a traitor, refuses to submit to the gaze of a king's son. Criseyde misinterprets Troilus's behavior, regarding it not as prompted by her beauty but, rather, as offering a challenge concerning her right to participate in Troy's public domain. She fears that this prince might not share his brother Hector's generous attitude concerning her status as a citizen of Troy. Unlike Troilus, at this moment her thoughts revolve not around the possibility of a love affair but, rather, the ramifications of the ongoing Greek siege and her father's subsequent defection. Critics often stress Criseyde's meek and fearful nature, but in this instance Chaucer depicts her as a brave woman indeed, holding her head proudly in the public sphere and refusing to show shame for her father's misdeeds.

Chaucer makes her audacious behavior all the more striking by having it follow the narrator's assertion that Criseyde stands as the very emblem of femininity (I, 281-87). One would expect such a woman to accept passively Troilus's stares, to blush perhaps, and bow her head, but not to gaze unabashedly back. Criseyde may seem feminine, but she displays an inclination to behave in a masculine manner. She resembles Portia in Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, who possesses a "man's mind, but a woman's might." By juxtaposing Criseyde's feminine appearance with her bold behavior, Chaucer suggests Criseyde may possess a masculine spirit as well, and, indeed, the narrator describes her as "nevere lasse mannyssh in semynge" (I, 284, emphasis added). The author's use of the word "semynge" indicates that Criseyde's femininity relates only to her surface, her good looks.

Criseyde's exquisite appearance belies her true nature as a woman who cherishes her autonomy and will not readily succumb to a man's will. Before Pandarus presses Troilus's suit upon her, Criseyde lives peacefully in a predominately feminine realm. Weisl stresses that Calchas 's defection leaves his daughter fearful and vulnerable: "Calchas' exit at night through the walls of Troy is the first event of Troilus and Criseyde; in the vacuum of power created by his absence stands Criseyde, 'wel neigh out of hir wit for sorvve and fere' (I, 108)." Criseyde, however, loses no time in recruiting Hector as her defender, recognizing that she needs to protect both herself and her feminine retinue. Her decision to appeal to Hector represents her first act as a matriarch and emerges as a deed of heroic proportions, for she has not only her own interest but also the interest of the members of her household in mind.

She recognizes the peril of her position and approaches the Trojan prince with all the tact of a skilled diplomat engaged in a dangerous and urgent mission. Using her feminine appearance to her advantage, she dresses in "widewes habit large of samyt broun" (I, 109) to underscore that she too has been betrayed by her father's duplicity. Her wretchedness as well as her loveliness move the noble prince to pity her plight, and she elicits his oath that no harm will befall her as long as she resides in Troy (I, 113-26). Further, Hector promises to protect Calchas’s daughter without demanding any favor in return, revealing that Criseyde has played the role of a chaste, and hence untouchable, widow with consummate skill.

Once Criseyde assures herself of Hector's staunch but laissez-faire support, she finds her father's desertion a boon. Unlike Calchas, whose arbitrary behavior toward his daughter in calling her to the Greek camp indicates the power he holds over her, Hector leaves Criseyde alone, free to pursue her own will. Thus, her father's defection enables Criseyde to enjoy finally her widowed state. Judith Bennett notes that for many medieval women, widowhood emerged as the first time since their marriage that they could exert a measure of control over their own fortunes. For instance, these women often would serve as managers of their deceased spouses' estates, a role Criseyde may assume finally after her father abandons Troy.

Criseyde revels in her newfound autonomy, exulting that she now stands "unteyd in lusty leese" (II, 752) without a husband to "Chek mat" her every move (II, 754). Criseyde's use of this metaphor to describe her marriage offers more evidence of her steely will; she had not been a woman who meekly obeyed her husband's every whim. Criseyde's allusion to chess also reveals that she thinks of herself in martial terms. Freed from both her husband's and her father's control, she no longer considers herself the passive, acted-upon king but rather a powerful and potent player. Her situation resembles that of Binx Boiling's aunt in Walker Percy's The Moviegoer, who "with her illustrious brothers dead and gone might now at last become what they [her brothers] had been and as a woman had been denied her": her family's champion.

As mentioned, Chaucer depicts Criseyde's household as comprised entirely of women. Such an image evokes the realm of the Amazons, a society to which Chaucer alludes in the Knight's Tale. The poet depicts these women's pursuits as potentially subversive to patriarchal culture. Pandarus, for instance, finds Criseyde and her companions sitting together listening to a tale, a common entertainment for aristocratic women of Chaucer's day; however, these ladies do not listen to a romance but rather to a "geste" concerning "the siege of Thebes" (II, 83-84). They represent a cluster of women reading about the actions of men - they are feminine readers of a masculine text, the epic. Criseyde's choice of reading material reveals her intellectual curiosity as well as her attachment to the heroic ideal. She wishes to understand the workings of the public domain and to grasp the significance of her nation's own war. Additionally, as a woman who likens herself to a figure in chess, she senses, perhaps, a connection between herself and these legendary heroes and looks to their tales for inspiration for her own bold deeds.”

- Mary Behrman, “Heroic Criseyde.”

#troilus and criseyde #medieval literature #geoffrey chaucer #courtly love #mary behrman

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kireii-writes · 5 years ago

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Hello it's me the anon who asked if I could request for fluff content :3, first I just wanna tell you that I love your writingstyle, it's always so good and I hope to see more of your work ^-^ (tho I'm not really into smug stuff but your writing about it is really good). Now can I ask for monspeet x reader? (Fluff pls :3) where the reader is sick and thinks that is nothing but Mons is really worried about her health?(she is really weak by the illness). Thank you 😊.

a/n: thank you anon that’s so sweet of you, here’s some fluff as requested, hope you’ll like this!

a sigh escaped from your pale lips once more as you clutched the red-stained handkerchief close to your chest. it happened again. you should be used to the constant shivering and coughing that you’ve gone through for as long as you can remember. you knew that this time, your sickness was more serious than ever. coughing up blood? your lover would never let you hear the end of it. you knew that if monspeet ever found out you were suffering so much, he’s never going to stop worrying and fussing over you. but that was also what made you fall even harder for him. no matter how much you tried to brush off your illness as something minor, monspeet would never take your health as a joke.

as your shoulders heaved heavily, you attempted to stand to your feet and make your way to the bed. with cold hands, you clutched the bathroom counter and exerted as much strength as you could muster. all was well, until a sharp cough rendered you on the bathroom floor again, the sounds of your coughing ringing in your ears so much so that you did not hear the door to the bedroom open. before you could even try to stand again, a pair of strong hands were gently placed on your trembling shoulders.

“again?” an all too familiar voice asked. “i’m going t have you checked this time. and i won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” the voice stated firmly.

“i’m fine,” you turned to look at monspeet, a concerned look crossing his usually stoic features. “i just choked on something. i’m fine, see?” you gave him a smile. that however, failed to convince your lover of your condition.

~~~

when you first started to date monspeet, you were afraid. afraid that one day he would find out about your sickness and leave you, afraid that one day you would leave his side because of your sickness. as a result, you forced yourself to keep your condition to yourself and in the dark from your love. every cough you made was blamed on choking on something, the shivering of your frail body blamed on the weather, despite it changing. eventually, you started piling up on clothes that were twice your size, in a poor attempt to keep you from the cold and from monspeet getting suspicious about your constant shivering. whenever he asked if something was wrong, you would put on a bright smile and shake your head at his questions. you thought you would be able to keep on living this lie, but monspeet eventually caught up to whatever you were doing. when that day came, you braced yourself, fully expecting monspeet to leave your side. after all, he has no use for a weak human like you, does he? but surprisingly, instead of tossing you aside like you were some kind of trash on the sidewalk, he fully embraced every inch of you. in fact, monspeet became even more watchful of you, getting anxious and flinching at every tiny cough or sniffle you make.

“why didn’t you tell me you were suffering so much?” monspeet asked as he placed your cold, trembling hands into his. “i could’ve done something for you.”

in a feeble attempt to lighten the mood, you jokingly replied,

“because if i did, you would probably toss me aside or eat me as soon as you can.”

“if i wanted to devour your soul, i would’ve done so when i first met you.” monspeet sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose at your response. “and furthermore, what kind of demon do you think i am? a stupid one? promise me you’ll stop keeping secrets from me.”

chuckling ever so slightly to yourself, you nodded your head as monspeet stroked your hair.

“i promise.”

~~~

“i’m fine, monspeet. it’s just some regular old cough. it’s not like you’ve never heard me cough before.” you reassured your lover as he gently scooped you up from the bathroom floor. the stern look on his face was more than enough to tell you that he didn’t believe a single word you said.

“stop lying, y/n.”monspeet countered as he gently placed you onto the bed. “if it was just some regular cough, what’s that you have in your hand?” he challenged, his gaze travelling from your eyes to your hand which was curled up into a fist to hide the bloodied handkerchief.

“it’s... nothing.” you shrugged and look away, hoping to distract him from questioning you any further. but monspeet was not having it today. in an instant, the handkerchief was snatched away from you and into monspeet’s palm. a look of shock crossed your face as you tried to process everything that just happened.

“this is nothing?” monspeet asked as he held up your favorite handkerchief, now crumpled and dirtied from the blood that you coughed up earlier. you knew that once monspeet found out about your worsening condition, he’ll never stop worrying about it, making you feel slightly guilty about it.

“monspeet-”

“for the last time, y/n. would you at least tell me what’s going on with you without me finding out? what happened to the promise you made?” monspeet cut you off. it was an unusual sight, seeing the usually cool-headed demon being so worked up because of a human- his human.

“i’m going to consult zeldris and the rest on this and make sure you get the help you need. for now, i want you to stay put in bed. you’re not going anywhere, and neither am i.” monspeet sighed as he tucked you in.

giggling softly to yourself, you allowed your demon lover to pull the warm blankets over you. sometimes he acted more like a father than a lover.

“i told you, i’m fine. don’t you have business to attend to?” you sighed. the last thing you needed was to be the cause of monspeet’s distraction.

“right now my top priority is you, obviously. zeldris and the rest can wait. i’m not leaving your side until you fall asleep, y/n.” monspeet replied as he sat down on the chair next to where you lay, your frail body never leaving his sight as you closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep. you knew that there was no point in arguing with monspeet- he was going to stick to his word and wouldn’t budge until he’s sure that you’re asleep.

“hey, monspeet?” your voice interrupting the silence that filed the atmosphere awhile ago. you kept your eyes closed, a small smile on your lips.

“what is it, love?” monspeet’s gentle voice called out to you.

“i love you.” a giggle slipping from your lips as the words left your mouth.

“...”

“i love you too.” monspeet replied quietly after some time, causing you to turn away from him in embarrassment. “i love you, y/n. and i want you to always be happy.”

“shut up,” you chuckled. “didn’t you want me to go to sleep?”

“...”

“sleep well, my love.” monspeet replied. even though you couldn’t see the expression on his face, the gentleness of his words were enough to leave a smile on your face.

you didn’t need to know this, but monspeet would gladly give up the entire world just to see you happy and well again. after all, you mean everything to him.

#anime #nanatsu no taizai #sds #seven deadly sins #monspeet #monspeet x reader #fluff #sds imagine #sds x reader #sds anime

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shintorikhazumi · 4 years ago

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I Have Two Sisters?! Chapter 1: Three Sisters and The Bastard Father (An LWAxRWBYxStarira Crossover)

A/N: What’s crazier than me writing a crossover I can’t get out of my head at 2am while still having multiple wips?

Writing a three-way crossover until 3am!!! (Ended at nearly 5am tho)

GAHHHHH.

Btw, this is a non-magic au. So Diana has no magic, and Weiss has no… semblance. Yes. Because the world of RWBY always goes “???!! OHMG, magic?!” Quite ironically. They become impressed at people turning into birds, but never flinch at Ruby who can separate herself on a molecular level. Sure.

I’ll be updating this sporadically, tbh. The updates will be as random as the coming of this idea. I do like it a lot, so I look forward to working on it. Just have to prioritize the wips.

[DO CHECK OUT THE END NOTES FOR SOME OF THE AU DETAILS AND BACKGROUND]

Still, I couldn’t let the concept pass me by so…

Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi

I Have Two Sisters?! Chapter 1: Three Sisters and The Bastard Father

The wind blew strong outside, rain water cold against her bleeding cheek. The numbness was her only relief from pain nowadays. She’d lost count of how many bruises she’d gotten this week. If only her mother hadn’t passed… If only she hadn’t had a bastard of a father.

Then maybe Diana’s life would have been much better than the shell that it now was.

He left her and her mother just as she turned three, the only support she got in the form of random gifts and her financial needs. Her father was nothing of a father. The man that… helped make her was never there. He never showed he cared. Everything he gave her felt obligatory. She hated it. Heck, she didn’t even know his last name, much less remember what he looked like. She did try looking it up at some point, but it seemed as if he was some kind of bigshot she couldn’t name.

Neither her mom nor her aunt had divulged his identity, so she had long since drew a blank to the man’s identity. All she knew was that his name was ‘Jack’ or something of the sort. She had long since adopted her mother’s as it didn’t feel right to take the name of a man she never knew.

All she knew was that he was the cause of all her sorrows. That wretched man had left her and her mother to fend for themselves. Even though her mom was of a strong, well-known medical lineage here in Britain, the fact that she had gotten pregnant out of wedlock labelled her as a shame to the Cavendish name, and she had been cast out to a vacation home in the outskirts of the foreign country, Japan.

After her death, however, the women who Diana now saw as practically witches with how cruel and evil they were decided that because their blood ran through her, took over their small land that she and her mother had cried blood and tears to call their own, and exploited the underage girl, believing she might be of some use as a pawn at the very least, for the sake of the Cavendish name.

And she was. For some time, until she had injured her arm, and was no longer capable of becoming the kind of doctor they wanted her to be, her hand slowly losing its immaculate dexterity, becoming constantly shaky, rendering her as only half the worth she originally was, and thus completely useless besides being their punching bag. Quite literally.

Diana Cavendish found herself spending the better part of her life being abused, and hiding in tool sheds, and escaping her dreaded household at every waking moment, just as she was doing right now.

She hardly believed in any religion, but she found herself always praying to get away from this hellish nightmare. She’d hope that even if she only had a jerk of a father, he’d soon realize that she was his flesh and blood that needed saving.

A hard knock came on the wood of her shed’s door. She flinched, no sound escaping. Had they found her?!

“Miss Cavendish? Miss Diana Cavendish? Are you in here?” An unfamiliar voice called for her, bold and confident sounding, but with kindness and worry interlaced. She felt like it was someone she should respond to. The situation felt like it was some kind of divine calling she should answer.

With legs shaking, she stood up, unlatching the bar that held the door closed and stepping out into the now late night that reeked of hot pavement, rain having stopped while she was lost in thought.

A police officer, clad in uniform and raincoat smiled at her in pity. She was both grateful for- and hated- that gaze. She wished it had come sooner, but at the same time, she disliked being thought of as sad and pathetic.

“Your aunt and her family have been arrested, Miss.” Her ears perked up at the voice and the message they conveyed. Looking up from the ground, she stared into the truthful eyes of the cop. “You’re safe now.”

And she truly hoped she was.

//-//-//-//-//

“Weiss.”

At the mention of her name from that familiar voice, she rolled her eyes internally, holding in the urge to snap at the man she called ‘father’.

“What.”

Maybe her control wasn’t as good as she thought.

“Don’t give me that tone. I know you hate me, but I am still the one that raised you!”

“You mean, you’re the one that paid for me.” The ex-heiress pointed out. Her father gritted his teeth, frown deepening as he stepped forward in an attempt to exert his dominance.

Weiss only raised a brow in challenge.

“Anyway.” Jacques continued. Weiss would have smirked as he neither acknowledged nor denied her statement, but she felt it wasn’t the best time. “You are yet to turn twenty, and as you aren’t considered an adult yet-“

“But I’m nineteen, father.” Weiss stated, confused, her raised brow now raised in question. “I’m of legal age, to drink even.”

“Not in Japan you aren’t.” He replied with a smirk so evil, Weiss would have loved to slap it right off if her mind wasn’t thrown in a state of emergency, dreading whatever plans her father had. Even if she wanted to do as she pleased, she couldn’t completely go against him as she was at the moment. Their family name was too widespread and known in the business world, and she feared the consequences of running away from her father who currently had her safety- and practically her life- in the palm of his hand.

“What are you planning.” She narrowed her eyes at him, fearing for the worst, but expertly masking that fear.

“I’ll be sending you away, just as you’ve always wanted. I’ve prepared you an apartment close to a school of my choice to pursue the arts as you so strongly desired,” He spoke in a mocking tone. “And I’ll let you have your way there.” He ended with a smile that sent chills down Weiss’ spine. It sounded too good to be true, her dream being accepted like this. It was like a carrot on a stick being waved in front of her, only to always be out of reach.

“What’s the catch?”

“Catch? My, Weiss, my child, are you questioning your father’s benevolent heart?”

“What’s there to question?” Weiss shot back. “You don’t have one, now do you?”

She grinned at her little victory as she watched him gnashing his teeth, clearly seething in anger. Her smile dropped however as he gave her his own.

“I mentioned Japan’s legal age before.”

And Weiss already knew what he meant.

//-//-//-//-//

Life in Seishou had been the dream. Her first two years of high school were the peak of her life, she’d proudly say. She had wonderful friends and comrades who battled side-by-side, pushing one another to greater heights, and… she had someone she adored just a little more than friendship allowed. She had never admitted it, though. Then, a school back in Paris, the place where her mother had blossomed as an actress in the past, offered her a scholarship as an exchange student there.

And like she always did, Claudine excelled. So much so that multiple colleges offered her full rides to attend their institutions. Even highly prestigious universities. Her opportunities were broad, her future looking bright-

-And then news came. Her mother had fallen terminally ill.

She had to go back. She had to see her. She had to be by her side as long as possible.

She had to repay her for the love, for the dream she had given Claudine. She had to be the family her mother had been for her in the absence of a biological father she never knew, and the loss of her adoptive Japanese father at an early age. The lack of a male figure in their family was no cripple to Claudine, but she also missed the presence of the man she knew as her papa. She knew her maman missed him too.

So she had to do this for her mother.

She had to… in the event that… she’d lose her soon as well.

God forbid, Claudine prayed.

She had to return to Japan, study and… get a job, find some way to help her mother pay the increasingly expensive hospital bills, their little family’s saved money steadily disappearing.

She wondered if she should just drop school all together and apply for a troupe. Earn both money and experience.

She had enough rapport both in Japan and France. She could probably get enough opportunities, and she would succeed like she always had…

But…

There was something she wanted to see through, going into university.

When she left for Paris, she had gradually lost contact with all her friends, the culture slowly choking her time, eventually disconnecting them from her.

She’d receive and return the occasional message, but… things were different. She knew she’d drifted apart from everyone.

So, when she found out that they would all be attending the same Arts Institute, and when she had decided to return to Japan for her mother’s sake, she believed it wouldn’t all be that bad if she could apply for a scholarship to the same place, and possibly rebuild everything that was slowly crumbling away.

She wanted to be with everyone again.

And though she believed herself capable of attaining what she wanted on her own, she might require a little assistance from a miracle.

…

And a miracle- could she call this monstrosity of a situation that?- came in the form of a letter that had documents that signified she was the daughter of some ‘Jacques Schnee’ currently undergoing some sort of trial, and because of this, some of the accusations led to the revelation that he was neglecting a daughter, not sending support, and now as some form of bribery and compensation or whatever, he had paid the court to shut up about it if he took responsibility for her now.

Claudine scoffed in disbelief and utter disgust.

So this was her damned biological father? Some apparently bigtime tycoon who slept around and left a woman to fight for herself while carrying his- Claudine would suppose she was now an- illegitimate child.

This… was certainly news she’d never have expected in a million years.

She laughed mirthlessly at it all.

Well, at least her financial crisis had been averted. For better or for worse… she hoped it wasn’t the latter.

One upside was that she now had a clear ticket to that university she wanted to get into, it seemed. Her ‘father’ had taken the liberty of enrolling her there coincidentally. At least he could do something right, Claudine guessed.

“Well… I suppose it’s time to pack.” She sighed falling back onto her current apartment bed, staring at the ceiling.

It wasn’t so bad, maybe. Her newfound reality.

��Japan, I’m coming home to you.”

//-//-//-//-//

Diana glared at the letter in her hand angrily. There, in neat script, she saw the name of the man who had caused all her misfortune.

‘Jacques Schnee.’

“I want to hate you for as long as I live…” She gripped the paper so hard, creases were forming and the agent currently assigned to her worried she’d rip it into shreds. “What is this garbage? And why am I… Why can’t I… refuse… this ugly form salvation…” She choked on her sobs, a hand sympathetically rubbing her back.

“Let’s get you ready, Miss.”

Diana nodded in agreement.

-----

All her bags now in her hand after being dropped off by the cab driver, she stared in awe at the slightly modest, but clearly high-end house.

What the hell, did her dad just get her a house?!

Regardless of its size, couldn’t he have… like… gotten her an apartment or condo, at least?

How rich was this asshole father of hers? Was money the only good thing about him? Not that even that was necessarily a good thing.

With a groaning sigh, she unlatched the gate, walking up the little pathway. There were small flowerbeds already present around the yard, and decorations were tastefully placed.

It at least looked the part of cozy.

Once she got to the door, however, angry sounds coming from inside made her question that.

-Wait. This was her house, right?

Why would sounds be…

In a panic, she unlocked the front door with the key that came with the letter, bursting through it like a mad man, blue eyes flickering about the room, shocked to see two pairs of eyes, wide and intense, staring back at her with equal surprise.

“Who…”

“Oh, this is just great!!!” One with hair as white as snow exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air in clear exasperation. “Now we have another one!” She began marching around the room, palms rubbing her face aggressively and scratching through her hair. “That little fuck-“

“-Language.”

“Shut up! I don’t even know who you are, and why you were in my house when I arrived. And you say you aren’t a burglar or whatever, but what is up with your sword play? Even if you were using the curtain pole. Are you some kind of spy or assassin the corporation has sent to finally get rid of me?”

“First of all, this is my house, not yours. And you came at me with a rapier!” A silver-gold blonde replied in equal stress. “You could have killed me!”

“I would never!” The first girl gasped with faux emotion. “At most, you’d lose an ear.”

“Umm…” Diana remained awkwardly fidgeting at the door, her usual bravery and confidence lost in the moment of shock.

“What.”

“I- I am simply here because… apparently my father purchased this place for me.”

Two pairs of eyes blinked once. Twice.

Then realization overtook them.

“Did you just say… father?” The golden-haired one stepped closer to her, a lot less hostile, but still aggressive looking.

“I- Um… yes?”

“Father… you say.” The lady with a rapier in her hand now approached Diana too.

These women were frightening, dear Lord. Diana slowly backed up, but stopped as her foot hit the bags she’d dropped in her frantic moments earlier.

“Can you tell me the name of this… ‘father’ of yours?” Rapier lady asked Diana who was beginning to wonder if she should look for a weapon to defend herself with.

“S-sure. His n-name is…”

“…”

“Is?”

“Fuck.”

Diana was not one to curse, but it surprised her that she did.

But she couldn’t help it, now could she? After all, her mind had been wiped clean as a white slate. A mental block was not what she needed right now, but just about anything involving that man seemed to bring about her misfortune.

At least the hands by which she’d die her early death were from very beautiful women it seemed.

She liked women, at least?

“Excuse me, um… are you alright?” Miss Golden hair was now very safe-looking and welcoming, Diana subconsciously stepped closer towards her.

“What is up with you? I just asked a question.”

“Perhaps, if you placed the sword down, and looked less like you were trying to murder her and look like you were willing to hear her out…”

Diana expected another heated retaliation, so it was a pleasant surprise to see the other woman sheath her weapon, and place it gently on a plastic-covered couch, clearly brand new.

“There. Happy?” She asked, glaring at the woman now gently holding Diana’s hand- and when had that happened?!

With a nod, the girl turned to Diana and asked again. “What is your father’s name. If you could tell us.”

Huh. She was a lot kinder than Diana had initially taken her for.

“I apologize. I can’t… remember at the moment. I- He hasn’t been around… for me until this point. I just… learned his name a few days ago but…” She hung her head in defeat, apologizing all the while. “Sorry I’m of no assistance to you…”

“No, it’s alright. Isn’t it?” The question was clearly not directed at her as she could only hear a grunt from the other side of the room.

“Yeah, fine.”

“Would your father’s name happen to be Jacques?”

At this, Diana lifted her head, another shocker delivered to her, hearing the familiar name, the cogs in her head clicking into place.

“Yes! Yes, that’s it! Jack, or Jacques or whatever. Snee? Shuni? Schee? I don’t quite remember, but something along those lines.” Diana found herself enthusiastic towards the prospect that some of her questions might be answered.

It seemed the other two shared the same sentiment.

“It’s Schnee.” The white-haired lady corrected, eyes furrowing, anger building up once more. “And… THAT BASTARD OLD MAN!” Grabbing her rapier she swung it around, probably to vent her anger. “He set me up! And what’s more…” She whipped her head about to carefully look the other two people over.

“What is it?” Diana said in a voice quite small.

“Seems he had big secrets to hide.” She sighed. Turning to the initial enemy she had, now turned… stranger? She wasn’t sure they were allies at this point, she stated rather than asked. “I guess it’s the same for you?”

The woman beside Diana nodded, expression looking a lot stiffer than her gentle demeanor as she dealt with Diana earlier.

“I see. I can’t believe this situation.”

“What do you me-“

A voice beside Diana delivered her fourth? Fifth? Sixth?- she’d lost count- Shocker of the day.

“Sisters. It seems we’re… sisters.” Turning to Diana, she held out a hand for a shake. “I’m Claudine.”

“I’m Weiss.” Was the grumble from the couch the woman had flopped on top of.

“…O-oh!” Breaking her stare from the hand, she looked into rose-red eyes. “And I’m-“

And the world suddenly turned black.

‘Hello, My Name is…

[Diana Cavendish]

[Weiss Schnee]

[Saijou Claudine]

-And it seems as though…

I have two sisters?!

A/N: If you’re asking, yes. Yes, Diana fainted.

Here are some details for this AU btw:

I’ve decided to make Jacques a half-Jap, half german.

So all of them have a quarter of that blood.

Diana is half brit, quarter jap, quarter german

Weiss is ¾ german because of her mom, and ¼ jap.

Claudine is half French, ¼ german, ¼ jap.

Also, if you want to know their ages, and their order, I decided it this way, and let me just quote how I typed it out in the raw idea draft.

“Diana April 30 16yro in anime 2017+3yrs (2020) she's 19 too omg jahahahaha (wrote this coz I’m currently 19 and was amused)

Clau august 1, 2001 19 at present

Weiss Currently 19 (in volumes 5-6) may 15th lmao hahsha. Perfect!!

Wtf Diana was the oldest? Hooo boi. I did expect and want Kuro to be youngest tho, tbh.”

Why their ages are pretty much the same will be mentioned next chap.

And that’s how it went. Decided with Weiss being the legitimate child coz Jacques was the only canonically mentioned dad between the three girls as far as I know. Or I just didn’t search enough.

But come on. I wouldn’t pass at the chance to beat up the dude in a fic so… hihi.

Feedback is super appreciated!

Thank you for reading!

~Shintori Khazumi

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drawlfoy · 6 years ago

Text

Undertones

masterlist request guidelines please feed my inbox. she’s starving. requests are more open than ever!

pairing: draco x nonslytherin!reader

request: yes! thank you anon!

summary: non slytherin reader offers draco her scarf when she realizes he’s cold. he secretly wants to accept but he’s too afraid to ruin his reputation.

warnings: fluff idk. maybe foul language because *that’s me* but i write warnings before i write fics and i cannot foresee this going anywhere dirty

a/n: i’ve made spaghetti how many times? too many times. and yet every time i misjudge the amount of pasta sauce i need to heat up to match the amount of pasta. every single time. i don’t know what’s wrong with me but i can never fix this problem. i’m sorry this is random but i don’t think many people actually read this part so i’m kind of going off. the pasta is good tho, i’m eating it right now. reply with “pasta” down below if you actually read this

music recs: shoot i’ve been listening to alvvays tbh

also, last thing: Y/H/N means your house name, Y/H/C means your house color(s) :) also O/H means other house... as in not your house or slytherin!!

word count: 1,435

The wind was howling outside, cold and biting, as Y/N settled into the bench next to her “friend”, Draco Malfoy.

They’d only begun to be civil to each other that year after they’d been forced together in potions. At first, it had been horrible, but eventually, Y/N and Draco came to a truce. The merciless teasing about her house ceased and Y/N stopped reminding him how much she hated him every day.

And then there was Quidditch. You were both big fans of getting high marks in potions, but you were both even bigger fans of the game. Y/N was unfortunately rendered unable to play in 4th year, after a particular nasty crash messed up her leg, She was perfectly capable of attending games, however, and she was especially supportive of the Y/H/N team.

This particular Saturday, Y/H/N was playing O/H. It was the first time this year that Slytherin wasn’t playing, so Y/N had thought it appropriate to invite Draco along with her.

She was beginning to regret her decision as she watched the blond boy sitting next to her complain.

“Why does it have to be so cold out?”

“Uh, I don’t know, Draco,” Y/N shot back. “It’s wintertime, maybe that plays a role?”

He huffed and dug his hands into his cloak pockets.

“Y/N, please at least let me feel sorry for myself in silence.” He pouted, pulling his hands out of his pockets and blowing on them. “I never should’ve come. It’s too cold out for this.”

Y/N’s heart stung a little at this comment. They both loved Quidditch, and sometimes it was all they talked about. She was cold too, but the love for the sport kept her glued to the spot.

“Didn’t think you were such a wuss,” she grumbled, pulling her own down jacket tightly around her body. She’d abandoned their uniforms and had instead opted for her muggle winter gear--except for her Y/H/N scarf, which was pulled tightly around her neck.

“I prefer realist,” he shot back. Draco’s voice wavered just a slight bit, and Y/N cast him another glance. She was shocked to see that he was actually shivering.

“I’m cold too, Draco,” she retorted “But for some reason, I’m still here.”

No response was returned. Instead, comfortable silence between them rested as the yells of the other onlookers pulled her attention away from Draco.

After the first 45 minutes, Y/N felt positively chilled. A quick glance at Draco confirmed that she was not alone in this feeling. Both were ill dressed for the occasion.

“Hey,” she began, inching a little closer to her potions partner, “Do you want my scarf?”

Draco turned to look at her, eyeing her neck. He looked like, for a second, he was considering it.

“No,” he finally told her. “You need it more than me.”

“What do you mean, Draco?” Her voice cracked slightly from the cold air rushing into her mouth. “You’re just wearing a cloak. I have a full coat.”

“And you’re still shivering!”

“So are you!”

At this point, neither of them were paying any mind to the game in front of them.

“Even if I was...cold,” Draco told her, his teeth chattering comically, “I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a Y/H/N scarf. Y/H/C doesn’t suit my pink undertones.”

“Oh. My. God.” Y/N rolled her eyes so hard they nearly reached the back of her head. “You are such a diva. Do you know how many people die during the winter from hypothermia? And you’re out here, refusing a scarf because it doesn’t compliment your undertones?”

“You know that’s not the real reason, dimwit,” he told her with a hushed voice.

Y/N’s cheeks were no longer being bitten by just the wind--now they were red from Draco’s scathing words.

“No one really cares,” she whispered, her eyes falling to the ground. She knew that that was a blatant lie.

“You know they do,” Draco answered, sighing and turning his attention back to the game.

Y/N only pretended to watch the game. In reality, she was trying to get her cheeks to stop flaming red with embarrassment. Perhaps she could blame the sudden flush on the cold, but Draco had to know. He had to know that he had, in a sense, rejected her, proving that his reputation was more important than sharing a sweet moment between the two of them.

Without the heat of an argument, Y/N settled back into her chilly state, quivering slightly with every new gust of wind. Pins and needles began to rush into her bare hands, forcing her to resort to sticking them inside her jacket like some kind of deranged penguin.

“Are you cold?” Draco asked.

“Er....yeah? Duh,” she responded, turning her head to face him with an unimpressed expression. “I thought we already went over this.”

Draco swallowed. His hands were shaking, harder than they were before. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought he was nervous, but it was cold enough out to excuse the behavior.

“Give me your hands,” he demanded.

“Excuse me?” Y/N asked, bewildered from the sudden suggestion.

“You heard me. Give them here.” As if to prove that he was being serious, he stuck his own hands out expectantly,

Hesitantly, Y/ drew her hands out of her jacket and held them out to him. He grasped them, pulling them to his chest and rubbing his hands back and forth. She was pleasantly surprised with how warm his core was. (a/n: the word core is ruined for me because of smut and i promise that that isn’t what i was trying to imply)

“I thought you said you were cold.”

“I thought you appreciated my dramatic flair.” Draco exaggerated a frown, rubbing his thumbs over her knuckles.

This was new. While they were on better terms and had done a fair bit of things that friends did, one line they never crossed was legitimate physical touch. Y/N couldn’t say that she minded it, though.

Feeling slowly tricked back into her hands as they sat like that, Draco still stroking the outsides of her hands and Y/N standing ramrod straight in disbelief. Once her hands were no longer numb, she cleared her throat and shifted in her seat.

“Thank you,” she said awkwardly, withdrawing her hands from his chest and tucking them back into her pockets. “I can feel them now. I think I’m alright.”

“Ooooooookay,” Draco responded, raising an eyebrow in slight disappointment. “If they ever get cold again...”

“Okay.”

The tension between them only thickened as Y/N realized she’d made a horrible mistake. She was starting to feel positively frozen at this point, and to make things worse, the Y/H/N seeker had decided to hang out over the stadium seats where Y/N was seated. Every few seconds, she’d dive down and another rush of freezing wind would hit Y/N and Draco.

Within a few minutes, both were shivering messes. Y/N considered offering her hands back to him, but her pride kept her from going back to it. She withdrew them. She couldn’t ask for more again.

“You’re still cold, aren’t you?” Draco’s voice pulled her back from her plotting.

“Was it that obvious?”

The laugh Draco let out was small and involuntary.

“Well, I mean....” He sucked in a deep breath before meeting Y/N’s eyes. “You can....you can sit closer.”

“Oh?” The words left her mouth before she could revise them.

“Er.. yeah, come over here.” Draco patted the already rather small space on the bench between them.

Y/N cautiously scooted closer, closing the gap until their shoulders were almost rubbing.

How was this supposed to accomplish anything?

Draco answered her question before she could even voice it out loud, taking one arm out of the sleeve of his cloak. He draped it over Y/N’s shoulder so they were sharing the garment, pulling her close.

Y/N almost gasped but caught it just in time. Draco’s arm was now wrapped around her shoulder and her head pressed up against his warm chest.

She could hear his heart racing as his free hand slid under the cloak, taking hers and stroking them like he had done before.

“And what was this about being ashamed of my house?” she managed to quip, lifting her gaze upwards to meet his soft grey eyes. “You won’t wear my scarf but you’ll allow...this?”

He blushed, turning his fair pink skin an even deeper red as his thumb rubbed lazy circles on the back of her hands.

“I told you,” he whispered, dropping his head down so his face was mere inches away from her, “Y/H/C looks ghastly on me.”

final a/n: this kind of took a u turn from the original direction that was requested and i deeply apologize for that haha. i’m not the best at writing fluff, i’m a little better at writing build up, so i’m going to have to work on that. thank you for reading!

#draco #draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco imagine #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine #harry potter #quidditch #hogwarts #dramione #hermione granger #ron weasley #lucius malfoy #narcissa malfoy #slytherin #ravenclaw #hufflepuff #gryffindor

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dudeandduchess · 5 years ago

Text

As promised, bby, Part 2 of Afflictions of the Heart. Though I am a bit iffy about some parts of this, so I might re-write it later on when I get more inspiration. 🤔

Hope you bbys like it tho! 💜✨

***

Kyōjurō x F!S/O: Afflictions of the Heart (SFW Scenario, Part 2):

Warnings: Angst, Character Death, Demon S/O, Moral Dilemma, Mentions of Death of an Unborn Child, Mentions of Blood, Mild Violence, So Much Drama

Read part 1 here.

No matter how hard Kyōjurō tried to move on with his life, everything always seemed to pull him back to (Y/n). It could be as simple as seeing someone with the same shade of hair as her, and he would be so out of sorts for a while.

Almost every little thing reminded him of her but, even though he tried to stop it, his own conscious wouldn’t cease its efforts in connecting everything to her.

From the way that the stars shone, down to how a hairpin looked on someone— everything always came back to her. Which stood to reason why he never stopped searching for her.

He always held out hope that she had been turned into a demon, and always kept an eye out for any signs of her wherever he went; because she couldn’t have gotten far, what with only two months having passed by since their supposed wedding.

The thought of the ill-fated date sent a pang of hurt coursing through the Flame Hashira’s chest. It was so intense that he had to make a conscious effort to keep on walking, as stopping in the middle of a busy street would only cause an inconvenience for other people.

Still, he couldn’t resist not lifting a hand up to his chest— placing it right over where his heart was. He had to remind himself that, no matter how much pain he felt, he had to keep going.

So that less people will have to lose their loved ones like he had.

The strong must protect the weak; just as he should have protected (Y/n) and their unborn child with all his might. Should have, but didn’t.

He had been too cocky, too confident, with the wisteria charms that he’d initially put up around her home— that he’d forgotten to switch them out with fresh ones the week before their wedding.

So he only had himself to blame for that— but those feelings of guilt only came at him when he was alone; when there were no reasonable voices around him to keep himself from delving in too deep in his own guilt. They preyed at his subconscious, and they plagued his every thought before the medicine— that Shinobu had made for him— kicked in.

Even he had to admit that he was no longer the same person that he had been before. He still tried to be optimistic, and also made an effort to keep the flame in his heart alive... but everything felt like a lost cause without (Y/n) in his life.

He had lost the only woman he’d ever loved, and he only had himself to blame for it.

So the moment he saw her deep within a mountainous forest, miles away from where she lived, his heart had all but stopped— and his eyes had instantly zeroed in on her figure.

She looked to be the same woman as before, save for the eerie glow in her iridescent, golden eyes— as well as the long mane of fiery red and orange hair. If his eyes weren’t deceiving him, her hair looked to be a play of his own natural hair color.

It flattered him, yet saddened him at the same time— because even as a transformed demon, he still had something about him that was tied to her subconscious.

(Y/n) straightened up from her hunched form to reveal, much to Kyōjurō’s horror, a bloody mouth as well as the body of a dead woman at her feet. His breath had hitched at that, and it took everything in him not to give in to the sobs that threatened to bubble free from his lips.

Because to see her like that... and to know that his own carelessness had been the cause of it; it ate at his conscience deeply.

The rational half of his mind screamed at him to draw his sword— to make things quick and painless for her— but his heart said something completely different. His own personal feelings rendered him immobile; completely unable to draw his weapon on her, even though she had bared her claws at her sides— ready to attack at any given moment.

“(Y/n),” The Flame Hashira called softly, his voice cracking. He wanted to ask her how she’d gotten there, and why she was attacking an innocent woman, but no words came. He didn’t even know where to start.

He could only stare into her iridescent irises, all while trying to keep his tears at bay.

Silence punctuated his call of her name, with nothing but the sound of the air rustling the leaves in the trees emphasizing the eerie standstill that seemed to envelop the world around them.

Still, Kyōjurō tried once more— because maybe if he got to her subconscious, he could talk to her... about what, he wasn’t sure of; since killing a human as a demon was an unforgivable sin. He knew that she had to die, since the gods only knew just how many innocent lives she’d managed to take during the time she was a demon.

The notion of ending (Y/n)’s life by his own hands made him sick to his stomach but, in the end— and with shaky hands— he still found himself drawing his sword on her.

“(Y/n), I’m so sorry,” Kyōjurō whispered, his tone so quiet and thick with unshed tears that it had the aforementioned woman’s eyebrows furrowing together.

Almost all of the instincts inside her body told her to attack while he wasn’t in a proper attacking stance, yet a small part of her— something so small yet so incessant in the back of her mind— told her to let her guard down.

To let him in, and to listen to what he had to say.

“How do you know my name?” The young woman asked softly, all while clenching her fists and fighting everything in her that wanted to harm the blond man.

The Flame Hashira opened his mouth to speak, only to pause when he didn’t know what to say. But when he did find the words, he said, “You were my wife, even though we never officially got married. Please, remember, my love.”

But when only silence answered his words, he tried once more.

“I... we used to go to the shrine near your home and exchange vows in front of the gods.” Kyōjurō’s voice hitched at the last word, as memories of him and (Y/n) pretending to practice for their wedding played in his mind.

And one by one, his tears began to roll down his cheeks in hot rivulets. He couldn’t stop them, not that he even tried to; because his chest felt so tight and painful with all the emotions that he’d been trying to suppress for so long.

He was done pretending to be strong, when all he wanted was to break down and cry; to grieve over the loss of his almost-wife and their unborn child.

Slowly, he dropped the hand that held his sword to his side, before making his way towards the petrified (Y/n).

As if on instinct, the young woman took a step away from the Hashira, and then drew an arm up to her stomach; as if to protect it from him.

The sight of her cowering from him made his heart break even more and, despite himself, made him sheathe his nichirin blade.

“Please don’t hurt me. I was just trying to feed my baby.” Her words felt like a sucker punch to his chest, and it had him roughly biting down on his bottom lip to keep himself from outright sobbing. “Please, she’s the only thing I have left of my human life.”

Regretfully, the Hashira shook his head as more and more tears rolled down his face. There was his formerly enigmatic and bright (Y/n), clutching her stomach and believing that she was still carrying their child— out of her remaining maternal instincts, or as a way of coping, he didn’t know.

All that he was sure of was that it hurt him to see her look so desperate and afraid— of him, no less.

Still, he forced his feet to keep advancing— until he was no more than two feet away from her. Then, with his right hand, he lifted it up and gently touched her face with his fingertips.

Her fangs began to elongate at the action, and a low growl rumbled in her chest, yet he made no move to stop. She could attack him and he would willingly welcome it; because it was his fault that things had turned out the way they did.

To her merit, (Y/n) kept a tight leash on her own defensive urges. She knew that she could easily off the man in front of her, but she held herself back— all because of that small voice inside the back of her head; one that kept telling her to trust him.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/n), for letting this happen to you... for letting our happy ending be taken away,” Kyōjurō uttered softly through his tears, while his hand moved to cup his lover’s face— before wiping the first of her tears away with the pad of his thumb.

She couldn’t put a name to his face, yet every part of her sensed the familiarity in their actions. Her hands had even moved on their own accord, and had reached up to encircle his wrist with the left one— while the right one moved to trace the soft skin of his left cheek with the tips of her right hand’s fingers.

All of it felt like she had done the actions so many times, that she couldn’t help but cry even more.

It, honestly, felt like coming home after such a long time. He felt like home to her.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/n). I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Kyō.” (Y/n)’s own response shocked even herself, as she hadn’t expected his name to go rolling off her tongue so smoothly. And, judging by the way that the blond’s eyes widened, he was surprised as well.

She still couldn’t remember her family— nor any other parts of her human life— but all that rang clear in her mind were her memories with the man in front of her. Hell, if it wasn’t for the paper that she had found tucked into the sash of her yukata, she never would have known that her name was Rengoku (Y/n).

Before she could help it, she immediately wrapped her arms around his neck— hugging him tightly while biting down on her tongue to keep herself from attacking him. Everything inside her screamed at her to hurt him— to devour him— but she ignored those devilish urges in favor of burying her face against his chest.

Because, with the memories of him, came the realization that the child inside her— the one that her remaining maternal instincts tried to protect— had long been gone.

Loud, pained sobs escaped her lips at that— which had Kyōjurō wrapping his own arms tightly around her, all while patting her hair down as gently as he could.

“T-the baby!” (Y/n) wailed against her lover’s chest. “Our baby. I couldn’t protect it, Kyō. I couldn’t-”

She couldn’t even continue, what with how her crying had escalated to loud, wracking sobs that made her whole body tremble. And no matter how she tried to get words out of her mouth, they were all pushed back down by more sobs and hysterical wails from the young woman herself.

Each and every one of her cries was a stab at the Flame Hashira’s heart, yet he could do nothing but hug her closer and provide her the comfort that she desperately needed.

It was the least he could do; because empty words and even emptier promises were not his way of providing comfort. He couldn’t even bring himself to tell her that things will be alright, because he knew just how badly her own realizations were beginning to weigh down on her conscience.

“All of the people I’ve... oh gods,” (Y/n) muttered through much quieter sniffles, after the gods knew how much time had passed. But still, all Kyōjurō could do was hold her tighter and cry with her— because, for the second time in his life, he was at a loss for what to do.

His heart and mind waged war with each other, as he thought of how to solve their predicament. Part of him wanted to keep her safe somewhere where no other slayers can touch her, while the more rational part of him told him to do the right thing.

And the right thing was to kill her.

The mere thought of raising his blade to her— not in self defense, but to slay her— made his stomach churn. He couldn’t bring himself to even want to do it; because, for all it was worth, she was still the woman he loved.

However, she took the decision right out of his hands when she pulled away from him and cupped his face in her hands. Their gazes stayed on each other’s, which had Kyōjurō’s heart pounding erratically inside his chest.

Since the mix of defeat and determination on his lover’s expression only meant that she had made up her mind— and no amount of pleading from him would change it.

“I want to make things right, Kyō.”

He didn’t need to ask her what she’d meant by that, because she knew— as well as anyone else— that the price of taking a life, was also a life; even if she had been doing it out of some twisted perception that it was for her unborn child.

It still hurt her to think that she had succumbed that low; but she didn’t dwell on it too much— because she wanted to spend the last few moments of her life with the one man who’d given meaning to it all.

And so, both of them made the trek up to the highest point of the mountain— never letting go of each other’s hand— to greet the sunrise in all its glory.

Kyōjurō stood there on the peak, with (Y/n) clinging tightly to him; as if she was giving him a lifetime’s worth of hugs, while she buried her face against her lover’s chest.

Slowly, the first few rays of the sun illuminated the horizon; steadily painting the inky sky with bright yellows and oranges that matched the colors in her hair.

“Thank you, Kyō, for making this life of mine worth living.”

The Hashira nodded, as he swallowed past the thick lump in his throat and pressed a kiss to the top of her head— if only to hide the fact that he was crying once more.

“I’ll look for you in our next life... and then we’ll have our happy ending there; us and our baby.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, (Y/n).”

#kyoujurou rengoku x reader #rengoku kyoujurou x reader #kyojuro x reader #rengoku kyojuro x reader #kyojuro rengoku x reader #rengoku kyojuro #rengoku kyoujurou #demon slayer rengoku #rengoku imagines #kimetsu no yaiba rengoku #kyojuro rengoku #kny x reader #demon slayer fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #kny rengoku #jen writes

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clowndaydreams · 6 years ago

Text

Yan!Marvus x Reader

I hope you all like it!

“Can you pass me the potato chips?” You looked over to your companion. Marvus nodded and reached over to get said bag from his side of the couch.

“here ya go.” You grunted a quick thank you to the clown and started to dig in. You had been hanging out with Marvus all day. You still couldn’t believe how friendly you’ve gotten with the superstar since you met him at that concert you went to. It had been a few perigrees since then, but the clown had since made a habit of inviting you over randomly when he was free. You were just happy that he remembered you at all.

Currently though, you were both relaxing on the couch and watching some Slam or Get Culled episodes that he was in. Right now, a season finale was playing. He was the final challenge for that season’s top 2. They had to rap battle him and whoever fared better was the winner. You glanced over at him. He was in his usual facepaint, but was casually wearing a neon yellow ripped tank top and matching pajama pants with some designer troll logo and ‘JUICY’ all over them. How he managed to look so hot in that would forever elude you. You snapped out of it when he started speaking again.

“u kno, i thought ricard was the better 1 outta those 2.” You pretended to glare at him.

“SPOILERS!” You jokingly huffed, lightly shoving his arm. It didn’t move, as you’d expect.

“LOL! XoD sorry fam, seen dis crap 1000 times alreddy.” Wait, then why did he let you pick this episode? Or even agree to watch this with you? If this was boring you could do something else. And as if he could read your mind, he held up a hand.

“dun worry bout dis. is chill or w/e. butt srsly, u kno who gunna win.”

“Still! I wanna watch it!” You giggled. You both watched on in silence as Marvus was brought on to surprise the contestants.

“How were they behind the scenes?” You asked as you watched the confessionals for both of the contestants.

“ricards moirail b a clown, so me n him knew each other alreddy. he wuz p chill i guess lol.”

“What about Krayaa?”

“turns out she wuz a fangirl. foamin at the mouth n erythng.”

“Really?!” You turned to him to try and see if he was lying. He looked almost bored about it all. Like you were both talking about the weather or something. You wished you could be so relaxed about meeting a rabid fangirl and somehow living to tell the tale. Seadwellers were supposed to be stronger and more durable than landdwellers. At least, that was according Polypa anyway. Huh, you had to remember to check on her later after you got home too.

“ye. she wanted 2 pail after the shoot.” Your jaw dropped. Krayaa was a seadweller! Did he have to listen to her? She could have killed him for not listening!

“Nahhh, no worries,, the contract she signed for the ep woulda had her disqualified and mah bodyguards woulda whooped her b4 she had a chance. ;op” He chuckled. “If she managed 2 get thru them, I aint no wimp.” He added, flexing his arms a little to prove his point. You almost couldn’t stop staring. He had to know what he was doing to you…right? Granted, this was a crush you had no intention of pursuing. If you were speaking honestly, Marvus was a guy who probably didn’t want commitment due to his lifestyle. Even then, he had people throwing themselves at him constantly. People his own species. People who were a lot better fitting with his general aesthetic and not some poor wandering alien that he would DM when he was high when they both should have been sleeping. Your own concepts of relationships and types of love were different. But you could dream, right? You were content with just having him as your designated hot friend anyway. …That did mean you were allowed to drool over him in your mind. As long as it doesn’t get creepy to him. Yeah. You were fine.

“u gud (Y/N)? u tryna lure snacks into ur mouth or smth?” You snapped out of your stupor.

“Ew! Gross! I don’t eat bugs like you weirdos!”

“it aint gross. literally free snacks u can catch. :o)” He laughed.

“Where I’m from they’re gross!” Granted, there were places that did eat crickets and the like on Earth, but you would never tell him that.

“dun knock it till ya try it.” He got up and left the room, returning after a moment with a small box.

“…What is that.” You had a sinking feeling you knew what it was.

“chirp grubs.” He opened it and there they were. Disgusting caramelized crickets.

“I can’t.” You shook your head.

“more 4 me lol.” You looked away as he ate a few of the crickets. You looked back at him when his palmhusk rang. It sounded like a clown horn version of one of his songs. Fitting, honestly.

He glanced at it and rolled his eyes before silencing the phone.

“Who was that?”

“thottie.”

“Oh…” He looked bored again. Not good. What could you talk to him about to keep him interested?

“Uh…You ever get tired of the fans trying to aggressively pail you?” Ok, that wasn’t the best choice for conversation. Your bad.

“i meannn….in the beginning yeah. now its kinda the norm 4 me ufeelme?”

“Yeah, I guess. Does it ever make you feel like you can’t have a relation-er, quadrant?” You assumed it would, but that would also come with fame in general, wouldn’t it? You weren’t sure. Then again, if he didn’t want-

“kinda. i think its kinda funny how i can attract psychos, fans and thots, but not my crushes.” You sat up straight. Marvus had a crush?

“Wait. You…uh…are pale or um….red? for somebody?” You didn’t have the best grasp on quadrant terms.

“lol sumtimes i forget your an alien.” He leaned back onto the couch.

“butt yeah, i have a few crushes at the mo.” He smiled, staring at the ceiling. Few. He has more than one crush right now. That soft smile said it all. He had it bad.

“…Can you tell me who they are?” He looked over at you and looked sheepish.

“i…dun think is a gud idea.”

“Please? I have to know who the great Marvus Xoloto has a crush on.”

“u kno 1. itll be awk af :o(“ Now you had to know. Now you were thinking about whether or not Marvus had a type. What if they were all mega hot models? Wait! Did he have a crush on Chahut? They would totally have to know each other. Who else did you both know??? He heard of Cirava, but you didn’t think they talked. Who???

“…kk fine. only if u slam a faygo tho.” You gave him a look.

“Isn’t Faygo…not for non-clowns?”

“is just us. whos gunna kno?”

“You promise nobody’s gonna know?”

“on my life. u slam a faygo, n ill tell u who my flush be.” You thought it over. You remembered tasting the stuff at clown church when you went you went with Chahut that one time. Just a sip left you a bit tipsy. A whole bottle may have rendered you unable to be coherent enough to even process who his flush crush was. Would it be worth it? You felt a choice coming on. Either way you had to drink a certain amount in order to maybe try and learn this random troll’s identity. The question was, do you try and counter his offer or just slam the entire bottle and hope for the best?

…

It would be better to respect your own limits. A bunch of your friends had lectured you a few times over putting yourself out just to potentially make a friend. This would piss them off and would probably not end in your favor even if you did decide to just go with it anyway.

“How much faygo do I have to drink?”

“hm…” He got up, went to the kitchen and got a small can of Grape Faygo, a normal bottle for one and a whole 2 liter bottle. “imma b nice. u get a choice. u gotta try 2 finish the can. u get 1 q with the name if u finish the can. Smol bottle gets u 2 qs and the name n the 2L gets u as many qs as u liek. fair enough 2 u?”

…Now you wanted to chug the 2 liter. You haven’t even seen anyone try to down that other than the Grand High Blood once when you took Karako to clown church for the first time. But that guy was a clown and he is HUGE. You, not so much. But, you chose to respect yourself for once. You’d see how you felt after the small can and go from there. You picked it up, opened the can and took a deep breathe. Powers that be, let this not wreck you and let this answer be worth it. If he cops out with his answers, you would try to hurt him. You started chugging. You did your best to try and treat it like a shot like Cirava taught you so you wouldn’t taste the overly sweet flavor too much. After a moment of light agony and attempting to not drown in the soda, you reached the end of the can. You slammed it onto the coffee table and started panting. Ok, you weren’t feeling woozy like before. Maybe those tiny sips when you went to clown church helped your body get used to it.

“u gunna try the otha bottles?” You managed to shake your head. You weren’t gonna do that again. Your head started hurting. You looked over at him. Were his eyes always so vibrantly purple? Woah, now they’re flashing purple. What the heck? Was this Faygo high? You now understood why all the other clowns were so goofy after drinking a cup of this stuff. Crap, now your head was starting to hurt.

“Wh-Who….who is it..?” You started feeling like you were gonna pass out. You laid down on the couch. You needed to close your eyes. That was way too much for you. You felt Marvus pick you up into his arms.

“ye…after u wake up bb.” Wake up? Wait, did he just call you a pet name?! You were about to question him when he tilted his head.

“dangg,, u managed 2 stay awake with chuckles and faygo? ur stronger than i thought. Soz bout this babes.” His eyes became blindingly vibrant again and you blacked out.

#marvus #marvus xoloto #yandere!marvus #yandere!marvus x reader #olive fics #Let me know your thoughts!

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flightfoot · 6 years ago

Text

On Apollo and the nature of identity

Throughout the Trials of Apollo series, Apollo has struggled with his identity; who he is now that he isn’t a god, what it means to be himself. His new alias - Lester Papadopoulos - helps to exemplify his identity crisis. The name is a perfectly ordinary human name to reflect his new state of existence. He doesn’t particularly like it (especially at first), but uses it occasionally nonetheless. It seemed kind of odd to me how Rick has characters use “Lester” vs. “Apollo”, but I think I may have an idea of why.

I think “Lester” may be serving as a kind of epithet for Apollo - as a sort of additional name describing his current circumstances and form, and everything that goes with it. It’s why, especially in the early books, he tends to think of himself as Lester in a somewhat derogatory manner, such as when he’s failing at archery in THO:

Zeus had cursed me with mortality. I was not going to pretend that everything was normal. I would not be Apollo until I was really Apollo. For now, I was just a stupid young man named Lester Papadopolous. (143)

Sometimes his friends would call him “Lester” too, like how Leo referred to him as “Lester man”, or just because.

In TDP Commodus exclusively refers to him as Lester... until the end of his rant at the finale of the book.

Commodus scoffed. “You’re damp and speckled with bat poop, Lester. You’re a pathetic child who has been dragged through the darkness. That darkness is still in your mind. I see the fear in your eyes. This is your true form, Apollo! You’re a fraud!”

Apollo. He had called me by my name. (371)

Commodus associates “Lester” with weakness and fear, with his new mortal form... but he still calls him “Apollo” at the end, in an attempt to combine what he thinks of “Lester” with what he thinks of “Apollo”, I believe. Because “Apollo” is him as a whole - “Apollo” in total, while “Lester” only describes his current circumstances. “Apollo” was powerful enough to kill Commodus, but “Lester”? Maybe not.

Apollo still considers, well “Apollo”, to be his name, because, well, it is, AND I suspect because of how he associates his current form with powerlessness, a helplessness that he didn’t have as a god... or at least didn’t recognize in the same way. This can be seen from the ending lines of TBM:

But from now on, I would be more than Lester. I would be more than an observer.

I would be Apollo.

I would remember. (419)

He was unable to save Jason as Lester, as a mortal. As an observer. But with the strength he associates with being Apollo, he may be able to.

But things change in Tyrant’s Tomb. This book, Apollo doesn’t seem to associate Lester with weakness and fear to the same extent. Or at least, he doesn’t seem as depressed about it. He actually jokes about it a little with Meg when trying to reassure her:

“When we summon godly help, I can ask for complete healing. I’m sure I’ll be as good as new. Or at least, as good as a Lester can be.” (189)

He’s also called Lester a decent amount this book, by Reyna mostly, weirdly enough. When she calls him up to speak to the council, it’s as “Lester Papadopoulos”, not as Apollo. And just in general, she calls him Lester by default. Kinda contrasts with Frank, who mostly calls him “Apollo”, but does call him Lester in certain circumstances, such as when talking about the new birthday he was assigned (as Lester)

“You’ll have to leave for Sutro early on Lester’s birthday.” (186)

Frank calls him “Lester” here because he’s referring to Apollo in his capacity AS Lester. Most of the time he calls him “Apollo”, which I’m betting is because he looked up to Apollo as a god - and still does to an extent. It probably helps that Frank’s awesome with a bow and arrow, and Apollo was one of the few cases where Romans respected that.

Anyway, back to Reyna. She does refer to “Apollo” and “Lester” separately later, when laughing about him awkwardly offering to be her boyfriend:

“Apollo. When you were a god...” She struggled for breath. “Like, with your powers and good looks and whatever-”

“Say no more. Naturally you would have-”

“That would have been a solid, absolute, hard-pass NO.”

I gaped. “I am astonished!”

“And as Lester... I mean, you’re sweet and kind of adorkable at times.”

“Adorkable? At times?”

“But wow. Still a big-time NO. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” (237-238)

She views him as being the same person sort of, but in different capacities. And she actually seems to like him as Lester more. Still doesn’t want to DATE him of course, but she was less vehement about the second one.

You kind of see this again later, after Reyna finds out about what Apollo did to Coronis and the crows, how she seems to view him MORE highly as a mortal than as a god.

“But you’re the- you used to be the god of music, right? If you can charm a crowd, you should be able to repulse one. Pick a song those birds will hate!”

Great. Not only had Reyna laughed in my face and busted my nose, now I was her go-to guy for repulsiveness.

Still… I was struck by the way she said I used to be a god. She didn’t seem to mean it as an insult. She said it almost like a concession - like she knew what a horrible deity I had been, but held out hope that I might be capable of being someone better, more helpful, maybe even worthy of forgiveness. (255)

I don’t think she’s calling Apollo “Lester” as any sort of insult. To me it seems like by calling him Lester, she’s acknowledging this new side to him, this mortal side, and how he’s different from how he used to be.

This is actually kinda shown during the confrontation with Harpocrates, with how Reyna and Meg defend him:

In front of me, Reyna and Meg stood shoulder to shoulder, facing down the god.

They sent him their own flurry of images. Reyna pictured me singing “The Fall of Jason Grace” to the legion, officiating at Jason’s funeral pyre with tears in my eyes, then looking goofy and awkward and clueless as I offered to be her boyfriend, giving her the best, most cleansing laugh she’d had in years (Thanks, Reyna.)

Meg pictured the way I’d saved her in the myrmekes lair at Camp Half-Blood, singing about my romantic failures with such honesty it rendered giant ants catatonic with depression. She envisioned my kindness to Livia the elephant, to Crest, and especially to her, when I’d given her a hug in our room at the cafe and told her I would never give up trying.

In all their memories, I looked so human… but in the best possible ways. Without words, my friends asked Harpocrates if I was still the person he hated so much. (288-289)

He’s still Apollo, but they DON’T consider him to be the same person he was exactly. He seems pretty human, but in GOOD ways, and that change? That part of him? I believe they’re associating that with “Lester”, as that’s the name he’s been given as a human. He’s still Apollo - just because he’s changed, it doesn’t absolve him of what he’s done, and it is all part of him - but Lester represents the new experiences and new attitude he’s acquired, the person he’s become. “Lester” isn’t just the weakness and powerlessness he associates with being mortal, but also the strengths he’s gained from his new friendships, from seeing himself and the world clearly - well, mostly clearly anyway. Clearer than he ever has before.

“Lester” was originally a name assigned to him by Zeus as part of his humiliation, same as the rest of his “turning mortal” punishment. But like the rest of the punishment, I think it’s going to backfire. If the name “Lester Papadopoulos” exemplifies his time as a mortal, an experience Zeus is putting him through in order to punish and humiliate Apollo, frighten him and other gods from stepping out of line, then I doubt that, like the growth Apollo has experienced, that he would cast it away. I suspect that it will end up as an alias that he reclaims, a name that starts out as derogatory but that is soon worn as a badge of honor. He may be Apollo, but I can’t see him being ashamed of who he was as a mortal, as Lester Papadopoulos.

“Apollo” is the sum total of who he is, but “Lester” represents a new part of him that he’s just now realizing is there, is actively growing and changing. He’s still struggling to integrate his new realizations into himself, but when he does, I think he’ll truly be himself.

We see some of this identity struggle hinted at throughout the book, like when talking with Lupa:

“My time,” I said. “For what, exactly?”

She nipped the air in annoyance. To be Apollo. The pack needs you.

I wanted to scream I’ve been trying to be Apollo. It’s not that easy! (95)

“Being Apollo” here obviously represents something deeper than just existing. But it doesn’t seem to really refer to just regaining power. Apollo actually says that he DOES know what she means - and to a certain extent, I think he’s right.

“Fine,” I relented. “I know what you mean. The last lines from the Dark Prophecy. I’ve reached the Tiber alive, et cetera, et cetera. Now I am supposed to ‘jive’. I assume that entails more than dancing and snapping my fingers. (96)

“Jiving” in this case appears, I believe, to refer to Apollo’s new revelations about who he is as a person, and the kind of person he wants to be. This is supported by what the arrow says when Apollo asks it how he’s supposed to “start to jive’, and the arrow basically says that it will think about that matter. After Apollo complains a bit about how he needs to know NOW, because they’re about to face Tarquin, this piece of conversation occurs:

“I appreciate a good boon as much as the next person. But if I’m going to contribute to this quest and not just cower in the corner, I need to know how” - my voice cracked “how to be me again.”

The vibration of the arrow felt almost like a cat purring, trying to sooth an ill human. ART THOU SURE THAT IS THY WISH?

“What do you mean?” I demanded. “That’s the whole point! Everything I’m doing is so-” (138)

Here, Apollo’s still associating being “himself” with his godly power, but the arrow implies something different. And is trying to comfort him about it, which is a sharp departure from its usual attitude in previous books.

Apollo talks to the arrow again later, while on the excursion with Meg and Reyna, and it has this to say:

THOU HAST FOUND THY GROOVE. AT LEAST THE BEGINNINGS OF THY GROOVE. I SUSPECTED THIS WOULD BE SO, GIVEN TIME. CONGRATULATIONS ARE MERITED. (266)

I have my suspicions about what his “groove” is here. This takes place just after the three of them fend off the ravens, after Meg and Reyna found out about some of the horrible things Apollo had done in the past, and he comes to these realizations:

“Can we talk about this later?” I pleaded. “Or perhaps never? I was a god then! I didn’t know what I was doing!”

A few months ago, a statement like that would have made no sense to me. Now, it seemed true. I felt as if Meg had given me her thick-lensed rhinestone-studded glasses, and to my horror, they corrected my eyesight. I didn’t like how small and tawdry and petty everythin looked, rendered in perfect ugly clarity through the magic of Meg-O-Vision. Most of all, I didn’t like the way I looked - not just present-day Lester, but the god formerly known as Apollo. (252-253)

I wanted to sing for Reyna, to prove that I had indeed changed. I was no longer the god who’d had Koronis killed and created ravens, or cursed the Cumaean Sibyl, or done any of the other selfish things that had once given me no more pause than choosing what dessert toppings I wanted on my ambrosia.

It was time to be helpful. I needed to be repulsive for my friends! (256)

I think this realization - of how horrible he had been while a god, of how he had changed, of his determination to BE a different person than he once was, while still acknowledging who he’d been in the past - I think THAT is his groove. His jive. Not just him realizing who he was, but turning his determination to make things better into power.

It’s reinforced later with him thinking about how hollow he feels:

When had I last felt “whole”? I wanted to believe it was back when I was a god, but that wasn’t true. I hadn’t been completely myself for centuries. Maybe millennia.

At the moment, I felt more like a hole - a void in the cosmos through which Harpocrates, the Sibyl, and a lot of people I cared about had vanished. (316)

Honestly, I don’t know that he was ever really “himself” in the way he thinks. Some of the worst things he did, he did in ancient times. He just may not have recognized it as such at the time. But as the time passed, I’d imagine that existence would have grown more hollow, as he doesn’t seem to have formed many deep bonds - mostly surface-level ones that he fooled himself into thinking were deep, like when he convinced himself that he loved the Cumaean Sibyl.

His comparisons between himself and the Emperors when referring to his encounters with Harpocrates shows this to some extent:

The emperors would’ve considered Harpocrates just another dangerous, amusing plaything, like their trained monsters and humanoid lackeys.

And why not let King Tarquin be his custodian? The emperors could ally themselves with the undead tyrant, at least temporarily, to make their of Camp Jupiter a little easier. They could let Tarquin arrange his cruelest trap for me. Whether I killed Harpocrates or he killed me, what did it matter to the Triumvirate in the end? Ether way, they would find it entertaining - one more gladiator match to break the monotony of their immortal lives. (273)

This description sounds an awful lot like the Olympian gods attitude, with them not caring what happens to demigods much, just using others as entertainment. So long as they weren’t majorly threatened, why should they care? They can just sit back and watch, like Apollo talked about doing back in The Dark Prophecy when he was a god:

When I was a god, I would have felt delighted to leave the mortal heroes to fend for themselves. I would have made popcorn and watched the bloodbath from a distance on Mount Olympus, or simply caught the highlight reel later. (283)

Apollo’s directly compares himself to the emperors soon afterwards, when reliving Harpocrates memories from his point of view:

The god glared at me. He forced painful images into my mind: me stuffing his head into a toilet on Mount Olympus; me howling with amusement as I tied his wrists and ankles and shut him in the stables with my fire-breathing horses. Dozens of other encounters I’d completely forgotten about, and in all of them I was as golden, handsome, and powerful as any Triumvirate emperor - and just as cruel. (279)

Apollo hasn’t been the kind of person he really saw himself as - the kind of person he wishes to be since - well, I don’t know if it was EVER. Certainly not for a VERY long time. He and the Emperors aren’t as different as he’d like... or WEREN’T, at least. Though the Emperors were more outwardly cruel, with none of Apollo’s good qualities, it seems.

But that’s changed now. Apollo can see who he was and is trying to change, to be someone better. He can’t fix everything - an apology won’t undo the Cumaean Sibyl’s or Harpocrates suffering - but he can make things better NOW.

As the Emperors invade, his summoning seems to have failed everything looks hopeless:

The emperors obviously wanted to send a message: they intended to dominate the world at any cost. They would stop at nothing. They would mutilate and maim. They would waste and destroy. Nothing was sacred except their own power.

I rose unsteadily. My hopelessness turned into boiling anger. I howled, “NO!” (340)

This - now this is when I think he TRULY jives. He rejects hopelessness, he rejects weakness, he rejects despair. The world may be going down in flames, but he’ll fight it. He can’t change the past, but the present? Now THAT he can do something about.

He charges in and fights against hopeless odds, without a plan even, because he’s NOT going to just stand by and watch people die. Not anymore.

His divine powers return somewhat. He survives a blow that should have killed him, he punches Commodus so hard his armor dents, and after Frank’s supposed death, he literally screams Commodus into ashes. Even before that, when he truly thinks he’s about to die fighting Commodus, he doesn’t waste time worrying about his death. He fights to at least hobble Commodus first, to cut his tendons so that even if he dies, he’ll have made it easier for someone else to take him down. He never stops fighting, he never gives up, even when he believes he can’t save himself anymore. He’s at least begun to figure out who he is now, and to act on it. He’s been having his old self torn down and rebuilt nearly from scratch, and this is the result.

His heroism, how he’s changed - it’s reflected in another character at the end of the book. Don the faun has appeared before, both in TTT and SON, and he’s supposedly been pretty useless, like most fauns. But here, in this book, he was useful, though scared. He even helped the other nature spirits to sabotage the Emperor’s weapons, staying behind on the ships, sacrificing his own life to ensure that it was done right. He survives, but not for long. As he’s dying, he talks with Apollo:

“Hey, Apollo, you- you know the difference between a faun and a satyr…?”

[…]

A moment later, his body collapsed with a noise like a relieved sigh, crumbling into fresh loam. In the spot where his heart had been, a tiny sapling emerged from the soil. I immediately recognized the shape of those miniature leaves. Not a hemlock. A laurel - the tree I had created from poor Daphne, and whose leaves I had decided to make into wreaths. The laurel, the tree of victory.

One of the dryads glanced at me. “Did you do that…?”

I shook my head. I swallowed the bitter taste from my mouth.

“The only difference between a satyr and a faun,” I said, “is what we see in them. And what they see in themselves. Plant this tree somewhere special.: I looked up at the dryads. “Tend it and make it grow healthy and tall. This was Don the faun, a hero.” (398-399)

The difference between a satyr and a faun, in other words, is nothing physical. It’s societal and psychological. I believe that Apollo is also, to an extent, talking about gods and mortals. The gods have long believed that they can’t change and mature like mortals, but also, largely, that they don’t need to because they’re gods; they’re above mortals. But Apollo has seen - has experienced - that that isn’t true. That mortals and gods may have different power levels, but at their heart, they’re not so different.

It also says something about his more recent state, as Lester, when he’s considered himself useless - when others have considered him... well, not exactly useless, but not all that useful either in the early books. But sort of like with Don, the difference between him and the demigod heroes, who are at sort of similar power levels, more has to do with what people see in him, and what he sees in himself. How he’s thinking about himself now. What it means to be a hero. To be a good person.

By the end of the book, Apollo’s regained a lot of his godly power, but it hasn’t changed who he’s become. Because it was never godhood that made him who he was, him beginning to regain that godhood isn’t changing who he is, who he’s become, what he’s gained from being Lester. I know some people have worried about Apollo potentially rejecting godhood, but I really don’t see that happening. He’s already regaining his godhood on HIS terms. The power from godhood was never the problem. Only what that godhood was used for.

Personally, I suspect that he’ll continue to use Lester sometimes, as a reminder of that part of his life, of what he’s learned, of what he’s become, even after he’s regained all his power. He may even keep something similar to his Lester form (though I suspect with less flab and acne). But he’ll keep the power. Because he can use that to help others, to try to make up in some small way for all that he’s done.

#trials of apollo #ttt spoilers #lester papadopoulos #the tyrant's tomb #the tyrant's tomb spoilers #toa #ttt #analysis

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